Binding_13_Boys of Tommen

by Chloe Walsh

  The house was littered with the team and people from school, all drinking, eating, and dancing around the place.

  Instead of joining in on the banter, I was icing my thigh because putting the ice on my balls wouldn’t be socially acceptable, shoving around a piece of steak Hughie's Ma, Sinead, had cooked me around on my plate, and thinking about a girl who couldn’t seem to get away from me fast enough.

  That showed it all right there.

  Everyone else was drinking and enjoying themselves, while I refueled on protein and drove myself demented over a girl.

  Was this what rejection felt like?

  If so, it fucking sucked.

  What possessed me to go over to Shannon, I'll never know, but everyone was screaming around me, the crowd was in my face, I needed a reprieve, and I saw her standing there, all big-eyes and lonesome, and something just shifted inside of me.

  In the moment it made sense to just go over and talk to her.

  Because I didn’t want her to be on her own.

  Because I could hardly concentrate during the game, knowing she was watching me.

  Because when she turned around to leave, my legs moved of their own accord, desperate to intercept her.

  I can take you home when you have to go?

  What the actual fuck?

  I might as well have shouted, love me, fucking love me at the girl.

  I felt like a bleeding eejit.

  What was I thinking inviting her to the party?

  Worse, what was I thinking expecting her to say yes?

  I was a glorified stranger to her.

  Jesus Christ.

  I was so disappointed in myself.

  For the bones of two months, I'd been doing so well, so goddamn well, in my attempts to stay away from her.

  I couldn’t get her out of my head, but dammit, I was keeping my distance.

  One adrenalin pumped victory and I blew it.

  Worse than blowing it, I dragged her into a picture with me.

  And she looked terrified…

  "You alright, lad?" Feely asked, sinking down on the couch alongside me.

  Grunting my response, I dragged the cushion from behind my back and set it down on my lap, covering the purpling spreading down my right thigh.

  I was still in my kit, as were most of the team.

  They were still donning their jerseys because they wanted to show off – and rightly so.

  Five-in-a-row winners of the School Boys Shield was a new record for Tommen and some of the younger lads first taste of silverware.

  I was still in my gear because I didn’t have the energy to tog off after the match.

  If it didn’t look so appealing to the scouts, I'd throw the towel in on the school team and save my body for academy or club games.

  "You know, Sinead would have a look at it for you, if you asked her," Feely interrupted my thoughts by saying. "She's a nurse, lad."

  I turned to look at him. "What?"

  He gestured to my leg. "It's giving you trouble again?"

  Striving to reign in my irritation, I shook my head and said, "No, I'm grand. Took a kicking in the ruck, that's all, lad."

  The look Patrick gave me was one of apprehension, but he didn’t push it.

  I liked that about him.

  He didn’t push shite.

  If it wasn’t his business, he didn’t ask to know.

  "You not drinking tonight?" I asked him, steering the topic away from my failings. "Big win for the school, lad. You should be celebrating."

  "I should be celebrating?" Patrick smirked. "What about Mr. MOM himself? If anyone should be kicking back, then it's you."

  I smirked at the term Mr. MOM –meaning man of the match – and said, "I've academy training on Saturdays. What's your excuse?"

  "Not in the mood," was all he replied.

  Like earlier when he didn’t push me for information, I returned the favor.

  "I'm actually thinking of heading off," he added, standing up. "I was wondering if you could give me a lift home?"

  Like a starving dog presented with a juicy bone, I snapped at his offer.

  Tossing my plate and icepack on the coffee table in front me, I pulled myself to a stand and inhaled several steadying breaths through my nose before putting weight on my leg. "Ready when you are."

  Patrick smirked but didn’t say anything about my over enthusiasm.

  Reaching down, he scooped up my trophy from the couch and handed it to me – thank fuck, because if I had to crouch again I wouldn’t have been able to get back up.

