Taming 7 (Boys of Tommen, #5)

by Chloe Walsh

“You’re my favorite person in the whole wide world, and I would swap everyone for you. Even Hugh.”

“When they said someone had been saved from the water. I prayed for it to be you.”

“I promised God I would do all the good things in the world if he brought you back.” I beamed at him. “And he listened.” “That wasn’t God, Claire,” he whispered, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “That was your dad.” “I don’t care who it was,” I replied. “Just as long as you’re here.” “I don’t think my family thinks like that,” he said, turning back to look at the ground as we walked. “I think they wanted your dad to save Bethany.” “I didn’t,” I admitted honestly. “I wanted to keep you most of all.”

“What about me?” he whispered as a lone tear trickled down his cheek. “Who’ll keep me safe?” “I will, silly,” I replied, releasing his hand so that I could give him a hug. “I’ll keep you safe, Gerard.”

“But your hugs feel like sunshine.” “Like sunshine?” I frowned in confusion. “How?” “Because you are sunshine, silly,” she laughed before skipping off in the direction of the boys. “Or maybe it’s your shampoo.”

“I mean it,” he urged, turning to look at me now. “I can’t lose another person I love.” “You love me?” He nodded sadly as another tear trickled down his cheek. “I love you most of all.”

“I don’t see anyone.” His lips tipped up in the smallest of smiles before he added, “Except for you.”

“Hey, Gerard?” “Yeah, Claire?” “You’re still holding my hand.” “I know.” A shiver rolled through him, and he tightened his hold on my hand. “Sorry. It’s just…holding your hand makes me feel better.” “It does?” “Yeah.” He watched me cautiously. “Is that okay?” “Yep.” I beamed at him. “You can hold my hand forever.” “You promise?” “Uh-huh.” I yawned, feeling sleepy. “I promise.”

“I’ve got your back.” Claire Biggs had a lot of things. My back. My attention. My heart. My soul. Yeah, she had all of me and that wasn’t an exaggeration.

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.

“Snuggling my Claire-Bear equals a happy Gibsie. Running laps on the treadmill until I puke equals a very unhappy Gibsie.” The feel of his big body pressed to mine set loose what felt like a cage of wild butterflies in my chest. “It’s all about priorities, babe.” “And I’m yours?” I teased. “Always,” he confirmed sleepily, tightening his hold on my waist. Jesus.

“He’s only messing with you. We’re clearly just friends.” “Clearly,” came Hugh’s sarcastic response. “You two are just friends and Bella’s the Virgin Mary.” “Bella’s a… What’s the word those girls in pink use in the film, babe?” Gerard asked, twirling a finger around aimlessly. “An ugly clit?” “A fugly slut, Gerard,” I corrected with a smile. “But full marks for attempting a Mean Girls reference.” “Fugly slut,” he chuckled, repeating the word to himself. “I love it.”

“Asshole, you are getting on my last nerve.” “Come on, Gerard,” I groaned, shaking my head. “Don’t rise him.” “That’s what I tried to tell your sister last night.”

“And take your share of those kittens back to your side of the street with you.” “And separate them from their mother?” Gerard gaped. “What kind of a monster are you?” “Cherub will be grand,” Hugh grumbled. “I was referring to your sister.” “You’re a head case, Gibs. Seriously fucking deranged.” “Ignore your cranky uncle, babies,” Gerard called over his shoulder as he sauntered out of my room. “Daddy will be back tonight.” “Go the fuck home, Gibs!” “Fine. I need to go check on your nephew anyway.” “He’s not my nephew, you freak. He’s a hedgehog in hibernation in your mam’s hot press because you and my sister have issues with taking in strays.” “Whatever you say, lad. See you later for the beach trip, baby mama.”

“Gerard, come on, don’t be a baby. You’re in pain and need to get this ladder inspected,” I urged, reaching for his shorts again. “Just be brave and take off your underpants.” “It’s not a ladder right now, babe,” he groaned, hands settling on the elastic waistband of his shorts. “The minute I saw you in those shorts, it turned into a full-blown fire-escape stairwell.” I grinned up at him. “It did?” His eyes widened in horror. “Focus, Claire!”

