Sweeper

by Amy Daws

  I reach down to grab the hem of his shirt and feel the loss of him as he pulls away, breathless with eyes hooded. He struggles for a moment before finally saying, “I didn’t come here for that tonight.”

  “I know,” I reply with a smile and move in to kiss him again.

  “Seriously.” He pulls back, shaking his head firmly. “I came here to be a friend, Daphney. Please, let me.”

  I frown back at him, confused, frustrated, and a little touched. Biting my lip, I nod slowly and back off, pulling my robe tightly around my chest. “Okay.”

  Zander smiles softly as he reaches over and rubs his thumb along my jaw. His eyes dip to my lips, and I swear I see regret in his eyes as he leans in and kisses my cheek gently. He lingers for a moment before pulling back and stretching his arms. “Let’s watch a chick flick or something. You have any popcorn in this joint?”

  The laughter that bubbles up my throat relaxes my entire body. “I think I can scrounge up some snacks.”

  “Great,” he says, grabbing the remote off the coffee table. “You look for the snacks, and I’ll find us a movie.”

  “Okay then,” I reply, the giddiness in my voice painfully obvious as I slip off the sofa and make my way into the kitchen.

  Zander Williams continues to surprise me, and if I don’t watch it, he’s going to burrow his way into my heart whether I like it or not.

  Zander

  There’s a knot in my stomach when I load the bus early Saturday morning for our match in Southampton. I spot Link and Knight in the back and make my way over to them.

  “You look exhausted,” Link says, hitting my fist with his as I toss my backpack into the open seat by the window.

  “Thanks,” I mumble, shaking my head and sitting in the aisle seat directly across from them. “I slept like shit last night.”

  “Why?” Knight asks, leaning back from his row. “Are you anxious about today? You killed it last week. You should still be riding that high.”

  I hesitate for a moment before reaching into my bag and pulling out a large envelope. “I got this in the mail yesterday.”

  “Shit,” Link curses, staring at the envelope in my hands. He pitches his voice low as he whispers, “Are those the DNA results?”

  I nod slowly. “Yeah, and I haven’t opened them yet.”

  “Why not?” Link inquires.

  “Because I don’t want to fuck up my game today,” I reply honestly.

  The truth is, I’ve been playing really well the past few weeks. In matches, in training. I’m laser-focused and killing it. And when I’m not doing the plethora of soccer-related things I have to do, I’m with Daphney. This past week after she confided in me about her ex, we started hanging out more. The other night, I even sat in the pub and read until she was done with work. We’re developing a real friendship. I can’t say the friendship is better than the sex, because the sex is fucking exceptional, but it’s been freeing to spend time with someone who isn’t completely focused on soccer. Daphney is a much-needed break from the real world, which is why I was so annoyed when the envelope showed up in my mailbox. It popped this really nice bubble I’ve been living in.

  I lick my lips and add, “I might wait until Monday to open it. I’m going to this wedding with Daphney on Sunday, and the whole Harris crew will be there. If it turns out to be a match, there’s no way I’ll be able to act normal around them.”

  “That’s probably wise,” Knight says, watching me carefully. “You’ll have a lot to deal with if it’s a match.”

  “But it’s probably not going to be…so all this waiting will be for nothing.” I force a smile I don’t altogether feel as I shove the envelope back into my bag and attempt to push it out of my thoughts.

  There is no need to freak out. The contents of this envelope are only going to tell me whether or not my parents lied to me my entire life. Just another Saturday, right?

  I pull my hood up to avoid the prying eyes of my two teammates. Now is not the time to be thinking about this. I have a match to focus on.

  Daphney

  “He sent me flowers for Valentine’s Day,” I whisper quietly into my mobile as I lean across the sink in my loo to apply my mascara.

  “What?” Phoebe squeals excitedly. “Valentine’s Day was nearly a week ago. Why the bloody hell am I finding out about this now?”

  I bite my lip nervously. “Because I wanted to see how the rest of the week was going to go before I told you.”

