Strength

by Daws, Amy

  Theo’s eyes catch sight of me through the window while he works a skill saw on a slab of raw wood. His expression drops, and he sets down the saw and runs out to me.

  “Hayden, what happened?” His footsteps come to a thundering halt beside me, and he squats to look up at my face. I continue panting, unable to respond, and his eyes frown down at my wet trousers. He sniffs. “Have you been fucking drinking?”

  I scowl and shake my head aggressively, standing up and clutching my side as I continue to heave huge gulps of air into my lungs.

  “You’re lying. You reek of alcohol,” he accuses, his brown eyes icy slits as he rises up to his feet. “What the fuck, Hayden? How could you?”

  “I didn’t!” I snap, shoving him in the chest angrily just as Leslie appears over his shoulder.

  She’s pushing Marisa in a pram. Her green eyes widen with fear as Theo grabs me by my shirt and pulls me to his face. “Goddammit, Hayden! You’re going to throw it all away again. A fucking years’ worth of work, and for what?”

  I go limp in his arms, and he stares back at me in confusion as I gesture over his shoulder with my chin. His head turns and lands on Leslie. Instantly, his grip releases my shirt.

  “Tell me what I’m seeing isn’t true,” Leslie says, her voice shaky, further penetrating my aching heart.

  Theo clasps his glasses and eyes me harshly. “Hayden’s been drinking.”

  “No I haven’t!” I roar and fight the urge to punch my fucking arrogant arse of a brother in the nose. I glance briefly at the pram, and it snuffs my burning rage when I hear Marisa begin to fuss. My heart bleeds inside my chest at the sound.

  “Leslie,” I beg. “Please, you have to believe me. I haven’t been drinking. I swear to you. I broke a bottle at the corner store. I was going to buy it. I wanted to buy it. I wanted to drink the whole bloody thing, but I smashed it instead.” My eyes slam shut at the fact that, in a flash, I’m back to being the sad, pathetic baby brother whom everyone feels sorry for. And it didn’t even take me getting drunk to do it.

  Leslie pushes the pram over to Theo, who exhales deeply, attempting to calm down with Marisa closer to him now. She walks over to me and cups my face in her hands. Her green eyes are glossy as she sniffs my breath. I begin to moan, feeling like the fucking spit on someone’s shoe, but she catches me off guard when she pulls me down into her arms…

  …for a hug.

  She hugs me.

  She tucks my head to her chest and she fucking hugs me.

  Just when I thought I was already broken beyond recognition.

  My heart splinters.

  I begin quaking in her arms and squint at my watch through my tears even though I know there’s not a shot in hell that it could be 11:11. But I wish it were. I wish so much that it were. I wish my own sister were here holding me. I wish I weren’t shattering into a shred of the man I was before. I wish so many things, but the one wish I want the most is something I possibly just ruined forever.

  I let everything in my life get so fucked, and now all this tiny redhead wants to do is hug me.

  After an insurmountable amount of time, Theo interrupts my strangled sobs with a soft tap on my shoulder. I release Leslie with a loud sniff and wipe aggressively at my eyes. I look up and see Marisa’s wide, beautiful baby blues staring back at me. I release another throaty sob as Theo holds her out for me to take.

  I slide my hands beneath her small arms and tuck her against my chest, pressing my cheek on the top of her head. My arms tremble as I purse my lips into a thin line to conceal the emotional pain of the trust he’s just given me in this moment. Exhaling a few more aching cries, I allow my heart to regulate with hers…

  Calming…

  Soothing…

  Beating…

  Alive.

  “Where’s my fussy girl?” I joke, and Leslie and Theo burst out into an emotionally thick laugh.

  Theo tucks Leslie under his arm, and the two of them look at me with all the undiluted love and trust in their eyes that they can muster.

  I swallow hard and kiss Marisa’s soft head. She fusses and it brings a smile to my face. “There’s my girl. I got you.”

  “Still my girl,” Theo mumbles under his breath, and Leslie elbows him sharply in the ribs.

  I nod a silent thank you because, for the first time in years, I allow myself to be loved.

