by Daws, Amy
Large warm arms wrap around me. Gareth begins shushing and rocking me back and forth as I somehow hit a new well of tears buried in an un-tapped crevice of my body.
“It’s not the men who are the issue, Gareth. It’s me. And it’s embarrassing enough having men not give two shits about me. I don’t need you guys adding fuel to my pathetic flame. Just stop trying to protect me.”
“I can’t do that, Vi,” Gareth groans, the deep timbre of his chest rumbling against my ear.
“Why not?” I lift my head and shove the hair out of my face. “Tell me, Gareth. What is the reason that you have to continually insert yourself into my life?”
He frowns and eyes my blotchy skin with a thoughtful expression. His hazel eyes soften, replaced by a deep sadness that makes me realise that his over-protectiveness isn’t a superficial choice. He exhales sharply, his face wincing in silent pain.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice nervous and pensive.
“I don’t think I knew why I do it until just this moment,” he says, his expression in thoughtful awe.
“What do you mean?”
He sniffs and his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. “You look just like Mum, you know that?”
I swipe at my tear-stained face self-consciously. “Thanks a lot.”
“She was beautiful, Vi. Even at the end. Did you know I was alone with Mum the day she died?” he asks and drops his elbows to his knees, gazing hauntingly off into the distance.
“The day she died? What do you mean? Where was Dad?” The image of Gareth as a small boy dealing with that all by himself horrifies me.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Dad could hardly come into her room at the end. He was a wreck. It was painful to watch.” He rubs his lips together before he continues. “I think he was just overwhelmed. I was only eight, and it seemed like all you guys did was cry. Booker was still a baby, and I didn’t know how to change a nappy. No one ever showed me. And Dad was making do, but completely losing it, too.” He pauses to shake his head, a look of shame casting over his features. “When he was around Mum, he shouted at her a lot. She lay in bed and cry every night because of how angry Dad would get.”
Tears. More tears flood my eyes.
“She made me promise not to be cross at him for it. She told me that he was her bestest friend in the whole world. That he was going through a really hard time and she couldn’t help him, and it is hard when your bestest friend isn’t there to help you.”
My fingers dig into Gareth’s bicep as he continues.
“I didn’t fully know what she was going on about. I just knew I loved our mum. And I was sad, too.” His voice breaks on a garbled cry. “I decided then and there that if Dad couldn’t be there for her, I would be. I would be her new best friend.”
“Gareth,” I cry, my belly shaking with quiet sobs. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps looking forward and continuing his story.
“So I was her best friend, and I was there when she died. I held her hand and watched it go limp. It’s strange, but I can still feel the softness of her hand.” He takes my hand in his. Mine looks so small and fair-toned next to his large, rough palm. “She had these long, elegant fingers, just like yours. You have Mum’s hands, Vi. Did you know that? I’ve probably never told you.” He sniffles and clasps my hand between his two. “I was eight when I lost my best friend and my mum all in one shot.”
I shake my head in defiance. I can’t believe all of this happened and I wasn’t there for him. I was four, but still. I should have been there for him.
“I’m sorry, Gareth.”
“Don’t be sorry, Vi. Just understand me. Understand that protecting you and loving you feels like I am doing it for my best friend. It always felt like I had something to prove.”
“I understand now, you daft cow,” I croak and pull him in for a hug that feels different. It feels different because, for the first time, I finally understand my brother and maybe even a little bit more of the stranger who is my mum. “You can be a meddling bruiser of a brother any time you want.” I sniff and back away, wiping the tears from my eyes again. “I’ll be fine, though. Really.”
“Damn right you will.” He rubs my shoulders soothingly and then frowns as his gaze narrows on my closet door. “What’s that?”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, God. It’s a stupid dress I ordered for Leslie’s wedding this weekend. I was staring at it and feeling sorry for myself.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not going now, of course.”
“The fuck you’re not. You’re going to that wedding, Vi.”
“What?” I ask. “No. Why on earth?”
“Because best friends fuck up. But it doesn’t mean they don’t love you.”
