by Amy Daws
“I can’t do that, Vi,” Gareth groans, the deep timbre of his chest rumbling against my ear.
“Why not?” I lift my head and shove the hair out of my face. “Tell me, Gareth. What is the reason that you have to continually insert yourself into my life?”
He frowns and eyes my blotchy skin with a thoughtful expression. His hazel eyes soften, replaced by a deep sadness that makes me realise in that moment that his over-protectiveness isn’t a superficial choice. He exhales sharply, his face wincing in silent pain.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice nervous and pensive.
“I don’t think I knew why I did it until just this moment right now,” he says, his expression in thoughtful awe.
“What do you mean?”
He sniffs and his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. “You look just like Mum, you know that?”
I swipe at my tear-stained face self-consciously. “Thanks a lot.”
“She was beautiful, Vi, even at the end. Did you know I was alone with Mum the day she died?” he asks and drops his elbows to his knees, gazing hauntingly off into the distance.
“The day she died? What do you mean? Where was Dad?” The image of Gareth as a small boy dealing with that all by himself horrifies me.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Dad could hardly come to her room at the end. He was a wreck. It was painful to watch.” He rubs his lips together before he continues, “I think he was just so overwhelmed. I was only eight and it seemed like all you guys did was cry. Booker was still a baby and I didn’t even know how to change a nappy…No one ever showed me. And Dad was making do, but completely losing it too.” He pauses to shake his head, a look of shame casting over his features. “When he was around Mum, he would shout at her a lot. She would lie in bed and cry every night because of how angry Dad would get.”
Tears. More tears flood my eyes.
“She made me promise not to be cross at him for it. She told me that he was her bestest friend in the whole world. That he was going through a really hard time and she couldn’t help him with it. And it is hard when your bestest friend isn’t there to help you.”
My fingers dig into Gareth’s bicep as he continues.
“I still didn’t fully know what she was going on about. I just knew I loved our mum. And I was sad too,” his voice breaks on a garbled cry. “And I decided then and there that if Dad couldn’t be there for her, I would be. I would be her new best friend.”
“Gareth,” I cry, my belly shaking with quiet sobs. But he doesn’t stop. He just keeps looking forward and continuing his story.
“So I was her best friend and I was there when she died. I held her hand and watched it go limp. It’s strange, but I can still feel the softness of her hand.” He reaches out and takes my hand in his. Mine looks so small and fair toned next to his large, rough palm. “She had these long, elegant fingers…just like yours. You have Mum’s hands, Vi. Did you know that? I’ve probably never told you that.” He sniffles and clasps my hand between his two. “I was eight and I lost my best friend and my mum all in one shot.”
I shake my head in defiance. I can’t believe all of this happened and I wasn’t there for him. I was four, but still. I should have been there for him. “I’m sorry, Gareth.”
“Don’t be sorry, Vi. Just understand me. Understand that protecting you and loving you felt like I was doing all of it for my best friend. It always felt like I had something to prove.”
“I understand now, you daft cow,” I croak and pull him into me for a hug that feels so different. It feels different because, for the first time, I finally feel like I understand my brother and maybe even a little bit more of the stranger who is my mum. “You can be a meddling bruiser of a brother any time you want.” I sniff and back away, wiping the tears from my eyes again. “I’ll be fine, though, really.”
“Damn right you will.” He rubs my shoulders soothingly and then frowns as his gaze narrows on my closet door. “What’s that?”
I roll my eyes. “Oh God, it’s a stupid dress I ordered for Leslie’s wedding this weekend. I was staring at it and feeling sorry for myself.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not going now, of course.”
“The fuck you’re not. You’re going to that wedding, Vi.”
“What?” I ask. “No. Why on earth?”
“Because best friends fuck up. But it doesn’t mean they don’t love you.”
My face falls. “Gareth, stop. It’s over between Hayden and me. I’m not going to allow myself to hurt like this again. He’s crushed me one too many times.”
“You’re still going to the wedding,” he drops his chin with a glower.
“No. I can’t face him alone.”
