That raised the ire again in Gavin. All his brother had ever done was demean his abilities and choices. But before he could respond, Conor joined in.
“Why don’t you go fuck yourself, Ian,” he said.
“Stay out of it,” Ian replied.
“Why don’t you stay out of it?” Gavin returned. “You’ve done nothing to help the situation. Tell me how you justify saying one word to that reporter?”
“At least the world knows you’re fucking human now, don’t they?” Ian said, spitting his words. “Everyone knows now this fairy tale you’ve concocted for yourself is bullshit, that you’re just some kid whose own mother couldn’t even be bothered.”
There wasn’t a second’s hesitation before Gavin raised his fist and punched his brother hard in the face, drawing blood instantly. And the satisfaction he got upon impact led him to swing again and again. Ian lamely threw out his fists in return. Gavin wasn’t deterred by Sophie’s frightened cries for him to stop or Conor’s attempt to pull him off.
Though Gavin and Conor had had a long-standing history of playfully sparring, Gavin had always been a natural fighter. He wasn’t a big man, but his quickness and his ferocity made for a powerful punch. It was obvious that now was no exception as he had left Ian’s nose bloody and most likely broken, his lip split, and his left cheek quickly bruising.
“You fucking arsehole,” Ian moaned as he cradled his head in his hands.
Gavin was still seething as Conor finally forcibly moved him to the far side of the back garden and held him there by the shoulders.
“Come with me,” Sophie told Ian, taking his hand.
“Show him the fucking door, Sophie!” Gavin shouted.
Sophie ignored him as she took Ian inside and sat him down at the kitchen bar. She quickly wet a towel and put ice into a plastic bag.
“You’re a mess,” she said softly as she gently wiped at the blood around his mouth.
“That’s your fucking husband. A real prince, aye?” Ian said, shaking his head.
“You asked for this, Ian.”
Ian was quiet for a long spell as she worked on cleaning him up. “Do you know,” he finally said more calmly, “they made me redundant at work a month back? Do you know what that feels like? And to have your own brother have everything you don’t? Don’t you think that makes it worse?”
Sophie pulled the towel away from him and met his eyes. “I’m sorry you lost your job,” she said. “I really am. But that’s not Gavin’s fault.”
“Never said it was. But here he is living the life of luxury and it’s all due to this false pretense—that he’s some sort of long-suffering artist. I mean, it drives me to the edge to see the way he’s created this persona of the tragically orphaned boy whose heart is still bleeding from it all.”
“Wait a minute,” she said, “are you saying you don’t think his feelings are genuine?”
“They were, sure. But you get the fuck over these things and grow up. Now he’s just using it to make a spectacle of himself.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong, Ian. God, I wish you two would actually make an attempt to know each other instead of constantly tearing each other down. You’re missing out on something so special.”
“I think I’m fit enough to leave now,” he said and stood up.
“Do you need help—with money?” she asked.
“I’d sooner live in the streets than take his money,” he replied and moved toward the front door.
“The offer’s always there,” she said, though he ignored her.
The next day, The Irish Mirror tabloid would feature a front-page photo of Ian’s battered face with the tantalizing headline, “Why Gavin McManus Attacked His Own Brother!” Ian made the equivalent of six months’ salary for selling his story, which centered on Gavin’s “unprovoked” attack.
When Sophie went back out to the yard, she found Gavin in need of aid as well. He had a cut above his left eyebrow and blood was smeared across his temple from having tried to wipe it away. Ian must have caught him with his ring.
He was obviously still irate while he paced back and forth even as Conor tried talking him down.
Sophie went straight to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, and for the first time in years, he rejected her attempt to soothe him.
“Darlin’, I’m in no mood,” he said curtly and walked inside without another word.
Conor saw the hurt and disappointment naked on Sophie’s face. He gave her a quick one-arm hug. “Give him some space, Sophie. It’s a lot to deal with right now.”
She nodded and blinked back her tears, telling herself that in the end she and Gavin would find a way through this together.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Everyone, including Sophie, gave Gavin his space for the next several weeks, the unspoken consensus being that he would eventually return to his old gregarious self. The expectations were that he would do what he had always done and funnel his emotional turmoil into his songwriting efforts, so Conor and the band pulled away from him with all good intentions. The problem was that though Gavin couldn't bring himself to reach out, he needed them more than ever. So, when they retreated, he sank deeper into himself.
After his fight with Ian, Gavin remained in the house for ten days straight. He spent most of his time in the room he had fashioned as his writing space, with the door closed. But he wrote little and instead stared out the window gloomily at the back garden, ruminating on what had become of his family. He had spoken to his father only once and briefly at that. Brendan McManus had berated Gavin for the fight with Ian and expressed disappointment over this public spectacle. Though he didn't necessarily put the blame on Gavin for it all like Ian had, his disapproval of Gavin seemed once again to be validated.