My face falls. “Gareth, stop. It’s over between Hayden and me. I’m not going to allow myself to hurt like this again. He’s crushed me one too many times.”
“You’re still going to the wedding.” He drops his chin with a glower.
“No. I can’t face him alone.”
“Good thing you won’t be alone,” he retorts with a cocky grin.
RED. ALL I SEE IS red. I close my eyes, and the backs of my eyelids still only show me red.
I stand next to Theo at the altar and attempt to focus on what the pastor is saying, but then the fucking red again.
A flush moves up Vi’s neck. The urge to kiss the heat beneath her skin is so powerful, I actually glimpse over at Liam to make sure that I haven’t moved from my position as best man. In my mind, I’m crawling over the top of every one of these arseholes in the church and covering Vi with my entire body. The urge I have to club her over the head like a caveman and shout out “mine” is problematic.
And probably a bit psychotic.
Her brother Gareth cuts me a homicidal look as if he can read my thoughts. My eyes twitch nervously, but I still can’t bring myself to tear my gaze away from Vi. She’s dressed in red. Just as I requested back when life was bearable. I silently chastise her fucking git of a brother for letting her out of his sight in that getup. I don’t care how famous of a footballer he is, he’s a fucking moron. Her red dress is short and flowy with a dangerously low neckline. It’s held up by two floss-like straps that look like all you’d have to do is blow on them and her dress would go slithering to the ground. Gareth’s hatred toward me must be immense for him to allow her to wear that bloody dress just to torture me.
The past week without Vi has consisted of a lot of angry grunting and snarling. Namely at Theo because he’s my brother, and he’s got it coming for the years of suffrage he has inflicted on me. However, Theo—being the older and apparently smarter brother—must have figured out my mood stabiliser is Marisa because every time I’d growl at him, he’d silently pass me the baby.
God, I’m a transparent softie.
The corner of my mouth turns up as I eye Marisa sitting in her white linen-covered Bumbo seat nestled safely inside a wagon drenched in yards and yards of white tulle and taffeta. Leslie and Theo keep grinning down proudly at her, only halfway listening to the sermon. I think all of us are amazed at how long she’s lasting up here. The plan was for her to come down the aisle with Finley and me. Then, the minute she started to fuss, Finley was going to whisk her over to Brody, who got a hefty lesson from me on how to soothe Marisa.
I chuckle softly to myself at what an odd wedding party we must look like up here. Leslie’s side consists of Finley, Frank, and Brody. Theo’s side is me, Liam, and Daphney. Jaci no K probably developed a new vein in her forehead when Leslie informed her of their nontraditional plans. And Frank about sent her completely over the edge when he told her he was wearing a dress as well. The cheeky bugger.
I look down and fiddle with my leather cuffs, begging myself to stop looking at Vi. God, she makes me weak. Everything about her makes me liquefy to a puddle on the ground in her presence. Why did she have to bring her fucking brother?
I groan inwardly, and Leslie’s eyes flash to mine as she glances
past Theo. I swallow awkwardly and calm myself down just as the pastor asks me for the rings.
My hands tremor as I reach inside my suit coat, then hand him the rings that are to represent Theo and Leslie as one. A symbol of their eternal love that has no beginning and no end. Just as Theo reaches for Leslie’s hand, Marisa lets out a mighty cry. Finley jumps to action, but Leslie stops her in her tracks, bends over in her beautiful wedding gown, and picks up my niece. Theo’s eyes are watching her affectionately the entire time, devouring every flicker of her movement. She tucks Marisa against her stomach so she’s facing out and resumes her position at the altar. Family complete now, Leslie beams at my brother with the happiest, most content, albeit wobbly-with-emotion, serene smile I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
My eyes prick as I glance down at Marisa, who’s managed to tuck a piece of her lacy dress into her mouth for a good chew. She looks up happily, clearly much more content to be standing up here in Mummy’s arms and looking at Daddy than down in that bloody wagon by herself.