  Two days later, the words Vi uttered to me on that Notting Hill street corner continue to echo in my ears over and over as I dress for my therapy session with Doc.

  “Hayden, I love you.”

  “Hayden, I love you.”

  “Hayden, I love you.”

  I turn away from my reflection in the mirror, unable to look at myself a moment longer. You’d think after forty-eight hours, I could control my thoughts. But, no, I’m still obsessing over all things Vi.

  I shouldn’t have been so stunned by her declaration. I saw it coming. I sat back and allowed her to break down all my defences, just as I allowed her to pop open the cuffs on my wrists and kiss my scars.

  I gave myself to her. All of me.

  Or so I thought.

  Then, something triggered me. Maybe it was the words of the psychic putting too much pressure on the future, or maybe it was just me not believing I am good enough for Vi. But for some reason, those last three words from Vi cut through me ten times deeper than the blade I drew across my wrists over a year ago.

  The past two evenings have been spent on Theo and Leslie’s sofa, clutching a sleeping Marisa to my chest while Leslie popped popcorn and Theo selected a film for us to watch as a family. It was nice. It was simple.

  Like a normal, loving family.

  Which is impressive considering how dark I was after I left Vi on the street. I felt like I was six feet under. My world was coming down all around me as I ran through the streets like a mad man.

  Somehow, I managed to pull myself out. Somehow, I allowed myself to really accept that hug from Leslie and that meaningful look from Theo. And when tiny Marisa’s finger wrapped around mine, the armour I’d been holding onto so tightly suddenly fell away.

  Because I allowed my family to catch me.

  My family.

  They didn’t hold my breakdown against me. They didn’t rush me off to therapy, or a meeting, or rehab. They just sat beside me and allowed me to breathe their air and feel their presence.

  That sense of family devotion was something I thought was long gone after Marisa died. In truth, it’s been here all along. I just haven’t allowed myself to accept it.

  I stride out of my room and see Leslie bouncing Marisa in her arms as she warms up a bottle. Her green eyes find mine and are full of so much warmth and compassion, I feel it all the way down to my toes.

  “How did you sleep?” she asks, dropping a kiss into Marisa’s red, fuzzy hair.

  “Like a dead man,” I deadpan.

  She eyes me sternly. “You’re a clever boy. Let’s go for a different analogy.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m fine, Leslie.”

  “Are you sure?” she asks, walking over to me and fixing the collar of my shirt in a motherly way. “Because you still look sad.”

  I swallow slowly, a knot forming in my throat as I instantly picture Vi. “I…I’m fine.”

  “Hayden, why don’t you go to her?” Leslie asks, her brows knit together in worry. “You obviously miss her.”

  I grip the cuffs on my wrists and shake my head. “I don’t know if that’s what’s best for her…or me. I need to figure out my head first. I have an appointment with Doc now to try to help with that.”

  “Good. I hope he tells you to listen to your heart, not your head. Your head can be very dull.”

  I huff out a laugh at her small attempt at a joke, but deep down I want to scream at her that my heart is ten times more terrifying than my head. My head is predictable and in control. My heart is irrational and desperate. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to trust it yet.

  “I guess we’ll see,
” I reply with a half-smile. I step closer to her and drop a kiss on Marisa’s head before making my way out the door of the flat.

  As I step out of C. Designs, something unusual catches the corner of my eye. I turn my gaze across the street, and that’s when I see them.

  All four of them.

  The Harris Brothers.

  Gareth, Tanner, Camden, and Booker are standing in a straight line, their arms crossed over their chests. All eight of their blazing eyes on me.

  My steps falter, my heartbeat picking up from their mere presence. No one could help but be intimidated by them all lined up in a row. What do they want? Are they here to kick my arse? Have they come to knock some sense into me? Talk to me for Vi? Or, are they just here to make me regret the day I ever spoke to their sister in the first place?

  Well, I don’t regret it.

  And I never will.

  Vi is the best person I’ve ever known.

  For that reason and that reason alone, I straighten my shoulders, push out my chest, and stride across the street toward them.

