Dominate Read online

  Copyright © 2018 Amy Daws

  All rights reserved.

  Published by: Stars Hollow Publishing

  ISBN 13: 978-1-944565-18-3

  ISBN 10: 1-944565-18-3

  Editing: Stephanie Rose

  Formatting: Champagne Formatting

  Cover Design: Amy Daws

  Cover Photography: Dan Thorson

  Cover Model: Adam Spahn

  This book is licensed for personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author. The only exception is by quoting short excerpts in a review. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, please go to www.amydawsauthor.com to find where you can purchase a copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author's Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  More Books by Amy Daws

  Acknowledgements

  More About the Author

  Wait With Me Preview

  Dedicated to my character, Vi Harris.

  You started as co-worker Vilma in London Bound.

  Then became a Vi with four brothers in That One Moment.

  You’ve been featured in eight of my books, and I owe my career to you. Thank you for inspiring me to give you these brothers.

  You introduced me to the most wonderful, devoted, and patient readers I’ve ever met.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  There will be some football dates, games, and mentions about tournaments that will not be factually accurate in this novel. For the purpose of this story and to make it a more pleasurable reading experience, I took some creative freedom and dribbled with it. I hope you enjoy!

  A SIMPLE PHONE CALL CAN change your entire life.

  I remember calling the ambulance when my wife, Vilma, died.

  I remember calling a funeral director to plan arrangements.

  I remember calling Manchester United to tell them I wouldn’t be coming back. Ever.

  I remember all these calls, and every single one of them chipped away at the life I once loved.

  I didn’t want to be on the phone. I didn’t want to call anyone. I wanted to die in that bed with my best friend who was leaving me to raise our five children alone. Four wild sons and one emotional daughter. All alone.

  Before I had to make phone calls, I saw our children as a dream come true. Our family was everything I never knew could make life worth living. Watching Vilma give birth to them made everything around us a bright, bold, beautiful spray of colour.

  I was certain the rest of the world had never loved anything as much as I loved my wife. My family. I planned to spend my life with her, watching our children grow.

  I planned to hold her in bed until we were old and grey.

  That’s the thing about plans. They can have a mind of their own. Life can tell you, “Fuck your plans. This is how it’s going to be.”

  Life took her from me.

  My best friend.

  And for that reason, I didn’t want to make any more calls. I didn’t want to make any more connections. I wanted to lock myself away and rue the day I ever fell in love. Rue the day I ever gave someone control of my heart.

  A simple phone call can alter everything you thought you knew about yourself.

  A shrill ring from my mobile on my desk has me glancing down to see my daughter, Vi’s, face light up the screen. If you want to get over a phobia of answering telephone calls, become a football club manager or a parent to five adult children who have all left home. You’ll figure out quite quickly how to get on with life.

  It’s dark in my office at Tower Park. I came in earlier to oversee some groundworkers fixing the scoreboard, which took much longer than it should have. While I waited, I started looking at our striker, Roan DeWalt’s, ankle scans. My daughter-in-law Indie tells me he can make a full recovery from the injury he suffered last week, but I’m not sure. There’s a transfer window opening up soon, and I think it might be time for him to find a new team.

  I glance at the clock on my computer and note that it’s just after eleven. Vi can’t be back from Manchester already. I swipe the screen and clear my throat before answering. “Hello, my darling. Are you back in London? How was Gareth’s award ceremony? Did he give a speech?”

  “Dad.”

  With only one word, I’m on my feet. It’s incredible how you can know your child’s voice after being a father to them for so many years. Even factoring in all my blank years after Vilma died, I still know Vi’s emergency voice without question.

  “What’s happened?” I snap.

  “It’s Gareth…and possibly Sloan. I don’t know for sure. We were about an hour outside of Manchester and I got a call from a policeman. Gareth is hurt, Dad. It’s…bad.”

  “How is he hurt?” I bark. He didn’t even have a game. It’s a Friday night. He was receiving an award, not playing football. How could he have possibly been injured?

  “There was an attack at his house.”

  “What?” I roar, fisting my hand around my grey hair and squeezing the short strands until it pulls. “What kind of attack? Who the bloody hell is Sloan? I don’t know any teammates named Sloan.”

  “Sloan is…with Gareth.”

  “Vi, you’re not making any sense!” I exclaim and press my palm to my chest as an ache erupts within. Gareth doesn’t have a girlfriend. I would know. Gareth doesn’t have anyone whom he shares anything with except for his brothers and sister. Christ only knows how much he actually shares with them. He’s a locked door.

  “Dad, calm down,” Vi’s voice blubbers into the line, shaking me out of my thoughts. “Sloan is Gareth’s stylist. She’s the one who dressed the boys for Tanner’s wedding.”

