by Amy Daws
Camden shifts awkwardly in the doorway.
“You had nothing to say there?” I ask.
His eyes fly wide. “What was I going to do?”
“Defend me! Tell your woman what this is between Belle and me. I told Indie not to get any bright ideas. She’s so bloody soft.”
Cam shakes his head. “Belle’s awesome. You’re an arse.” And then he leaves me, too.
Vi frowns at me and, without another word, walks outside to join everyone else.
“Well, what the fuck?” I mumble to myself.
Dad comes striding in next from somewhere outside. “What did you do this time, Tanner? Indie looks like she’s about to release the red-headed kraken.” He laughs at his stupid joke.
“Dad, I did nothing! Literally nothing! I didn’t invite Belle out here for dinner and now that makes me the worst kind of human. What the bloody hell? This is a fake relationship. It’s not real. Everybody needs to get that through their stubborn skulls.”
I reach out and pluck an apple from the fruit basket on the counter, shoving a frustrated finger into it until it bruises. It makes me feel better.
He looks at me and shakes his head. “Who are you trying to convince, Tan?”
I pound the apple on the counter. “What do you mean?”
His eyes grow wide. “I’ve seen the coverage of you two. Santino sends me everything. It doesn’t look fake. It looks…natural. It reminds me of…” He pauses and swallows hard. “It reminds me of how I looked at your mother when we first started dating. And well, you see how that turned out.” He looks out at Gareth like he has “whoopsie child” printed on his forehead.
The words strike me straight through the heart. Dad rarely talks about Mum and the one time he does, he compares her to Belle? I can’t take it. I’m going to explode.
“Would everyone just give me some space?” I mumble and stand to head upstairs to the room I lived in when things were simple…when Booker, Camden, and I all played on the same team and football was all that mattered.
As I walk in, everything suddenly feels different. The bed looks smaller. The area seems tighter. Even my furniture seems to have aged tremendously. I glance down inside my trousers to ensure that my fucking cock hasn’t shrunk back into the prepubescent stage. I exhale a sigh of relief to see it’s still at its adult glory.
However, that realisation doesn’t bring me peace. It just makes the fact that I’ve changed all the more obvious. I’m no longer the person I used to be. I can see that now. And the guilt that Vi and Indie were projecting on me hits me like a ton of bricks.
I didn’t invite Belle here because I thought nothing had changed between us. But, looking around right now, I realise that everything has changed. Even my bloody bedroom.
It wasn’t long ago that I still lived here. Camden was in his room across from me. Booker was down the hall. We all stayed here for longer than normal as grown men because football and family was all we allowed into our lives. It consumed us so much that we became codependent on it and each other, not allowing anything else to penetrate that force field.
Well, Belle’s penetrated it. Hard. And no matter how much I enjoy penetration, this is a different kind of balls deep than I’m used to.
As much as that thought scares me…as much as I want to fight it, the idea of losing her scares me, too.
STANDING IN A DARK SURGERY theatre with Dr. Miller, two other fellows, and several surgical support staff, my eyes are razor focused on a bright screen and the control panel beside it.
Today we are working to correct a fatal abnormality called congenital diaphragmatic hernia with a procedure that is currently undergoing randomised trials. CDH happens to about one in four thousand unborn babies. It is when a hole develops in their diaphragm. If left untreated, it can leave their lungs underdeveloped, making a healthy delivery impossible.
Dr. Miller’s voice is loud and clear as she speaks to the viewers in the gallery window above us. “Today we are attempting to perform foetoscopic tracheal occlusion. This is the surgery that your donor funds will go toward this year as we continue to expand on this highly treatable condition.” She pauses to touch the mother’s shoulder who’s lying on her back wide awake as we wait for the epidural anaesthesia to take effect.
The mother looks at me with wide, glossy eyes, so I give her a nod of encouragement that she seems to appreciate.
