by Amy Daws
In two words, I’m fucked.
BOOKER PICKS ME UP FROM Belle and Indie’s flat thirty minutes later. Belle never came out of her room again. I looked to Indie for clues as to what I should do, but she didn’t have the faintest idea. She just silently handed me sherbet lemons to tamper my rage.
“You all right?” Booker asks, tossing me a bag as I slide into the truck that used to be mine but has since been commandeered by Booker. The parking situation at mine and Camden’s flat is horrid, and since we’re both on the road so much and Tower Park is so close to our place, I let Booker use it.
I open the bag and feel immediate relief when I see my keys, wallet, mobile, shoes, and clothes. Santino deserves a blow job for this one.
I throw my shirt on over my head and pull my trainers out of the bag. “I’m just peachy, Book. How are you?”
He exhales heavily, scratching his mop of dark hair like he’s developed a nervous tick. “I’m all right. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that Dad’s on the warpath.”
I purse my lips together. “I figured.”
“What the fuck, Tanner?” Booker’s eyes pierce me from the driver’s seat.
“What the fuck, Book?”
“This is fucked, even for you.”
“I don’t need to hear it, all right?”
“Well, someone needs to tell you. After the mess in Yorkshire, I thought you’d cool it. You’ve been having a shitty season as it is, so I don’t even feel bad that you’re suspended. You need to figure your shit out. You’re so much better than this.”
“Look, baby bro, don’t come at me like you can impart some great wisdom at the ripe old age of twenty-four. You don’t know what I’m going through.”
“I lost Cam as a teammate, too. You weren’t the only one!” he snaps back. “Now I’m losing you on top of it. This is complete crap and I’m sick of it. This isn’t how our family functions.”
“I’m sick of you,” I retort immaturely. “Where are we going?” I ask as he passes the turn for Tower Park. “The stadium is that way.”
Booker’s jaw muscle ticks.
“Booker?” I urge again.
He remains silent so I wallop him on the shoulder.
“Fuck! We’re going to Vi’s, all right?”
My heart drops. “No. No, no, no! Not Vi’s. Whose idea was it? Dad’s?”
“It was Vi’s. She said she wouldn’t let me hold the baby when it’s born if I didn’t bring you there.”
Booker has always been wrapped around our sister’s finger. Not that we all aren’t to an extent, but the two of them have a bond that’s different than the rest of us. I think since he’s the youngest, Vi’s favoured him all these years and has been softer on him, more gentle. But that softness didn’t affect his game. As the goal keeper for Bethnal Green, Booker is one of the smartest and bravest players on the pitch. You have to have balls of steel as the keeper. He needs to know everyone’s role on the pitch and have complete confidence when he’s stuck between those posts. His mental strength has always impressed me. The older he gets and the better he gets, the less he seems like the baby. Not that he looks like the baby anymore as it is. He’s nearly the same height as me and I swear every time I see him, he’s gained more weight. He trains harder than anyone on the team. I think the reason he hasn’t moved out of Dad’s house is because it is a great place to train and focus on nothing but football.
Bloody hell, what if Dad makes me move home?
“I think it’s for your own protection.” Booker’s words release me from my panic. “She knows Dad won’t skin you alive if she’s there. He’d be too worried about sending her into early labour.”
I nod, nervously chewing on my lower lip. I think I’d rather have Dad skin me than see Vi’s look of disappointment.
“You’ve got to come up with a plan, Tanner,” Booker adds. “You need to figure a way out of this. Make it go away.”
“How? It’s already out there for the bloody world to see!”
“Well, change how it looks. Make it not look so bad…Make up a story or something, I don’t know.”
I crouch over and rake my hand through my hair, catching it in all the tangles. Having my dad as my team manager sucks in this kind of scenario, but I know he’d give any other player the boot, too. It’s just harder to take when it comes from your dad. Fuck me, I feel like I’ve been through hell and back, and I haven’t even seen the worst of it yet.