  “Oh, his personal shopper,” I confirm, things slowly clicking into place. “Why the bloody hell was she there at this time of night?”

  “It’s new. We just officially met her tonight.”

  “Officially? What on earth are you going on about, Vi? Just tell me what’s happened.”

  “I don’t know many details about what’s happened!” she exclaims, her voice rising in pitch. “The officer just said to come to the hospital straight away, but we’re stuck in horrible traffic. There’s some accident up ahead and we aren’t moving at all. This is a nightmare. I’m about to get out and run. The policeman wouldn’t even tell me the extent of Gareth’s condition. Only that there was a break-in with multiple injuries on scene.”

  “Fuck,” I growl, a knot lodging in my throat.

  “Dad, I’m scared,” Vi’s voice cracks. “He wouldn’t tell me if Gareth’s okay and that must not be good. What if—”

  “Vi,” I
bark, stopping her line of thinking. “Put one of your brothers on the phone.”

  “Dad,” Vi blubbers. “It’s Gareth…He’s unbreakable, right?”

  “Pass me to one of your brothers, darling,” I grind through my teeth.

  There’s a muffled sound for a second before Camden’s voice cuts through. “Dad?”

  “Camden, someone needs to help your sister. She’s breaking down.”

  “Booker’s got her. He’s holding her.”

  I sniff and squeeze my eyes shut. “Right. What hospital then?”

  “Dad.” Camden’s tone sounds cautious. More than it was a second ago. “It’s Royal Trafford Hospital.”

  My heart plummets to the floor.

  Not that hospital.

  Anywhere but there.

  Camden adds, “It’s fine Dad. We’re on our way there. We’ll call you with updates.”

  He knows my issues with hospitals. Camden suffered a knee injury over a year ago, and it took everything I had to walk through the doors of the London Royal Hospital where he had his surgery. But I managed because it is a hospital that doesn’t hold any memories for me.

  Royal Trafford Hospital holds the worst memories of my life.

  In the background, I hear my daughter crying. Full-on sobbing. I imagine Booker holding her against his chest, and the entire image brings back horrid memories.

  “I’m coming,” I grind out, my hand already digging in my pocket for my keys.

  “You’re what?”

  “I’m coming,” I repeat a bit firmer this time.

  “Are you…going to be okay?” Camden asks, his voice tense and disbelieving.

  I nod confidently even though I don’t completely feel it. “I’ll be fine. I’ll call you when I land.”

  I end the call without another word and stride out the door, punching the number to my secretary, Lilly, into my phone. I already have a jet on standby for a prospect I was going to meet with early tomorrow morning. That won’t be happening now.

  It isn’t until I hit the motorway to the airport that I realise my hands have gone numb from how hard I’ve been gripping the steering wheel. When I loosen my fingers, the tremor in them is frightening.

  I haven’t been back to Manchester in twenty-five years. Gareth was injured in a football game four years ago, and I still couldn’t bring myself to return to the city that haunts me with the memory of Vilma—the complete love of my life.

  And Royal Trafford Hospital is exactly where my nightmare began.

  8 Years Old

  “GARETH, I WANT TO TELL you about the time I fell in love with your father.”

  Mum’s blue eyes look up at the ceiling as she lays her head back on the chair and stops writing in her journal.

  I take a deep breath and reply, “I don’t want to hear a lovely story about Dad right now. I’m cross at him.”

  “You’re not cross, Gareth.” She drops her chin to look at me sitting on a stool beside her.

  “I am too cross. He’s so mean. He’s been shouting at everybody all week.”

  “We’ve had a tough couple of days.”

  “I know. He keeps dragging you to the doctors. I told him you don’t want to go, but he says you have to. Why do you have to, Mum?”

  She smiles a sad smile and takes a deep breath. “Daddy is trying to help me feel better.”

  “But you always look worse after you get back from the hospital. They aren’t helping. They’re hurting.”

  “I know, my sweet, wonderful boy. But this is what your daddy has to do to make sure he’s done everything he can to help.”

  “Doesn’t mean he has to be such a meanie.”

  Her chin wobbles, and the sad expression on her face has my stomach doing somersaults. I don’t want my mummy to feel worse. I want her to feel better. That’s my job. To make her feel better. “Tell me about when you fell in love with Daddy.”

  She smiles. I can tell that made her feel better, which makes me feel better, too.

  “Well, we had just met the night before at a pub in London, and he claimed to be in love with me.”

  “The first time you met him, he loved you?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she replies with a giggle. A small tear slides down her cheek, but it doesn’t seem like a sad tear. “He was crazy. I thought he was just a naughty footballer trying to…” Her voice trails off and she clears her throat. “…have a laugh. Anyway, I didn’t believe him. Then he started going on about how he wanted me to go to his game in Manchester the next day.”

  “Exciting!” I reply, enjoying this part of the story.