It all served to give Gavin the agonizing feeling of reliving the emotional havoc he suffered as a child when it became clear that his mother had intentionally left her family. He had gone mute for weeks after recognizing that the person most expected by cultural and genetic norms to sacrifice all to care for her children had abdicated that responsibility. His father and brother barely noticed as they were concerned with their own recovery. It was his imagination and interest in music that saved him. He lost himself to his brother’s music collection, becoming obsessed with Bowie but also devouring countless others. And when his schoolmate Conor Quinn seemed to be the only one receptive to his constant talk of music, they became inseparable.
That friendship wouldn’t be the salve this time around. Gavin couldn’t envision a way to move past the renewed sense of abandonment he was experiencing. To at the same time have his music called into question was both a public humiliation and a staggering blow. But worst of all was the cruel fact of his mother’s continued silence. After all these years, years where he had generously excused her absence and convinced himself she was only trying to heal in her own time, he finally took things for what they were. Ian was right. He was just some kid whose own mother couldn’t be bothered.
~
Now and then Sophie would knock gently on his door to see if he would spend time with her or take a call from a friend, but he rejected all entreaties. She was at a loss as how to help him.
The press was a constant on the rare outings she made, including a visit to the grocery store. A tabloid even featured a photo of her coming out of the store alongside a list of the items she had purchased.
Conor had stayed in Dublin for three days before flying back to New York, but even if he had stayed longer there was nothing he could do. It was clear that the situation was a private one only Gavin could reconcile. Conor thought it best Gavin have the space to sort it all out on his own and was soon happily preoccupied by being with Colette. In a complete reversal, she was now intent on being more than friends.
While Gavin brooded, Sophie had to find ways to occupy herself since she had done what Conor suggested and canceled several modeling gigs. Some time ago, she and Gavin had casually discussed looking for a second home
in the Los Angeles area, so she took it upon herself to now do some of the real estate research.
She had various materials spread out on the dining room table and was concentrating on the beach areas of Malibu when Gavin shuffled into the room.
Bedraggled was the word that came to mind when she saw him. He wore boxer briefs with an open robe and while his hair was pulled back into a short ponytail it clearly needed a good washing. His face was covered in an unkempt beard and his eyes were red.
"What are you up to?" he asked, leaning down to kiss her.
She reached for his hand but he pulled away and he slipped from her grasp. Stifling her disappointment, she managed a smile instead.
"I'm looking at properties in LA."
"What for?" He took a chair and turned it around, straddling it as he sat down next to her.
"Remember we talked about buying a house there? I thought maybe we should go ahead and look now."
"Well, I'm not fucking buying a house in Malibu, that's for sure," he said as he pushed aside the listings she had for that exclusive area.
"Okay," she said slowly, put off. "If it helps any, I want to buy this house."
He looked at her with surprise. "What do you mean? With your father’s money?"
"No. With mine." She was trying to be patient with him and understanding of the fact that he was going through a rough time, but it was getting more difficult to keep in mind.
Glancing at the listings again he saw the price range she was considering. "You're telling me you can buy a house that costs in the millions?"
"Yes. Baby, I've been modeling for six years and making good money. I can do this. I want to do it for us."
"Fuck me," he said softly.
He sifted through the papers, coming to properties in Venice Beach, the eclectic beach town on the Westside of Los Angeles. There was a photo of a three-story, quasi-Mediterranean style house on Grand Canal, accompanied by a sales pitch boasting of an offbeat, artistic neighborhood. Canals fashioned after Italy’s famous waterways had been dug at the turn of the twentieth century to drain the area’s natural marshes, turning it into a tourist destination. After all these years, the beach still attracted gawkers for its eccentric Ocean Front Walk vendors, lively pickup basketball games, and Muscle Beach area for weightlifters in search of an audience, but the canals had been relegated to the wealthy few who could afford the real estate.
"How about this one?” he said, holding up the flyer for the Venice Beach house. “Sounds like this area would better suit us than Malibu."
"Looks good," Sophie agreed. "Okay. So, how about we take a trip? We can get away from here and look at some houses out there?"
"Yeah, let's do it. Let's go today."
Sophie smiled, relieved. Maybe the worst was over. "I'll get us a flight right now."
"That can wait a bit," he said. He leaned toward her and kissed her.
"Baby, no," she said, pulling away from him. "You need a shower."
He laughed. "That bad, aye?" he asked and she nodded with a small smile. "Ah, come on—you promised for better or worse, didn't you?"
She let out a playful scream and jumped up when he reached for her again. He chased her all the way upstairs and trapped her in the bathroom.
"How about a dip in the tub first?" she asked with a laugh.
"Don't you want to have dirty sex with me?"
It had been ten days since they had had any kind of sex and Sophie decided it wasn't the best time to put conditions on him. She went to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply, urgently.
~
The trip to Los Angeles proved to be an inspired idea, or so they both thought during the first few days. They were able to elude the intense media attention for the most part while house hunting. Gavin immediately fell in love with the Venice Beach area, especially after they took a stroll along the beach and he saw the street performers there. He was captivated, both with the diversity and the complete lack of recognition he got. Being able to engage in conversations with the guy who juggled knives or the local graffiti artist without having to talk about Rogue or his current debacle was utterly refreshing for Gavin.
