Surrender (Harris Brothers Book 4)

by Amy Daws

  I head to Vi’s car and toss my bag into the backseat of her SUV. “I like the new car,” I say, folding myself into the front passenger seat and draping my jacket over my lap. “I see you decided not to go with a proper people carrier.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Hayden wanted one. He said he liked the movie screen in it. I told him I’m a football sister, not a football mummy. Rocky is only one. We have a while before I need room for kits.”

  I smile and eye her appearance skeptically. Her blonde hair is in a high ponytail. She’s dressed in a Manchester United T-shirt with HARRIS in big block letters on the back, and I know she has an Arsenal jersey and enough Bethnal Green kits to wear every day of the week. My sister is fooling herself if she thinks she’s not a footy mummy already.

  “Whatever you say, sis.” I glance out the window at the press waiting outside like vultures. I gave them a full thirty minute interview and answered all their incessant questions, yet they still wait outside for more. “Are we going to your place? I don’t want to go to a restaurant. The crowds will be awful.”

  Vi nods. “I have soup in the slow cooker.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Are you staying at Dad’s tonight?”

  I nod. “Unless you’ve suddenly added an addition onto your flat?”

  She smiles. “I’m afraid not.”

  Vi turns to head northeast on the road that runs along the River Thames. Since it’s a Saturday night, the traffic is buzzing. Busy Londoners ready for a night on the town. The bus doesn’t go back to Manchester until tomorrow morning because our team was invited to the opening of some new club in London. It’s good press, so most of the guys headed straight there.

  “You’re not going out with the team tonight?”

  I look at her flatly. “Pass.”

  She giggles. “You’re such a moody sod. Antisocial to the max these days. Your family used to be the exception, but it seems we’re also becoming part of the rule.”

  “What the bloody hell does that mean?”

  “You never used to miss Sunday dinners, Gareth. And you used to have no problem being Camden or Tanner’s wingman at a club when they needed you. Granted, you were never the manwhore the boys were. I mean, I certainly never had to apply the Bacon Sandwich Rule to some girl for you, but you were known to partake in a proper night out.”

  I groan in disgust from her mentioning the rule. Camden and Tanner have a complex over having shared a womb, so that apparently meant they had to fight over food and women as well. When we were kids, Vi set the rule that if one of them licked the food, then the other couldn’t take it. As the boys grew older and became more obnoxious, they realised the Bacon Sandwich Rule could also apply to women. The wankers.

  “I think even you can admit that things are different in our family this year,” I state, glancing out the window as we pass the Vauxhall Bridge. “Cam and Tan are both married. Booker’s going to be a father. You’re supposed to be getting married one of these days.”

  She glances over at me. “Does it bother you that everyone’s paired up now?”

  “No,” I scoff defensively. “But it hardly calls for going clubbing with my brothers and invoking the Bacon Sandwich Rule.”

  “I guess that’s a good point.” Vi shifts awkwardly in her seat. “I just hate how isolated you are up in Manchester. I don’t know what you get up to all week long. You seem like you’re becoming more and more introverted every time I see you.”

  “Vi, I’m not some moody teenager. I’m a man, and I’m just fine on my own,” I defend, fighting back a smirk about how not alone I was last week when Sloan had me tied up with her tape measure or blindfolded with her scarf. Definitely not a thought I should be having while sitting in a confined car with my bloody sister.

  I can feel Vi’s curious eyes on me. “What’s happening with you and that stylist?”

  “Nothing,” I bark out much too quickly. I clear my throat and attempt to calm the fuck down. “Nothing. We’re friends. Colleagues you could say. That’s all.”

  “Friends,” she mimics, clearly not believing me. “Friends who fuck is more like it.”

  “Vi!” I chastise, swerving my accusing eyes in her direction. “You yell at us for swearing, yet you’re over there speaking like a sailor.”

  She giggles as she stares down the road. “I can tell something’s different about you.”

  “How?”

  “I can see it in your game.”

