Tommen Party

Kian

Mallory Lynch had finally stopped acting like I was a disease she didn't want to catch.

It wasn't a big deal. Not really.

Except it was.

I wasn't used to people like her looking at me the way she had today—like I wasn't just some waste of space, like I wasn't just my last name, like I wasn't just the son of Shane Holland.

I should've felt stupid for grinning to myself in the locker room, but I didn't care.

For the first time in forever, something was actually good.

It had started in English when she didn't brush me off. She laughed at my jokes, leaned in when I spoke, and didn't seem to mind when I walked with her to our next class.

She even smiled at me—properly—not the forced, polite kind, but the real kind that reached her eyes.

And that? That was enough to make my whole day better.

I knew better than to get ahead of myself. The Lynches weren't exactly lining up to welcome me into their circle.

But at least Mallory wasn't pushing me away anymore.

And for now, that was enough.

The good mood didn't last.

I should've known better. Should've known that anything good in my life never lasted long.

It started when I got home. The house was quiet—too quiet. Mam was curled up on the couch, looking pale and exhausted. She barely lifted her head when I walked in.

"Did you eat today?" I asked, dropping my bag by the door.

She waved a hand weakly. "Not hungry."

I sighed, heading to the kitchen. The fridge was nearly empty, the shelves barely better. I found some bread and stuck two slices in the toaster.

"How was school?" Mam asked, her voice hoarse.

"Fine," I said, watching the toaster.

She didn't push. She never did.

I should've been relieved, but instead, guilt settled in my stomach. I could tell she was worse than usual, and I knew why.

Another baby.

Another kid to be born into this.

Another kid I wouldn't be able to protect.

The front door slammed, and my whole body tensed before I even saw him. Dad stormed in, already halfway to the kitchen, his boots tracking mud across the floor.

I clenched my jaw, knowing exactly what was coming next.

"You just stand there while your mother starves?" he sneered, yanking the toaster's plug from the wall.

I exhaled slowly. "She said she wasn't hungry."

Shane scoffed, shaking his head. "Of course she's not, with a useless son like you who can't even put food on the table."

I glanced toward Mam, but she wasn't looking at me. Just staring at the blank TV screen, her hands curled into the blanket draped over her lap.

Shane stepped closer. "What, you got nothin' to say?"

I said nothing.

Didn't flinch. Didn't move.

Because I knew how this went.

He wanted a reaction.

And I wasn't gonna give him one.

I kept my mouth shut, kept my hands steady, kept my breathing even. If I gave him nothing, maybe he'd get bored. Maybe he'd move on.

But Shane wasn't the type to just let things go.

He shoved me hard in the chest. "You deaf, boy?"

I stumbled back a step but didn't react. Didn't meet his eyes.

"Maybe if you weren't wastin' your time at that garage, you'd be bringing home real money," he spat. "Instead, you're letting that Lynch bastard turn you into his little charity case."

I gritted my teeth. Don't react.

"Pathetic," he muttered, shaking his head like I was the biggest disappointment he'd ever seen.

I wanted to tell him to go to hell. Wanted to tell him that Joey Lynch had done more for me in the past few weeks than he had in my entire life. That he didn't get to talk about Joey like that.

But I didn't.

Because I was smarter than that.

Because I knew what would happen if I did.

Shane exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly looking for a fight. His hand twitched, like he was debating whether to take a swing or not.

Instead, he turned to Mam. "You need to get that boy in line, Ciara," he said, his voice thick with disgust.

Mam flinched. She still wouldn't look at me.

Shane grabbed a beer from the counter, cracking it open with one hand as he turned back to me.

"You better not forget where you come from, kid."

Then he walked off, leaving muddy footprints across the floor as he went.

I let out a slow breath, my muscles still locked tight.

Mam shifted slightly on the couch, curling further into herself.

I ran a hand through my hair, forcing myself to calm down before speaking.

"You should eat something," I said quietly.

She just nodded, still not looking at me.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat and grabbed the bread off the counter, making her another slice of toast. I set it on the coffee table beside her tea, even though I knew she probably wouldn't touch it.

