Endurance

by Amy Daws

  Sedgwick lumbers out of my car. After he closes the door, Tanner rolls down his window. “Oh, and I’ve booked your room for five nights, not one. I’ll come by and visit while you’re here.”

  Sedgwick’s face falls and Tanner swats me lightly on the arm, silently telling me to drive away. I almost feel bad as Sedg comes walking out after us to argue. I roll my window down and give him a jovial wave with a double horn toot that elicits a chastising shake of his head.

  I stare into my rearview mirror for as long as I can and am happy to see the valet’s taking care of him. Tanner stares back longer as I pull out onto the road and head toward east London.

  An aching in my stomach begins as I evaluate what just happened. Tanner Harris—the loathsome pig whom I’ve grown to detest—did something humane. Extraordinarily humane. I would have never in a million years expected that of him.

  “Why didn’t you take any clothes from him?” I ask, unsure why it’s the one thing I have to know after everything that’s just happened.

  He sighs heavily. “They smelled like piss.”

  And it’s the first time ever that I’ve laughed with Tanner Harris.

  “ALL RIGHT, SO WHERE AM I dropping you?” Belle asks as we get closer to Bethnal Green.

  Anxiety shivers over my skin. Or maybe it’s just the cold air because I’ve left the window open. I roll it up and look over at Belle, bracing myself. “Look, Ryan, I erm…don’t have my flat keys or my mobile.”

  “Or your clothes,” she adds.

  “Right, and well, you could run me out to my dad’s in Chigwell, but I’m in the shit with him as it is. And on the off-chance that this night doesn’t end with me being London’s front-page news tomorrow, it’d be really spectacular if you’d maybe…”

  “What, Tanner? Find the plot,” she snaps.

  “Can I stay at yours?” I force a toothy grin, hoping she will remember my moment of nobility with Sedgwick and not the mess I’ve found myself in.

  Her dark eyes narrow and her black lashes are so thick I can only catch a sliver of glossiness through them. It’s not easy to stay trained on her eyes right now, though. Her straight, dark hair is hanging down loose over her shoulders, which brings my eyes to her chest. Her black tank top is so thin that with the glow from the dashboard, I can see the outline of her nipples almost perfectly. Fuck, I need to stay focused on her face. Focus on that one tiny freckle on the right arch of her lip. The one I noticed at Old George when I was so close to her that I could smell her strawberry lip gloss. That’ll keep me busy. That little spot will keep my eyes up. But now I’m thinking about her lips, about kissing her lips, about where her lips could go, what her lips could wrap around, how deep she could take—

  Christ, Tanner, stop your line of thinking or you’ll get a stiffy under her cardigan. You know she’d never let you live that down.

  “Tell me how you ended up like this and you have a deal,” she says simply.

  I exhale and turn to look out the window. Just when I thought I was making some ground with Belle, I’m about to get properly thrust back into the muck.

  “It’s probably one of the things you’ve already mentioned.”

  “Jilted husband?” she asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Boyfriend?”

  I shake again.

  “Fiancé again?”

  “Again?” I scowl.

  She half smiles. “I saw it on Twitter last week. You were trending with the hashtags ‘Harris Hustle’ and ‘Tanner Tanks Again.’”

  I drop my head back against the headrest. Of course I was. Knowing she won’t let this go, I answer, “It was her sister.”

  Belle gasps. “Ew! Like incestuous sisters wanting it at the same time?”

  “No!” I exclaim and look away.

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it past you. I don’t think you have much of a standard for the women you pick.”

  “Like you would know,” I scoff.

  “Tanner, I’d have to be blind, deaf, and stupid to not know what kind of women you’ve been dipping your dingle in these past couple months. It’s all over social media, the papers, the blogs.”

  “Oh, and you read all that rubbish?” I grind my teeth together with annoyance. “Don’t believe everything you read, all right?”