The pastor attempts to resume, but Theo coughs loudly and looks down, pulling his glasses off his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. I want to offer a reassuring pat on his shoulder, but I refrain. As if sensing my support, he glances back at me, giving me a glimpse of something I’m not all together sure he wanted me to see.
His weakness.
My brother’s crumbling, love-spilling-over-the-top vulnerability is exposed on every raw flicker of his face. He smiles at me knowingly and nods, a moment of thoughtfulness exchanged between us. He looks back at his wife and daughter and readies himself to solidify his happily ever after.
He’s feeling. He’s doing exactly what Doc said is the hardest challenge of all, and he’s making it look bloody good. He looks happier than I’ve ever seen him.
As I watch them, my heart pounds like it’s going to burst out of my chest at any moment. It already felt like it was holding on by a very thin thread all week. But now, that thread is cinching up around my heart, tighter and tighter with every second I’m forced to stand up here and not next to Vi touching her and telling her everything I’ve wanted to tell her since the first time I met her.
WHEN THE PASTOR TELLS THEO he can kiss his bride, I slam my eyes shut, unable to observe the end of the most vulnerably raw and absolutely beautiful wedding I’ve ever witnessed. Tears slip out from beneath my lashes because, even though I can’t see their kiss, I can feel it. I think everyone in this tiny chapel can feel it.
Finally, I open my eyes and I can’t help but smile at Leslie as she beams from ear-to-ear with tears in her eyes. She lifts Marisa up between her and Theo, and they both kiss either side of her cheeks simultaneously. Cameras flash wildly as the small congregation of less than fifty people all “aw” in unison at the perfectly beautiful little family.
The wedding was gorgeous. Simple, but in no way understated. That wouldn’t be Leslie. Punches of colour explode everywhere from the wildflower bouquets, to the bold multi-coloured bridesmaids’ dresses, to the unique fitted men’s suits.
Hayden wears his better than every man up there.
Damn him all to hell.
I spent the last couple of days psyching myself up for my first sight of him. I envisioned him looking cold and detached, similar to how he appeared the night of the gala only six weeks ago. How could our story have only lasted six weeks? Somehow it feels like no time and tons of time all at once.
My expectation of him today was that he’d continue to block me out and further drive the stake through my already hardened heart.
What I didn’t expect was for him to look so…concentrated.
The three times I mistakenly locked eyes with him during the service felt like we were frozen in time. In those moments, he was showing me the same passionate, intense, brooding, possessive man who threw a fit over me nearly kissing Ethan. I thought I could be strong enough to not let his presence consume me, but he’s messing everything up by looking at me the way he is. I think he stared at me through twenty-five of the thirty minutes worth of ceremony. I have no idea what he’s after, but I pray that he knows the damage done last week is irreconcilable.
Irreconcilable.
The congregation stands to file out of the church. I catch sight of Leslie and Theo, along with the rest of the bridal party forming a reception line in the narthex.
“Great,” I groan quietly.
“You’re fine. Only a couple more hours to go,” Gareth mutters under his breath.
I offer a shaky smile to my brother who’s dressed in a black fitted suit. Several people turn and gawk at him as we meander through the line.
“You could have dressed down a bit. I told you this would be a small, casual wedding.”
He frowns down at me. “I’m not wearing a tie.”
I roll my eyes. “Gucci is hardly casual.”
His eyes narrow as he looks over my shoulder. A playful smirk teases his lips, so I turn to see him catching a sensual gaze from a tall, busty brunette.
“Nice,” I croak.
“Hey, I’m here for moral support, but I’m no bloody saint.” He flashes Busty a megawatt smile.
“Can you at least keep it in your pants until we get through the reception line? Hayden is right there.” The pain I feel saying his name is acute.
Gareth frowns and his flirty eyes suddenly turn serious. “You’ve got this.”
Do I? I think to myself just as we reach Leslie.
“Vilma!” she sings happily. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She yanks me into a tight hug. Her arms are firm and solid around me. She pulls back and looks into my eyes with a pensive expression. “I was worried you wouldn’t come.”
