Binding 13: Boys of Tommen #1

I was in the process of flipping my mattress off my bed when Gibsie strolled into my room, whistling to himself.

“I’ve located your phone, Kav,” he announced proudly.

“Thank Christ.” I sagged forward in relief and dropped my mattress back down on the base. “Where was it?”

“In Joey’s car.”

My brows shot up. “Joey the hurler?”

Gibsie nodded. “Apparently.”

“You dope,” I grumbled. “This is all your fault.”

“I know,” he chirped happily. “But he’s dropping it over for you.”

“Yeah?” I sighed in relief. “Fair play.”

Grabbing my duvet off the floor, I threw it back on the bed and then carefully lifted Sookie back up.

“Good girl,” I coaxed, feeling terrible for disturbing her in the first place.

“That is seriously unhygienic, Johnny,” Gibsie stated with a frown. “Letting her sleep on your bed like that?” He shuddered. “Fucking rank, lad.”

“You’re one to talk about unhygienic,” I growled, swinging around to face him. “She’s cleaner than you.” I shot him a dirty look before adding, “At least Sook doesn’t puke all over herself in her sleep and roll it into my Ma’s couch.”

“You promised you wouldn’t bring it up again,” he choked out, looking wounded. “Promise breaker.”

“Gibs,” I bit out, striving for patience. “I’m tired. I was up all night taking care of your drunk ass. I spent half the night turning you on your side so you didn’t choke yourself, and winding you like a bleeding baby, and the other half I spent mopping up your vomit. You wrecked the living room. You plastered the downstairs bathroom in puke. You almost smothered me to death with your Guinness farts when I brought you up here. Give me a few hours to get over it first before asking me not to bring it up.”

“Well, at least I hosed off all the chunks,” Gibsie replied sheepishly. “And the living room, hall and bathroom are back to their former glory.”

“Good,” I barked. “So, you should. It’s your fucking puke.”

“You made me sleep on the floor, Johnny!” he huffed. “That was mean.”

“Because you can’t be trusted with nice things.”

“Not even a bed?”

“Yes, Gerard, not even a bed.”

“Yeah, well, I’m your best friend and you put me on the floor,” he shot back with a huff. “The dog gets the foot of your bed and I get the fucking floor.”

I arched a brow. “Are you saying that you want to sleep at the foot of my bed?”

Gibsie stared back at me for several seconds before snickering. “Yeah, okay, I have no idea where I was going with that.”

“Neither do I, lad,” I muttered with a shake of my head. “Neither do I.”

“By the way,” Gibsie said with an impish grin. “I told yer man Joey that I’d make him a fry for his troubles.”

“Fine. Just keep it tidy. My Ma will be back in the morning,” I replied, too weary to contemplate the terrible idea it was to have Joey Lynch in my house when he was clearly skeptical of my intentions towards his sister.

And rightly so…

Gibsie looked at me expectantly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I told him. “You know where the kitchen is. I’m not fucking cooking for you.”

“I’m not used to gas.” Gibsie shrugged helplessly. “We have electric at home.”

“Your mother is a baker,” I snapped. “How do you not know how to work a bleeding stove?”

“And yours is a flashy fashion designer,” he shot back. “But I don’t see you prancing around the place in fur coats and Prada handbags.”

“You’re a baby, do you know that?” I growled. “You’re like an oversized infant I’ve been given custody of to care for.”

Stomping past him, I trudged downstairs to the kitchen.

“Get the pan out – and whatever it is you’re planning on making,” I ordered. “And I’m not cooking it for you,” I grumbled as I stamped over to the stove and switched on the gas. “You’re more than capable of doing it for yourself.”

“Let’s hope so,” Gibsie chuckled, shuffling towards me with his arms full of pork product and a tray of eggs.

“Think you can manage without burning the house down?” I quipped as I stepped away from the stove.

“Pretty sure,” Gibsie replied as he set to work, leaning precariously close to the naked flame.

I eyed him warily, unconvinced. “Don’t burn yourself.”

“Okay, Dad,” he mocked before asking, “Do you have scones?” Turning to face me, he added, “I’d love one of your Mam’s scones with my tea.”

I shook my head and held my tongue, deciding to just let the crazy float over my head. “There might be a batch in the freezer – you’ll have to heat them up in the oven first.”

“I know that,” he scoffed.

“Do you?” I muttered under my breath.

He was a liability.

A big, dopey, loyal as they came, liability.

“Did I ever tell you about the time your girl saved me from Brian?” Gibsie asked while he cracked an egg over the pan, distracting me from my thoughts.

“Brian?” I questioned, thinking about Mrs. Gibson’s evil bastard of a cat. “Shannon saved you from Brian?”

“She sure did,” he mused. Grabbing a spatula off the rack, he swung it around in his hand as he spoke. “I love how you don’t even deny she’s yours anymore, lad.”