I made a bolt for the staircase. Narrowly avoiding a side swipe from the demon my mother had christened Brian on the turn of the staircase, I trip-tumbled off the last four steps. “Did you just see that?” I demanded in outrage, pointing an accusing finger in the direction of my mother’s one-balled Persian. “He tried to push me down the stairs.” “Don’t be so dramatic, Gibs,” Mam scolded, scooping up the snow-white ball of fluff. “Brian has a heart of gold.” Brian purred in response to my mother’s welcomed affection but narrowed his beady green eyes at me in warning. As if to say, I’ll get you next time. Not if I get you first, fucker.

“Come on.” He chuckled, draping his arm over my shoulders. “Let’s take that moonlight stroll.” “This is entirely inappropriate behavior.” “Duly noted. Should we continue?” “Of course.” “Okay then.”

“Ew, don’t even say it like that, Gerard,” I added. “‘Getting his hole.’” I grimaced in disgust. “What a horrible reference to the physical act of love.” “Wow,” Hugh deadpanned. “What a horrible reference to sex.” “What?” I asked. “Physical act of love?” “Ugh.” He shuddered. “That’s so wrong, Claire.” “Why?” Katie laughed. “It’s what they’re doing, isn’t it?” “To be honest, babe, I don’t want to think about what Cap is doing.” “I prefer getting his hole,” Gerard declared. “Me too,” both Hugh and Patrick agreed. “Absolutely not,” Katie argued. “That’s so crude.” “I have it,” Gerard announced, holding a hand up. “They are fucking with feelings!” “Fucking with feelings.” “Hmm.” “It’s best of a bad bunch.” “It’s genius!” “It sounds sort of serious,” Patrick mused. “To fuck with feelings?” “I fuck myself with feelings all the time,” Gerard offered up. “It’s nice.” “Gerard!” I squealed. “As you should, lad,” Patrick laughed. “Ew,” Katie groaned. “Shoot me now,”

Both Hugh and Patrick turned to gape at their friend. “Gibs, what the hell are you talking about?” “Fucking with feelings,” he said proudly. “It’s centrifugal motion.” “Now, where in the name of Jesus did you hear that word?” Patrick asked. “I know words,” Gerard huffed, tone defensive. “Says the fella who tried to convince the whole of fourth class that tyrant was a breed of dinosaur.” “Hey! That was an easy mistake, and you know it.” Gerard shrugged noncommittally. “Could have happened to anyone.” “Funny how the things that could happen to anyone usually only happen to you, Gibs.” “Centrifugal motion,” Hugh mused, scratching his jaw. “I think we covered that in science last year.” He turned to look at Gerard. “Since when did you take up physics, lad?” “I clearly didn’t,” Gerard huffed. “But if it’s good enough for a Faith Hill song, then it’s good enough for me.”

The only person I’d ever see get under his skin was my best friend. Yeah, Shan blew that self-control to hell on her very first day at school.

They say it’s hard to get over your first love. Well, if I knew it to be true, like my heart was so insistent, I would never be getting over Gerard Gibson.

I laughed, climbing in beside him, while desperately trying to avert my eyes from his impressive biceps. Because Gerard had the best arms. They were delicious.

“I love you, Gerard.” “I love you, too.” His lips were so close to mine that if I leaned in just an inch, we would be kissing. I wanted to. Desperately. But I held back. Knowing that my heart couldn’t take the kiss. Because the kiss might be a glorious one, but it would never be accompanied by the commitment I needed from him. The relationship I needed the security of. For whatever reason, Gerard offered me his heart on his sleeve, but kept the rest of him tucked behind an impenetrable wall of mystery.

“In fact, do you want to just pull over now and let me drive?” “Nope, I’m perfectly capable of driving my own car, Jonathan.” “Gibs, lad, you’ve coasted over the middle line three times already,” Johnny tried to coax. “I really think I should drive.” “Alright.” Using one hand to steer the car, Gerard reached behind him with his free hand and held his thumb up in challenge. “Fight me for it.” Johnny laughed. “By thumb wrestling you?” “Are you scared you’ll lose?” “Get ready to be a back-seat bitch, Gibs.” Assuming position, Johnny linked hands with Gerard and smirked. “One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war.” “Five, six, seven, eight, I use this hand to masturbate.” “Gerard,” I yelped at the same time Shannon choked out, “Gibsie!” “And that’s the end of the thumb war,” Johnny muttered, abruptly dropping Gerard’s hand. He wiped his hand off his shorts and shuddered.

