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“Yes,” she urged, nodding her head eagerly. “It was a vicious, nasty rumor spread by people who took the word of a grieving woman who misunderstood her child’s suicide note.”
“You don’t know that, Mam,” I choked out, trembling. “You can’t know that.”
“I do know that, Gerard.” She tried to soothe as she reached up and stroked my face. “I do, love. Mark was completely innocent. The Gardaí proved that. And before you say anything else, I saw a copy of the note Caoimhe left her mother. I read the words. Catherine Young was mistaken, love. There was no rape to her daughter.” Tears filled her eyes when she cupped my cheeks in her hands and offered me a watery smile. “Not only is Mark innocent, but he’s family, love, and we look after our own.”
“So, that’s it?” I deadpanned. “According to you, Mark’s innocent, the Young family is mistaken, and that’s all there is to it?”
“Yes, love.” With a nod of affirmation, Mam stroked my cheek once more before returning to her roast chicken. “That’s all there is to it.”
Motionless, I stood in the kitchen, watching as my mother tended to her roast chicken, and I never felt less hungry.
“So, you’ve never doubted him?” I challenged. “You’re not even willing to consider that you might be wrong?”
“No.”
“No?” I shook my head in disgust. “No to which question?”
“No, I’ve never doubted Mark,” she replied firmly. “And no, I’m not willing to consider I might be wrong because I’m not wrong.”
Well then.
“I’m not doing it,” I heard myself say, body rigid. “Playing happy families with him?” I shook my head. “I won’t do it, Mam.”
“Gerard…”
Shaking my head, I turned on my heels and walked out of the kitchen, both unwilling and unable to continue this conversation.
There was no point because we were never going to agree on this.
Because my mother was unwilling to entertain a different scenario.
She wasn’t willing to believe the truth.
40
Call My Bluff
CLAIRE
It was late October, three whole weeks had passed since the incident with Lizzie, and Gerard was back to his usual playful self.
Sitting in the lunch hall during big break the day of Halloween break, he casually draped his arm around me while he laughed and joked with our friends.
He was just as lovable as always, full of warm affection and flirty banter, but it wasn’t real. It wasn’t him.
I knew it was a front, his way of coping with stress, but the rest of the world found it hilarious, and the more they laughed, the more he performed for them, despite what it cost him.
Meanwhile, I slapped on a smile for the outside world, while stewing on the inside. Too immersed in my internal reeling to participate in the conversation unfolding around me, I leaned back in my chair and studied the chipped pink nail polish I had on instead.
Most of my frustration could be pinpointed to two areas. First, I was frustrated by Gerard’s uncanny ability to pretend like lines hadn’t been crossed between us when they clearly had. And second, I seemed to be even more frustrated by the fact that I desperately wanted to cross those lines again, while he showed zero interest.
Not only had he given me the first and best orgasm of my life, but he was pretending like it never happened.
I couldn’t understand it. Because, in all honesty, if the shoe was on the other foot and I had the ability to do what that boy had done with his fingers and thumb, I knew I would be bragging from the rooftops about how epic my magic fingers were. Because dear lord, his fingers were masterful.
While Gerard tossed banter back and forth with his teammates, he traced his fingers innocently against my arm. The memory of just how worldly those fingers could be caused my face to flood with heat.
“What’s wrong?” Hugh demanded, spooking me out with that freakish telepathic brotherly bond thing he could do. Even though we were twenty-two months in age apart, I swear my brother had the ability to sense my moods. “Claire?”
