Taming 7 (Boys of Tommen, #5)

by Chloe Walsh

Smiling to myself, I skipped down the corridor in the direction of the girls’ bathroom, stopping to call out, “Get a room,” to the ridiculously attractive couple eating the faces off each other in the stairwell on my way. “Mind your business,” Aoife called back, not bothering to release her hold on Joey. “As you were, Stud.” Aw…I hope they had condoms in the annex.

“Dad, if you’re listening, I could really use your help,” I said, hoping that the wind could somehow get my message to the one person I needed to reach most in the universe. If that’s even where he existed now. Who the fuck knew for sure? “Beth, this is guy talk, so close your ears,” I warned as I plucked at a blade of grass. “So, I finally kissed Claire. And she kissed me back, so I guess that means the joke’s on you and Pete for always teasing Mam and Sinead about us ending up together.” I smiled sadly at the memory. “Because I want to end up with her, Dad.” I sighed heavily. “I really love her, Dad, and I want to tell her, but I’m so fucking scared of her walking away from me.” I hung my head in shame. “I feel like I’m wrong on the inside.” A shudder racked through me. “Like I’m infected.”

Wishing like hell I had a cartoon baboon that could take me to the river to speak to my father one more time, I sniffed my emotions back and wiped a tear from my cheek. “I don’t want to live like this anymore, Dad.”

“If you could go back in time and Caoimhe was standing here in front of you, what would you say? What advice would you give her?” “If Caoimhe was here, I would tell her that what happened to her doesn’t define her.” Darren looked me dead in the eyes when he said, “It defines him. He’s the monster in the story. The shame is on his doorstep.” He reached up and stroked his jaw before saying, “And I would tell her that it’s never too late to disclose.” His eyes burned with sincerity. “Never.”

“Can I give you my phone number?” I stared blankly at him. “Lad, I’m flattered, but I like pussy.” Darren smirked. “Just take my number,” he said, retrieving a business card from his coat pocket. “Call that number when you’re ready.” “Wait!” I called after him, but he was already walking away. “When I’m ready for what?” He didn’t respond.

Darren gained some respect

“Don’t do it.” Trembling from head to toe, I reached a hand between us and covered his mouth with my hand. “Not if you’re going to backpedal again.” Expelling a shaky breath, I trailed my tongue over my bottom lip, tasting my trepidation. “Because I honestly don’t think my heart could take it.”

“Tell?” He tossed the word out like it was something laughable. “Christ, what age are you?” “I’m seventeen now,” I bit out. “But I was seven when you raped me.” “Don’t…” “I was seven years old when you first raped me!” I said louder, refusing to be silenced a second longer by my fear of this man. “I was eleven years old when you finally stopped!” Blowing out a ragged breath, I glared at the monster standing in front of me with tears pouring down my cheeks and strangled out, “You took four years of my childhood from me, and I’ve been living in a prison in my mind every damn day of my life since. So, if you don’t want to risk spending the next seventeen years of your life behind bars, you’ll get on a plane and never come back!”

“You really care about him, don’t you?” I mused, sitting back down to link arms with her. “Aw, my bestie approves.” “He’s one of the good ones, Claire,” she urged in a sincere tone. “Sure, Gib’s a joker and a prankster and can say all of the wrong things at times, but his heart is as big as the moon.”

“I’ve never felt safe around boys or men,” Shannon admitted, brow furrowing as she spoke. “For obvious reasons.” I winced. “Yeah.” “But I feel safe around Gibs,” she told me. “Aside from Johnny, he’s the only other boy whose hands I would willingly put my life in.”

“But you’re ready now, aren’t you?” she mused knowingly. “Yes.” I exhaled a shaky breath and nodded eagerly. “I really am.” “Well, he’s right here, Claire.” My best friend grinned and gestured to the pitch. “That’s your man.” “You’re right.” I stood up and nodded in confirmation. “That’s my man.”

“Just so we’re on the same page…” Gerard paused to pull back and look at me. “You are talking about sex, right?” He eyed me cautiously. “Because I’ve been known to get it wrong a time or ten, and my ability to read between the lines is about as shocking as my ability to read in class, Claire-Bear.”

“I’m wearing yellow,” I told him with a dreamy sigh as I clutched my hands to my chest. “And not a mustard or a pineapple yellow. Ew, and definitely not an ochre yellow. Think Andie Anderson’s dress in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days kind of yellow.” “Good to know.” Reaching into the waistband of his sweatpants, he pushed them down his narrow hips. “I’ll be sure to tell the florist not to give me any fruit or condiments.”

“Are you okay?” I whispered, cupping his neck with my hand. He looked like he was in physical pain, as he clenched his eyes shut and moved inside me. “Gerard?” “Yeah.” Nodding, he kept his eyes closed. “Keep talking.” “Talking?” “Your voice.” He released a pained groan and buried his face in the curve of my neck, hips still thrusting. “I need to hear your voice.” “Why?” “Because I need to know it’s you touching me.”

