Chapter 25
Sunday night dinner. It’s supposed to be the one day a week that brings the Harris family together. The one place that brings us joy and helps us remember why we love being Harrises.
Tonight, it’s hell on earth for me.
I’m sitting at the kitchen counter, surrounded by everyone. Dad’s holding Rocky. Vi, Hayden, Camden, Indie, Tanner, Belle. Booker and Poppy each with a newborn in their arms. All of them press in around me so close, I can barely breathe.
I tried to stay silent when I first arrived.
I wasn’t going to tell them about Sloan’s inheritance, the fight with Callum, the heartbroken look on Sophia’s face, or the unanswered text message I sent to Sloan telling her I am sorry.
I tried so bloody hard to keep it all in, keep it safe, keep it silent, keep it protected.
Then they did the Harris Shakedown on me. They got it all out. Every last miserable detail. Now, here I sit, on trial as the lot of them try to figure out my life for me.
“Gareth, tell me exactly what Sophia heard you say again,” Vi states, leaning across the kitchen sink and propping her head in her hands.
I groan and cover my face with my hands. “She heard me say that her father doesn’t love her.”
“Which is bloody true!” Tanner retorts from the far end of the counter as he stuffs a chocolate into his mouth.
“It might be true, but it’s not something a seven-year-old should ever hear no matter how vile the father is,” Vi corrects, looking at me with so much sympathy, I want to vomit.
“I didn’t mean to say it. I didn’t mean to put my hands on him. I just lost it.” I bow my head and slice my hands through my hair.
“You were being territorial and protective,” Tanner states firmly.
“He was being a Harris,” Camden adds.
“It’s just like when you went mental on my ex-boyfriend a few years ago,” Vi adds another iron in the fire. “You have a temper, Gareth, and you need to get control of it if you’re going to be a dad.”
“I’m not going to be a dad!” I exclaim, my head pounding inside my skull. “I don’t deserve to be a dad,” I mumble, shaking my head and seeing the horrified pain in Sophia’s eyes all over again.
That look, that expression, that hurt. I put it there. My actions. It was like I was staring in the mirror of my eight-year-old self after one of my father’s fits.
I’m a fucking monster.
“Gareth doesn’t have a temper nine times out of ten, though!
” Booker argues, his voice rising defensively as he bounces his baby in his arms. “It only comes out when necessary, and that Callum bloke was going after Sloan. He had it coming. The arsehole deserved a lot worse. Gareth shouldn’t have to apologise for that. ”
Booker stares back at me with so much blind devotion, it shocks me. This youngest brother of mine is usually soft-spoken and mild-tempered. But he’s unapologetic in his statement right now, and I don’t feel worthy. Sloan and Sophia aren’t my family, and there’s nothing I can do to change that now.
Dad remains silent in the background, listening and taking everything in while the rest of our family begin concocting a trip to Manchester for an in-person Harris Shakedown on Sloan and Sophia.
It’s a bloody mess. The entire conversation is swirling into madness that I can’t stand to sit and listen to anymore.
I mumble something about needing to go to the loo and manage to slip off my stool and out of the kitchen. My body enters into some strange form of autopilot as I bypass the loo and head for the stairs.
I slowly climb each step as my mind drifts off into the past. I pause on the second level and look down the hallway.
All four of our childhood rooms positioned two on each side.
I can still see Poppy sneaking into Booker’s room like she did so often when they were little and thought no one was looking.
I can see Tanner and Camden sneaking girls up the stairs.
I can see Vi’s makeup spread out all over the counter and her screaming at us to stay out of her stuff.
So much of my life has been spent watching over my siblings. Kids who weren’t mine. But something about Sophia felt different. She was mine. She felt like mine the second I met her on the pitch at the Kid Kickers camp.
I turn the corner and climb up to the third level of the house. I pause outside the loft bedroom door that we rarely ever went into after Mum died.
I turn the knob that probably hasn’t been touched in years and push the door open to reveal the room of haunted memories.
The room is completely empty. No bed, no dresser.
No photos on the walls. Just light wood flooring, three big windows, and loads of things I’d rather forget.
I step inside and instantly recall Mum’s bed.
Big brass frame, white sheets. An IV cart positioned next to the wall and an oxygen tank nearby.