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Gibsie called out over the music, noticing my attempt at leaving. "Sit your ass down there, Cap," he ordered, ploughing through the crowd towards me. "You're not going anywhere yet."

  I opened my mouth to tell him to shag off, but two of the lads from the team, Luke Casey and Robbie Mac, came barreling towards me, dragging me back down on the couch before planting themselves down on either side of me.

  I looked to Patrick who shrugged in resignation.

  We both knew we weren't getting out of here anytime soon, not when Gibsie turned the music off and announced, "I have a speech to make."

  "Sorry, Cap," Robbie Mac snickered. "But you have to hear this."

  Resisting the urge to roar from the pain searing through my lower half, I shook my head and reached for my icepack. "For fuck's sake, Gibs."

  With his championship medal still dangling around his neck, Gibsie dragged the coffee table over to the stereo and hopped up.

  With his jersey wrapped around his head like a fucking bandana, he grabbed the remote control off the unit behind him and held it to his mouth like it was his own personal microphone.

  The lads on the team threw their heads back and howled with laughter as he tapped the remote and performed a sound check.

  Bleeding eejit…

  With a shit eating grin etched on his face, Gibsie tapped his 'mic', and said, "How's it going tonight?" He glanced down at the medal resting on his chest and grinned. "We could get used to this, couldn’t we, lads!"

  A deafening burst of cheers and roars of agreement came from the room.

  "Alright boys, jaysus, no need to roar at me," he taunted. "For fuck's sake, I'm in the same room as ya!"

  His playful response drew an even louder response from the team and our friends.

  "Anyways," he chuckled, "Getting down to business, I have a little song I'd like to sing, for the special person in my life."

  Oohs and awwws came from a group of girls in the doorway.

  I rolled my eyes at how easily the pretty-boy flanker could charm them.

  Gibsie cleared his throat for added effect, and then said, "Without this special someone's magical fucking hands, I wouldn’t be standing here today with this gorgeous piece of silverware." He shook his head and pressed a hand to his heart. "Thank you, baby!"

  From the looks I was receiving from the lads, and the snickering coming from Robbie and Luke, I realized Gibsie's party piece was going to be at my expense.

  "Don’t do anything stupid!" I warned Gibsie just as he reached over and pressed a button on the stereo.

  Instantly, my shoulders locked tight with tension as the familiar sound of Dire Strait's Walk of Life began to play from the speakers.

  Immediately, I knew what was coming.

  That fucker…

  "Johnny, baby," my asshole best friend called out with feigned passion in his voice, pointing his strapped-up fingers in my direction. "This one's for you," he snickered before bursting into song, crooning along to the lyrics that had become the bane of my life since I strolled onto a pitch with these culchie assholes in sixth class.

  The lads around me all joined Gibsie in the loud, teasing chorus.

  Chairs were thrown backwards as the lads all celebrated in our victory.

  Robbie and Luke dragged me off the couch where I was then thrust into the air and held up by my teammates.

  Feely, the turncoat, was inconsolable as he laughed
his arse off at my expense.

  Oh yeah, they could laugh all they wanted now, but I was going to bury those fuckers at training on Monday.

  12

  Confession time

  Shannon

  I was finishing up the last of my homework late Sunday night when a knock on my bedroom door broke through my concentration.

  Folding my copybook, I slid it into my Math's textbook and called out, "Come in."

  My bedroom door cracked open and my brother's head popped through the crack.

  "What's up, Joe?" I asked, shoving my books back into my schoolbag.

  "I'm going to the shop," my brother announced, taking a quick glance around my room before his eyes returned to my face. "Do you want anything?"

  "Where's Aoife?"

  "In my room."

  "Is she staying over?"

  "Yeah."

  Aoife went to BCS and was in sixth year with Joey, so it wasn’t uncommon for them to stay at each other houses on a school night and head to school together.

  They were at the age where sleepovers were allowed.

  Or at least, no one ever said a word to Joey when he brought a girl home.