Thinking of my own personal hell, a flash of inspiration strikes and I pull my mobile out of the bag only to see that it’s dead. I’m hoping that’s not a bad omen, so I ask Booker for his instead. “You have Santino’s number saved?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I need to talk to him before he talks to Dad. I think I have an idea.”
Having five children in a family, there’s always some sort of argument someone is having with someone else. When Cam was single, we constantly squabbled over women. He’d try to nick the girls I was putting time in with at the clubs just because he could. Or he thought he could. So, a while back, we declared the Bacon Sandwich Rule.
As kids, Vi used to make us the best food. Swedish pancakes were her specialty, but there really wasn’t a bad meal she cooked. As a result, my brothers and I—being the disgusting animals we were—used to lick the food to call dibs on it so no one else would eat it. I wouldn’t even be hungry and I’d lick the shepherd’s pie so none of my brothers could have it.
I’m not proud.
Eventually, we applied the Bacon Sandwich Rule to women. If I licked her first, she was mine. Again, no pride. Vi found out about our rule a year ago and was livid. She called us womanising whores with no morals and made us feel guilty because she thought she’d raised us better than that. She’s only a year older than Cam and me, but she’s always seemed decades more mature. She pretty much had to be the grownup after our mum passed away. So right now, I feel like a guilty child on my way to Mum’s room to face the music and receive my punishment. Our little bacon sandwich quarrel seems trivial compared to this situation. This is like the worst walk of shame times a billion.
Vi’s place is essentially the Harris High Court. It’s where Camden and I always go to settle our arguments. She gives us a knock on our heads for a dose of reality. Then we have to accept the hand she deals and leave it all there when we leave.
So my goal right now, as I ride the eleven levels up to her penthouse flat, is to have a plan that will instantly calm her nerves and take away all the anxiety she’s probably currently suffering.
She’s got my niece in her after all.
When the lift doors open into Vi and Hayden’s flat, Booker and I are greeted by the crotch-sniffing pervert that is Bruce. Bruce is an enormous Saint Bernard that Vi inherited from a neighbour a couple of years ago. He was our little insurance policy that she was safe when she moved out of Dad’s house and into a flat all on her own. Now that she’s engaged to Hayden, I’m far less worried about her.
“Hey, Tanner,” Hayden says, striding over to the lift with Bruce’s leash in hand. “Booker.”
Hayden looks at me like I’m walking down death row.
“Is she raging?”
“Oh, she’s raging, all right,” he replies with a smirk playing on his lips. “But I think I calmed her down for you. She’s out on the terrace with your dad and Santino.”
“Bugger,” I say with an exhale. “I was hoping we beat Dad here.”
Hayden gives me a sympathetic smile and hooks the lead on Bruce to take him for a walk. I’d do anything to be that dog and go with him right now so that the only thing on my mind was sniffing butts and chasing birds.
Not all that dissimilar to my life now.
Knowing I need to face the music, I make my way out to the terrace. Vi is stretched out comfortably on one of the loungers, her hands on her pregnant belly while Dad and Santino stand near her, talking quietly.
“Tanner,” Santino says with a jovial tone that does not fit the moo
d. “Good to see you, mate.”
“We saw more than we ever needed to in those pictures,” Dad adds. I eye him for a minute, trying to get a read on how angry he is. His normally broad, muscular frame seems hunched and curled in.
I lean over, dropping a kiss on Vi’s head. “Hiya, Vi.”
“Hey, whore.”
I drop down in the lounger next to her. “I’m sorry.”
She smiles, her blue eyes still holding some form of kindness toward me. “I know you are.”
Booker maintains a safe distance at the doorway as Dad’s voice booms next.
“You’re always sorry, Tanner, but what are we going to do about it? You have a four-week suspension that I have to enforce or it will look like I’m playing favouritism.” He rubs the top of his grey-haired head aggressively, pacing back and forth before continuing, “Four weeks! Your game has been off all season. You and DeWalt can’t find a bloody rhythm and now this. You’re the team captain for Christ’s sake. You cannot afford this kind of a break, but here we are.”