Though they were shown half a dozen houses by a local real estate agent, they were in agreement that the one Gavin first approved of back in Dublin was the one for them. Terracotta and stone on the outside, it had been gutted inside and remodeled with smooth lines and everything white except for dark wood floors and tasteful wrought iron work throughout the house. A top-of-the line kitchen with glass-front white cabinetry, white Caesarstone counters, and steel appliances opened to a formal dining room. The large step-down living room’s French doors led to a patio overlooking the canal. It was elegant and clean and immediately felt like the fresh start they instinctively sought. They giddily put in an offer for the house and were assured it would be accepted and escrow would be short.
Their reprieve from media scrutiny ended when they returned to Shutters on the Beach hotel in nearby Santa Monica. There was a line of cars backed up to get into the short hotel driveway, and the valet had relieved them of their keys with ardent apologies that they would have to walk the distance to the front entrance when they were confronted by a well-known paparazzo.
"Hey, Gavin," the heavyset man said, his camera flashing relentlessly, "did you hear? They found your mother!"
Gavin did his best to keep his face a blank mask, putting his arm around Sophie's shoulders in an attempt to move around him. Technically, they were still on Pico Boulevard and that meant it was public property. The photographer, as obnoxious as he was, was entitled to be there.
"Come on," the paparazzo groaned, "give me something. I'm doing a public service here. Think about all the other kids whose mothers abandoned them. Don't you have something to say for their sake?"
It wasn't the absurdity or the cruelty of this argument that bothered Gavin, it was the self-satisfied laugh he added at the end that enraged him. And that rage immediately took form as he released Sophie from his protective half-embrace and lunged at the photographer. With one firm shove Gavin sent the guy to his ass and earned a quick threat of a lawsuit in retaliation.
Gavin wanted to pounce on him, to unleash his fury on him, but Sophie pulled him forcefully toward the sanctuary of the hotel.
Once in their room, Sophie fought the tears that rushed to her eyes. "Gavin, what is going on? Where is this violence coming from? You're scaring me," she told him.
In reply, he took her into his arms and held her tightly, kissing her cheek gently.
"Baby," she murmured into his shoulder, "I'm so worried and I don't know how to help."
The way her whole body trembled against his added to the feeling that he was not only flailing but bringing her down with him. And he didn't want that. He didn't want to hurt her but he knew he couldn't survive without her. Having her with him was beginning to feel like the best and worst thing, and even acknowledging that racked him with unbearable guilt.
"Shh, darlin'," he whispered to her as he stroked her hair. "Don't worry a bit. I'll sort it out and it'll be okay."
She pulled away to meet his eyes. "Will it? Will you?"
As he opened his mouth to reply, the phone rang. He chose to release her and go to the phone, answering it with a distracted hello.
"Mate! So, the rumors are true!" Jackson said with a grin in his voice.
"Aye, Jackie," Gavin replied, forcing himself to sound upbeat.
"Though I'm glad you are in town, I have to say I'm a little dismayed to have learned so through TMZ of all things."
"Sorry, didn't have a chance to call."
"No, not that, mate," Jackson said with a laugh. "I'm sorry to see that TMZ drivel actually gets it right sometimes!"
There was a silence as Gavin fought to get himself into a more jovial mood. He looked at Sophie. Her back was to him as she gazed out through the window at their picturesque view of the Santa Monica pier. It was starting to get dark and the lights of the Fe
rris wheel were growing brighter.
"Listen, Gavin," Jackson continued, "I should have called you before. I'm sorry to hear about your family troubles. It's a real kick in the balls, that."
"Thanks, Jackie."
"So, here's the other reason I called. I'm having a fucking outrageous party tonight and you and your lady are coming. I'm up in the Hollywood Hills—just bought an insane nine million-dollar house and I need to break it in! You'll come, right? You have to come. It'll take your mind off all this other crap.”
Gavin relaxed into a smile. "Yeah, we'll be there, mate. Give me directions."
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
As Sophie receded farther into the corner of the room, she watched with detachment all the beautiful people around her. It had taken Gavin a half-hour to convince her to go to Jackson's party with him as she hadn't been remotely interested in a splashy social event after the altercation with the photographer. She had finally relented when Gavin explained that he desperately needed to have some pure and simple fun and that he was sure this party would be the perfect solution. And so they made their way up above Sunset Boulevard to Hillside Avenue where Jackson’s stunning mid-century modern home perched over greater Los Angeles.
And as soon as they arrived and were greeted by Jackson, Gavin's mood did lighten noticeably. He fell into his naturally sociable self and was quickly surrounded by a group of new friends. Watching him reminded her of the way he held court in the hallways of school. He was naturally charismatic, yet he never fully understood how engaging he was, how much people revered him. He always greeted the worshipful fans at their shows and the people who showed up at their house to get a glimpse of him with such openness, never putting himself on a different level. And Sophie knew that attitude made him all that more special of a person.
Jackson broke up the gathering to whisper into Gavin’s ear. Gavin responded with a nod and excused himself, walking across the length of the open room toward the kitchen. Jackson then approached Sophie before she could see what Gavin was up to.
Tangled Up In You: A Rogue Series Novel Page 23