Mum always wore white, silky nightgowns that were so soft, I can still remember the feeling of them.
I open the door to the wardrobe where they used to hang.
It’s empty. Dad burned most of her clothes in the fireplace downstairs shortly after she died.
I recall Vi crying because she wanted a jumper of Mum’s and he refused.
I couldn’t believe how awful of a person he was to not give his only daughter an article of clothing from her only mother.
I hated him so much.
Now, I understand who that man was so many years ago.
He was heartbroken. He was heartbroken because the woman he loved died.
She fucking died.
The past few days, I have felt like my life is over and no one even died. Sloan is fine. Healthy and fine. Rich, and thriving, and independent. She has a daughter who loves her. Money to make all their dreams come true. She’s alive.
And I feel like the walls are closing in on me.
I move to the window, then hear a creak behind me. My head snaps to see my father standing in the doorway. His chest is high, like he’s holding his breath as he takes in the room before him. He stares closely at every square inch like even a speck of dirt will hold a memory.
His hands tighten on the doorframe as he clears his throat and states in a hoarse voice, “I haven’t been up here in years.”
I watch him carefully, silently, nervously. He looks haunted but determined as he prepares to walk in. I turn to gaze at the space and reply, “It’s not my favourite room of the house, I’ll tell you that much.”
He forces a tight smile and gingerly takes a step in. “Nor mine.”
I slide my hands into my jeans pockets and tip back on my heels. “I was drawn up here for some reason today.”
He nods and makes his way over to where I stand, looking out the window as he replies, “Your mother was always good in a crisis.”
I exhale heavily. “Is that what my life is now? A crisis?”
Dad turns and leans one shoulder against the wall by the window, the sunlight pouring in and casting shadows over the lines of his face and illuminating the grey scruff on his jaw. “I’m sorry for what’s happened with Sloan, Gareth.”
“I really messed it up good,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders and crossing my arms over my chest. “I didn’t trust Sloan to make her own decisions. I broke Sophia’s heart and I alienated her father—a man who will always be in their lives no matter what. There’s no way I can get back what I’ve lost.”
Dad nods somberly. “It seems you were acting like you had lost already.”
My brow furrows at his unexpected response. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, you were assuming the worst from her. You thought she’d move away. You thought she’d take her ex-husband back. It’s almost like you were grieving her before she even left you. Similar to what I did when your mother was ill.”
His words barrel through me like a punch to the gut. “I wasn’t grieving her. I just sensed that she no longer needed me in her life like she did when her marriage first fell apart.”
“You were protecting yourself.”
“From what?”
“From unimaginable pain. Gareth, I didn’t think I’d ever see the day when you’d give your heart to someone.
I thought you lost that part of you when your mother died.
But when I saw Sloan standing over you in that hospital bed, defending you so fervently, I knew I was wrong.
And bloody hell, son, when you woke up and looked at her, I saw how hard you had fallen.
“But you have never been a man who does well sitting idle. You jump in and handle situations. You are proactive, not reactive. But dating a single mother comes with things you can’t control. And I think the deeper your feelings grew for Sloan and Sophia, the more afraid you became.”
“You’re damn right I’m afraid. Sophia deserves a father and, no matter what I do, I’ll never be that to her. That’s genetics. It’s not something I can change.”
“Being a father isn’t a birthright, Gareth.
You should know that better than anyone.
” He gestures downstairs, his eyes narrowing as he shakes his head.
“You have an entire hoard of well-meaning, nosey buggers who love you unconditionally. They won’t let you fall.
They won’t let you break. They will glue you back together and make things whole again no matter how much you try to fall apart.
It’s not about calling yourself a father.
It’s about letting them be your family. Sloan and Sophia are your family, Gareth. ”
A painful knot forms in my throat from his words. Words that I long to be true. “What if I said and did things I can’t come back from?”
“Rubbish,” he growls and straightens to stare hard into my eyes. “The love of a true family is unconditional. I mean, bloody hell, look at all I’ve done in my past, yet you still manage to tolerate me.”
I can’t help but smile at his flippant remark. The ease to which he admits his mistakes now. He is a completely different person than who he was before but, deep down, I know this understanding man was always in there. He just lost sight of that part of himself for a while.