  “I used to read it and enjoy it. It was my guilty pleasure. But you seem to be taking slutty footballer to the next level, sucking all the pleasure out of it for me.” She shakes her head and focuses back on the road, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  Silence stretches out and the longer it goes, the heavier the tension gets. I can tell she’s mad. Her knuckles are white on the wheel, but it’s not like I’m her problem. She’s no picnic to tolerate either. Belle Ryan drives me fucking insane. She says whatever she wants, whenever she wants. She doesn’t ever even consider holding back or biting her tongue. She’s a fucking force of nature so sure about everything, she has no problem destroying anything in her path.

  “So what happened then? You still haven’t said,” she utters.

  I sigh heavily. “I was with a girl and her sister came home, and I’d been with her sister, too. I said some stupid things. Things I regret. Things I didn’t mean.”

  “Like what?”

  Of course she’d ask.

  “Shit that I say when I’m being Tanner Harris, the footballer.”

  She puzzles over this comment. “What other kind of Tanner Harris is there?”

  I clench my jaw in frustration. Of course she wouldn’t know. How could she? I’ve never showed her any other side of me. “Don’t worry about it, all right? Just know those crap papers don’t know everything.”

  She pulls into the narrow parking stall in front of her building. I’ve been to Belle’s flat a few times with Cam since Indie lives with her now. This past month, Cam and Indie seem to be making it their personal mission to make Belle and I be friendly with each other. I guess I can understand why. Belle is Indie’s best friend. Cam is mine. But every time we’re together, we bicker so much that I have to go for a run immediately after I leave her flat or I’d go mad with pent-up aggression.

  Belle removes the keys from the ignition, and when I think she’s moving to get out of the car, she turns to face me. “Tanner, there’s obviously another side to you. A side that you showed with Sedgwick. I just can’t, for the life of me, understand why you think hiding behind Tanner the Slutty Footballer is a better choice for your day-to-day life.”

  I instantly feel angry. I don’t appreciate her acting like she knows me. I don’t appreciate her acting like she can push me to be a different person. I don’t need anyone else pushing me right now. I need to be left the hell alone.

  “Ryan,” I grind out, leaning over to her side of the car. “Just, don’t. Don’t try to be the hero in my story. Don’t try to mother me, or push me, or see the best in me. I am what you see. I was shoved out of a flat naked because I told the girl I was fucking that her sister sucked cock better than she did.”

  Her dark eyes turn black with an icy glower. “You are a fucking pig.” She throws herself out of the car and storms up the steps to her flat, leaving me alone with only her tiny cardigan to keep me warm.

  “Here you go, Tanner,” Indie smiles, handing me a pair of joggers through the downstairs bathroom door and awkwardly adjusting her glasses. “I thought Cam had a T-shirt here somewhere, but this is all I can find. Do you want one of mine?”

  “This is fine. Cheers, Indie,” I murmur as I close the door, reluctant to make eye contact with her when I’m in this state.

  I slip into the soft material. It feels good against my balls and shaft. There was a time when walking around naked like Adam and Eve sounded fucking bad arse in my head, but the actual act of doing it is far less thrilling.

  I glance at myself in the mirror. I look tired. Being a couple months into the season, I’m usually in bed hours before now. This is not how I treat my body during the season. Normally, my routine is training, team m
eetings, practicing, eating, sleeping, attending matches. Mix and repeat for months on end. In professional football, we get two months break if we haven’t had a great season, but there are usually FA cup games and international friendly matches that keep us busy even in the off-season. Being a footballer is gruelling. Staying out late and partying after matches is not how I’ve been in past seasons. But without Cam on my team, everything feels different.

  A knock on the door snaps me out of my fog. “Tanner, Camden’s on the phone.”

  Speak of the devil. I drop my head to avoid eye contact with Indie as I open the door and take the mobile. “Hiya,” I say with a sigh, pressing my back against the door. I don’t need an audience for this conversation.

  “Broseph, Indie just filled me in. What the fuck?”

  “Don’t have a go at me, all right? I’m fucking shattered as it is and I don’t need to hear it right now, okay?”

  “Fine, fine, I won’t. But are you…okay?” he asks, his voice worrisome. The concern irritates me because I don’t like being fussed over like I’m his child.

  “I’m fine,” I lie. “Just a dodgy case of bird flu.” I force a laugh at my lame joke. “You know the kind. Or, erm…you used to.”