“Dad,” Vi warns, throwing around her protective blonde-haired, blue-eyed power like a bad arse.
“I’m not shouting, am I?” he defends, the veins on his temples betraying him.
“No, but you’re getting close.” She squints up at him even though the London sky is completely overcast, mirroring my mood.
“Santino, did you talk to him yet?” I ask, looking at him hopefully.
“No,” he replies, buttoning his blue waistcoat. “I was waiting for you.”
Santino is part Italian and is a thirty-something, hotshot lawyer that’s on retainer for Bethnal Green F.C. He’s cool as hell and has even taken us all out for drinks on occasion just so we can help him score women. I think he’s the only one who sympathises with my situation.
“Tanner called me on his way over. He thinks he has an idea to help shift the media’s view on what they think they saw last night.”
My dad shifts his focus from Santino to me.
I swallow hard, suddenly terrified that my idea will get me laughed at. “Well, the press are all over this story because they believe Dr. Ryan to be just another fling of mine, like all my other…indiscretions…have been. But what if she wasn’t?”
“What do you mean?” Vi asks.
“What if Belle and I were dating?”
Vi’s eyes fly wide with excitement. “You two are dating? Tanner, that’s fantastic! Belle is perfect for you. She’s sharp, she’s funny, she’s friends with Indie. It couldn’t be more lovely—”
“No, Vi, we’re not really dating. I’m saying, what if we date for sake of the media? What if I take my suspension and show the media that she isn’t some fly-by-night woman? That I genuinely care about her. I’ll be on my best behaviour to help her family save face, too, so it doesn’t look like a casual hook up. It looks like two young people falling in…love.” The words feel all wrong coming out of my mouth, but they all seem to be gobbling them up.
“Do you think the Ryans would go for it?” My dad directs his question at Santino.
“They already said yes.” This shocks me. “They said if we can do a spread in a big magazine similar to what Arsenal lined up for Cam and Indie, they would agree to the terms.”
“Wait a second,” I argue, rising up from the lounger. “An interview? I never said anything about an interview.”
Santino puts a hand on my shoulder. “Tanner, it’ll be fine. We can rig it all, even the reporter. Just leave that to me, mate.”
“Belle agreed to all of this?” I ask, still in shock that they are actually taking my plan seriously. Belle wouldn’t even come out of her room for me before I left. I can’t believe she’s all for fake dating me in public now.
“Her family said she will so long as we all sign NDAs and it doesn’t go outside the family,” Santino answers casually. “The team can’t find out this is all a ruse.”
“No shit!” my dad snaps.
I groan realising this half-cracked idea I had might actually come to fruition. “Can I talk to Belle first? Before they strong-arm her into doing something she potentially doesn’t want to do?”
“Tanner, I don’t think we’re in the position for her to say no. The team needs this to survive this scandal.”
I frown at my dad’s words, but I’m not surprised. The team saved his life. He was a shell of a man after my mum passed. It wasn’t until he let football back into his life that he became halfway functional again. He’s always putting Bethnal first.
“Just let me try to talk to her first. I think I can convince her without making her feel like she’s being forced into prostitution.”
“You’ve already done quite enough.” My dad strides past me, making his way back inside. He looks over his shoulder and adds, “Just let Santino work out the particulars. I’ll see you at Sunday dinner.”
Without another word, he leaves me outside standing by the ledge, feeling a whole lot more exposed than I did naked on a street corner last night. I’m suspended from football for a month and I have to fake date Belle Ryan—the one woman I swore I’d stay away from. What the hell was I thinking?
“THIS IS FUCKING HORSESHIT! CRAPPY, smelly, ridiculous, foul horseshit!” I scream, standing in the middle of my living room and looking out the window all the while feeling my father’s glacial stare on my back.
“Nice to see your language has improved exponentially since the last time we spoke.”