“Good thing you won’t be alone,” he retorts with a cocky grin.
DEJA RED
Red. All I see is red. I close my eyes and still, the backs of my eyelids only show me red.
I stand next to Theo at the altar and attempt to focus on what the pastor is saying…then…the fucking red again.
A flush moves up Vi’s neck. The urge I have to kiss the heat beneath her skin is so powerful, I actually glimpse over to Liam to make sure that I haven’t moved from my position as best man. In my mind, I’m crawling over the top of every one of these arseholes in the church and covering Vi with my entire body. The urge I have to club her over the head like a caveman and shout out “mine” is…problematic.
And probably a bit psychotic.
Her brother Gareth cuts me a homicidal look as if he can read my thoughts. My eyes twitch nervously, but I still can’t bring myself to tear my gaze away from Vi. She’s dressed in red. Just as I requested…back when life was still bearable. I silently chastise her fucking git of a brother for letting her out of his sight in that get up. I don’t care how famous of a footballer he is, he’s a fucking moron. Her red dress is short and flowy with a dangerously low neckline. It’s held up by two floss-like straps that look like all you’d have to do is blow on them and her dress would go slithering to the ground. Gareth’s hatred toward me must be immense for him to allow her to wear that bloody dress just to torture me.
The past week without Vi has consisted of a lot of angry grunting and snarling. Namely at Theo because he’s my brother and he’s got it coming for the years of suffrage he has inflicted on me. However, Theo—being the older and apparently smarter brother—must have figured out my mood stabilizer was Marisa because every time I’d growl at him, he’d just silently pass me the baby.
God I’m a transparent softie.
The corner of my mouth turns up as I eye Marisa still sitting in her white linen-covered Bumbo seat nestled safely inside a wagon drenched with yards and yards of white tulle and taffeta. Leslie and Theo keep grinning down proudly at her, only halfway listening to the sermon. I think all of us are amazed at how long she’s lasting up here. The plan was for her to come down the aisle with Finley and me. Then, the minute she started to fuss, Finley was going to whisk her over to Brody, who got a hefty lesson from me on how to soothe Marisa.
I chuckle softly to myself at what an odd wedding party we must look like up here. Leslie’s side consists of Finley, Frank, and Brody. Theo’s side is me, Liam, and Daphney. Jaci no K probably developed a new vein in her forehead when Leslie informed her of their nontraditional plans. And Frank about sent her completely over the edge when he told her he was wearing a dress as well.
The cheeky bugger.
I look down and fiddle with my leather cuffs, begging myself to stop looking at Vi. God, she makes me weak. Everything about her makes me liquefy to a puddle on the ground in her presence. Why did she have to bring her fucking brother? I groan inwardly and Leslie’s eyes flash to mine as she glances past Theo right in my direction. I swallow awkwardly and calm myself down just as the pastor asks me for the rings.
My hands tremor as I reach inside my suit coat and hand him the rings that are to represent Theo and Leslie as one. A symbol of their eternal love
that has no beginning and no end. Just as Theo goes to reach for Leslie’s hand, Marisa lets out a mighty cry. Finley jumps to action, but Leslie stops her in her tracks, bends over in her beautiful wedding gown, and picks up my niece. Theo’s eyes are watching her affectionately the entire time, devouring every flicker of her movement. She tucks Marisa against her stomach so she’s facing out and resumes her position at the altar. Family complete now, Leslie beams at my brother with the happiest, most content, albeit wobbly with emotion, serene smile I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
My eyes prick as I glance down to Marisa who’s managed to tuck a piece of her lacy dress into her mouth for a good chew. She looks up happily, clearly much more content to be standing up here in Mummy’s arms and looking at Daddy than down in that bloody wagon by herself.
The pastor attempts to resume, but Theo coughs loudly and looks down, pulling his glasses off his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. I want to reach out and offer a reassuring pat on his shoulder, but I refrain. As if sensing my support, he glances back at me, giving me a glimpse of something I’m not all together sure he wanted me to see.
His weakness.