  There was a huge case of double standards in this house – a house that had been exceptionally quiet this weekend.

  My father was in rare form.

  He was behaving like a human.

  He even bought us all takeaway Chinese last night and passed me the remote control rather than just flinging it at me like he usually did.

  I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that my father's decision to not break up the house this weekend was because he had decided to turn over a new leaf.

  No, I had been a member of this family long enough to recognize this quiet period as the calm before the storm.

  He would erupt soon.

  He always did.

  I could only hope that I wasn’t standing in the eye of the storm when it happened.

  "Do you want something from the shop or not?" Joey asked, sounding impatient. "It's closing soon."

  I glanced at the screen of my phone to check the time. 10:45pm. "Why are you going to the shop so late?" I questioned. "What do you need that's so important?"

  Joey grinned. "Do you want me to answer that honestly?"

  "No," I groaned, fake gagging when awareness dawned on me. "Go away."

  "Night, Shan," he chuckled, closing out my door.

  "Be safe!" I called after him. "I'm too young to be an auntie!"

  My phone vibrated against my thigh, alerting me to an incoming call from Claire.

  "Hello?" I said, pressing it to my ear.

  "Hey chick-a-bee," she said happily. "What are you doing next weekend?"

  Climbing off my bed, I hurried over to my door and turned the lock.

  "Nothing," I replied. Like always. "Why?"

  "Because, my dear friend, Gerard Gibson passed his theory test on Friday morning and some demented idiot at the tax office decided to give him a provisional driver's license."

  "Really?" I laughed, thinking about Gibsie behind the wheel of a vehicle.

  "Oh yeah," Claire sighed. "I've just spent the last hour and a half trying to shove him out of my bedroom."

  "Why was he in your room?"

  "To gloat," she explained. "Shaking his little green license around like he was king of the hill."

  "What does Gibsie getting his driving license have to do with next weekend?"

  "His parents bought him a car for his birthday last week," she explained. "He wants all of us to go for a spin with him."

  My brows shot up. "Who's all of us?"

  "The usual gang," Claire replied breezily. "Me, Gerard, Hughie, Katie, Pierce, Lizzie, Patrick, Johnny, and you of course."

  My heart leapt at the sound of Johnny's name being mentioned.

  And then it rocketed even further at the prospect of spending actual time with him.

  "Why me?" I managed to ask.

  "Duh, because you're our friend," she replied.

  I shook my head. "No, Claire, I'm your friend. Yours and Lizzie's."

  "Well, Gerard told me to invite you along."

  "Why?" I strangled out. "He doesn’t know me."

  "You helped him with Brian?"

  I shook my head. "That doesn’t make us friends."

  "Well, he knows you’re my best friend," she explained. "Which means any invitations I receive automatically extend to you, too."

  "Well, he can't fit all those people in one car."

  "Then maybe you can go in Johnny's car," Claire shot back in a teasing tone. "By the way, I saw you with him on the pitch Friday, you little flirt."

  "I was not flirting with him," I practically spluttered. "He came up to me."

  "Better again," she giggled. "He was the one doing the flirting."

  "Nobody was flirting," I choked out. "We were just –"

  "You were just what?" Claire teased.

  "Talking," I filled in with a helpless shrug.

  "About what?"

  "I don’t know," I mumbled. "Just stuff, I guess?"

  "And taking pictures together," she added with a cackle. "I saw that, too."

  "Oh god." I groaned in defeat and flopped back on my pillow. "I was caught so off guard," I croaked out. "You should have heard me trying to talk to him," I added, biting down on my lip. "I got tongue tied and literally bombed my way through the entire conversation, Claire. It was completely humiliating."

  "You got tongue-tied because you like him," she pressed.

  Not bothering to deny it, I just sighed down the line.

  "Oh my god," she gasped, tone excited. "Are you finally admitting you like him?"

  I nodded and then realized she couldn’t see me.