“I’m the best at the sex texts. You just ask any of the lads. I’m gifted.” I grinned up at her. “I’m so fucking detailed that I could be a screenwriter on a porn set. I just… I fuck up the spellings and then everyone knows it’s me.”

“Ask Aoife,” Shannon blurted out, pointing at her sister-in-law. “But just don’t do it while I’m in the room, okay? Because I really don’t need to know the ins and outs of my brother’s sex life.” “Your brother puts the sex in life, period,” Aoife tossed over her shoulder. “My man is gifted, girls. He puts the D in BD energy.”

“Fuck you right back. I don’t care if there wasn’t enough evidence for the DPP to make a case against him. I know the truth. I read it with my own eyes. So, don’t you dare stand here and lie to my face. Unlike you, I have the ability to read a fucking letter, asshole.” Whoa. “Hey!” Johnny snapped. “Don’t fucking go there.”

“Yeah but see here’s the difference, Claire. I didn’t drown his sister, but his brother sure as hell drowned mine!”

She would never understand how many demons she chased out of my room with her body. Being with her in this bed, the same bed where I’d endured countless nights of torture throughout the course of my childhood, was so cathartic, it was almost surreal.

“Do you want to hear something positive?” I heard Johnny ask over the sound of a shower motor running. “Yes,” I begged. “Badly.” “I’m proud of you.”

Tossing my phone on my nightstand, I reached a hand under my mattress to retrieve the familiar folded-up piece of paper, and then, like the masochist I was, I unfolded the page and reread Caoimhe Young’s suicide note. The real one. The one she left just for me.

“Now, where’s my queen?” he purred, draping his big arm around her slim shoulders. “Every time, Shannon like the river,” he purred, kissing her neck. “Every time, baby.” He pulled back to look at her and released a masculine growl of approval. “You take the breath clean out of me.”

Happy to hand her off to her female bestie when she came looking for her, I continued to bop around to the band, quite content to be my own dance partner, because, in all honesty, my moves were wasted on the rest of them.

The minute I stepped through the door, I was greeted with a chorus of cheers from my teammates and a bottle of tequila. “Come to me, you beautiful devil, you,” I mused, gulping down as much as I could in one go without puking, which was surprisingly a lot more than most. See? There was a reason my mam called me special.

When I walked into your bedroom to check on you and found him pinning you to your mattress raping you, I think I died inside. Your eyes. You looked so broken. So defeated. You weren’t making a sound. Your tears were as silent as my voice, and I am so sorry for that.

(For all who read this letter, let it be known that I, Caoimhe Young, on the night of April 5th, 2000, witnessed my boyfriend, Mark Allen, raping his eleven-year-old stepbrother, Gerard Gibson, while I was supposed to be babysitting him. Let it also be known that eighteen months before witnessing this rape, Gerard Gibson disclosed to me that he didn’t feel safe around Mark, and that he touched him inappropriately. And finally, to my deepest regret, let it be known that I, Caoimhe Young, believed my boyfriend’s word over that of an innocent child.)

For my part in your pain, for my silence, I can never say sorry enough. I can only hope that my absence gives you some comfort, because while I know I wasn’t your abuser, my lack of willingness to believe your truth hurt you in ways he never could. Goodbye, sweet boy. Caoimhe. x

Instead, he continued to stare at me like he was seeing a stranger instead of the person he’d spent his whole life adoring. Instead of seeing me.

“No!” Johnny barked, eyes wide and full of fear. “It’s not him.” He looked to me, willing me to take it back. “It wasn’t him.” I hung my head in shame. “Gibs,” Johnny called out, bolting for the door in his bid to chase after his best friend. “Just hold up, will ya?” But it was too late. He was already moving for the exit.

“There’s nothing to talk about!” His entire body trembled when he held a hand up to warn me off. “Because I’m fine, Claire! Do you hear me? I’m okay, dammit. I am always okay, Claire!”

Sniffling, I sucked in a sharp breath, before adding, “But I’m not sorry for speaking up for you, Gerard.” My words were of no comfort to my boyfriend in this moment, because instead of taking the hand I had outstretched to him, he shook his head and stepped further away from me. And then he said the words that ripped my soul to ribbons. “I don’t want to be your friend anymore.” “You don’t mean that.” “Yeah, I do.” Tears trickled down his cheeks as he cried. “I’m not your boyfriend, Claire Biggs, and I’m not your friend.”

His breath hitched and he dropped his phone, but instead of taking his eyes off the page, he slowly sank to the ground and felt around for it with a trembling hand. “Fuck…” His voice cracked and I watched as this huge boy, with limitless popularity and pull, broke down in front of us. “Fuck!” Head bowed, he clutched at his hair and continued to stare at the letter. “Fuck, Gibs.” A pained cry escaped him. “Not you, lad.” His big shoulders racked with shudders. “Not fucking you, Gibs!”