Dr. Miller continues, “I will insert a miniature latex balloon through the uterine wall and down through the mouth of our tiny patient. Positioned in the windpipe, I will then inflate. The balloon will operate as a little cork until it needs to come out when our mother reaches full term pregnancy. This will help the baby’s lungs to develop and increase the survival rate by thirty-five percent. Any questions?”
I have a million but I’m biting my tongue, doing my best to take it all in.
“Then let’s begin.”
I can feel Dr. Miller’s eyes on me as I look back at the screen. “Dr. Ryan, I was very impressed with you last week when we worked on those TTTS twins.”
My mask covers my jaw dropping. “Thank you, Dr. Miller,” I stammer.
“I’d like you to feed in the foetoscope.” Her eyes narrow and look down at the side of the mother’s belly where the camera will be inserted into the uterus.
“Yes, Dr. Miller,” I reply, wishing I could thank her for the opportunity, but knowing confidence is all that I need to project when we have a conscious mother on the table.
My hands are rock steady as I move to take Dr. Miller’s place and begin a once-in-a-lifetime experience. This is what I appreciate about this specialty. I get to touch something that is untouchable. I have the chance to save something that someone deemed unsavable. It makes everything outside of this room disappear. These moments of clarity I receive when I’m operating fill my veins with meaning and purpose. This is where I belong.
This is what real life is about. Nothing else will ever feel so big when I’m able to save something so small.
As I drive home after a long day in surgery, I feel desperate for a drink and to lie down. My mind is whirling with all that happened today, not only for the family that got a second chance with their baby, but with my career. It was an incredible day.
It’s not until I park in front of my flat that I finally pull out my mobile and see I have several texts. I slide out of my car and begin to open the first one when I hear someone clear their throat.
I practically jump out of my trainers when I see Tanner seated on the concrete steps leading up to my building.
“Tanner, you scared me half to death! What are you doing, perving in the dark like a creeper?”
“I’m not perving, I’m just…waiting,” he stammers, a sheepish look on his face as he stands up and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been texting you.”
I sigh, taking in his tall, large frame, his stupid, messy man bun, and his nappy beard. It all makes me sad.
“I literally just looked at my mobile for the first time all day.”
“What about yesterday?” His brow is furrowed as he awaits my reply. He looks so much younger than twenty-six right now.
“I was busy prepping for the surgery I had today,” I lie.
“How’d it go?” He looks genuinely interested.
My smile is tired but undisputable. “Amazing. It was…amazing.” I drop down onto the place he vacated on the steps. My legs feel as if they’re going to give out from all the standing I did in surgery today. “I’ve turned a corner with Dr. Miller. She told me that if I keep it up, she’ll be offering me a full-time position next year.”
“That’s incredible.” He huffs a laugh of admiration. “Seriously, I’m really happy for ya.”
“Thanks,” I reply, suddenly feeling very tired. “So what are your texts about? I haven’t read them yet.”
His happiness falls fractionally. “Our next date.”
A hopeful raise of his eyebrows has me nodding stiffly. “Ah yes, we need an
other public appearance I suppose. It’s been a few days. What will people think?” I bob my head, adding a touch of flare to the end but he doesn’t seem amused.
Tanner scratches the back of his neck. “There’s this thing going on at Welly’s Pub on Friday night with the Bethnal team. They don’t have a game until Wednesday, so they want a team night out. Bonding and all that. Indie will be there, too. I haven’t seen any of them since the last game and I’d like it if you would go with me. The guys have booked the place, so there won’t be any press inside.”
This confuses me. “Well, what’s the point if we’re not being photographed?” I ask.
He shrugs and speaks slowly. “It’d just be for fun.”
I watch him for a moment, trying to get a read on him. Tanner Harris is standing before me, asking me to hang out and not making a sexual pass at me. This throws so many red flags.
“Did Indie say something to you?”
“No.” He looks guilty and I scoff with annoyance. “Maybe,” he adds.
I ruffle my messy ponytail. “Bloody Indie.”