  “And?” Phoebe barks, clearly impatient for my next words.

  “Well, it was an extraordinarily ordinary week.”

  “What does that mean?”

  I pause my makeup application to focus on everything I’m about to unload on my best friend. I’m due at the venue in an hour for Santino and Tilly’s wedding, and I still don’t know what dress I’m wearing, but this sort of girl talk must be prioritized.

  “It means we hung out,” I state, turning on my heel and leaning against the counter in nothing but my bra and knickers. “Like, we didn’t just have sex like normal. I mean, we did. My God, he did this thing with me the other night, and I swear I peed the bed.”

  “Been there,” Phoebe laughs. “Only I really did wee the bed.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Well, there was some liquid substance. No telling what it was, and I certainly wasn’t about to investigate.”

  I laugh at that very on-brand response from Phoebe. “But besides the shagging, we spent a lot of time together, lounging around my flat. I worked on some tracks for Commercial Notes, and he laid on my bed doing sudoku puzzles. Pretty much if we were both home, we were together. It was very strange.”

  “A footballer doing sudoku is what’s strange. I need to see photographic evidence.”

  “I snapped a cheeky picture of him actually. I’ll send it to you.” I cover my mouth and giggle along with Phoebe.

  “So, does this mean I was right, and Daphney Clarke still isn’t capable of casual sex after all?”

  I tsk softly. “You might be right.”

  “Oh, bugger.”

  “I know.”

  “You fancy him as more than a shag then?”

  “I do…” I hesitate before I add the last bit. “I think I’m falling for him, Pheebs.”

  “Fuck me,” she harrumphs, leaving no room for interpretation.

  “And I’m sure he’s not falling for me, so obviously I will be taking that fun fact to my grave.”

  “I’ll kill you before I ever let you say it first.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  She pauses for a moment before asking, “Do you think he’s developing feelings too?”

  “I don’t know.” I sigh. “He had a tough match yesterday and wanted to be alone last night. It kind of stung after the week we spent together, but he assured me he’d be good as new for the wedding tonight. I’m trying not to read into it too much. Footballer or not, I won’t wait around forever for him to figure out his feelings for me.”

  “Bravo, mate.”

  I nod firmly at my reflection in the mirror. After the whole Rex debacle, I thought coming to London would make me feel stronger and more independent. I thought I could reinvent myself and find a new path in life. But in reality, I’m going down the same path again. This time, the only difference is that it’s the path I’m choosing regardless of what any man might think. It feels good.

  “I like Zander, and if it turns into something more? Great. If it doesn’t, I won’t let him crush me like I did Rex.”

  “Good. Now…what are you wearing to this wedding today? You need to look gorgeous to bag this footballer.”

  “The bride needs to look gorgeous,” I correct. “I need to look invisible, which is why I didn’t go out and buy anything fancy.”

  “You should check your wardrobe,” Phoebe sing-songs. “I might have popped something in there when you were working last night.”

  “A dress?” I exclaim, padding over to my armoire and yanking open the doors. “Oh,
my God, it’s perfect.”

  “Thank me later.”

  I smile into the mobile. “I owe you big time…for more than just the dress.”

  She scoffs. “You checked my breasts for lumps. I’d say we’re even.”

  Zander

  When I was a kid, my mom used to beg me to curl up in bed with her and watch girlie movies. Princess movies, teen romances, makeover flicks, dance films, a few musicals. I acted like I hated it. I’d roll my eyes and stalk into her room like she was asking me to give up my soul.

  Confession: I fucking loved it.

  We’d pig out on movie snacks, and she’d play with my hair. The storylines of these films always made me feel warm and gooey inside. And I appreciated the fact that I always knew how they would end. Happily ever after is wicked cheesy, but there’s a lot of comfort in no surprises.

  In all of those films, there was always this moment my mom called “the look of love” moment. It’s when the two main characters have been denying their feelings for each other for the entire movie and then usually at some formal event, a charity, a ball, a school dance when we’re all on the edge of our seats, the girl walks down a giant staircase wearing a beautiful dress. The guy looks up and sees her…boom—the look of love.