My brother’s crumbling, love-spilling-over-the-top vulnerability is exposed on every raw flicker of his face. He smiles at me knowingly and nods, a moment of thoughtfulness exchanged between us. He then looks back to his wife and daughter and readies himself to solidify his happily ever after.
He’s feeling. He’s doing exactly what Doc said is the hardest challenge of all and he’s making it look bloody good. He looks happier than I’ve ever seen him.
As I watch them, my heart pounds like it’s going to burst out of my chest any second. It already felt like it was holding on by a very thin thread all week. But now, that thread is cinching up around my heart, tighter and tighter with every second I’m forced to stand up here and not next to Vi, touching her and telling her everything I’ve wanted to tell her since the first time I met her.
POKER FACE
When the pastor tells Theo he can kiss his bride, I slam my eyes shut, unable to observe the end of the most vulnerably raw and absolutely beautiful wedding I’ve ever witnessed. Tears slip out from beneath my lashes because, even though I can’t see their kiss, I can feel it. I think everyone in this tiny chapel can feel it.
Finally, I open my eyes and I can’t help but smile at Leslie as she beams from ear to ear with tears in her eyes. She lifts Marisa up between her and Theo and they both kiss either side of her cheeks simultaneously. Cameras flash wildly as the small congregation of less than fifty people all “aw” in unison at the perfectly beautiful little family.
The wedding was gorgeous. Simple, but in no way understated. That just wouldn’t be Leslie. Punches of colour explode everywhere from the wildflower bouquets, to the bold multi-coloured bridesmaids’ dresses, to the unique fitted men’s suits.
Hayden wore his better than every man up there.
Damn him all to hell.
I spent the last couple of days psyching myself up for my first sight of him. I envisioned him looking cold and detached, similar to how he appeared the night of the gala only six weeks ago. How could our story have only lasted six weeks? Somehow it feels like no time and tons of time all at once.
My expectation of him today was that he’d continue to block me out and further drive the stake through my already hardened heart.
What I didn’t expect was for him to look so…concentrated.
The three times I mistakenly locked eyes with him during the service felt like we were frozen in time. In those moments, he was showing me the same passionate, intense, brooding, possessive man who threw a fit over me nearly kissing Ethan. I thought I could be strong enough to not let his presence consume me, but he’s messing everything up looking at me the way he is. I think he stared at me through twenty-five of the thirty minutes worth of ceremony. I have no idea what he’s after, but I just pray that he knows the damage done last week is irreconcilable.
Irreconcilable.
The congregation stands to file out of the church. I catch sight of Leslie and Theo, along with the rest of the bridal party forming a reception line in the narthex. “Great,” I groan quietly.
“You’re fine. Only a couple more hours to go,” Gareth mutters under his breath.
I offer a shaky smile to my brother who’s dressed in a black fitted suit. Several people turn and gawk at him as we meander through the line. “You could have dressed down a bit. I told you this was a small, casual wedding.”
He frowns down at me. “I’m not wearing a tie.”
I roll my eyes. “Gucci is hardly casual.”
His eyes narrow as he looks over my shoulder. A playful smirk teases his lips, so I turn to see him catching a sensual gaze from a tall, busty brunette. “Nice,” I croak.
“Hey, I’m here for moral support. But I’m no bloody saint.” He flashes Busty a megawatt smile.
“Can you at least keep it in your pants until we get through this reception line? Hayden is right there.” The pain I feel just saying his name is acute.
He frowns and his flirty eyes suddenly turn serious. “You’ve got this.”
Do I? I think to myself just as we reach Leslie. “Vilma!” she sings happily. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She yanks me into a tight hug and her arms feel firm and solid around me. She pulls back and looks into my eyes with a pensive expression. “I was worried you wouldn’t come.”
I shake my head dismissively. “I wouldn’t miss your wedding, Leslie,” I say just as Theo finishes with the couple in front of us and looks to me. “You’re too damn needy for me to avoid anyway.”
Theo laughs and casts his twinkling, happy eyes down to his blushing bride. “I can vouch for that. And now I have two of them.” We glance over to Marisa as she smiles from the arms of Theo’s parents, whom I met briefly at the gala last month.