  "I don’t think there's any point in denying it," I whispered, feeling my face burn at the thought. "I like him, Claire – I think I really like him."

  "Oh wow, Shan," Claire replied gently. "This is big for you."

  She was right.

  It was huge.

  And scary.

  Absolutely terrifying.

  "It's ridiculous," I muttered glumly. "I don’t even know him."

  "Yeah, you do," Claire argued.

  "Not well," I replied with a sigh.

  "Well," she mused. "I've never met Johnny Depp in the flesh and that hasn’t stopped me from falling madly in love with him."

  I rolled my eyes at her response. "Yeah, because that's the same thing."

  "I have his phone number, you know," Claire offered then. "I can give it to you and you could text him."

  My eyes widened. "Absolutely not."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Positive," I strangled out. "There is no way on god's green earth where I could be the type of girl who does that." Chewing on my lip, I quickly asked, "How do you have his number?"

  "Gerard is always borrowing my phone," she explained. " He is always calling Johnny when he uses my phone. Johnny's practically his Siamese twin. So, I stored Johnny's number under Call For Sex." Snickering she added, "It was so funny. Gerard was so mad with me – demanding to know who I was hooking up with and why it wasn’t him listed under that name."

  "Claire, you can't tell anyone that I like him," I blurted out, feeling panicky that I had let the cat out of the bag. "Please. Not even Lizzie and especially not Gibsie."

  "I won't, I promise," she vowed. "But if you did text him, I think you'd be pleasantly surprised," she added. "I know Lizzie told you a bunch of stuff about him, but honestly, most of it's just fabricated gossip. Johnny's not the guy all the girls at school paint him out to be."

  "Yeah," I whispered, "I've already gathered that."

  He was better.

  So much better.

  "So, will you come with us next weekend?" she asked.

  "I won't be allowed to go."

  "Come on, Shan, you can't just say no," Claire whined. "Not without asking, at least?"

  "I don’t need to ask, Claire," I croaked out. "I already know the ans
wer."

  "Then don’t ask him," she quickly said. "Just make up an excuse or something and come over to mine. We don’t even have to go with the lads."

  I sighed heavily. "Claire –"

  "We can have dinner at my house," she hurried to say. "And you know, if Johnny just happened to stop by, because of a rogue text message sent from my phone, then maybe you two could go up to my room and –"

  "Stop it," I warned her, shivering at the thought.

  Claire laughed down the line. "I'm kidding."

  "You better be," I grumbled. "Because I would die."

  "So, do you want to do that?" she asked, smothering her laughter. "Come over to mine for a takeaway and a movie? Or we could go to the cinema? Or out to eat at a restaurant? Whatever you want," she told me. "It's your choice and my treat."

  "I love you for offering," I told her, biting down on my lip to stop it from wobbling. "But you know he'll never allow it."

  Claire sighed heavily. "Shan…"

  "Don’t," I pleaded quietly. "Please don’t say anything."

  There was a long pause before she whispered, "I won't."

  I sagged in relief. "Thank you."

  "I'm here for you," was all Claire replied in a sad tone of voice. "Forever."

  13

  Creeping and winging

  Johnny

  Every day since starting at Tommen, I sat at the exact same table in the lunch hall for break.

  It was close to the door and comprised of a thirty-foot banquet table, filled with my teammates and a few of their girlfriends.

  I always sat at the end of the table, with my back to the wall, looking onto the rest of the room, where I had a crystal-clear view of everything going on around me.

  I liked it because I had space to breathe and not have girls fucking groping me and touching my back every fifteen seconds.

  Like always, Gibs and Feely sat opposite me, and Hughie sat to my right.

  The difference today was both Hughie and Feely were in detention, and Gibsie was scowling at me.

  "Could you stop staring at her for five fucking minutes and pretend to be listening to me," Gibsie hissed. "Seriously, lad." Tossing his sandwich down on the lunch table, he threw his hands up in frustration. "It's getting creepy, and you're putting me off my food."