by Amy Daws
I make a move to walk past him, and his voice is pleading when he says, “Daphney, please. Don’t walk away from this.”
I inhale sharply and pin him with a look that reflects the self-awareness in my soul. “I may not need to hire a lawyer to get you out of my life, but I promise that I will forget you ever existed, Zander Williams.”
Zander
“You’re here,” Link says, as he walks into the locker room to find me changing into my practice gear.
“Where else would I be?” I grumble, tying my shoelaces with a healthy dose of anger that I’ve let replace my pain since that epic fight with Daphney yesterday.
Link sits down beside me as Knight walks in next. He stops in front of me and glares, his face expressing zero emotion. “You missed three trainings.”
I shrug. “Had shit to deal with.”
“So did you do it?” Link asks, his eyes wide with worry. “Did you read the results?”
I shake my head. “I’m going to do what I should have done in the first place.”
“What’s that?” Link inquires.
“I’m going to get the truth from my mother.” I glance up at Knight whose brows flicker curiously. “She’s on a flight right now and should be here by the time we’re done with practice.”
Knight lowers himself onto the bench across from me. “And then what?”
“And then, we’ll see.” I lower my foot to the ground and sit back in my cubby. “The only thing I do know is I won’t be playing for this club anymore.”
“What?” Knight and Link both ask in unison.
I nod seriously. “I can’t do it, no matter what the truth is. Too much shit has gone down.”
“What do you mean?” Link asks, his jaw dropped in horror.
I shrug. “Daphney knows I used her to get to Vaughn. She heard our entire fucking conversation through the wall.”
“Shit. I’m so sorry, Z.” Link tucks his hair behind his ears. “I should have never said anything.”
I shake my head firmly. “It’s not your fault. It’s my fault. This entire fucked-up mess is all my fault. I’ve been lying to everyone around me, including you guys. I told you Daphney and I were just casual, and even that was a damn lie. I knew I was in love with her the minute I looked up into the stands and saw her at that Arsenal game in a Bethnal Green fucking sweatshirt. I knew it, and I still wasn’t honest with her. I wasn’t even honest with myself. My dad would be ashamed of me. And those were words I never thought I’d say.”
I stand and make a move to head out of the locker room, but Knight reaches up and grabs my arm, turning me around to look at him. “So that’s it. You’re just going to cut and run?”
I nod slowly. “I’ll finish out the season and transfer when the window opens up. I need a fresh start.”
“And your mom?”
I exhale heavily. “She has a lot to answer for. And I’m going to try to listen because honestly, the apple clearly doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Knight says, his jaw taut. “You weren’t alone in this crazy plan. We were there at the start, and we’ll be there at the finish.”
I nod and squeeze Knight’s arm gratefully before walking out of the locker room. When I turn the corner to head to the practice field, a voice calls out to me, “Zander!”
I tense and force myself to play it cool when I turn on my heel to face Vaughn. He closes the distance between us, his steely-blue eyes severe on me. “Missed three days of training, son. How are you?”
“Food poisoning, but I’m fine now,” I reply gruffly. What’s another lie at this point?
“You look a little rough still.” He eyes me seriously, his face bending with sympathy. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with what’s going on between you and Daphney, would it?”
“What?” I jerk back in confusion. “How do you—?”
“Hayden mentioned something to me,” Vaughn says, sighing heavily. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Absolutely not,” I snap, my tone bordering on disrespectful.
What is it with this fucking family? Why is everyone in each other’s business all the damn time? Daphney’s not even a member of the Harris family, and they still have to get involved in her fucking life? And why the hell did Daphney’s brother have to tell Daddy Harris shit that has nothing to do with him? This is why I need to get away from this family.
Vaughn watches me carefully for a moment before reaching out to touch my shoulder. “You know, son…”
“I really should go warm up,” I state in a hurry, cutting him off because the last thing I need is paternal vibes coming from this man right now. “I’ll be good for Saturday, I swear.”
Vaughn nods slowly, silently dismissing me. My cleats clack on the concrete as I make my way out onto the field and hope that Coach Zion has an extra dose of sadism for me today. I sure as fuck need it.
My muscles are jelly as I trudge home in the cold London air. A text from my mom after practice said she was in a cab and on her way to Old George, where I told her to meet me. I wanted to have this conversation in public because I need my mom to keep it together long enough to give me answers. And frankly, I’m not ready to invite her into my apartment. My life here in London feels like something she doesn’t deserve to be a part of yet, especially if a lot of what Santino said turns out to be true. I know that it’s possible Daphney will be there. A part of me wants her to be, and a part of me doesn’t.
I don’t know where I stand with her, honestly. It’s clear she wants nothing to do with me, but now I sort of wonder if I’m better off without her. At first, I wanted to stay in London so I could slowly win back her trust, but deep down, I’m disappointed in her too. The fact that she can’t extend me even a modicum of grace through a very hard ordeal cuts me deep. It was so easy for her to throw me away after one mistake. Maybe Vaughn Harris would have chosen to throw me away as well if my mother ever sent him that letter.