  “Bollocks,” I scoff, fisting my jacket in my sweaty palms. I don’t want Vi to figure this out. What Sloan and I are doing is casual. So casual I can’t even kiss her on the lips. If Vi finds out we’re sleeping together, she’ll get ridiculous ideas in her head about my future.

  “I’ve watched you play your whole life, Gareth. That tackle you made at the end there…It had a finesse to it. A confidence I haven’t seen in you the last few years.”

  “It’s called the act of a desperate man. I’m old, Vi.”

  “You’re not old. You’re seasoned.”

  “In football terms, that means the care home is on standby.”

  “Stop,” she scolds, swatting my shoulder. “I’m just happy you’re not alone.”

  “I am alone!” I nearly roar, annoyed that she’s already getting grandiose ideas in her head with basically no tangible information. When Vi gets like this, the only course of action is deflection. “You’re the one putting off your wedding with Hayden.”

  Her jaw drops. “I’ll marry him eventually!”

  “When? After you have a couple more kids and have to buy a bigger place, as well as a people carrier?”

  She frowns and shrinks in her seat, chewing her lip nervously. I instantly feel guilty for winding her up because I’m sensing it isn’t a simple issue. “What’s the problem there, Vi?”

  “Nothing!” She forces a bright, toothy smile. “We just need to get through this World Cup business first.”

  “Not you, too,” I groan, running a hand through my hair.

  “It’s all anyone has been talking about this week! If they select all four of my brothers, it will be the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to our family.”

  “You mean after the birth of Rocky.”

  “Yes, after Rocky.” She rolls her eyes. “Rocky wants you guys in the World Cup as well. She’s your number two fan, after me.”

  “Obviously.” I can’t help but laugh. Rocky is Vi’s miniature in appearance already. In time, she’ll be shouting expletives at the refs like her mummy.

  “So the World Cup is more important than you getting married?”

  Vi growls like a little dog. “Why does it matter? Hayden and I are happy. We don’t need a piece of paper to tell us that.”

  “I think it matters to Hayden,” I reply, watching her curiously. She’s hiding something. I can tell by the way she’s gripping the wheel and refusing to look at me. “What’s going on? Why the odd face?”

  “My face isn’t odd!” she peals, her voice higher pitched than usual.

  “Yes it is. Spill it. You know I’ll get it out of you eventually anyway.”

  “You’re going to laugh at me.” She groans and stops at a red light, glancing over at me with a serious look on her face. “You have to promise not to laugh.”

  I roll my eyes. “I promise.”

  She pulls her lip into her mouth and mumbles something I can’t fully understand.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I don’t want to stop being a Harris, all right?”

  My jaw drops as I stare at my sister. I don’t know why I’m shocked. Vi always says she is the glue that holds our family together while I am the rock that keeps us upright. And no one is a bigger cheerleader for our family than her. But I’ve seen the way she looks at Hayden. I’ve seen their love firsthand. They had a rough go at one point, and I thought I was going to have to commit my first murder, but he got his shit together. He’s become an incredible source of happiness for her. Watching them as a
family has been a beautiful thing to witness. What is going on in that head of hers?

  “Vi—” I start but don’t get to finish.

  “Don’t tell me I’m being overly sentimental, all right?” she argues, her posture stiff and defensive. “I love being a Harris. I love having our mother’s name. It used to give me anxiety, but I feel differently about it now that I’m a mum myself. Proud even.”

  My throat tightens at the mention of our mum. She was such a source of light, even in the end. I hate that our father tainted her absence with a wake of darkness.

  Sadly, I’m really the only one who knows much about her. Vi was only four when she died. All she really knows of Mum is that they share a name and happened to be born on the same day. We’ve always struggled to celebrate Vi’s birthday as a result. But when Vi gave Rocky the middle name Vilma, I could see that Vi found peace with her name somehow. Mum would have been so proud.