“Good boy. You’re always okay, aren’t ya?” He stroked my cheek and then stood back up. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” I waited until my door was closed before checking myself over and pulling my Power Rangers pajamas bottoms into place, shuddering when my hand emerged with the familiar sight of blood…

“Kavanagh, be careful, he doesn’t seem to know who we are.” “He knows who I am, don’t ya, Gibs? It’s alright, my old buddy. Cap’s here.”

“So, you’re into the rugby, are ya, Johnny?” His lips tipped up in a small smirk. “You could say that.”

“I’m Johnny.” He held his hand out to me. “Johnny Kavanagh.” “Gerard Gibson,” I replied, accepting his handshake. “But everyone calls me Gibsie.”

“Hmm.” Johnny seemed to mull that over before asking, “Do you want to be my best friend?” He shrugged. “Looks like I’m not getting out of this town anytime soon, so I might as well put down some roots.” “Me?” “Yeah, you.” “You want me to be your best friend?” He nodded again, and I could tell from just one interaction with him that he was sharp. This lad was nobody’s fool. He had clearly taken everyone’s measure and, for some strange reason, had decided that I was the best of a bad bunch. “So, what’s it going to be, Gibs?” “Yeah.” I smiled. “I’m in.”

“Now, the first thing we’re going to work on is this phobia of blood.” Smirking, he nudged my shoulder with his. “Because I’ve a feeling there’s an unmerciful beast of a flanker inside you just waiting to come out…”

“We all love ya.” Sniffling, he pulled me closer and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I love the fucking bones of you, ya mad eejit.” He choked out a pained laugh. “And if you think this is going to chase me off, then you’ve another thing coming, fucker, because I’m never leaving you. Do ya hear me? Because you’re my Gibs.” “And you’re my Kav.” “That’s right.” He was crying hard now, and I think I was, too, but I felt so safe with him that I didn’t fight the noises and words and sounds that poured out of me. Instead, for the first time since my father died, I let it all out.

“You can help him by staying,” Aoife said, joining us on the footpath with her small son in her arms. I shook my head in confusion. “Staying?” “And by hanging in there,” she confirmed wisely. “And by trusting that the boy beneath the broken can find his way out of the darkness. It’s not easy. It hurts like hell, and you’ll want to run for the hills at times. And he’ll push away to the point where you doubt your own sanity. But your ability to love him through it is what will make the difference. Because, at the end of the day, that’s all we can do, babe.” She sighed heavily. “Love these boys with our whole hearts, and hope and pray that they’ll pick themselves back up and show us that they’re worth the pain. That they’re worth fighting for.”

“He’s always called me sunshine, Hugh, but knowing what we do now, knowing how badly he suffered in silence and continued to smile?” I shook my head and exhaled a shaky breath. “I don’t think there’s another person on this earth more deserving of the title.”

I wasn’t that same little boy who had buried his father and sister the month before his stepbrother pinned him to the edge of his bed and defiled his body. I wasn’t the eight-, nine-, ten-, or eleven-year-old version of that kid anymore, either.

I wasn’t sure if I would ever fully get over what happened, and to be honest, I wasn’t even sure if I was handling it in a healthy way, but I knew I couldn’t erase it or escape it, so I just kept going.

All of this shit might be new and terrifying for my mam, but I’d been living in a constant state of fear for ten years, unlike the ten days she had under her belt. What she was feeling now was what I had felt every time the clock struck bedtime.

“You are remarkably composed.” “I’m remarkable, period,” I replied, choosing not to tell him that the drugs the psychiatrist had prescribed me were remarkably effective. I felt sorry for Joey, the poor bastard, knowing that he would never be prescribed another ride on the roller coaster of narcotics like I had been.

“Happy now?” Johnny demanded when he sauntered into my room later that night with the DVD box of Love Actually in hand. “I had to pry the bleeding box from Tadhg’s fingers.” “Kid’s got good taste.” “On the contrary, lad, I think it’s safe to assume that his attachment to the film has a lot more to do with the full-frontal nudity than Hugh bleeding Grant.” “Ah, I’d hardly call it full frontal,” I snickered. “You can only see yer one’s tits.”

“Love isn’t a tap, Claire,” he said, closing the space between us. A swell of emotion bombarded me, threatening to consume me to the point of passing out. “It doesn’t turn off that easily.”

“I just need some time to figure out who I’m supposed to be now,” he explained hoarsely when he broke our kiss. “I’ve been hiding for so long that I don’t even know who I am.”

I might not know who I was or where I fit in the world, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I didn’t want any of it without Claire Biggs. Or Cap.

“I don’t watch you sleep, Claire. I listen to you sleep. The entire house does.” “Oh my god, stop. I am not that loud,” she huffed, slapping my arm. “Besides…” She winked. “I have it on good authority that I have a cute snore.” “Whoever told you that was trying to get in your knickers.” “Well, he got in my knickers last night.” “And what a lovely pair they were.”

“You come first, Gerard.” “I do?” The uncertain vulnerability in his voice caused a surge of protectiveness to grow inside of my heart, and I pulled him closer, having made my choice. “You do.”