by Amy Daws
“Look, thanks for coming over, but I’m not dealing with this in front of you guys.”
“Why not? We’re your friends,” Link barks, his voice the most serious I’ve ever heard.
“If you’re my friends, then you will respect the fact that I need you to fucking leave.” I stalk over to the door and open it up.
“You’re kicking us out?” Link laughs, his face the picture of stunned.
I shake my head slowly. “Thank you for the support, but I got it from here.”
Link looks over at Knight to see if he’s going to argue. Knight gestures to the door.
“So much for teammates,” Link scoffs once before storming past me.
When Knight reaches me at the door, I can barely make eye contact with him as he pauses directly in front of me. “It gets lonely on an island of self-loathing, my friend. Just don’t forget you’re the one who pushed us away.”
When I close the door behind Knight, I feel sick and dirty about the mess of my life. I go from dreaming about my father, who was a good man, to questioning everything about him in the blink of an eye. And the fucker is too busy being dead to even be here to answer the millions of questions I have for him. I’m fucking lost, and I don’t know what to do.
I stomp into my shower in hopes that I can wash some of this stink away and find some clarity. As the water rushes over me, I know only one person can take this pain inside me away.
Daphney.
I dress quickly and shove my phone in my pocket, damn near aching to see her again as I make my way down the hall. My brows furrow when I go to turn her doorknob and find it’s locked. I thump on the door and call out her name, but there’s no reply. I wiggle the doorknob again, but it won’t budge.
“Daphney, are you in there?” I call through the wood and press my ear to the door to listen for the shower.
I’m met with silence, so I frown and pull my phone out of my pocket to call her. As I pull her name up, I see a text message from her.
Daphney: I thought I could trust you…I was wrong.
My stomach roils at those ominous words. What the fuck happened? What does she mean she doesn’t trust me? Chills crawl over my entire body as it dawns on me. She heard everything we said.
“We all heard you!” the voice of Miss Kitchems calls up the stairs.
“Fuck!” I exclaim out loud and whirl around to kick the damn mouse house in the hallway. It breaks into several pieces, mirroring the swirling vortex of my insides.
“Heard that too,” Miss Kitchems calls up again.
I cover my eyes, my mind a foggy mess of horror and guilt. So, so much guilt. She heard what Link said about me using her. She heard everything. I was going to tell her about all of this. I wanted to tell her. I should have told her last night.
Fucking hell! This can’t be unfixable. Surely, she will understand once I explain it all to her.
I rush downstairs barefoot to see that her car is gone. Where did she go? I press call on my phone, listening to the line trill over and over again.
I thought I could trust you…I was wrong.
This is really fucking bad. And sadly, it’s only the cherry on top of the shit sundae that is my life.
Zander
“Santino?” I croak into the phone line, my fingers clutching tightly to the team lawyer’s business card that’s been sitting in my kitchen drawer since he stopped by my apartment after I arrived in London.
“Yes?” he answers, his voice ragged like he’s just woken up.
“This is Zander Williams. I’m sorry to call you so soon after your wedding, but the club office said you were taking calls from players.” I exhale heavily, forcing myself to loosen the grip on my phone before I break it.
It’s been two days of unanswered calls from Daphney. Two days of her not showing up at her apartment and not working at Old George. And two days of me sitting in a misery of my own making. I’ve called in sick for training yesterday and today, and there’s no way I’ll be able to face the team tomorrow if I don’t pull the trigger on this plan I came up with.
“It’s totally fine you called, Zander. I’m not out of the country or anything. What can I do for you?” Santino asks, his voice crisp and professional.
I suck in a deep breath and say what I called to say. “I need to be transferred to a new team when the window opens up this summer,” I state, my voice sounding robotic after how many times I practiced saying it out loud. “Preferably a club in London. Just not Bethnal Green or Arsenal. I don’t have an agent. I just need a contract. I’ll even go down to Championship League or the league below that. I don’t care. I just want to stay in London and keep playing soccer.”
I sigh heavily at the sound of my plan out loud. It probably sounds nuts to Santino, but if I can get away from the Harris family and forget all about that DNA shit and whether or not our hands look the fucking same, then maybe I can find a way to repair my relationship with Daphney.
I’m met with a long-drawn-out silence when finally, Santino replies, “So, your mum told you then.”
My head jerks back. What the fuck does my mom have to do with any of this? Why would he know anything about my mom?
Licking my lips, I decide to play along. “Yeah, she told me.”
He inhales sharply. “Look, Zander. I think we can deal with this quietly, okay? We can come up with a plan that makes everyone happy. And we can craft a story that the press will believe. We don’t even have to tell Vaughn about this if you don’t want to. That’s up to you.”
Chills erupt up my spine. “How do you know about Vaughn?”
“From when your mum called me,” Santino says it like it should be obvious.
“When did she call you exactly?” I ask, my voice hollow.
“Well, probably about seven or eight months ago now.” He scoffs, and I hear him rustling some papers. “I have a crisis management company that might be able to help us with this.”
“What all did my mom say on this call?” I grind out through clenched teeth.
Santino exhales heavily. “Didn’t she tell you all this?”