“Fuck off,” I grumbled. Curiosity got the better of me then, and I perched my ass on a stool at the island and looked at him. “Tell me.”

Gibsie chuckled at my response.

“It was the day of my birthday last month,” he explained, tossing half a dozen sausages into the sizzling grease. “I’d taken Brian for a walk over to Hughie’s – you know how he gets when he’s left alone too long.”

“Yeah.” I nodded, not batting an eyelid at this information.

There had been at least nine occasions over the last eighteen months when he had arrived at my house with the Inspector Gadget lookalike cat.

“He lost it, lad,” he said. “Went batshit crazy. Broke off his lead and made for the bathroom. Took a dump in the tub.”

“Like his owner,” I quipped.

“My mother has never taken a shit in anyone’s bathtub,” Gibsie snarled.

“Not your Ma,” I retorted. “You.”

Gibsie frowned and tilted his head to the side, clearly racking his brain for the memory.

I decided to help him out. “Away game against that school in Tipperary back in third year?”

Recognition dawned on his features.

“Oh, yeah,” he snickered. “That wasn’t a bath. That was a shower stall in their school changing rooms and those bastards deserved it. And in my defense, I was only fourteen.”

“In Brian’s defense, he’s only a cat,” I shot back.

“That fucker knows exactly what he’s doing,” Gibsie grumbled. “Anyway, he destroyed the gaff, Johnny, and went for us when we tried to pick him up. Shannon just walked right in and scooped the furry little fucker up and walked him home. And do you know what he did to her? He purred. He was in his bloody element, lad. Delighted with life being curled up to her.”

Lucky Brian.

“Why am I only hearing about this now?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral.

“Sorry,” Gibsie snickered. “I wasn’t aware I had to run it by you every time I talk to the girl.”

“You don’t,” I muttered. “I just –”

The sound of banging on the front door filled my ears moments before a door closing filled the air.

“Kavanagh?” a deep voice called out.

“Come on up!” Gibsie called out, replying for me. Turning to face me, he winked and said, “Best behavior, lad. Big brother’s here.”

Brilliant.

Fucking perfect.

“Jesus Christ,” Joey Lynch stated when we stepped into the kitchen a few moments later with my phone in his hand and sporting a b

eauty of a shiner under his right eye that I had been too drunk to notice last night.

In the clear light of day, I found myself sizing up this guy.

He was tall, but I had a good three inches on him, like I had on most lads our age.

He was obviously in good shape, too, but it was that typical hurler physique with lean, cut muscle, built for agility and speed, rather than packing any serious muscle.

“You should have a tour guide at the front door,” he added, looking around my kitchen before settling his gaze on me. “This house is like a museum.”

“That it is,” Gibsie snickered. “It’s a manor.”

Pushing off the stool, I closed the space between us and greeted him.

“Thanks for this,” I said, taking my phone from him. “Appreciate you driving all the way over with it.”

“Yeah, well, King Clit was very persuasive,” he shot back with a smirk. Turning his gaze on Gibsie, he arched an expectant brow. “How’s my food coming along, chef?”

“Faster than a whore at a brothel, good sir,” Gibsie called back over his shoulder. “Egg?”

“Lad,” Joey mused, sauntering over to where Gibsie was ducking and dodging splatters of grease. “Are you old enough to use the cooker without your mammy?”

Christ this fella had some pair of stones sauntering into my house and demanding food.

Oddly enough, I liked it.

Joey Lynch seemed like a straight shooter.

I respected that in a person.

“I doubt it,” Gibsie replied with a laugh. “It’s my first time.”

Gibsie fiddled with the knobs on the stove and a huge flame flew upwards, singeing his eyebrow.

“Jesus Christ!” Gibsie roared, slapping his face. “I’m on fire.”

“Give me that thing before you hurt yourself,” Joey ordered, snatching the spatula out of Gibsie’s hand, and stepping in to flip over the rashers and eggs.

Adjusting the hob to medium heat, Joey snagged the tea towel off my best friend’s shoulder and began to mop up the grease splatters.

“Fucking private school boys,” he muttered under his breath. “Used to having everything done for ye.”

“Shit, Kav,” Gibsie snickered, taking a step back from the stove. “I was wrong. This fucker right here is the daddy.”

“Do me a favor, Kav,” Joey called over his shoulder. “Go and check on my sister, will ya?”

My heart leapt in my chest. “Shannon?”

Joey nodded and reached for a plate off the countertop. Shoveling several pieces of bacon onto the plate, he added, “She’s out in the car.”

“Why would you leave her in the car?” I demanded, tone tight. “It’s freezing outside.”

“Because she wouldn’t come in for me,” Joey shot back in what sounded like a ‘duh’ tone. “You can try and get her to come inside yourself if you want, but she’s not budging.”

He didn’t need to ask me twice.

Or give me permission once, for that matter.

I was already on my feet and moving for the front door.