  I always expected I’d experience that feeling when I was older. When I was done with soccer and able to focus on anything other than my erratic and often stressful career. I did not expect to see it while sitting at a stranger’s wedding in The Shard, London.

  Daphney had to be at The Shard early for a sound check, so she lined up Booker and Poppy to give me a ride because she didn’t trust me to find it on my own. I felt kind of childish crawling into a taxi with them, but to be fair, Daphney wasn’t wrong. It’s still a struggle for me to find my way around in London. My life here has consisted of only going places I can run or walk to or ride in the team bus somewhere.

  I’m glad I at least did that London bus tour with Daphney, or I’d be ashamed of how little I’ve seen of the city so far. I guess that’s what happens when you start sleeping with your hot neighbor, who’s also wicked cool. Not much time for other things.

  The Shard is a cool glassy pyramid type of building right along the River Thames. Booker, Poppy, and I make our way up to the sixty-seventh floor and are ushered into a small room with maybe seventy-five white, cloth-covered chairs. Giant glittery gold chandeliers are hanging from the ceiling, but the room could be empty, and it’d still be stunning because of the view. On the left of the room are floor-to-ceiling windows with sweeping sights of London. The sun is just starting to set, and I’m not ashamed to admit it took my breath away.

  I say hello to the entire Harris clan, and my body starts to sweat as they fold me into their seating section. I didn’t play well yesterday, at all. Booker was flustered by my lack of focus, and Finney even had to save my ass at one point. There’s nothing I hate more than making Finney look good. Coach Zion took me out before the half and told me to “get my head out of my arse.”

  I watched the rest of the game from the sidelines, feeling like a complete waste of space. Miraculously, we still won, so I can only hope I didn’t fuck up my chances for starting in next week’s FA Cup quarterfinal.

  The sad fact is, just knowing that those DNA results are sitting in my apartment right now along with that stupid letter my mom wrote all those years ago, all while I’m sandwiched between Booker and Gareth Harris with Vaughn Harris at the end of the row situated at a wedding of one of their close family friends, is a real mind fuck.

  How did I find myself not just playing alongside these people on the field but entrenched in their social lives as well? Maybe I’ve taken this all a bit too far? Maybe I should have never sent that hair of Vaughn’s in and gone down this path because now it feels too late to turn back.

  My thoughts are distracted when Tanner’s wife, Belle, and Camden’s wife, Indie, twirl around from their seats directly in front of me.

  “What’s the deal with you and Daphney?” Belle asks, her dark eyes pinning me in my seat. “This is the second time she’s brought you around. It must mean something.”

  “We’re just friends,” I reply, holding my hands up because now I have an entirely different reason to sweat.

  “That’s how Booker and Poppy started,” Indie chirps. “Look how that turned out.”

  “Oi,” Booker whines, his gaze snapping away from his wife sitting right beside him. “Leave my teammate alone.”

  “Never,” Belle exclaims in a shrieky whisper. “She came to your match last weekend. That must mean something, right?”

  “Her friend had free tickets,” I respond honestly.

  “How convenient.” Indie waggles her eyebrows. “Do you two hang out a lot?”

  “I guess. We’re friends and neighbors. It’s convenient.”

  “Convenient for…” She licks her lips and cups her hand to her mouth as she spells out, “S-E-X.”

  Gareth leans forward beside me. “There are no children at this wedding, so why are we spelling the naughty words?”

  “No one’s talking to you, Gareth,” Belle snaps and puts her hand in his face.

  Gareth sits back, shaking his head and laughing as he turns to whisper something in his wife, Sloan’s, ear. I can’t help but laugh myself because Belle checked him with such a sisterly snipe, I’m shocked they’re just in-laws. Gareth is easily the scariest of all the Harris Brothers, and Belle didn’t even bat an eye. This family is truly an odd bunch.