Then I turned and walked out the door.

I needed air. I needed space.

And for the first time in a long time, I knew exactly where I wanted to go.

The walk to the garage was automatic. I didn't think about it, just let my feet carry me. I needed to be somewhere else, somewhere that wasn't home. Somewhere I could just exist without looking over my shoulder.

But when I got there, the lights were already off inside, and Joey was locking up.

He looked up as I approached, frowning slightly. "You alright, kid?"

I shoved my hands in my pockets, shifting on my feet. "Thought I'd get some extra hours in."

Joey studied me for a second, his gaze flicking over me in that way that made me feel like he could see more than I wanted him to.

"I'm closing up early tonight," he said, jingling the keys in his hand. "The wife's got everyone over for dinner."

I nodded, trying not to let the disappointment show on my face. I hadn't even realized how much I'd wanted to be here until now.

"You eaten?" he asked.

I hesitated a second too long.

Joey sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Come on, I'll drop you home," he said, already walking toward his car.

I stiffened. "Nah, it's grand. I'll walk."

He stopped and turned back to me, frowning again. "Kian."

There was something about the way he said my name—firm but not unkind—that made my chest tighten.

"You need a lift or not?"

I shook my head quickly. "I'm good."

Joey studied me again, like he didn't quite believe me, but after a long pause, he nodded.

"Alright. Get some rest, yeah?"

I forced a smirk. "You sound like an auld fella."

Joey snorted. "And you sound like a gobshite."

The corner of my mouth twitched, but I didn't reply.

He gave me one last look before heading to his car. I stood there until he pulled out onto the road and disappeared.

Then I turned and started walking, the weight in my chest heavier than before.

I didn't want to go home again, I couldn't. Going back there meant drowning, suffocating, dying. Being at the garage made me feel safe, like I had somewhere to belong. With it being shut so early I only had one thing to do.

Deal.

Sell.

Anything to get my mind off whatever the fuck was going on at home.

A few Tommen kids were throwing a party and where better to sell than to snotty rich kids with daddy's money to spend?

I kept my hood up as I walked, hands shoved deep in my pockets. The thought of going home made my stomach twist, so I pushed it aside. I had better things to do.

Selling at a Tommen party was easy money. Rich kids liked to play pretend, dipping their toes into things they didn't understand, and they never questioned prices. Half of them wouldn't even remember what they spent in the morning.

The party was in some massive gaff outside town, a gated driveway and a garden bigger than my whole estate. I could hear the music from halfway down the road, bass thumping through the air.

I slipped in without a problem—people were too drunk or high to notice me. Inside, it was packed. Bodies pressed against each other, bottles in hands, laughter and shouting mixing with the music.

It didn't take long to find customers. A few rugby lads I'd sold to before pulled me aside, cash already in hand.

"Got anything stronger tonight?" one of them, a tall lad with floppy brown hair, asked.

I smirked, pulling a small baggie from my pocket. "Depends how much you're willing to spend."

He grinned, shoving a few extra notes at me. Easy.

I kept moving, weaving through the crowd, making deals like it was second nature. It was.

But as I headed toward the kitchen, something made me stop in my tracks.

Mallory.

She was there, across the room, laughing with her friends. She looked different outside of school—more relaxed, more...something. The way she threw her head back when she laughed, the way her hair fell over her shoulders, the way her eyes sparkled under the dim lights—I hated how much I noticed.

I knew I should walk away, keep my head down, but my feet wouldn't move.

And then, like she could feel me watching, her gaze snapped to mine.

Her smile faltered for half a second before she tilted her head, like she was trying to figure out why the hell I was here.

I winked.

She rolled her eyes, but I didn't miss the way the corner of her mouth twitched, like she was fighting a smile.

I was about to turn away when I noticed someone beside her—some lad I recognised, standing too close, leaning in to say something in her ear.

Something ugly curled in my stomach. I knew that move. I'd used it myself plenty of times.

Before I could stop myself, I started walking toward her.

Charlie Sullivan.