I knew from the very beginning that what Johnny had with Shannon was permanent. I’d never seen a fella plagued more by his feelings than Johnny. He loved the bones of that girl and, yeah, it took him his usual amount of time to predict, ponder, panic, and finally process his feelings, but he had. Once his mind was set, it was a done deal. Shannon Lynch was his endgame, and Johnny Kavanagh was hers.

I didn’t know my own mind because I was afraid of it. To be in my head too much. To think too much. So, I didn’t. I didn’t think.

“Ah, he’s not the worst of them,” I threw out there, because agreeing with Claire would open a can of worms that I had zero intention of tending to. Also, I happened to be sitting in the same car as the girl who had endured sixteen years of living under the same roof as a blood-thirsty murderer. Compared to Teddy Lynch, Keith was a lamb. Perspective.

“Jesus.” I blew out a breath and repressed a shudder. “I still can’t believe Joey’s a daddy.” “He’s always been one of those, lad,” Johnny said. “True that, Kav.” “Another Lynch boy.” “He’s not a Lynch, he’s a Joey.” “News flash, Joey’s a Lynch, Gibs.” “Nah, he’s a Joey. Like Bono. He doesn’t need a last name. Iconic.” “I think the term you’re searching for is infamous.” “Aww.” Claire continued to croon and coo at the screen of the phone. “I want one.” “You want one of those things?” I gaped at her. “Are you feeling okay?” “Me too,” Shannon admitted with a wistful sigh. “I want two.” “Two’s a good number,” Johnny agreed. “But three’s better.” “Jesus Christ, it’s contagious!” Snatching the phone out of Claire’s hand, I tossed it back to Shannon. “Here, put that phone away before that baby’s picture causes an epidemic.”

“Oh no, no, no, no,” Hugh said with a humorless laugh as he pointed a finger at me. “There’s a spare seat at the table now that Lynchy’s gone. No need to sit on anyone’s lap, baby sister.” “I’m not sitting on anyone’s lap,” I countered with a grin. “I’m sitting on Gerard’s lap.” “That’s me, by the way,” Gerard taunted, snaking an arm around my waist, while he waved his free hand around over his head. “Hi.”

Too sensible to jump into the action, but too pumped to do nothing, I discreetly stamped on Robbie Mac’s hand when he rolled close to where I was standing. Ha. Served him right for calling me a cocktease.

“It’s your fault.” “It’s your fault.” “You started it.” “No, you started it.” “You took the first swing.” “Because you overstepped.” “I was having the craic.” “You were insulting my girl.” “She’s not your girl, you spanner. She’s my sister.” “Stay out of this, Hugh. I’m defending my intended’s honor.” “Gibs, I swear to god if you don’t pack that intended bullshit in—”

“Fucking backs,” I grumbled to myself. “You’re all shit and show, hunting the glory, while us forwards do all the hard slog.” “Hard slog? You’ve never seen a hard day’s work in your life, lad.” “I’ll have you know that I spent most of my summer helping Mam at the bakery.” “Yeah,” Hugh goaded, joining the conversation. “And you have the gut to show for it.” “Call me fat one more time and I’ll sit on you,” I warned, outraged. “I mean it, Hugh. It’s called being big-boned. And yeah, so I’ve put on a few pounds over the summer. Big deal. I can lose the weight, but you can’t lose that face, lad.” “Did you just call me ugly?” “Did you just call me fat?”

“Don’t twist my melon.” “Don’t put your melon in my face to twist.” “Focus!” “Hold up—what the fuck is a melon?” “He’s referring to his brain, Gibs.” “Melons are brains?” “Yours certainly is.” “I take offense to that.” “Jaysus, I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“Take a walk, Gibson,” Coach roared, blowing his whistle. “And don’t step foot on my pitch until you have an attitude adjustment.” “Woo-hoo!” Thoroughly delighted with myself, I dropped Danny like a sack of spuds and hauled ass toward freedom. “You know you just gave the lazy fucker what he wanted.” “Language!” “Why does he get to leave early?” “Less of the backchat, Ten.” “But he started the fight.” “Dammit, Gibson! I’ve changed my mind. Get back here!” “La, la, la.” Plugging my ears with my fingers, I ran faster than I had all training and legged it to safety. “I can’t hear a word of it, lads.”