  “Can I help you guys?” I ask, my voice low and doing its best not to show my fear.

  They say nothing.

  I look at Gareth since he’s the oldest. His face looks as if it’s made of granite, and I swear his muscles grow in front of me. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  No one is talking.

  I eye the twins, and both of them are shooting daggers at me as well.

  “If you guys have something to say to me, just say it!” I snap and turn my eyes to Booker, who has hated me from the moment I met him. I move down the line to stand in front of him, coming nose-to-nose with him as I add, “You can’t protect her forever.”

  Booker lunges at me, but Camden grabs him by the shoulders and yanks him back into place. I shake my head and laugh, causing Cam to shoot his murderous-looking eyes at me in warning. But I’m not scared. Not a bit. When you’ve reached rock bottom, there’s nothing that can make things any worse.

  I step back and slide my hands through my hair, my head shaking back and forth in frustration over the ridiculousness of their silent message. “You guys think I don’t know what I did was fucked-up? You think I’m not already punishing myself twenty times more than this little display? Well, you’re wrong! I regret it all. Everything I said and did.”

  Tanner’s hands tighten into fists as he takes a deep breath, his chest muscles puffing out even further. I scoff and continue my rant because it’s clear these oafs aren’t about to put sentences together.

  “You know what, though? I don’t regret meeting her. I don’t regret letting your sister into my life. Maybe it was a mistake for me to get involved with her, but you guys don’t give her enough credit. She has more strength in her tiny stamping foot than the four of you have combined. And that’s the most beautiful thing about her. So, fine. Stay out here. Silently intimidate me, stalk me at my place of work. Do whatever you need to do, but know this. If I had an ounce of the strength Vi has, I wouldn’t be here talking to you lot. I’d be at her place, making sure she knows just how incredible she is inside and out. Because, despite your protection—despite your family devotion and support—she will need the love of her life to make her believe it.”

  “And you think that’s you?” Booker nearly spits, his tone acerbic and disbelieving.

  I swallow hard, my face falling in pain as I step away from them and into the street. “I honestly wish I knew.”

  Without another word, I turn on my heel and walk away, my chest heaving with fear. And that fear has nothing to do with the Harris Brothers.

  “So you’ve turned the person whom you completed your challenge with into a full-fledged relationship,” Doc states, eyeing me seriously from his armchair and not giving anything away. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I see a laugh quirking the corners of his mouth.

  I squirm in my seat after revealing everything I’ve been up to since last seeing him. I can’t help but feel like a kid who’s just told his mum that he broke Grannie’s vase.

  “It was a relationship. Now it’s not I guess.”

  My memory briefly flickers to the terrifyingly intimidating glowers from her brothers this morning. The four of them didn’t look like they’d be done casing my flat any time soon, but I don’t care. Deep down, I know I deserve it.

  “Why isn’t it a relationship anymore?” Doc asks curiously.

  “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what a horrid idea that was. I mean, it’s not exactly extra credit to take the assignment you gave me and turn it into a relationship. I’ve not watered a plant or gotten a dog. I sure as hell didn’t need a relationship messing up my recovery.”

  Doc tilts his head. “How did the relationship make you feel?”

  “Out of bloody control,” I snap aggressively. But, in one blink, I remember the deliriously amazing moments I shared with Vi as well. Even the painful times with her were beautiful because she was with me.

  “Is that all?” he asks.

  I shrug. “It was too much. It was really intense. I don’t need that right now. I need to focus on myself.”

  Doc’s brows lift. “You need to focus on moving forward, Hayden. Above all. Being alive and living life is taking steps forward.” I swallow hard and he leans closer as if he knows he still hasn’t gotten through to me. “It’s allowing yourself to live, not just be alive. Staying sober and functional shouldn’t be your only goals. Embracing all of your emotions—good and bad—is the greatest challenge of all.”

  A WET NOSE NUDGES MY face. Now a tongue. Now another tongue. “Bruce! Off with you, or I’m giving you another bath,” I groan, refusing to open my swollen eyes. His nails clack along the floor in a hasty retreat from me threatening him with the one thing he hates more than getting his nails clipped.