I recognized him straight away—one of Aiden Rice's little lapdogs. A cocky prick with too much money and too little sense.

And right now, he had his arm wrapped around Mallory's waist.

I didn't like it.

I didn't know why it pissed me off so much, but it did. Maybe it was because I knew his type—lads like him thought they could have anything they wanted just because they had the right name, the right connections. Or maybe it was because of the way Mallory stiffened slightly before forcing a smile, like she didn't actually want him touching her but didn't want to make a scene.

Either way, I wasn't having it.

I pushed through the crowd, straight toward them.

"Didn't think this was your scene, princess," I said, smirking as I stopped beside her.

Mallory turned, eyes narrowing, but I didn't miss the relief that flashed across her face. "Didn't think it was yours either."

Charlie's grip tightened slightly. "You know this lad, Mal?"

Mal. The nickname made my jaw clench.

"Yeah," she said, tilting her head. "We sit together in English."

Charlie eyed me, his smirk growing. "Right. The garage kid, yeah? Heard Joey took you in."

I smiled, but it wasn't a nice one. "Something like that."

Charlie chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. "Didn't think this was your kind of place, mate. You looking for a real job? I'm sure my da could find something for you—maybe cleaning his golf clubs or something."

His mates laughed.

I kept my face neutral, but I wanted to knock the smug look right off his face.

Instead, I turned to Mallory. "You good?"

She hesitated for a second, then nodded. "Yeah."

But I wasn't convinced.

Charlie noticed too, because he pulled her closer. "Course she's good," he said, grinning. "Aren't you, Mal?"

She forced another smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

That was enough for me.

I took a step closer, lowering my voice. "If you don't want his hands on you, just say the word."

Mallory's breath hitched slightly. Charlie didn't seem to notice.

I did.

She glanced at me, something flickering in her eyes—something uncertain, something unreadable.

Then she exhaled sharply, untangling herself from Charlie's grip. "I need a drink," she muttered, stepping away.

Charlie blinked. "What?"

"I said I need a drink," she repeated, already walking toward the kitchen.

I smirked, watching Charlie's expression shift.

He didn't like being dismissed. Too bad.

I followed Mallory without another word.

I caught up to Mallory in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as she poured herself a drink.

"Subtle," I said, watching her.

She rolled her eyes. "Would you rather I made a scene?"

"Depends." I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "Did you actually want his hands on you?"

She didn't answer straight away, just swirled the drink in her cup. Then, finally, she sighed. "Charlie's... persistent."

I scoffed. "Yeah, I got that."

She looked up at me then, her expression unreadable. "Why do you care?"

Good question.

I didn't have an answer.

Or maybe I did—I just didn't want to admit it.

I shrugged instead. "Maybe I just don't like seeing you let some rich prick think he owns you."

She blinked. "Owns me?"

I stepped closer, close enough that she had to tilt her head to meet my eyes. "You know what I mean."

Her lips parted slightly, but before she could say anything, someone else entered the kitchen.

"Hey, there you are!"

We both turned as Charlie strolled in like he owned the place. His smirk was back, but this time, his eyes flicked between me and Mallory like he was sizing up the situation.

Mallory tensed beside me.

I straightened up, facing him fully. "What do you want?"

Charlie chuckled. "Relax, mate. Just making sure Mal's alright."

"I'm fine," she said quickly, but there was something forced in her tone.

Charlie ignored her. "Didn't realize you two were so close," he mused, eyes still on me.

"We're not," Mallory said at the same time I said, "We are."

Her head snapped toward me. Charlie raised an eyebrow.

Interesting.

"Well," Charlie said, stepping forward, "if you're not, then I don't see the issue with us getting out of here, do you?"

He was talking to her, but he was looking at me. Testing me.

Mallory hesitated.

And that was all it took for me to decide.

I slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her against me.

Charlie's smirk dropped.

"Sorry, mate," I said easily, my lips twitching. "She's taken."

Mallory sucked in a sharp breath.

Charlie's jaw tightened. "By who?"

I smiled. "Me."

Mallory tensed, but she didn't pull away.

And just like that, I won.