“No, Santino. My mom hasn’t told me shit,” I snap, my tone cutting. “I’m hoping you can enlighten me.”
Santino stammers for a moment. “Then h-h-how do you know?”
I hesitate with how to respond to that because the truth is, I know nothing because I still can’t bring myself to open up that damn DNA envelope. And Knight was right. The fucking thing is haunting me. It’s why I want to get as far away from Bethnal Green as I can.
My jaw is taut when I reply with the truth because frankly, I’ve run out of lies to tell. “I found a letter my mom wrote to Vaughn Harris when she was pregnant with me telling him that I’m his son. I’ve known since the day I was recruited to Bethnal Green.”
“Jesus Christ,” Santino expels a breath.
“My question to you is, if you’ve spoken to my mom, how is it possible you haven’t said anything to anyone yet?”
“Your mum made me sign a nondisclosure agreement,” he replies tersely. “And I’m a lawyer, so I take those things seriously.”
“What did she want when she called you seven months ago? And please don’t lie to me. I’m done with the fucking lies.”
Santino hesitates on the other end of the line.
“Just tell me,” I state firmly.
His voice is grave when he responds, “She wanted me to find a way to kill your contract with the club because she was scared you’d figure out you were the son of Vaughn Harris.”
My stomach roils at his response, and I have to bend over and brace myself on my knees. It’s even worse than I imagined. I don’t know what I imagined, honestly. My brain is a pile of mush these days, and my emotions are fried. But my mom trying to ruin my career over all of this hadn’t even entered my mind.
Also…now it’s out there. The confirmation I have been avoiding with all my might. Vaughn Harris is my father.
My voice is tight when I choke
out, “I see.”
“Zander, look. I’m in Bath with Tilly, but I can grab a train and be back in London in a couple of hours. Let’s set up a meeting.”
I shake my head even though I know he can’t see it. “I don’t need a meeting with you. I need a meeting with somebody else.”
“What do you mean? I’m the one who should deal with this.”
“You’re wrong,” I reply through clenched teeth. “My mom is who should be dealing with this.”
Daphney
“Why is Zander Williams texting me asking where you’re at?” my brother Hayden growls into my mobile as I wrap silverware at Old George before we open.
“Because I haven’t been to my flat in a couple of days,” I reply crisply.
“Where have you been staying?”
“Phoebe’s.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing, Hayden.”
“Bullshit,” he snaps. “Zander’s texts don’t seem like nothing. He says you won’t take his calls, and he’s been looking for you.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“What did he do?” Hayden asks ominously. “Just tell me.”
“No.”
He scoffs into the line. “Why do the losers always find you, Daphney?”
“Because I’m easy prey, okay, Hayden?” I snap, my voice cracking as fresh pain rips through me for the fiftieth time today. “Because I’m a magnet for arseholes. Because I’m not good enough to find someone who can care about me in any meaningful way. Is that an answer you’re looking for?”
“Daphney.” Hayden’s voice is pained but not as much as mine.
“Don’t worry about me, Hayden. I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later.” I hang up, frustrated that I answered in the first place, but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t something I needed to take care of at the building since I haven’t been over there for a few days. Heaven forbid I let one of my responsibilities go while I’m wallowing in yet another relationship disaster. It’s like déjà fucking vu all over again.
I woke up after that wedding feeling like the cat that got the cream. I swear I was even smiling in my sleep, for heaven’s sake. I dreamed of Zander while he held me in his arms. My heart was so bloody full, I was making us coffee and thinking I could do this with him for the rest of my life.
Then I heard him next door talking to his teammates. I didn’t think anything of it. I figured he’d be back because his suit was still on the floor of my flat.
Then I heard my name. And I heard Zander try to tell Link he didn’t know what he was talking about. And then Link said something about the double-decker bus tour, and I felt sick to my stomach.
It was like I was listening to the voice of a complete stranger.
My mobile pings with a text notification, and I feel a small sense of relief when I see it’s Phoebe and not another text from Zander since I’ve been ignoring him for three days straight.
Phoebe: Got out late from my audiobook session. Be there in twenty.
Me: You don’t have to come here.
Phoebe: The fuck I don’t. If that wanker tries to stop by while you’re working, he’s going to have to go through me first. See you soon. xx
My chin wobbles at the overprotectiveness of my best friend. I hate that she’s had to pick me up off the floor the past few days. I hate that I’ve shed countless tears after so many countless kisses. I hate that I feel like my old self again who falls easily and blindly.
I hate Zander fucking Williams.
I lift a rack of the plastic outdoor pint glasses and carry them to the beer garden bar to restock the supply for tonight. I just need to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Focus on my work. Focus on the task at hand.
I can see my breath in the cold as I walk behind the bar to begin transferring the glasses when a deep voice nearly startles me half to death.
“Hey, Ducky.”
I gasp and almost drop the mug in my hand when I look up to see Zander sitting at the end of the bar. He’s wearing his Red Sox hat faced forward and pulled low with his brown hair sprawling out from beneath it. He’s also wearing just a hooded jumper even though it’s freezing out here.
“Zander, what the bloody hell are you doing back here?” I ask through clenched teeth.
