Taming 7 (Boys of Tommen, #5)

by Chloe Walsh

Moments before the pain in my lungs exploded and everything went dark, I saw it. A halo of light. An orb of pure sunshine. Her. I saw her. And that’s when I knew. That’s when I knew…

“Caoimhe said that you lots of need time and that we’re to leave you alone.” “No, no, don’t go,” he blurted out, snatching up my hand in his. “Okay?” “I wasn’t going anywhere, silly.” I chuckled, staring down at how his hand made my hand look super tiny. “I would never leave you, Gerard.” “That’s what my dad said.” He sucked in a shaky breath and clenched his eyes shut before whispering, “So just…please don’t go, okay?”

“You know, Gerard, if you ever get super sad, I can be your sister, too. Hugh won’t mind sharing.” “You can’t be my sister, Claire.” “Why not?” “Because you can’t have the hots for your sister.” “You’ve got the hots for me?” My tummy flipped like a pancake again. “Not Lizzie? Because I heard Hugh say that she’s super pretty once.” “Lizzie? Ugh. No way,” he grumbled, lip curling up in disapproval. “I don’t see Lizzie.” “You don’t?” “I don’t see anyone.” His lips tipped up in the smallest of smiles before he added, “Except for you.”

Why be fucked-up Gerard when I could be Gibsie the fuckup? It couldn’t hurt when I was Gibsie, because Gibsie was my armor, and humor was my sword.

I didn’t think too much about the words that came out of my mouth. I usually said whatever was on my mind at the time, and that formed the person I had become in the minds of my friends. I was naturally self-deprecating, never purposefully cruel, and my attitude made people laugh. My mouth spurted shit at the expense of my own character, like a cloak of self-sabotaging protection.

If drugs were to Joey Lynch what Claire Biggs was to me, then there was no amount of rehab that could sway me to kick the habit. Because she was the habit of my lifetime.

In a weird way, that’s why I helped Aoife Molloy all those months ago. I would have helped her anyway, but the utter helplessness I saw in her eyes that night as she stared down the gun of love and pain, I knew there was something in her that I could relate to. I knew what it felt like to be that helpless, and I never wanted anyone to experience it. I saw the look in her eyes. I knew that look. I only wished that someone could have stepped in and saved me from that pain. But money couldn’t soothe the pain of my past. From feeling that level of devastation and weakness. If giving the girl a few quid spared her from that ordeal, then I would gladly do it.

From as far back as I could remember, my mind had always been very clear about three things. One: Hugh was my brother. Two: Bethany was my sister. Three: Claire was mine.

The girl was everything to me, and that wasn’t me being dramatic. It was a fact. The thought of letting her down made me feel physically sick. The thought of any form of harm coming to her, be it emotional or physical, made me feel homicidal.