  “I don’t think you’re being overly sentimental,” I reply, my voice thick with emotion. “But I’m wondering why you don’t just tell Hayden that you want to keep your name when you get married.”

  “I can’t,” she moans.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I feel awful about it. Hayden is proud of his family name, too. And the Clarkes are wonderful. What if they take it personally? What am I saying by telling Hayden that his name is good enough for our daughter but not good enough for me?”

  I exhale heavily. “I think you’re underestimating your fiancé, Vi.”

  “Am I? I know it’s old-fashioned, but isn’t this completely emasculating for a man?” She pauses, squeezing her fingers around the wheel as she searches for what she’s trying to say. “I love Hayden’s manliness. It’s what attracted me to him…in the bedroom.”

  “Vi!” I groan and turn away. I can’t look at her when she talks like this.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s true! He’s an incredibly deep, soulful, sensitive man, but all that goes away in the bedroom.”

  “I’m not joking. You have to stop,” I croak.

  “He has this animalistic side to him—”

  “I will jump out of this moving car!” I roar and she flinches at the sudden change in volume. “That would ruin your chance at seeing your brothers play together in the World Cup.”

  “For a moody sod, you sure can turn on the drama when you want to.” She exhales. “Fine, fine. No more of that. I’m just worried that not taking his name will hurt a side of him that I love.”

  I do my best not to throw up in my mouth over the images that her words evoked in my head and pray that I get a concussion at the next match to erase those horrid thoughts. Putting aside my immature feelings, I help my sister as best I can.

  “A secure man—a man who knows what he has and is confident that it isn’t going anywhere—will not be emasculated by this.”

  “How do you know that? Truly.”

  I exhale slowly and shake my head. “Vi, were you never curious why I let Hayden speak to you the night of his brother’s wedding after he had broken your heart? I mean, history shows that I could have just kicked his arse.”

  She looks over at me with a frown, passing traffic lights sliding across her curious face. “I guess that was a bit odd. Certainly out of character for you now that I think about it.”

  “Exactly,” I reply with a deep chuckle. “It was because what Hayden said eliminated all the doubts I had about him.”

  “What did he say?” she asks, her voice quiet with anxiety.

  “He called you his forever, Vi.” My jaw clenches as I recall the stricken look on his face that night. He looked like a man who had left his heart on a battlefield and my sister was the only person who could revive him.

  His devotion was impressive because the entire week leading up to that night, Camden, Tanner, Booker, and I had been threatening him. We patrolled his home around the clock to show him we weren’t fucking pleased with what he did to our sister. It was a Harris Shakedown that sent all of Vi’s previous boyfriends running for the hills. The four of us always said that if a bloke was good enough for Vi, he’d be willing to stand up against all of us. Well, Hayden didn’t run. He walked right up to me at the wedding and told me Vi belonged to him whether I accepted it or not.

  I look at my sister, who I sometimes forget is still young and figuring life out. “Hayden was going to do anything to get you back. It was then that I knew he was someone I could trust with your heart.”

  “You never told me any of that before.” Vi sniffles and swipes an errant tear off her cheek. “You stupid prats scared away every bloody man in my life. I just thought Hayden snuck past you.”

  “He earned the right to you,” I correct and reach over to clasp her fist in my hand. “Hayden is not the kind of man who has to be all of one thing. He can both dominate and surrender. In fact, it makes him more of a man if he can do both. Respect him enough to let him tell you that himself.”

  “SOPHIA! HURRY UP, HONEY. WE need to head out to your grandmother’s now, or we won’t hear the end of it!” I shout up the stairs from where I’ve been waiting in my foyer for over five minutes while my daughter does what she calls “primping.”

  “Just one more minute, Mummy Gumdrops!” she bellows from her bedroom.

  I shake my head with a smile. All of a sudden, she’s seven years old going on thirteen. When did that happen? She’s always enjoyed dressing up and playing make-believe. Primping is completely new, though, along with a few other things I’ve noticed about her since I divorced Callum. Like how she doesn’t want me to read to her at bedtime anymore. Or how she refuses to eat Greek yogurt and is too cool to give me a kiss when I drop her off at school.

