A WET NOSE NUDGES MY face. Now a tongue. Now another tongue. “Bruce! Off with you, or I’m giving you another bath,” I groan, refusing to open my swollen eyes. His nails clack along the floor in a hasty retreat from me threatening him with the one thing he hates more than getting his nails clipped.
“When was the last time you had a bath?” a familiar voice asks from inside my room.
My eyes fly open and land on Gareth sitting at the foot of my bed. “How did you get in?” I snap, sitting up and rubbing at my crusty eyes. I inhale a sharp breath at the tender skin around the edges.
“I stole Dad’s spare key. He wouldn’t give it to me either. Said I needed to let you sort this one out on your own. But after ten fucking un-returned calls, I’d had it up to here, Vi.” Gareth’s arm flexes as he demonstrates just how far up he’s had it.
I roll my eyes and scowl as I take in his appearance. He’s freshly showered, his dark brown hair still wet on the ends. It’s annoying.
“You didn’t need to come over,” I grumble, throwing the covers off myself and waltzing into the bathroom. I leave the door open while I stand at the sink and splash cold water on my face.
“By the looks of it, I needed to come five fucking days ago.” He leans on the frame of the door, and his penetrative glower reflects at me in the mirror.
I wince at my own reflection but refuse to confirm his fears. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Too fucking bad,” Gareth barks, standing up straight. “You look like you haven’t eaten or showered in days. Have you even been in to work?”
“I worked from home.” I glare at his reflection. “See? I’m not a weakling, Gareth. I’m doing just fine. I’m making my deadlines, answering emails. I’m a proper grown-up.”
“Oh yeah, it really looks like it.” Bruce trots over to him and nudges his hand for a pet. “Poor bastard. Bruce probably hasn’t seen the light of day all week.”
“Stop,” I demand, turning around to face him. “I don’t need to hear this, Gareth. Bruce has been well taken care of. Spoilt rotten with my daily presence. Does he look neglected?”
As if on cue, Bruce’s jaw drops wide into a squeaking yawn and he lies down right at Gareth’s feet with a sad huff.
“I’ve been by C. Designs,” he says out of nowhere. My eyes fly wide. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans on the doorjamb as if he told me it’s raining outside. It’s fucking London. It’s always raining!
I storm over and poke him in the chest. “You haven’t really been over there, have you?”
He nods defensively. “If not me, it’s Booker, Cam, or Tan. One of us has been driving by there every fucking day.”
“And doing what?” My jaw is slack.
Gareth’s eyes narrow as he continues that infuriatingly cocky, footballer nod. “Don’t worry. I haven’t laid a hand on him. We’ve just been watching.”
“Watching for what? Has he seen you?” My voice rises with panic.
“Oh, he’s seen us,” he chuckles.
“Oh my God, Gareth!” I shriek. “No! What do you think you’re doing?”
“We’re sending him a fucking message, Vi.” He points his finger in the air to accentuate his point. “He’s got a hell of a lot of nerve acting noble in front of us one night, then slagging you off the very next day. He’s a wanker. You’re better off.”
My eyes sting, but there is no sign of actual tears. My tears are completely dried-up. “Gareth, this has absolutely nothing to do with you!” I rake my hands through my ratty hair and grip the back of my neck as I walk back into my bedroom. “Why? Why do you guys keep doing this stuff?”
He follows, towering over me as I sit down on the bed. “Look, Vi. My season’s almost starting again. I don’t have to tell you that, that means I’m leaving for Manchester in two weeks. I can’t leave you here with that fucking prat sniffing about.”
“It’s my life!” I cry out and stamp my foot. “I don’t need you tousling every man who jilts me. At my rate, it’ll become a full-time fucking job.”
“Oh, stop,” he scoffs. “You’re just doing a proper job of picking morons.”
“I don’t, Gareth.” I groan at the deep pain I feel every time I think about Hayden. “Hayden isn’t a moron. He is everything, but he didn’t see that. He didn’t want it. He trusted me with so much of his life, but in the end, he still couldn’t manage to fall in love with me. He walked away.” My chest shudders into an awkward dry sob as I keel over and cry into my hands. God, this is pathetic. I can’t even cry properly.
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.