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Devastation washed over me like a tidal wave. “Why not?”
“Because I love you too much!” he surprised me by saying. Expelling a pained breath, he dropped his head to rest on my shoulder. “Because I fucking love you, Claire Biggs.”
The three words hurt to hear because they weren’t what I needed from him in this moment, and the pain in my chest assured me that my devastated body had come to the equally devastating conclusion that these three words were all this boy would ever give me.
“I don’t understand why you act like this,” I croaked out, feeling like a masochist for pushing the same broken narrative. “I’m your best friend and instead of letting me in, you keep pushing me out.”
“Claire.”
“No. No more excuses, Gerard!” Shaking my head, I pushed at his chest and willed him to wake the hell up. “I’m right here, okay? I’m right here for you.”
“I know that.”
“Then do something!”
He didn’t.
Instead, he opened his mouth. “Claire, if you could just…”
“No. Stop!” I shook my head. “I don’t need any more of your excuses, Gerard Gibson.” Chest heaving, I stepped around him and moved for the exit. “I need your truth.”
39
Seventeen Going Under
GIBSIE
“Where in the name of God have you been?” Mam demanded when I walked into the kitchen after school. “You didn’t leave a note to say where you were going. You didn’t take your phone with you. I couldn’t call you; I couldn’t text you, nothing! I have been going out of my mind with worry!” Slamming the roast chicken she was taking out of the oven onto the kitchen island, she turned to glare at me. “Thank god for Edel Kavanagh letting me know that you were staying over at her house, because my next port of call was the Garda station.”
“My sincerest apologies, Mother,” I drawled, dropping both my schoolbag and gear bag in the corner before making a beeline for the fridge, dutifully ignoring evil cat sitting on top of the kitchen table. “It’s dreadful when your family member doesn’t tell you shit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I replied, grabbing the carton of orange juice and closing the fridge.
“Gerard Joseph Gibson,” Mam snapped, hands on her hips. “Don’t speak to me like that.”
Rolling my eyes, I unscrewed the cap and drank straight from the cartoon, my own personal nonverbal fuck you when I would never speak the words aloud.
“I saw the condition of your room,” she continued, using a tea towel to wipe a dribble of chicken grease from the counter. “Your behavior last night was completely out of order.”
“And your behavior when you didn’t give me a heads-up about that prick rocking back into town wasn’t?” I snapped, slamming the carton down on the counter. “Come on, Mam, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”
“So, because I wanted to surprise you, you decide to punish me by leaving the house and not telling me where you are? You are seventeen years old, Gerard, and until you turn eighteen next February, you are on my time, and that means no overnight trips without a phone call!”
“Punish you?” I gaped at her. “Mam, I walked through the front door last night and was blindsided!”
“Mark is family, Gerard,” Mam exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “You should be happy to see him. And Keith! He made reservations for the four of us at Spizzico’s to celebrate.” Mam glared. “Some fecking celebration it was when you refused to break bread with your brother and then stormed off for the night.”
“I should be happy?” I gaped at the woman like she had just spurted a second head. “Are you fucking with me? Mam, you know how I feel about him!” I practically roared, body trembling. “And please don’t label that piece of shit as my family. You might consider him to be yours but I sure as hell don’t consider him to be mine!”
“Is this because of the Young family?” she demanded. “Because of Lizzie? Do you plan to spend the rest of your life holding a grudge against Mark for something he didn’t do?”
“It’s not that he didn’t do it, Mam, it’s that they couldn’t prove it,” I spat back. “And you know damn well she’s not my friend anymore,” I added, feeling my chest heave from the pressure it was taking to breathe through this conversation. “Your perfect stepson took care of that.”
“Gerard, he didn’t do it,” Mam stressed, trying a different approach by closing the space between us and placing her hands on my chest. “I promise you, from the bottom of my heart, your stepbrother never harmed Caoimhe Young.”
My blood ran cold, and my entire body trembled. “Oh, you promise, do you?”
