・・・・・ ・・・・・ ・・・・・ ・・・・・ 【 𝗽𝗮𝗽𝗲𝗿 𝗰𝘂𝘁𝘀】 𝕺𝕮 ᥊ 𝕷іzzіᥱ 𝖄᥆ᥙᥒg     ❝𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯' 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯' 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦     𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦     𝘐 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯'𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘪𝘯' 𝘪𝘵     𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵 ❞

Brielle is the beloved daughter of the town's Pastor. The perfect church girl. The angel child. To the world. River is the prince of Ashbourne. The devious bastard. The devil himself. To everyone. Once upon a time, the two were childhood best friends. That friendship morphed into hatred. And now... Now the two are destined to be married. At the end of the month. Money brings power. And power is what both families want. Regardless of what Brielle and River want, they will be married. And that's a promise and a threat, both. . . . . . ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Tadhg Lynch is the third youngest Lynch sibling, and is trying to make it through his years of Tommen without being recognized as Joey Lynch, Shannon Lynch, and Johnny Kavanagh's little brother. He wants to make a name for himself, but that's difficult when you're constantly living under the shadow of the legacies before you. Now in his fourth year and with a reputation as the school troublemaker, Tadhg is learning that life can be lived even when you are dubbed as the "little brother," and that some things and people can know him for him. Leah Daly just moved to Cork, Ireland from America, and it's safe to say that she isn't too happy about uprooting her life in the middle of high school. Angry about her parents' sudden divorce, and being picked up with her dad to live in the middle of nowhere, Leah is dropped off to start her sophomore year, or fourth year as Ireland calls it, at Tommen College. Full of pretentious rugby stars and trust fund kids, Leah runs into Tadhg, who automatically intrigues her. What happens when the troublemaking screw up, and the angry teenage girl cross paths and find their worlds forever altered?

Joey Lynch doesn't have time for Tommen girls. Not when he's got four younger siblings hanging off him, a father who treats his face like a punching bag, and a dealer waiting for his money. His school uniform smells like smoke, his knuckles are always split, and he's got a short fuse and a long list of people he doesn't like. Life's a grind, home's a warzone, and feelings? Not on the menu. Then she opens her mouth. Preslee O'Connor. Tommen royalty. Rich girl. Sharp-tongued, well-dressed, drunk off her arse and stumbling outside Biddie's bar like she owns the street. He should ignore her. He wants to. But then she talks. And she's smug. And rude. And annoying as f*ck. And now he's stuck with a walking headache in lip gloss and designer boots. She thinks he's scum. He thinks she's a spoiled brat. They're both right. They fight like it's foreplay. They argue like it's oxygen. And somewhere between the insults, the eye rolls, and the 'accidental' run-ins, something starts to shift. Something dangerous. Something real. But this isn't some sweet, enemies-to-lovers, kiss-in-the-rain bullshit. This is secret glances in crowded hallways. Swearing across pub carparks. Biting, bleeding, pretending you don't care when you do. It's everything messy, unspoken, and off-limits. Because Joey Lynch doesn't get good things. And Preslee O'Connor was never supposed to look his way. Too bad neither of them knows how to quit.

Everyone remembers the Lynch fire. Everyone remembers the bodies carried out. But no one remembers the boy left standing in the middle of it all. Tadhg Lynch isn't the golden Lynch boy. He isn't the baby who got shielded from the worst, or the oldest who carved a new life with a family of his own. He's the one in between. The one who saw everything, took the blows meant for his younger brothers, and carried scars no one wanted to look too closely at. Brave. Bold. Mouthy. A joker when he can manage it. And broken enough that nothing ever really sticks. Bethany Gibson is the girl who shouldn't have lived. She was three when the water took her under, when her father gave his life to save hers. She grew up in the shadow of grief, wrapped in the protection of a brother who bled for her in ways she only half understands. Sweet, funny, too kind for her own good-Bethany knows what it is to survive, but not yet what it means to live. When Bethany collides with Tadhg at Tommen, it's fire meeting oxygen-sharp words, sharp looks, a pull neither of them can shake. He's crude, cruel with his jokes, too much for anyone to handle. She's soft where he's jagged, sunshine where he's ash. He calls her Barbie. She calls him an arsehole. And somewhere between the laughs and the fights, they start to see the cracks in each other. But fixing what's shattered isn't simple. Not when trauma festers. Not when grief never loosens its grip. Not when love means putting your hands into the fire all over again. Funny. Raw. Heartbreaking. Fixing 9 is a story about the girl who wouldn't stop caring, the boy who didn't know how to be cared for, and the brutal, beautiful mess of trying to save each other when the world already tried to burn or drown you alive.

Rory Kavanagh. My brother's best friend. The fella who's been in and out of our house since we were barely out of nappies-boots on the floor, toast crumbs everywhere, laughing loud enough to shake the walls. He's always just been Rory. Tyler's mate. Part of the furniture. When we were younger, I used to tag along after them like a shadow, thinking he was only half-human, half-superhero. Never thought much of it. But then I blinked, and we weren't kids anymore. He grew taller, broader, nicer somehow. And suddenly I was seeing him differently. Like, dangerously differently. Now I'm tutoring him-me, the nerdy one-trying to keep him from flunking his exams. Every week it's just us at his kitchen table, his notes ignored, him grinning across at me like he's in on some secret I'm too afraid to name. He's still Tyler's best friend. Still the one I shouldn't even be thinking about. Right? ...Right? ***** Tanna Biggs. Jaysus, she's something else. Always has been. Sweet, quiet, clever as anything. Used to follow me and Tyler around asking a thousand questions, and I'd roll my eyes, but truth be told, I never minded. She's grown up now though. And she's class. Proper gorgeous-the type of girl who doesn't even realise she is. Hair like sunlight, brown eyes that make you forget your own name, freckles she pretends to hate but I swear could start wars. She's small, soft-spoken, but she's sharper than anyone I know. She's meant to be helping me study, but half the time I've no idea what she's saying. I'm too busy watching her laugh, pushing her glasses up her nose, biting her lip when she's concentrating. I keep telling myself to cop on. She's my best friend's little sister. Off-limits. But every time she looks at me with those eyes, all shy and sure at once, I can't help thinking- maybe some rules are meant to be broken.