“You want to give me your weekend, Gerard Gibson?” Moments later, we were bathed in complete darkness. “Gerard!” I yelped, startled by the sudden blindness even though I knew it was coming. “I’ll give you all my weekends, Claire Biggs,” His hand reached for mine, fingers entwining in that familiar way I treasured. “I’ll give you my weekdays, too.”

“You’ve got this,” I encouraged, reaching up to hold his hips. “Three, two, one…and sit.” Nope. Nothing. Gerard didn’t move an inch. “Three, two, one,” I repeated calmly. “And sit.” Again, nothing. Not even a twitching toe. Dammit.

“You’re so tanned, Gerard. Your skin is beautiful.” “So is yours,” he answered, but his tone didn’t hold its usual hint of flirty banter. It had been replaced with terror. Desperate to soothe the anxiety in him, I leaned in close and pressed a kiss to his back. “Claire,” he bit out, shivering. “Don’t tease me when I’m in dire straits here, babe.” “Hey, Gerard?” Feeling devilish, I dropped the scrunchie and reached for the hem of my drenched T-shirt instead. “Want to see my boobs?” “Do I fuck,” he choked out, craning his head back to look at me. “The answer to that question is always, Claire-Bear. Always.” Laughing, I whipped the fabric over my head and tossed it over the side of the tub. “Damn the inventor of bras,” he complained, trying and failing to get an eyeful of my body. “Jesus, that was cruel.” Cackling with mischief, I reached for his hips. “Sit in the water and I’ll show you more.” “Liar,” he huffed, but I felt his body slowly relax. “No, you won’t.”

He lowered an inch, and then another one, until he was kneeling in the water, hands still gripping the sides like his life depended on it. “Look at you,” I praised, reaching up to rub his big shoulders as I shifted my legs so that I had one on either side of him. “The things you do for boobs, Gerard Gibson.”

“Can you do something for me?” I asked a little while later, still keeping a firm hold of Gerard’s waist, knowing that he needed to feel my touch to keep him relaxed in this moment. He needed to feel like he was being held up, even though he couldn’t sink deeper. It was a psychological reaction to the trauma he’d endured as a child. “Hmm?” “Relax your arms.” “Claire.” “Think of the boobs, Gerard.”

“I’m super tired.” I smiled in the darkness. “Say it again.” “Mmm, say what?” “Super.” “Shh.” “Come on, Claire-Bear.” “No.” “Come on, just once.” “No.” “Just say it.” “Why?” “Because it’s fucking adorable.” “Fine,” she huffed, reaching a hand up to pinch my nipple. “Super.”

“You’re the only person who can hold my attention. It shifts and wanders off on just about everyone else. But not you. Never you.” “Really?” “You already know this.” “Maybe, but it’s nice to hear you say it.” I thought about her words for a long moment before saying, “I love you, Claire.” “I love you, too, Gerard.” A shiver racked through her. “A lot.”

“Care to explain the method to this particular brand of madness?” “It’s getting cold. Reggie is going to need someplace warm to hibernate.” “You know, if you freed the poor creature, he’d do it for himself.” “Not according to our vet, he won’t. He’s been handled too much. Reggie doesn’t know that he’s a hedgehog. He was only a baby when we rescued him. He won’t survive a winter in the wild.” “You know wild hedgehogs carry diseases, don’t you?” Feely pointed out, leaning against the closed patio door. “You really shouldn’t keep him on your lap like that, lad.” “For the last time, Reginald isn’t diseased!” I snapped. “He’s as clean as a whistle. Same as me.” “Same as you?” he laughed. “Is that supposed to reassure me?” “Don’t mind him, son,” I grumbled, returning my attention to the task at hand, while my little buddy burrowed into the fabric of my gray sweatpants. “Daddy’s going to build you a better hibernaculum than any of the other hedgehogs.”