“Guys, this is my brother, Gareth Harris. I’m not sure you’ve all met.” I turn to my brother as he moves in closer.
Theo’s eyes fly wide. He pulls his glasses off as if to confirm that who he’s looking at isn’t a mirage. “Gareth Harris, for Man U? Bugger. I’m…yeah, I’m a fan.” Theo stammers as he cuts accusing eyes to Leslie. “Leslie, how could you not mention who Vilma’s brother is?”
She purses her lips and shrugs as if the thought never once occurred to her. “I don’t watch soccer! How am I supposed to know he’s a big deal?”
“He’s like…Beckham big deal, babe.”
“Posh Spice’s husband? Oh shit! He’s hot!” Gareth and I burst out laughing, and Leslie bites her lip and covers her mouth. Theo shakes his head at her as she says, “I’m sorry, Gareth.”
Gareth chuckles. “No offense taken. I’m not as big as Beckham,” he winks playfully.
“You should be offended. I’d like to apologise on behalf of my wife for this entire encounter. Keep up the great work. And good luck this season.” Theo and Gareth exchange a matey handshake. I attempt to walk by him, but Theo surprises me by pulling me in for a hug. “Don’t run,” he whispers in my ear. I pull back, my brow furrowed. “Just don’t run. It’s worth it,” he repeats, clearly unfazed by Gareth, whom I can feel shooting daggers behind me.
Doing my best to shake off Theo’s unexpected propaganda, we greet the rest of the bridal party, including Frank. “Christ, Vi, you look as if you belong on every teenage boy’s splattered ceiling!”
“Frank! You’re disgusting,” Finley crows and whacks him on the arm. “Hi, Vi, you look beautiful.”
We exchange pleasantries with the rest of the family. But just when I think we’re going to graze right past Hayden since his back is turned, Frank clears his throat loudly and unsubtly barks out, “Hayden, you Wanker!”
Hayden’s head pops up curiously and he turns. His serious grey eyes find mine instantly. Heat blossoms between us, and I feel a blush move up my neck and fill my cheeks. I glance down at his white button-down dress shirt, beige tweed-fitted trousers, and brown brace
s that Leslie says Americans call hipster suspenders. I’m going to ignore the fact that his trousers are tailored to his build within an inch of their life. I’m not going to notice the taut fabric of his cotton shirt around his sculpted biceps. I don’t care about how he’s not wearing a tie, so two popped buttons reveal just enough of his sculpted chest to remind me of how he looks shirtless. And who really cares that his copper blond hair is disheveled in that artful way that makes it look like he’s just fucked someone’s brains out.
Deep breath.
“Vi,” he begins and reaches his hand out to me.
Before his fingers can graze mine, Gareth swoops in, turning his back on Hayden and firmly gripping the side of my arm. “We need to keep the line moving.” The set of his jaw is demanding, but looking at Hayden’s hopeful expression on the other side of him makes me pause.
“Just a minute, Gareth,” I say softly, my eyes never leaving Hayden’s.
“Vi,” he warns.
Ignoring him, I shove past his barrier-acting body and see a flicker of relief smear over Hayden’s face with my approach. Shooting him a tight smile, I stick out my hand.
“What?” Hayden asks, frowning down at my outstretched hand.
“A platonic handshake,” I offer, wiggling my brow.
He huffs out a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing platonic about you and me, Bunny.”
I paint on a forced half smile and reach out and grab his hand, clutching his cuffed wrist firmly with my other in warning. I move in so my voice is a mere whisper on his mouth. “Don’t call me that. You lost the right to call me that the moment you stomped all over my heart last week.”
Hayden’s face falls. “I need to talk to you,” he replies, eyeing my pink lips with a hunger that makes my inner sex kitten stir.
“You lost that right too, Hayden,” I say, my belly fighting hard against the annoying fear of rejection that I still feel in his presence even though it’s me pushing him away right now. “You see, I’ve realised something this past week that you should know.”