  This is exactly what I was afraid of when I agreed to shared custody. I can only control her and see what she’s doing fifty percent of the time. I’m not there every day to see those moments she gets away without hugging her dad goodbye for school. Or when she looks in the mirror and asks why her belly is bigger than her friend Ainsley’s. I’m not there to hear Callum tell her not to have any more sweets because those are what make her tummy big.

  Being a divorced mother means I have lost some of my original Sopapilla. Now she’s morphing into this new hybrid that I have to reacquaint myself with every other week. I know this is a lifestyle that many families endure and they survive. Some are even better for it. Deep down, I also know that staying with Callum wouldn’t have been the example of family I want to impart on Sophia.

  I think the divorce was hard for me to accept because I wasn’t ready for it. It came sooner than I anticipated. I still had cancer tunnel vision. I was still picturing my sweet Sopapilla looking so tiny in those big hospital beds, so I was prepared to live the way we were living until I knew Sophia was truly healed and out of the scary cancer woods. I would have walked through fire to heal her, so staying married to Callum seemed a lot less painful in comparison.

  But this life is my new normal. We are co-parenting and I have to accept it. I also have to accept the fact that if I’m late dropping Sophia off at Margaret’s house, she will make damn sure I know about it. And I’m not sure I have the mental fortitude to bite my tongue with her anymore.

  I’m blaming that part entirely on Gareth. Prior to meeting him and engaging in our crazy friends with benefits situation last week, I would have bitten my tongue when Margaret scolded me in front of my daughter. I would have held my breath when she commented about my trousers being much too tight, or my hair being far too long, or my makeup being too pale for my complexion.

  I’m not one who enjoys conflict. In fact, most times, I shut down and walk away. When I became a mother, I really had to push myself to not give Sophia whatever she wanted when she cried, especially because she was a sick toddler. Keeping the peace has always felt like the easier road to travel. Who wants the anxiety of an argument with someone?

  But after spending several days with Gareth last week and commanding control over our sex life, I have a newfound respect f
or people who assert themselves in situations. It’s been empowering to have such a strong, virile, beast of a man put so much faith in me. He puts my needs and my desires first all the time. And the way his attention stays so laser focused on me when I show up at his house…I can’t help but rise to the occasion. He’s pushing me to be this way because it’s a turn-on for him, too!

  What life is this?

  This kind of devotion from a powerful man is something all women should experience at least once in their lives. It would give them the strength to shoot for whatever goals they want to accomplish. Anything is possible when you can take control of your sex life.

  Sophia flounces down the stairs, snapping me out of my musings of Gareth. My eyes fly wide and I bite back a laugh as I take in my daughter’s appearance.

  She looks like Courtney Love after a bender in London. For bottoms, she’s wearing metallic silver leggings with a pair of purple Wellies. For a top, I think I see a pink tank top with silver studs around the neckline, but it’s difficult to get a good look at beneath her long, white faux fur coat. Her normally perfect skin has been massacred with eyeliner, eyeshadow, and…Is that glitter lotion? Her big brown eyes are lost in a sea of makeup in all the wrong places.

  Trying not to laugh, I ask, “Sophia, what have you done?”

  Her eyes fly wide. “I’ve dressed properly for Grandmama.”

  My brows pinch. “What do you mean?”

  “Grandmama said I should dress my best when I come to her house,” she replies in her British accent.

  My nails dig harshly into my palms. “She did, did she?”

  Sophia looks down at her Wellies. “I’m not sure she’ll like my boots, but those puddles simply must be jumped in. The last time when I jumped in my trainers, Daddy had to buy me new ones.”

  Irritation presses sharply into my temples like a blunt force trauma. This is a prime example of having no control over what’s being said to Sophia and how it’s being interpreted by her. When Margaret made comments like this to Sophia in the past, I served as a buffer to explain it away.