“Waiting for you.” He licks his lips and props his hands on the bar.
“How did you get back here? We’re not even open yet.”
“I scaled the fence.” He holds his arm up and reveals a tear in his jumper. “Caught my sweatshirt on a nail in the ivy.”
“Well, that was pointless because I don’t want to see you.” I pick up the rack of pint glasses and move to go back inside.
Zander sprints around me and braces his hands on either side, blocking me in. “I need to explain,” he says, and I can’t help but note the dark circles under his eyes.
“You don’t need to explain,” I state firmly as I slam the glasses down on the bar and zip my coat up to my chin like it’ll somehow protect me from him. “I heard everything perfectly clearly. Like you said, the walls are paper thin.”
He hesitates for a moment, so I make a move to leave again, and his hand reaches out to touch my waist to stop me. The warmth of his palm may as well have been a hot branding iron through my coat. It hurts so bloody much.
“Don’t touch me,” I snap, my jaw tight as I back away from him. “Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me. Just leave me alone, okay? I understand the bit. You needed me to get to Vaughn Harris. I don’t know the particulars, but I heard enough.”
“You get what I was doing, right?” he asks, his voice hoarse, his eyes wide and red-rimmed. “I was trying to figure out if Vaughn Harris is my fucking father.”
“Oh, I got that.” I laugh and shake my head, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. “So, you flirted with me, and took me on a bus tour, and made nice with me, slept with me even…all to score an invite to a Harris Sunday dinner so you could extract DNA from Vaughn Harris. Did I get everything?”
Zander blinks back at me. “Yes.”
“Great, then there’s nothing more that needs to be said. You accomplished your mission. Well done, you.” My stomach lurches at being so close to him again and hating him this much. It’s an awful, awful feeling.
“This isn’t over between us, Daphney,” Zander says, his voice raw. “We can get past this.”
“No, we can’t!” I laugh back at him. “This isn’t something I can get past.”
He dips his head so he can hit me with a lethal glare. “You don’t think what I’m dealing with is maybe a slightly bigger deal than me not telling you about this?”
“Oh no, I do.” I nod thoughtfully. “Good luck deciding if you’re going to open that envelope. Sounds like a real nail-biter.”
Zander’s nostrils flare. “I’m glad you think my life’s such a fucking joke.”
“I don’t think your life is a joke,” I exclaim, my tone acidic as I step into his space. “In fact, I thought the father you described to me sounded very real. I loved the stories you told me about him. I could almost picture him, you described him so perfectly. But now I can’t be sure who you were actually describing.”
“That’s…my dad, Jerry,” Zander sputters, his emotions all over his face.
“So, did Jerry really die? Or is he alive and well?” My words are cruel and hurtful, but the pain inside me is louder than my empathy.
“Yes. Fuck, who the fuck do you think I am, Daphney?” Zander cries, his voice garbled with emotion that I cannot sympathize with right now because I’m too hurt.
“I don’t know who you are, Zander! I thought that I was with a guy who would tell me about a very, very big thing happening in his life. Like questioning who his real father is. I know his teammates knew. They knew far more than I did. Guess that’s football for you, eh? Never mind that I let you make love to me. Why on earth would I deserve to know about a possible genetic link to the manager of your football club? Too minor of a detail to s
hare with a girlfriend, clearly.”
“You were my girlfriend for less than twenty-four hours!” Zander hollers, the veins on his neck bulging angrily.
“And there it is,” I bite, my voice shrieking at the end. “The truth of your feelings. I told you things. I opened up to you about my sister, my family, my ex. We had been more than just casual sex for weeks now and screw you for tricking me into feeling like I was safe in that.”
Tears slip down his cheeks as he yanks his hat off, giving me a full daylight view of the devastating pain in his eyes. He looks broken and hollow, and a part of me wants to comfort him. To forgive him. But I’ve come too far in my life to let another man manipulate and use me again. I deserve better.
“What do you want from me, Daphney?” he cries, his voice weak. “I’m sorry, okay? I should have told you. I was going to tell you. I just…couldn’t find the words.”
“You couldn’t find the words, and I can’t find forgiveness.” My chin wobbles, and tears sting my eyes as that painful reality sinks in. I was so stupid to think Zander was different. I was so silly to believe that he could be better than the other men in my life. That he could even be the one. My God, I’m a fool. He’s standing in front of me asking what I want from him, and it should be glaringly obvious after everything we’ve shared the past several weeks.
This moment right here has to be goodbye. If I let him back into my life for even a minute longer, I will not recover when it inevitably all ends. And I refuse to let another man ruin my life.
My voice is determined when I step forward and hit him with the hard truth of it all. “The last guy blindsided me when I discovered he was using me for my music. Now you used me for my connection to the Harris family, and I was blindsided all over again. It’s clear that I’m the common denominator in both these scenarios.” My voice breaks at the painful realization that it’s not just Zander I can’t trust. It’s me. It’s me that I can’t depend on. I thought I knew Zander. I thought he cared for me. I was wrong and naïve. So, so naïve. I shake off that pain and add with finality, “I can’t trust my heart. And I can’t trust you.”