I shake my head dismissively. “I wouldn’t miss your wedding, Leslie,” I say just as Theo finishes with the couple in front of us and looks at me. “You’re too damn needy for me to avoid anyway.”
Theo laughs and casts his twinkling, happy eyes down at his blushing bride. “I can vouch for that. And now I have two of them.”
We glance over at Marisa as she smiles from the arms of Theo’s parents, whom I met briefly at the gala last month.
“Guys, this is my brother, Gareth Harris. I’m not sure you’ve all met.” I turn to my brother as he moves in closer.
Theo’s eyes fly wide. He pulls his glasses off as if to confirm that who he’s looking at isn’t a mirage. “Gareth Harris, for Man U? Bugger. I’m…Yeah, I’m a fan.” Theo stammers as he cuts accusing eyes at Leslie. “Leslie, how could you not mention who Vilma’s brother is?”
She purses her lips and shrugs as if the thought never once occurred to her. “I don’t watch soccer! How am I supposed to know he’s a big deal?”
“He’s like…Beckham big deal, babe.”
“Posh Spice’s husband? Oh, shit! He’s hot!” Gareth and I burst out laughing, and Leslie bites her lip and covers her mouth. Theo shakes his head at her as she says, “I’m sorry, Gareth.”
Gareth chuckles. “No offence taken. I’m not as big as Beckham,” he winks playfully.
“You should be offended. I’d like to apologise on behalf of my wife for this entire encounter. Keep up the great work. And good luck this season.” Theo and Gareth exchange a matey handshake. I attempt to walk by him, but Theo surprises me by pulling me in for a hug. “Don’t run,” he whispers in my ear. I pull back, my brow furrowed. “Just don’t run. It’s worth it,” he repeats, clearly unfazed by Gareth, whom I can feel shooting daggers behind me.
Doing my best to shake off Theo’s unexpected propaganda, we greet the rest of the bridal party, including Frank. “Christ, Vi. You look as if you belong on every teenage boy’s splattered ceiling!”
“Frank! You’re disgusting,” Finley crows and whacks him on the arm. “Hi, Vi! You look beautiful.”
We exchange pleasantries with the rest of the family. But just when I think we’re going to graze right past Hayden since his back is turned, Frank clears his throat loudly and unsubtly barks out, “Hayden, y
ou wanker!”
Hayden’s head pops up curiously and he turns. His serious grey eyes find mine instantly. Heat blossoms between us, and I feel a blush move up my neck and fill my cheeks. I glance down at his white button-down dress shirt, beige tweed-fitted trousers, and brown braces that Leslie says Americans call hipster suspenders. I’m going to ignore the fact that his trousers are tailored to his build within an inch of their life. I’m not going to notice the taut fabric of his cotton shirt around his muscular biceps. I don’t care about how he’s not wearing a tie, so two popped buttons reveal just enough of his sculpted chest to remind me of how he looks shirtless. And who really cares that his copper blonde hair is dishevelled in an artful way that makes it look like he’s just fucked someone’s brains out.
Deep breath.
“Vi,” he begins and reaches his hand out to me.
Before his fingers can graze mine, Gareth swoops in, turning his back on Hayden and firmly gripping the side of my arm. “We need to keep the line moving.” The set of his jaw is demanding, but looking at Hayden’s hopeful expression on the other side of him makes me pause.
“Just a minute, Gareth,” I say softly, my eyes never leaving Hayden’s.
“Vi,” he warns.
Ignoring him, I shove past his enormous frame and see a flicker of relief smear over Hayden’s face with my approach. Shooting him a tight smile, I stick out my hand.
“What?” Hayden asks, frowning down at my outstretched hand.
“A platonic handshake,” I offer, wiggling my brow.
He huffs out a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing platonic about you and me, Bunny.”
I paint on a forced half-smile and grab his hand, clutching his cuffed wrist firmly with my other in warning. I move in so my voice is a mere whisper on his mouth. “Don’t call me that. You lost the right to call me that the moment you stomped all over my heart last week.”
