SEEKING 7 | boys of tommen

f a m i l y

"Where in the name of God have you been?" Mam demanded the moment I stepped into the kitchen after school. She didn't even look at me at first, her focus on the roast chicken she was yanking out of the oven, but the frustration in her voice was impossible to miss. "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!"

She slammed the roasting pan onto the kitchen island with more force than necessary, sending a loud thud reverberating through the room. Then she turned, her eyes sharp with anger, and fixed me with a furious glare. "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!"

I dropped both my school bag and gear bag in the corner of the room, trying to keep my expression neutral as I headed straight for the fridge. "My sincerest apologies, Mother," I drawled, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. "It's dreadful when your family member doesn't tell you shit."

"Excuse me?" Her voice was tight, every word dripping with warning.

"You heard me," I replied, grabbing the carton of orange juice from the fridge, barely registering the fact that the evil cat was still sitting on top of the kitchen table, staring me down like it had every right to judge. I ignored it, slamming the fridge door shut behind me.

"Gerard Joseph Gibson," Mam snapped, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her eyes. "Don't speak to me like that."

Rolling my eyes, I unscrewed the cap of the juice and drank straight from the carton, fully aware of the silent message I was sending her—a deliberate, passive-aggressive fuck you.I knew I couldn't say it out loud, but this was as close as I could get.

"I saw the condition of your room," she continued, her voice calmer but no less tense. She grabbed a tea towel and wiped away a dribble of chicken grease that had spilled onto the counter. "Your behavior last night was completely out of order, and storming off to Edel's without a word was beyond irresponsible."

"Oh, my behavior was out of order?" I set the juice carton down harder than I intended. "And your behavior when you didn't give me a heads-up about that prick rocking back into town wasn't?"

Her face hardened as she turned to face me again. "Come on, Mam, what's good for the goose is good for the gander."

Mam's eyes flashed. "So, because I wanted to surprise you, you decide to punish me by leaving the house and not telling me where you are?" She shook her head, clearly not impressed by my tone. "You're seventeen, Gerard, and until you turn eighteen next February, you're on my time. That means no overnight trips without a phone call, do you understand?"

"Punish you?" I gaped at her, incredulous. "Mam, I walked through the front door last night and was blindsided."

"Blindsided? Mark is family, Gerard!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up like I was being completely unreasonable. "You should be happy to see him. He wanted to reconnect, and Keith—he made reservations for the four of us at Spizzico's to celebrate. Some fecking celebration that was when you refused to break bread with your brother and then stormed off for the night!"

"Happy?" I repeated, my voice rising. "Are you fucking with me, Mam? You know how I feel about him!" My body trembled, fury rising in my chest, threatening to spill over. "And please don't label that piece of shit as my family. He might be yours, but I sure as hell don't consider him mine."

Her eyes widened slightly at my words, but she didn't back down. "Is this about the Young family?" she asked, her voice suddenly sharper, defensive. "Because of Lizzie? Are you planning 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, the anger boiling over now. "And you know damn well that she's not my friend anymore. Your precious stepson took care of that."

Mam's face softened for just a moment, like she was about to try a different tactic. "Gerard, he didn't do it," she said quietly, stepping closer to me. "I promise you, from the bottom of my heart, your stepbrother never harmed Caoimhe Young."

My stomach twisted violently. "Oh, you promise,do you?" My voice cracked, the fury mixing with disbelief.

"Yes," she nodded, her voice gentle, like she was trying to soothe me. "It was a vicious, nasty rumor spread by people who took the word of a grieving mother who misunderstood her child's suicide note."

"You don't know that, Mam," I choked out, my chest heaving with the effort it took to keep from breaking down completely. "You can't know that."

"I do know that," she insisted, her voice steady as she placed her hands on my chest, looking up at me with pleading eyes. "The Gardaí proved that Mark was innocent. I even read the note Caoimhe left behind. Catherine Young was mistaken, love." She cupped my face in her hands, offering me a watery smile. "Not only is Mark innocent, but he's family, and we look after our own."

I stared at her, the words swirling in my head, making me feel nauseous. "Family,"I repeated, my voice hollow. "Family who tears people's lives apart and walks away untouched."

"Gerard, I'm not wrong," Mam said firmly, pulling back and returning to her roast chicken, as if that settled everything. "That's all there is to it."

I stood there, frozen, watching as she tended to the food like we hadn't just torn each other apart. My hands trembled at my sides, a mixture of disbelief and betrayal weighing me down.

"You've never doubted him, have you?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

"No," she answered without hesitation.

"And you're not even willing to consider that you might be wrong?"

"No," she said again, turning to look at me. "I'm not wrong, Gerard."

I shook my head, disgust twisting in my gut. "I'm not doing it," I said, my voice low but resolute. "I'm not playing happy families with him. I won't do it."

"Gerard—"

But I didn't wait for her to finish. Shaking my head, I turned on my heels and walked out of the kitchen, my heart pounding. There was no point in continuing the conversation. She would never see what I saw, and I couldn't force her to.