  “When was the last time you had a bath?” a familiar voice asks from inside my room.

  My eyes fly open and land on Gareth sitting at the foot of my bed. “How did you get in?” I snap, sitting up and rubbing at my crusty eyes. I inhale a sharp breath at the tender skin around the edges.

  “I stole Dad’s spare key. He wouldn’t give it to me either. Said I needed to let you sort this one out on your own. But after ten fucking un-returned calls, I’d had it up to here, Vi.” Gareth’s arm flexes as he demonstrates just how far up he’s had it.

  I roll my eyes and scowl as I take in his appearance. He’s freshly showered, his dark brown hair still wet on the ends. It’s annoying.

  “You didn’t need to come over,” I grumble, throwing the covers off myself and waltzing into the bathroom. I leave the door open while I stand at the sink and splash cold water on my face.

  “By the looks of it, I needed to come five fucking days ago.” He leans on the frame of the door, and his penetrative glower reflects at me in the mirror.

  I wince at my own reflection but refuse to confirm his fears. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Too fucking bad,” Gareth barks, standing up straight. “You look like you haven’t eaten or showered in days. Have you even been in to work?”

  “I worked from home.” I glare at his reflection. “See? I’m not a weakling, Gareth. I’m doing just fine. I’m making my deadlines, answering emails. I’m a proper grown-up.”

  “Oh yeah, it really looks like it.” Bruce trots over to him and nudges his hand for a pet. “Poor bastard. Bruce probably hasn’t seen the light of day all week.”

  “Stop,” I demand, turning around to face him. “I don’t need to hear this, Gareth. Bruce has been well taken care of. Spoilt rotten with my daily presence. Does he look neglected?”

  As if on cue, Bruce’s jaw drops wide into a squeaking yawn and he lies down right at Gareth’s feet with a sad huff.

  “I’ve been by C. Designs,” he says out of nowhere. My eyes fly wide. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans on the doorjamb as if he told me it’s raining outside. It’s fucking London. It’s always raining!

 
I storm over and poke him in the chest. “You haven’t really been over there, have you?”

  He nods defensively. “If not me, it’s Booker, Cam, or Tan. One of us has been driving by there every fucking day.”

  “And doing what?” My jaw is slack.

  Gareth’s eyes narrow as he continues that infuriatingly cocky, footballer nod. “Don’t worry. I haven’t laid a hand on him. We’ve just been watching.”

  “Watching for what? Has he seen you?” My voice rises with panic.

  “Oh, he’s seen us,” he chuckles.

  “Oh my God, Gareth!” I shriek. “No! What do you think you’re doing?”

  “We’re sending him a fucking message, Vi.” He points his finger in the air to accentuate his point. “He’s got a hell of a lot of nerve acting noble in front of us one night, then slagging you off the very next day. He’s a wanker. You’re better off.”

  My eyes sting, but there is no sign of actual tears. My tears are completely dried-up. “Gareth, this has absolutely nothing to do with you!” I rake my hands through my ratty hair and grip the back of my neck as I walk back into my bedroom. “Why? Why do you guys keep doing this stuff?”

  He follows, towering over me as I sit down on the bed. “Look, Vi. My season’s almost starting again. I don’t have to tell you that, that means I’m leaving for Manchester in two weeks. I can’t leave you here with that fucking prat sniffing about.”

  “It’s my life!” I cry out and stamp my foot. “I don’t need you tousling every man who jilts me. At my rate, it’ll become a full-time fucking job.”

  “Oh, stop,” he scoffs. “You’re just doing a proper job of picking morons.”

  “I don’t, Gareth.” I groan at the deep pain I feel every time I think about Hayden. “Hayden isn’t a moron. He is everything, but he didn’t see that. He didn’t want it. He trusted me with so much of his life, but in the end, he still couldn’t manage to fall in love with me. He walked away.” My chest shudders into an awkward dry sob as I keel over and cry into my hands. God, this is pathetic. I can’t even cry properly.