Taming 7 (Boys of Tommen, #5)

by Chloe Walsh

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 feel like I’m wrong on the inside.” A shudder racked through me. “Like I’m infected.”

Because my worst day was her last day.

“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.”

“The right people will listen, and they’ll believe.”

“But it can cause to you to physically recoil and withdraw from intimate situations with a partner.” “Even women?” “Trauma sees no genders,” he explained calmly. “It’s an instinctive thing.” “Like the back-of-your-mind kind of thing?” “Exactly,” he agreed. “It’s your subconsciouses way of alerting your body to danger, even when you might not be in any.” “Okay.” I nodded slowly, soaking in every word he was telling me. “Good to know.”

“Please don’t do this. You’re my best friend. I need you.” “I’m not being your fallback anymore.” “You have never been my fallback anything.” “Yeah, I have, and I’m done with it!” “Claire.” “Just go, Gerard!”

“He’s been locked away in his room all day.”

“I’m too fucking broken to kill you, lad.”

“You have a lot of fucking nerve to come in here.” “And why’s that, Gibs?” I narrowed my eyes. “You know why.” “Nope.” Shaking his head, he rose to his feet and stretched. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Yes, you do,” I bit out, feeling my entire body rack with tremors when I watched him approach me. “You know what you did.” “And what did I do?” “You know,”

Like I was seven years old again. Or eight, or nine, or ten, or even eleven.

“You know,” I strangled out, chest heaving. “An...

“Looks like, despite my best efforts, I didn’t make a man out of you.” “No, not me.” With trembling hands, I unfolded the note and held it up between us. “Her.” A wave of recognition flickered in his eyes, and he took a step closer. “Is that Caoimhe’s handwriting?”

“I’m seventeen now,” I bit out. “But I was seven when you raped me.”

“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!”

“You took four years of my childhood from me,

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 I’m telling you now, Gerard Gibson,

that I’m not the girl for flings and whimsical

fleeting feelings, so if you can’t give me one hundred percent, then you need to say it,” she warned, brown eyes locked on mine. “This is your last chance to get out.” “I’m in,” I heard myself tell her, and never in my life had I spoken m...

And then she kissed me right there in the middle of the field, with the whole school watching. Holy fuck did she kiss me.

“Yes.” I beamed at him. “And I would love to do it in the tree house with you, Gerard Gibson, if you would like to accept my offer?” “You know what, Claire Biggs.” He sat straight up. “I think I would like that.” “Okay then,” I replied, holding my hand out. “We’ll have sex in the tree house.” “Okay,” Gerard agreed, shaking my hand. “Let’s go do that.”

“We don’t have to do anything until you’re ready.” “But I am ready,” I reaffirmed, eyes locked on his. “I’m just…scared.” “Me, too,” he admitted quietly. My brows rose. “Really?” “Really,” he replied with a small nod. “What are you scared of?” “Of it hurting.” “Same.”

Please don’t let there be more to come. I just want him, God. Let me keep him.

“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.”

“Because I need to know it’s you touching me.”

I pointed at Claire as inconspicuously as I could at the same time that she not so secretly pointed at me. My mouth fell open. “It was your idea.” “No.” Claire eyeballed me. “The tree house was your idea.” “Fair enough,” I conceded. “But the whole ladder in the bush idea was all you!” “Ew, say ‘tree,’ Gerard.” “Tree.”

“Well, I hope you used protection, because the last thing our families need is a repeat of the Cherub and Brian fiasco!”

“I’ve just…” Cutting himself off, my friend blew out a breath and shook his head. “It’s grand. I’ll fix it.”

“I’m in trouble, Gibs,” he whispered, head down.

“I can’t talk about it,” he admitted, looking like a broken man. Having said that, he pushed his chair back and stood up. “I can’t even think about it.”

“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.” I stared blankly. “BD?” “Big dick,”

Looking like a wild, cornered animal, Lizzie shook her head and bolted for the door. “You

Hugh didn’t let go. Ignoring her slaps, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, using his free hand to cradle her face to his chest. Eventually, she grew limp against him, hands reaching up to clutch the fabric of his school shirt, as he talked heatedly to the boys.

Meanwhile, Katie stood quietly looking on, with an unreadable expression on her face. Keeping Lizzie tucked up against his chest, Hugh continued to speak to his friends, while he doled out instructions and caught a set of flying car keys midair.

“She needs a doctor,” Pierce, who was standing in the hall, came into the fray and declared. “That girl is seriously unwell.” “Don’t fucking say it like that,” Patrick snapped back. “Jesus!”

Because I loved her. Every part of me. With every bone in my body. Defective and all as I was. I couldn’t help it. It was instinctive. It was ever consuming. It was forever.

She would never understand how many demons she chased out of my room with her body.

knew she was talking to me. I could hear her voice. But I couldn’t make out a word she was saying because my attention was riveted to the words splashed across the page in my hand. “Oh my god,” Shannon gasped, leaning in closer to get a better look. “Is that from…” “Caoimhe Young,” I strangled out, hands trembling violently as my mind furiously fought to protect itself from the information my eyes were sending it. “No,” Shannon cried out, covering her mouth with her hand. “Don’t read it, Claire.”

But I saw tonight. 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.)

Goodbye, sweet boy.

“Looks like you need to mind your own business,” Shannon hissed,

“Oh, fuck off, Ronan!” Shannon snapped. “What did you…” “I said ‘fuck off!’” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Now!”

“But who w-will l-look after Gerard?”

I’m going to love you through all of this, I mentally told him, even when I do something that’s going to make you hate me.

I wanted to wrap myself around his broken body and chase his demons away with warmth and love. I wanted to cry because of the unfairness of it all. I wanted… I just wanted.

This boy was the boy. The boy my heart had been created to beat for. The boy I was made to love.

I believe you, Gerard Gibson. I believe you. I believe you. I believe you.