  “It was also very convenient for Belle to fake date Tanner when they got caught naked on a London street corner,” Indie adds with a giggle.

  Belle’s eyes go wide. “I was not the naked one! That was just Tanner. And if we’re spilling all the family secrets, let’s tell Zander about you snogging Camden in the hospital when he was your patient.”

  “You encouraged it!” Indie hisses, and the two face forward and begin to quietly argue.

  I briefly wonder if I started this fight when suddenly, a pianist begins playing processional music on the grand piano in the front. I frown when I see it’s not Daphney but some old lady. I’ve been looking all over for Daphney, and I still haven’t spotted her. Where is she sitting?

  Everyone’s gazes move to the aisle as Santino Rossi, the team lawyer, makes a couple of trips to the front row in a classic black tux. He’s ushering his parents and grandparents, and the bride’s parents and grandparents to their seats, taking a moment to give them lingering hugs. I haven’t spoken much to Santino since that day he stopped at my apartment with the lease agreement when I first came to London. I see him in passing at the club, but he always seems a bit awkward around me, so I give him a wide berth. He’s a quirky kind of guy.

  He joins Mac Logan at the altar, who’s also wearing a tux and a giant smile as he claps Santino on the back before wiping a tear out of his eye.

  Next, Mac’s wife, Freya, proceeds down the aisle, but she’s not alone. She’s pulling something behind her that I can’t quite see until she gets to our row.

  Mac and Freya’s ginger-haired little baby, kitted out in a tiny tux, lays on top of a mountain of white satin fabric in the wagon. The kid can’t be more than a month or two old, but his eyes are wide and fixed on the gold chandeliers above him. Freya wheels the wagon over to someone sitting off to the side and takes her place opposite Mac at the front of the makeshift altar. There’s still no sign of Daphney as the pianist begins playing the instrumental version of “A Thousand Years” by Christina Perri.

  Everyone rises to their feet as the bride appears at the back of the room. She makes her way down in her long white dress, her light red hair pinned back under a long veil. I look back at Santino, and the guy looks awestruck. My mom would certainly appreciate this “look of love” moment.

  The ceremony begins, and we all take our seats. Daphney still hasn’t appeared, so I peek at my phone to make sure she hasn’t texted, and there’s nothing. I’m so distracted, I barely hear them recite their own
vows to each other.

  Finally, the officiant of the wedding announces that Santino and Tilly will light a unity candle. That’s when I finally spot Daphney. She was seated behind a giant pillar this whole time.

  My eyes travel down her long black dress that hugs her curves to perfection. The straps sag off her shoulders in a goddess way, and her blonde hair is curled and pinned loosely off to one side. She looks fucking stunning.

  Our eyes connect briefly as she shoots me a soft smile and bends to retrieve an acoustic guitar sitting in a stand next to the piano. After she positions the strap over her neck, she adjusts the mic slightly before strumming a light, springy intro to a song I recognize instantly as “The Book of Love.” This isn’t the Peter Gabriel cover that I’m familiar with. It’s the Magnetic Fields cover with a unique guitar accompaniment.

  When she steps forward and begins singing, all air escapes my lungs. Her face is poised and emotionless, her fingers quick and confident over the guitar strings. Her voice reverberates clearly through the speakers, and the tone takes my breath away. When she gets to the longer, drawn-out licks of the song, her voice breaks with purpose and pain. Like a raspy cry. It’s a perfect mix of raw and effortless emotion. It’s utterly haunting.

  My palms begin to sweat as I watch her sing the melody with all her heart for this couple who have chosen to share their lives together. I quickly glance down the rows around me, noticing how all the Harris Brothers and even Vi are holding the hands of their significant others. They’re all sharing in the sentiment behind the song that waxes lyrical about a book of love that’s full of rules and instructions, but deep down, all that matters is the moments when you read to each other or sing to each other. It’s talking about the quiet moments of love between a couple, not what we all think love is supposed to look like.