When my mom confirms what I already know to be true today, what will the rest of the Harris family even think? Odds are they aren’t going to take kindly to a guy who infiltrated their group under the guise of a friend and teammate, only to be duping them the entire fucking time. I sure as fuck wouldn’t welcome that guy with open arms.
I handled this entire scenario so fucking wrong. And Daphney was my one saving grace. My safe space. She was the one person in my life I could count on and now…she’s dumped me without a second thought.
As I step into the familiar pub of Old George, my eyes instantly go to the bar in search of her. I can’t help it. It’s a fucking habit of the heart that will take some time to break.
Hubert looks up from what he’s doing and offers me a slight wave. Even he looks like he hates me. My eyes scan the rest of the pub, and in the corner, I spot her…the woman who gave birth to me.
“Hey, buddy!” my mom croaks as she rises out of her chair and waves at me.
She looks smaller than I remember. Her short brown hair is still the same blunt bob cut it has been for the better part of a decade, but her frame seems to have shrunk since I last saw her. And she looks like she’s aged several years.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, walking over to her and hunching down to give her a hug.
She trembles in my arms, and I hear her choking back a cry. “I can’t believe I’m here in London. I haven’t been here since before you were born.”
We part, and I offer her a half-smile. “I can’t believe it either.” I remove my backpack and gesture for her to sit back down. “Can I get you a drink?” I ask, struggling to make eye contact. “I have to order it at the bar.”
“Um, I’ll do a coffee if they have that here.”
I nod and retreat to the bar to get two cups of coffee and a small jug of cream for my mom. My hands are trembling when I walk back over with them, feeling her eyes on me the entire time.
“Is it possible you’ve grown since Christmas?” She laughs, but it’s weak.
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I push the mug and cream in front of her. “They train me pretty hard over here.”
“Clearly,” she says, staring at my arms. “Your coat barely fits you anymore.”
“It fits okay,” I reply, staring down at my coffee.
She makes a little sing-songy noise in her throat. “Are you going to tell me why I’m here? I was worried you were injured, but you seem okay to me.”
I shake my head and force myself to look into her eyes. They’re a lovely shade of brown. My dad’s were green. I always thought my hazel eyes were a combination of the two of them. I guess that thought would be wrong.
Steeling myself, I begin to have the conversation I should have had with her ages ago. “Mom, I need you to tell me why you called the club lawyer, Santino Rossi, seven months ago.”
My mom’s hands begin to shake as she pours the cream into her coffee. She rubs her lips together and glances up from what she’s doing. “What?”
I exhale heavily. “I need to know every detail of the conversation you had with Santino Rossi when I signed with Bethnal Green.”
“H-H-How do you know about that conversation?” she asks, her voice ragged.
My eyes sting when I croak out the next two words. “Mom, please.”
Tears begin to fill her eyes, and her head jerks back and forth. “I didn’t want you to come here.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too far away from home.”
“Mom.” I pin her with a serious look. “Cut the shit for once in my life, please.”
She scoffs at my choice of words. “Well, it seems like you already know, so why don’t you tell me?”
I rub my lips together and silently calm my nerves. “I need to hear it from you.”
“This was what I was afraid would happen,” she sputters, errant tears spilling down her cheeks. “I knew you would come here, and somehow, you’d figure it out. I didn’t know how. I just knew if you were here, next to him…the truth would come out.”
“The truth being?” I tee my mother up, once again.
She turns her head to the side, her lips twitching as she struggles to find the words.
“Mom, why is this so hard for you to say?”
“Because I never wanted you to know that Jerry wasn’t your real father.”
And there it is.
The truth…at last.
It hurts a million times more than I ever thought it would.
My eyes sting with unshed tears. “Why didn’t you want me to know?”
“Because Jerry was your father from the moment you were born. He was your father even before you were born. He came with me to my ultrasound appointments. He put together your baby crib. He hung wallpaper in the nursery for me. He was everything a father should be.”
I swallow the painful knot in my throat as I ask, “Who is my real father?”
She inhales through her nose and answers, “Vaughn Harris.”
I close my eyes as I let those two words that have rolled over and over in my mind for the better part of a year wash through me. I’ve spent the past two months in London telling myself it couldn’t be him. I watched him with his kids and grandkids and said, if he was my father, I would know it. I would feel it. He would feel it. We’d have an instinctual connection that defies logic.
I researched him and his kids online for nearly a year, feeling like it was way too fucking obvious that a family that plays professional soccer is my actual family. There’s no damn way. And for me to be recruited to his club of all the clubs in the world? Life can’t be that funny. Life can’t be that on the nose.
Yet here I sit, faced with the truth I’ve been denying for months now.
My voice is thick when I ask, “Is it true you tried to sabotage my contract with Bethnal Green?”
My mother’s chin wobbles. “Yes, but only because I was trying to honor your father’s wishes. We never planned on telling you.”
“Why not? Did you think I couldn’t handle it? Did you think I’d love Dad less?”
