Page 47 of Surrender
I head to Vi’s car and toss my bag into the backseat of her SUV. “I like the new car,” I say, folding myself into the front passenger seat and draping my jacket over my lap. “I see you decided not to go with a proper people carrier.”
She rolls her eyes. “Hayden wanted one. He said he liked the movie screen in it. I told him I’m a football sister, not a football mummy. Rocky is only one. We have a while before I need room for kits.”
I smile and eye her appearance skeptically. Her blonde hair is in a high ponytail. She’s dressed in a Manchester United T-shirt with HARRIS in big block letters on the back, and I know she has an Arsenal jersey and enough Bethnal Green kits to wear every day of the week. My sister is fooling herself if she thinks she’s not a footy mummy already.
“Whatever you say, sis.” I glance out the window at the press waiting outside like vultures. I gave them a full thirty minute interview and answered all their incessant questions, yet they still wait outside for more. “Are we going to your place? I don’t want to go to a restaurant. The crowds will be awful.”
Vi nods. “I have soup in the slow cooker.”
“Perfect.”
“Are you staying at Dad’s tonight?”
I nod. “Unless you’ve suddenly added an addition onto your flat?”
She smiles. “I’m afraid not.”
Vi turns to head northeast on the road that runs along the River Thames. Since it’s a Saturday night, the traffic is buzzing. Busy Londoners ready for a night on the town. The bus doesn’t go back to Manchester until tomorrow morning because our team was invited to the opening of some new club in London. It’s good press, so most of the guys headed straight there.
“You’re not going out with the team tonight?”
I look at her flatly. “Pass.”
She giggles. “You’re such a moody sod. Antisocial to the max these days. Your family used to be the exception, but it seems we’re also becoming part of the rule.”
“What the bloody hell does that mean?”
“You never used to miss Sunday dinners, Gareth. And you used to have no problem being Camden or Tanner’s wingman at a club when they needed you. Granted, you were never the manwhore the boys were. I mean, I certainly never had to apply the Bacon Sandwich Rule to some girl for you, but you were known to partake in a proper night out.”
I groan in disgust from her mentioning the rule. Camden and Tanner have a complex over having shared a womb, so that apparently meant they had to fight over food and women as well. When we were kids, Vi set the rule that if one of them licked the food, then the other couldn’t take it. As the boys grew older and became more obnoxious, they realised the Bacon Sandwich Rule could also apply to women. The wankers.
“I think even you can admit that things are different in our family this year,” I state, glancing out the window as we pass the Vauxhall Bridge. “Cam and Tan are both married. Booker’s going to be a father. You’re supposed to be getting married one of these days.”
She glances over at me. “Does it bother you that everyone’s paired up now?”
“No,” I scoff defensively. “But it hardly calls for going clubbing with my brothers and invoking the Bacon Sandwich Rule.”
“I guess that’s a good point.” Vi shifts awkwardly in her seat. “I just hate how isolated you are up in Manchester. I don’t know what you get up to all week long. You seem like you’re becoming more and more introverted every time I see you.”
“Vi, I’m not some moody teenager. I’m a man, and I’m just fine on my own,” I defend, fighting back a smirk about how not alone I was last week when Sloan had me tied up with her tape measure or blindfolded with her scarf. Definitely not a thought I should be having while sitting in a confined car with my bloody sister.
I can feel Vi’s curious eyes on me. “What’s happening with you and that stylist?”
“Nothing,” I bark out much too quickly. I clear my throat and attempt to calm the fuck down. “Nothing. We’re friends. Colleagues you could say. That’s all.”
“Friends,” she mimics, clearly not believing me. “Friends who fuck is more like it.”
“Vi!” I chastise, swerving my accusing eyes in her direction. “You yell at us for swearing, yet you’re over there speaking like a sailor.”
She giggles as she stares down the road. “I can tell something’s different about you.”
“How?”
“I can see it in your game.”
“Bollocks,” I scoff, fisting my jacket in my sweaty palms. I don’t want Vi to figure this out. What Sloan and I are doing is casual. So casual I can’t even kiss her on the lips. If Vi finds out we’re sleeping together, she’ll get ridiculous ideas in her head about my future.
“I’ve watched you play your whole life, Gareth. That tackle you made at the end there…It had a finesse to it. A confidence I haven’t seen in you the last few years.”