  “Right,” Camden replies slowly. “Well, I’ve called Santino. He said he’d pop over to the bird’s flat tomorrow morning by seven with some cash to see if he can get her to sign an NDA and get your stuff back. At least your keys and all that. I just need her address and I’ll text it over to him.”

  Santino is our family lawyer and has been working overtime the last couple of months since I can’t seem to stop landing myself in the shit. Without hesitation, I give Cam the address and feel a weight lifted from my shoulders thinking he might be able to get me out of this. Tomorrow I have a strategy meeting with the team at eight in the morning. Then Dad and Booker always come over and go through the footage from the previous match. It’d be nice to have my keys and mobile back before my dad figures things out. I’m just crossing my fingers that he won’t try to call me before then. I can just hear Kat answering the call with something sweet like, “Tanner Harris gave me herpes.”

  “Did they get pictures?” Cam asks.

  “I don’t know. Maybe?”

  He exhales heavily and I swear I feel the compression of my own lungs mirror his. Having a twin can be a nightmare sometimes. There’s a connection between us that makes me feel like I’m never truly alone. Plus, the comparisons are endless. It’s a huge reason I opted to leave my hair and beard long this season. I’ve also been adding more ink to my body just to give me a sense of individuality.

  I don’t consider myself a jealous person, especially when it comes to Cam, who’s always there for me. But when he got injured last year, fell in love, and still ended up with the Premiership contract of a lifetime, I couldn’t help but think, What the fuck?

  Cam and I had been co-strikers for Bethnal Green for years. I was right side, he was left. We could sense each other’s decisions on the pitch perfectly, often passing without looking because we instinctually knew the other was there. I’ve seen enough match footage to know that watching the Harris twins playing together was a beautiful thing.

  Then he had the season of his life last year, scoring more goals than any player in the Championship and Premier League. It was a sight to behold. Everybody was talking about him, so of course he got a major offer. He’d earned it.

  But since he fell for Indie and left our team all at the same time, things have been different. Cam’s slot beside me as fellow striker was filled by Roan DeWalt—a South African transfer from Cape Town City—and it isn’t the same. We’re not in sync. I don’t want to be a moaning sap, but I fucking miss my brother. You don’t go from sharing a pitch and a flat with someone every day to seeing him briefly once a week, if our match schedules allow it, and not feel some sense of loss.

  However, when shit hits the fan for me, he’s always the first to call. And he never judges. He never makes me feel worse than I already do. He just…helps. So yeah, the good bits of having a twin far outweigh the bad.

  “I’ll let Santino know there may be pictures and see if he can do damage control to minimise any exposure,” Camden says, using his business voice. I fucking hate his business voice.

  “I’m the older brother here, not you.”

  He scoffs, “You’re older by four minutes. I was heavier so that makes me more equipped to do the heavy lifting.”

  “You were heavier because you hogged all the food. You were a fat arse then and you’re a fat arse now.”

  “Oink, oink, bro. I got this.”

  I nod. “Thanks for your help,” I say simply, knowing anything more will make it awkward.

  “What are brothers for?”

  “To make it glaringly obvious that I’m the best looking Harris Brother.”

  “Oh, Tanner, your delusions never cease to amaze me. You better watch your tongue or I’ll tell Vi on you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” I gasp with a genuine smile lightening my mood.

  “I’ll save it for when I’m there to witness the beating she’ll give you.”

  We hang up and I’m grateful he didn’t try to get deep with me about why I screwed up this time. I’m not ready to talk it out. Right now, I’m ready to pass out for as long as real life will permit.

  I walk out of the loo and look around to see that I’m all alone. Belle’s flat is an expansive two-level loft inside a former factory. One whole wall is completely covered with industrial windows from the first level to the second. It’s got a cool, modern feel, but the dark wooden floors give it a rustic vibe. The colour scheme is completely white washed aside from the plastic chairs around her glass-top table. They are each a different solid colour and look like they belong in a nursery school, not at a grownup’s dining table. She has an enormous grey sectional that takes up the entire living space with a red, barnwood coffee table centred in the middle. Her kitchen is walled off with a door and a large cutout that overlooks the connected living and dining areas. The only décor to speak of are multicoloured canvases anchored prominently on various walls.