“I suppose so.” She leans forward and pins me with wide, watery eyes. “Vaughn Harris was a professional footballer. He was the type of father that kids without fathers dreamed of having. Jerry was a simple man. Wonderful and sweet, but he always feared that someday he would disappoint you and you’d seek out your birth father if you knew the truth. It would have crushed him, Zander.”
That thought has my hands turning into fists on the table. “I would have never done that.”
“You can’t possibly know that,” she tuts, wrapping her hands around her cup of coffee. “Kids do crazy things when they’re hormonal teenagers. The fear of losing you was too much for Jerry. It’s why he never wanted us to have any more kids. He didn’t want to give you any cause to doubt his paternity.”
My reality bends with her words, and I blink rapidly, trying to picture my father with these fears. Even in my angriest moments as a kid, there was never a moment when I fantasized about different parents. My parents weren’t perfect, but they were mine, and I loved them. The fact that my dad lived his entire life doubting my love for him is soul-crushing.
“I wish he was alive for me to tell him that his fear was unnecessary,” I cry, tears streaming down my face as my hands clench into clammy fists. “He was the best, Mom.”
“I know,” she blubbers, wiping her runny nose on the back of her hand. “He was a wonderful father and husband. I didn’t believe in fate until I met him. Not many men would want to marry a four-month pregnant woman. But your father was all in.”
“How did you even know Vaughn Harris?” I ask, feeling guilty for being curious about that.
The corners of my mom’s lips twitch. “His wife, Vilma, was my best friend in college. After she passed away, I’d check in on Vaughn from time to time, but he was very troubled. He was raising five kids on his own and didn’t have any nanny or family help. I worried about him. Then one night, I bumped into him, and I suppose we were both missing Vilma and found comfort in each other. I hated myself for betraying my best friend, though. She’d been gone for six years, but it was still unforgivable of me.”
I stare back at my mom, feeling like I’m stuck in a nightmare I can’t wake up from. “Don’t you see, Mom? Now I’m not sure I can forgive you.”
“Don’t say that.” A soft sob escapes her lips. “Don’t you dare say that.” She takes a napkin and shakily dabs at the tears in her eyes. “Do you forgive your father?”
I wince at that word because it feels tainted now. Like it doesn’t quite fit. Yet I feel myself nodding. “Of course, I forgive him. I love him.”
“You love him, but you don’t love me?”
“You tried to ruin my career, Mom,” I state again firmly, the reality of that like an open wound that will never heal. “And you had so many chances to tell me the truth before I came here. Once Dad was gone, it didn’t need to be a secret anymore. I wanted you to tell me. I even delayed my transfer to give you more time to find the strength to be honest with me.”
“I didn’t know you knew,” she exclaims, her voice garbled with confusion. “How long have you known the truth?”
My lips thin. “I found a letter you wrote to Vaughn Harris when I was searching for photos for Dad’s funeral.”
“Oh, my God.” She covers her face with her hands. “What have I done?”
I pull apart her wrists, forcing her to look at me through all of this. “Did you ever send Vaughn a letter? Does he know I even exist?”
She shakes her head through more tears, and every single one of them feels like acid being dumped on my heart. This is too much. Watching her cry is fucking painful. She’s a mess just like she was after Dad died, and I let her pain trump mine then. But not this time.
I push back and stand from my chair. “I need time to process this.”
“Zander, don’t leave.” She reaches out and grabs my hand, her palms slick with sweat. “You can’t just leave me here.”
“I’ve booked
you a room in Shoreditch. I’ll call an Uber to take you there. Your flight leaves tomorrow morning.”
“So, that’s it? That’s all you have to say to me?” Her red eyes look up at me, and I fear they too will haunt me in the dead of night, just like that fucking letter.
“I need space to come to terms with the fact that you lied to me my entire life. And for once, I’m putting my needs above yours.”
She drops her face in her hands and begins quietly sobbing. It’s a horrible, pitiful sight. But it’s one I didn’t cause. Knowing that, I lean in and kiss her on the cheek before walking out and not looking back.
Daphney
My heart is in my throat as I watch Zander leave Old George from my concealed place in the back room. The look of devastation all over his face was clear. And as the woman at the table begins crying into her hands, I know without a doubt, it’s his mum. He’s brought her here to confirm what he’s already figured out.
That Vaughn Harris is his real father.
Guilt has been plaguing me ever since our fight out in the beer garden. I shouldn’t have asked Zander if his dad had passed away. It was a cruel, low blow, and it cheapened the memories of the man who raised him. I hate myself for stooping to that level.
And after watching this exchange between him and his mother and seeing the pain in his eyes as he listened to her speak, my entire body aches to take this pain away for him. It takes every muscle in my body to stop myself from running after Zander to comfort him after what must have been the hardest conversation of his life.
But that’s not what Zander and I are to each other anymore. I can’t love someone I can’t trust. And it’s terrifying to me that I didn’t see that Zander was just like Rex. Clearly, I become blind when my heart gets involved too deeply.