“Don’t go skinning her,” he defends, making a move closer to me. So close I get a whiff of his scent and it brings back unwelcome memories.
“Well, I should,” I snipe. “That was private girl talk shit. Not something you needed to know.”
“If I hurt you, I should know. So I can apologise and grovel and…I don’t know…do whatever it is blokes do when they fuck up. I’m sorry, Belle. I just thought…I just thought—”
“You didn’t think at all!” I exclaim, standing up and losing control of my emotions. I begin pacing the sidewalk, a renewed sense of energy coursing through my hot, angry veins. “I had literally just opened up to you about how much my parents hurt me by not inviting me to stuff. Then you turned around and did it the very first chance you got.”
“Christ, Belle, I didn’t think of it like that.” He makes a move to touch me, so I spin away from him, holding my hands out to block him.
“Don’t, all right? I don’t want to go crazy over this, Tanner! I don’t want to lose my shit on you right now.”
“You should!” he exclaims, his eyes panicky. “Hit me with your full on crazy. I deserve it. I was a jerk. Talk to me about that.”
“No, I’m not going to do it. Because for one silly moment, I thought you were actually human. And I thought that we had become friends. I forgot that you’re being forced into all of this. How ridiculous of me!”
“We have become friends,” he booms, his jaw taut with anger. “Fuck me, Belle, I care about you!”
“Then you have to know that how you handled the end of our weekend in Manchester is not the way you treat a friend! You’re not that stupid. You might look it, but I know better.”
“It’s more complicated than that, Ryan,” he growls and kicks at the pavement with his foot.
“See? Why’d you call me Ryan there?” I challenge him with a sadistic little smile because I already know the answer.
“What do you mean?” He rolls his eyes. “I call you Ryan all the time.”
“Not all the time. Only when you’re trying to distance yourself.”
“Don’t be mental. I don’t need to be psychoanalysed right now,” he snaps.
I have to laugh. It’s all I can do at this point. “I haven’t even got started with all the other shit I could mention. I could Deep Talk you so hard right now, you wouldn’t know what hit you.”
“Just save it, all right?” he shouts, vibrating with rage. “You don’t want to come on Friday? Don’t. You don’t want to be in this with me anymore? Then don’t. I’m not going to sit here and let you make me feel like an arse for sticking to an agreement that you signed up for.”
“Did the agreement include you fucking me bareback in your brother’s pool?” I scream and his face contorts with something along the lines of horrified realisation. My eyes turn to slits. “Didn’t think so.”
I could push him so hard right now. I could send him right over the edge and tell him everything he’s not saying. But what’s the point? None of this is real. And he’s not evolved enough to even admit the truth to himself, let alone to me. Deep Talk is a joke.
“Just go home, Tanner,” I add with a huff and turn to make my way up the steps.
“Belle,” he croaks and rushes up behind me, folding his arms around my waist.
I fight his hold for a while, trying to push him off of me. I pinch his arms like a child and he growls in pain but refuses to let go, only squeezing me tighter.
I stop for a moment, shivering against his warm breath on my shoulder. All I would have to do is turn my head into him and I know what would happen. He would kiss me. He would consume me. He’d make me forget. We’d trip over each other as we walk backwards into my flat, never releasing the others lips. We’d go to bed. We’d fuck or maybe even make love. He’d bring me so much pleasure that I’d forget everything that hurts me about him.
Instead, I drop my arms to my sides, willing them to stop fighting…Turning them into lifeless noodles, no longer resisting him but not embracing him either. I want to cry from the ache of no action. It feels so bloody wrong. Fighting Tanner is more my style, but everything is different now. Acknowledging that is what gives me the strength to say no when he asks the next question.
“Can I come up?”
My eyes sting as I reply, “No, Tanner. You can’t.”
With a huff, he releases me.
I don’t look back as I walk into my flat, close the door behind me, and lean my back against the wall to catch my breath. A masochist through and through, I pull out my mobile and read a text he sent me earlier.