I turn around and stare Lord Jonathan Ryan right in the eyes, regretting the second I opened my door to him. Once upon a time, I couldn’t make eye contact with my father. I’d cower in his presence. But once upon a time, I also cared what he thought of me. That is no longer the case.
He stands before me in all his pretentious glory, wearing a custom-cut, three-piece black suit and Gucci loafers that cost every bit of two thousand pounds. He’s a tall, slender man with deep wrinkles from years of working long hours for his own firm before moving up to the High Court. His grey hair is short and trim from his weekly cut that he gets every Monday morning, and he still has that annoying habit of fiddling with his Cartier watch when he speaks.
“Well, I can’t believe that you actually think me dating a slutty footballer publicly is going to improve your image. This makes absolutely no sense!”
He peers down his nose at me. “It makes more sense than you being photographed as a common whore.”
I bark out a laugh. “Oh my God, you sound medieval. This is ridiculous. I won’t do it.” I cross my arms over my chest with determination.
“You will, Belle,” he thunders. “This isn’t up for discussion.”
My jaw drops from the nerve of him thinking he can come in here and tell me what to do. I speak slowly this time. “Father, I am an adult. I am a doctor for Christ’s sake! I no longer live in your world. I no longer attend your functions. I’m not in London Society anymore. I’ve disappeared just like you all wanted. I don’t see how you think you can come in here and dictate what I do.”
“Belle Ryan,” he roars, his beady eyes twitching with the volume. “You are still a member of the Ryan family, and you will do what you must to ensure that I don’t lose my spot on the Court. I know you only care about yourself, but this is much, much bigger than you and your petty needs. We haven’t asked anything of you for many years, but this is what must be done. End of discussion.”
He turns on his heel and marches out of my flat without a glance back over his shoulder. Of course he wouldn’t look back. Looking back would show a sign of weakness. Looking back would mean he cares how I feel. It’s then that I realise I’m heaving huge gulps of air. I glance up and spot Indie sitting at the top of the stairs with a terrified look in her eyes.
“Can you fucking believe him?” I exclaim. “He’s outrageous!”
Her face contorts in sympathy as she stands and rushes down the steps toward me.
“That’s not how you speak to another adult.” I begin pacing in front of the window, my mind
racing with the weight of years of resentment pushing down on my shoulders. “He can’t snap orders at me as if I’m his property or his subordinate. Fuck! I can’t stand him!”
Indie perches on the edge of the sofa, clutching a pillow to her chest and nodding silently in solidarity.
“Publicly date Tanner Harris?” A barking, angry sort of laugh explodes from a weird place in my belly. “This is the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard of.”
“It is.” Indie’s nodding her head up and down in complete agreement.
“Right! It completely is. Fake date Tanner? He’s a pig. An animal. He needs to be caged up and vaccinated. Plus, I don’t care about my family or about him, so why the hell would I do anything for any of them? I won’t! I refuse.”
“You should refuse,” Indie adds.
“Exactly! I do great things, Indie! I save babies.” I ball my hands into fists and curse the heavens for this madness. How is this real life? How do I do what I do all day long at work and come home to shit like this? “And then he throws the Supreme Court in my face and makes me feel small and inconsequential. For fuck’s sake. Just last week I helped repair a blockage in the aortic valve of a twenty-four-week foetus. Why does that mean nothing to them?”
“It’s sad.”
“It is sad.” I want to cry. But I won’t. I refuse to do that as well. My family doesn’t deserve my tears. I swallow down the sadness and turn it into anger. “This is all Tanner’s fault.”
“It is. It totally is…”
I look at her, suddenly feeling like she’s been placating me this entire time. “Why do I think I hear a but coming?”
She cringes and reluctantly replies, “Well, would it be the worst thing in the world for you to do this, Belle? I mean, I’m in love with Tanner’s brother. I love Tanner by association. He’s a pig and he’s horrid, but he’s not the worst bloke you’d ever come across, despite what I know you believe.”