  “Most would think so, but I’m not like most girls. I didn’t want to go to Manchester. I was having fun in London with my friends. But he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He even offered my girlfriends tickets to the match. Then he booked us a private plane. He was completely mental.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Well, I went. He wanted me there no matter what, and I would have been a fool to not accept a trip of a lifetime. The whole way there, I thought he was just a silly footballer with no sense about him. But that was all forgotten when I saw him play.”

  “He was quite good, right?” I ask, remembering the games I’d been to with Mum before Dad quit playing and moved us all back here to London.

  “He was like a dream, Gareth. His movements on the pitch were as if he was doing exactly what he was meant to do in life. He had this glow about him that I had never seen on a man before. And I knew that a man living with joy like that would have appreciation for a great many things in life.”

  “Do you think I could be good at football, Mum?” I ask, my mind having a think on how I could impress my mum like Dad did.

  “I think you can be good at anything you want, my boy. It doesn’t have to be football. It just has to ignite joy and passion. And you have to want to bleed for it because you believe in it so fully. Something that you refuse to surrender to until you dominate it in every possible way. Do you understand?”

  I nod, my forehead wrinkled as I think on the words she’s saying to me. They seem important. More important than I can understand. But I want Mummy to be happy, so I’ll say whatever I can to make her feel better. “I understand, Mum.”

  She smiles and I feel happy. I think I’m helping. I think it would help even more if I play football like Dad. I think that would make her smile forever.

  So I decide right then and there that I’m going to play football. And I’ll be even better than my dad.

  THE BEEP OF THE HOSPITAL monitor is like a ticking time bomb. With every chirp, it grows impossibly louder. With every moment that passes without a word, my anxiety grows more and more intense.

  What the hell happened tonight? How did we even get here? One moment I’m in Gareth’s arms, wrapping my brain around everything that’s about to change between us. The next, I’m on the floor and he’s right beside me, blood pouring out of the side of his head.

  My face crumples as I stare at the red stain seeping through the bandage around Gareth’s forehead. He looks so weak in the hospital bed. So broken. So frail. Nothing like the powerful man who promised to claim me in ways no man has ever claimed me before.

  My phone vibrates in my hand, and I swallow the knot in my throat to answer. “Freya, hi,” I croak, my voice raw and worn out.

  “How are you?” she asks.

  I wince as the phone nudges against the bulge on my cheekbone. “I’m fine I suppose. The right side of my face is purple, but I barely feel it. Maybe I’m still in shock.”

  “Well, thank goodness for small favours,” she replies, her tone soft. “Any change in Gareth?”

  “No. He still hasn’t woken up.” I bite my lip to hold back the sob that wants to rip from my throat every time I think of that fact. “They said it could be hours or days…Whatever the hell that means.”

  “It’s going to be fine,” she states pragmatically. Freya is always good in a crisis. “Can I get you a cup of tea?”

 
“No,” I grumble, running a finger along Gareth’s IV’d hand. “They won’t let you back here, and I don’t want to leave his side.”

  “I’ll tell them I’m his sister or something.”

  I half smile at the thought. “I already told them I’m his wife. Let’s keep the lies to a minimum so I don’t get kicked out. Knowing you’re in the waiting room is comfort enough.”

  She pauses for a moment before asking, “What if the press gets wind of you calling yourself Gareth’s wife?”

  I groan and close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I hadn’t thought about that, but I honestly don’t care. He wasn’t going to sit back here alone. Good God, Freya…It’s…Gareth. We’ve barely gotten started. If he doesn’t come back from this, I’m going to—”

  Freya cuts off my voice just as it begins to tremble. “There’s no need to worry about the what-ifs. They are pointless and not reality. Gareth is going to be just fine.”

  Suddenly, I hear what sounds like a group of people arguing down the hall. I catch sight of long blonde hair as it blasts past the door, then reappears in the small window that looks into the room.

  It’s Gareth’s sister, Vi. She’s still dressed in her red gown from earlier, but her top is covered in a suit jacket now. She opens the door and glances at Gareth with a gasp just as their brothers—Camden, Tanner, and Booker—appear behind her.

  “I’ll have to call you back, Freya,” I state and hang up as my watery eyes take in Gareth’s siblings shuffling into the room.

  You could hear a pin drop as they all stare gravely at their oldest brother lying unconscious. They are clearly shaken over the sight. I can’t say I blame them. He lost a ton of blood, so he’s white as a ghost with a horrible bruise down one side of his face, not to mention he’s hooked up to a monitor. It’s a scary image.

  Footsteps sound off behind them, and my gaze lands on an older man who’s just entered the room. He pushes past everyone to stand on the opposite side of Gareth’s bed. He’s straight across from where I’m standing, but he’s so focused on Gareth, he doesn’t appear to notice me.