“Shots?” “No.” “Fine, pints?” “I’ll have a pint of water.” “I’ll have a pint of water,” I mimicked, thoroughly disgusted with the overgrown creature standing next to me at the bar. “You’ll have a pint, and you’ll be happy about it.” “Gibs.” “Not another word, Jonathan.” “Jesus Christ, fine. I’ll have a pint of Heineken.” “Good man yourself.” I clapped his shoulder. “Make it four pints, Mary,” I told the woman behind the bar. “And we’ll have four shots of baby Guinness while we’re waiting.” “Gibs.” “Each,”

“You know, I think I’d love a daughter.” He scratched his jaw as he spoke. “I’d be delighted with sons, too, of course, but I’d love to raise a little girl with Shan.” Shrugging, he added, “You know, show her how different it should’ve been for her.”

“Well, if anyone wants to know the whereabouts of my future children,” I interjected, holding a hand up. “I left a fresh batch of them in a tissue in my room this morning.” “You sick fucker,” Feely laughed, while Hugh shuddered in revulsion. “Filter, Gibs!” Johnny barked, elbowing my side. “Filter.”

“The fuck?” Johnny gaped at him before turning to me. “And your birthday’s not in March?” “No, it is not in bloody March, you sorry excuse for a best friend,” I huffed. “The fucking cheek of you forgetting my birthday.” “Sorry, Gibs, I could’ve sworn it was in March.” He scratched his jaw. “Why is March in my head?” “Because Shannon’s birthday is in March,” I growled. “You pussy-whipped prick.”

“Hold up,” Johnny said, coming to my defense. “Nobody is saying Gibs is the only fella to put his dick in the wrong girl here. Not one of us is an angel, lads. Everyone has a past.” “True,” Feely agreed. “I haven’t,” Hugh deadpanned. “So, you’re a squeaky-clean virgin, now are ya?” Johnny chuckled. “Saint Hugh?” “I’ve only been with Katie,” Hugh replied, eyes locked on Johnny. “So, what do you think, Cap?” “But you’ve been together since…” Johnny’s brows shot up. “Shite.” “Yeah,” Hugh snapped. “Unlike the rest of ye sick bastards, I don’t spread myself around like butter.” Feely cocked a brow. “Butter?” “Butter.” “Hey, I’m loyal,” Johnny huffed. “Like a bleeding Labrador.”

I cackled when Gerard face-planted on my mattress, narrowly avoiding Cherub, who was curled up on my lap, taking a break from the ever-boisterous Tom, Dick, and Harry—the three male kittens Mam agreed to let us keep from Brian and Cherub’s adorable litter this past summer. Salt and Pepper had been adopted by cousins of ours living in Bandon, while a friend of Sadhbh’s in Clonakilty had adopted Millicent. Yeah, that had been a dark day for the Biggs-Gibson family.

“Say hello to your daddy.” “Dick!” Gerard cooed, snatching up the furriest of the three. “How are you, son?” “Don’t forget to give Tom and Harry some attention,” I warned, climbing back onto the mattress. “You’re always favoring Dick.” “But that’s only because I love my Dick,” he continued to coo, holding the kitten up to his face so that they could rub noses. “Isn’t that right, son? You’re my favorite, aren’t you? Yes, you are with your little pink nose and teeny tiny paws.” “Gerard!” “Alright, alright.”

“Listen, babe, you know I love all our kids, and I know it’s not their fault, but I can’t look at Tom and Harry without seeing him.” “Gerard,” I gasped in horror, snatching up Harry. “How could you?” “I know,” he agreed with a groan. “It’s terrible, isn’t it? But I can’t help it. They’ve got his beady green eyes and that creepy white hair…” “Brian might have fathered them, but you are their dad! And dads are supposed to love all of their children equally!” “I know!” Throwing his hands up in defeat, he added, “That’s why I wanted to keep Millicent. She was every inch her mother’s daughter.” He pointed to Cherub who was still snoozing on his lap. “Look at that pussy. Look at how beautiful and sweet she is—” “Oh my god, I can’t believe this!” I shrieked, scooping up the boys and stomping back to their basket. “You don’t love our babies.” “I do! I do love our babies, Claire!” Bambied legs forgotten, Gerard sprang off the bed and hurried after me. “But that bastard Brian has given me an awful life. You know that. Remember when he snuck up on me in the shower and scratched my gooch? Or the time he bit my toe and I had to get a tetanus shot? He traumatized me, Claire. I can’t help it if every time I look at Tom and Harry, I’m triggered!”