  “I see Indie found you some clothes.”

  I turn to see Belle standing at the base of the large wooden staircase with a blanket and pillow in her hands.

  “Better than nothing,” I reply with a shrug.

  Belle’s eyes move down my chest and linger on the trousers for a moment. This is the second time she’s looked at me with such brazenness. Completely unapologetic. And I really wish I didn’t like it.

  When she’s finished her perusal, her eyes snap back up to my face and narrow. “Blanket, pillow, sofa.” She points to the sectional. “It’s all I’ve got since Indie squats in the guestroom now.”

  “It’s fine.” She drops the stuff off on the coffee table and turns to head back upstairs. Before she’s gone, I add, “Thanks again for helping me tonight.”

  She stops halfway and turns, gripping the railing tightly with her black tipped nails. “You owe me one, Harris. A big one.” Her voice is back to the same punishing tone she’s been using on me for weeks.

  My brows lift. “Just say the word and I’m yours.”

  Her glower morphs into confusion and my nerves shoot up my back over how that must have sounded.

  “I didn’t mean…I just meant…” I stammer.

  She moves to jog up the rest of the stairs without another look back.

  “NIGHT,” I CALL OUT TO Indie as I pass her door at the top of the staircase and turn left to hurry off to my room.

  “Wait!” Indie replies, leaping off her bed and bounding toward the door in all her cuteness. Her curly red hair’s in a standard topknot and she’s sporting some fiercely wild zebra-print specs. “I didn’t have a chance to say thanks.”

  I frown. “Whatever for?”

  She bites down on the sweet in her mouth and then answers, “For getting Tanner. I could have done it. You didn’t have to.”

  “It wa
s nothing.” Even though Tanner Harris still has my blood boiling. “It was actually somewhat amusing…at times.”

  She smiles. “Well, I really appreciate it. You’re kind of an epic roommate, you know. Had I known, I would have stopped resisting ages ago.”

  I laugh at that comment. The only reason Indie finally broke down and moved in with me is because her gig with Bethnal Green doesn’t pay very much and she refuses to accept any money from her disgustingly wealthy boyfriend. Camden’s contract with Arsenal was monstrous. The papers reported it at one hundred fifty thousand pounds per week. But I’m not about to complain about her morals. Indie is a genius and doesn’t need to be kept by any man. I pay for my flat with my trust fund so it’s really no bother.

  Plus, I love having her here. We’ve been friends since the first day we met in med school, and she’s as close to what I think a normal family should feel like. In fact, I wish we were family. She’d make a hell of a lot better sibling than my brother who’s a barrister just like my father. If she needs somewhere to stay, she belongs with me.

  Indie smiles once more and turns to go back into her room, but I shock her with a hardy smack on her arse. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you succumbed to your desperate love for me.”

  “Oh yes, I am your kept woman and proud of it,” she says, wiggling her butt at me as I chortle and turn to walk away.

  It takes all of my willpower not to look down over the railing to the lower level where Tanner’s lying shirtless on my sofa. His stupid, nappy beard and half naked presence in my home is like a sweet calling me in the night when I’m on one of my ghastly diets.

  Maybe just a quick peek.

  Bugger, he was looking right at me.

  My face heats with annoyance and I storm into my master suite, slamming the door behind me and flopping down onto my bed in utter frustration. I’m typically not one to run away from a fight, but Tanner is one person I do my best to stay far away from.

  I stare up at the ceiling fan. It rotates slowly above me and, instead of cooling me down like it’s meant to, it only stokes the thoughts of Tanner running wildly through my mind. What he did for Sedgwick tonight was extremely generous. Did he mean what he said about popping over to pay Sedg a visit? I can’t envision Tanner Harris having tea with a homeless man. I just can’t. I’ve never seen him do anything charitable before. If he had, I would have read about it somewhere, surely. Did he do it to save face in front of me? No, that can’t be it. He hates me, and the feeling is mutual. Perhaps he was just extremely grateful. Perhaps I should remember that when I ask for payback.