Tanner: I miss you.
I’VE SPENT THE LAST WEEK acting like a girlie fucking basket case because of Belle Ryan and her painfully icy shoulder. I know I got weird after Manchester, but I needed some time to think. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with this woman and it’s making me completely bloody mental.
After she refused my invite to Welly’s, I texted her to see if we were still finishing out our arrangement or if she wanted out full stop. She responded that she would attend the events mapped out in the email and that she hoped I’d still honour my part by attending the hospital charity function coming up.
It felt like she nut-punched me.
How we went from fucking like animals, arguing like an old married couple, and laughing like mates to this clipped, formal, stranger-like texting is infuriating. It made me want to hole up in my flat and hide until this entire suspension was over.
But then I found a note from my mum in a keepsake box Vi gave me last year. When I read it, something clicked. The note made me realise that sitting still is getting me nowhere fast.
Belle goes to work and saves babies. She’s bigger than life. I play football, but I intend to be more than just football. I intend to find my own way to change lives, which starts with going to Welly’s tonight and rebuilding my team’s trust in me, owly mood or not.
“Hey, Tan, you ready?” Booker crows, letting himself into my flat and striding down the hallway toward where I’m sitting in my room. “We’re going to be late for Welly’s if we don’t leave now. I would have come here to fetch you earlier, but you told me you weren’t coming.”
I just finish pushing my foot into my boot when he comes to stand in my doorway. “I’m ready,” I reply and grab the finger of whiskey off my bedside table and polish it off like a shot.
He eyes the glass in my hand. “Couldn’t wait until the pub?”
I breathe against the burn in my throat. “Nope.”
His brows rise as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “What made you change your mind and decide to come?”
I glare at him. “It’s still my team, isn’t it?”
His eyes fly wide. “Christ, you’re a moody sod. Want to talk about it?”
“Nope,” I growl as I stand up, grabbing my jacket and putting it on. “It’s just…” I start but then stop. “Nope, I’m
not doing it.”
I brush past Booker and make my way down the hallway toward the door, stopping in my tracks before walking out. The whiskey burning in my throat is doing nothing to damper the inferno boiling in my body. It’s just stoking it. Giving it life.
My grip on the doorknob turns lethal as I snap, “You know, I didn’t ask for her.” I glance over my shoulder at Booker. He’s watching me all meek and nervous from the hallway, like I’m some sort of wild animal and he’s not sure what I’ll do next. “I didn’t ask for Belle Ryan to pick me up that night. I sure as fuck didn’t want to have to fake date her. I did it to be a bloody gentleman. To try to help her find a way out of this mess so her family would get off her arse.”
Booker moves to open his mouth but I cut him off. “Her family is fucked, too,” I continue as I turn and prop myself against the door. “They are nothing like us, which makes her a God damned anomaly to figure out. One minute she’s funny and light and making my dick hard with all her sexy football talk. The next, she’s dark and broody and her temper…Christ, Belle’s temper is a hair-trigger. Set it off and she’s got a razor-sharp tongue that will send your testicles back inside your body.”
I open the door and storm over to the lift, pushing the button over and over and over. The damn thing never stays on the fourth level. I turn back to see Booker closing the door behind him, so I continue, “You know what she’s like, Book? She is like a drug. When I look at her from the outside, she seems crazy and out of control. I’m best to stay away. But when I’m inside her, with her, breathing her in, it’s like there is no other reality in the world that matters.” I slam my fist against the button and it feels good.
“Tanner, get a hold of yourself,” Booker deadpans. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m trying!” I roar, ramming my hands through my hair. “But if she’s not making me feel like shit, it’s Vi. And if it’s not Vi, now I’ve got bloody Indie up my arse. These women are ruining my life.”
Booker laughs openly and it makes me want to tackle him to the ground. How dare he mock my pain. “Do you have a death wish?”
