Page 59 of Surrender
She slides off the counter and moves past me to walk out of the kitchen back toward the front door. A deep growl vibrates in my chest as I splay my hands out on the island. This is all my fucking father’s fault. He has me on edge. No, I’m not much of a sharer, which has been a reoccurring problem I’ve had with other women. But Sloan is right. We’re friends.
And I’m a prat.
With a heavy sigh, I double-check the linguini is at a good temperature, then stride out to where I assume Sloan’s getting dressed and preparing to leave. She’s not in the foyer like I expected, though, and her shirt and shoes are still where she left them on the floor. I see a glowing light down the hall past the sitting room and make my way toward it.
I find Sloan in the media room, sitting in one of the black theatre chairs. She’s fiddling with the remote and attempting to put something on the projection screen. “I don’t know how to use this. Can you show me?”
Her calm voice surprises me, so I enter the room and grab the remote from her hand. Our fingers brush and the electric current we always have is as strong as ever, even when she’s pissed me off. “You’re on the wrong input.”
I push a button and hand it back to her as a sports channel illuminates the screen.
“Thanks,” she replies and attempts to flick the channel around my frame standing right in front of her. She still hasn’t made eye contact with me.
“You’re not leaving?” I ask, half expecting to get hit in the nuts at any second.
“Do you want me to?” She finally looks up, her eyes starry in the darkness. Her skin green from the glare of whatever is on the projector behind me.
I give her a simple shoulder shrug, tired of my emotions already. This is why I wanted to try this control thing. It gives me the freedom of not having to think. I get exhausted when I have to think about my family. My upbringing.My dad.
“I want whatever you want,” I reply because that’s the truth. If she doesn’t want to be here, I would never force her.
“Well, I don’t like confrontation,” she replies, her eyes narrowing up at me against the light. “So if you could refrain from being a dick when I’m just making small talk, it would make things a lot more pleasant.”
I pull my lips into my mouth and bite back my knee-jerk argument. There is no way she would know that the topic of my father is not small talk. Sharing about family is small talk to most. “My dad was a tremendous arsehole when my mum died. Mean, angry. He didn’t mourn well, and we suffered for it as children. I get touchy when I have to talk about him.”
Sloan’s chin drops as she mindlessly fingers the remote in her lap. “That sucks.”
I shrug once again. “And I didn’t get a thing from my father. None of my brothers did either. Our sister was the only one whom he ever gave anything to. And if you think I’m saying that out of spite, I’m not. Vi is a saint and deserved everything he gave her.”
Sloan pauses, eyeing me speculatively. “What did you deserve?”
Her question stings, but I know that’s not how she means it. She’s pushing for information. She’s trying to get to the bottom of whatever this is all about. What she doesn’t realise is it’s an endless pit that I have never fully dug into myself.
My reply is firm. “I deserved a better father. But I don’t want you thinking I’m some rich prick who was raised around other rich pricks. That couldn’t be farther from the truth.”
“I’m sorry, Gareth.” Her face softens as she absorbs what I’ve shared. “I’m projecting my issues onto you. It’s horribly unfair. It’s just, in my life, I see a lot of arrogant privilege, and it makes me crazy to see that sense of entitlement sometimes. You’ve never shown me that, so it was unfair of me to assume you’re part of that world.”
I nod thoughtfully, knowing exactly what she’s going on about. My teammates’ kids are prime examples of arrogant privilege, all a bunch of sods. They speak to their foreign nannies like slaves because that’s what they think is appropriate. And the nannies tolerate it because the parents make so much money and they need the job. It’s an ugly sight.
We had no help in our childhood, foreign or otherwise. As kids, we learned quickly how to become self-sufficient because it was clear that our dad wasn’t going to do a thing for us. I remember stealing his credit cards to pay bills when he forgot.
“I’ve worked for everything I have, Sloan. Even though my dad played for Manchester United, he did not part on good terms with them. They weren’t pulling any favours by signing me. I wanted to play for them because I have this irrational need to be better than him. A better player. A better contract. Better endorsements. House. More money. Whatever it takes. I even have retirement plans set up for all of my siblings and a savings account for my niece that none of them know about. I’m consumed by taking care of everyone enough to make his existence irrelevant.”
“Are you succeeding?” Her question is seemingly innocent but loaded with more than she could fathom.
I huff out a laugh. “What’s success? He’s still around, and it seems like every time I reach some line I’ve drawn for myself that will make me better than him, the line gets pushed back even farther. It’s a sick cycle that I’m stuck in, and I don’t talk about it to anyone really.”
She nods thoughtfully. “I think that happens to kids who lose their mothers when they’re young. They are driven to succeed because they have something to prove, whether it’s to the deceased or themselves, or maybe it’s just to society. You want to accomplish all of this because you were shorted a mother.”
This brings me up short. “I don’t do everything because of her.”
“You don’t?”
“Don’t get me wrong. My mum was incredible. She was my best mate. When I lost her, it killed me. But to say I was shorted would sully the eight years I had with her. I was with her when she died and, as hard as it was, that memory is precious to me.” I swallow the knot forming in my throat and push myself to continue, trying to ignore the painful memory. “I do all of this because control is something I can’t seem to let go of, except with you.”
She watches me for a minute, staring up at me with a million thoughts and feelings. It’s an intense admission I just dropped on her. They’re words I never envisioned telling her, but it feels good to actually understand why I’m craving this arrangement with her so much.
As if sensing that I’ve reached my maximum for the sharing I can do in one night, Sloan replies lightly, “Should we have sex now?” Her giggle that follows is like a beam of light brightening my dark soul.
