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  I take a moment to look him up and down. He’s over six feet tall and has the body of an athlete, though a bit softer than it was in its prime, I’m sure. The shape of his eyes are exactly like Gareth’s, and it takes me all of two seconds to realise I’m staring at Vaughn Harris—Gareth’s father.

  “How did you get here?” I ask, my voice surprising me. He wasn’t at the awards ceremony, so how can he be here already? It’s only been a few hours since the attack.

  He blinks rapidly and looks at me through narrowed eyes. He briefly flicks his gaze down at the casual clothing that Freya brought for me earlier. It’s the look of a drill sergeant inspecting a uniform. Not friendly.

  If this is how he reacts to someone in clean clothes, I shudder to think what his reaction would be if I were still in my dress that was covered in blood.

  “Who are you?” he asks, his tone clipped.

  I swallow down the knot in my throat. “I’m Sloan.”

  His lip curls up. “Why are you here with my son?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Dad,” Vi warns, stepping forward to stand at the foot of the bed. “Sloan is with Gareth. I told you that on the phone, remember?”

  “I don’t care,” he barks, his eyes focusing on the bruise on my face. “I don’t know her, and the nurse just told me she’s claiming to be my son’s wife. I’m entitled to ask her some questions.”

  I wince. “I…had to tell them that, or they wouldn’t let me come back here to be with him. He was all alone. Vi was stuck in traffic—”

  “Very well then. You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here claiming to be married to my son? Who are you to him really?”

  His question gives me a huge gut check I wasn’t expecting. So much of what Gareth and I have had has been in private. In his home. In complete secret. We’ve kept so much from each other, but I feel like I know him. I’m more to him than a stylist or a casual fuck, but we never labelled what we are to each other. Maybe in the bedroom, yes. But right now, we’re still in a grey zone.

  I step away from the bed and murmur, “I’m…nobody.”

  “Right,” Vaughn states, confirming what I fear might be true after all of this is over.

  I know none of what happened tonight is my fault, but I am the reason Gareth was distracted when he walked into his house. If I hadn’t sent him into an emotional tailspin, who knows where we’d be right now. I’ve clearly done more harm than good in his life as of late.

  Vi’s eyes find mine and she mouths a silent apology, then walks over to speak quietly with her father. Gareth’s brothers still seem to be in shock as they move in closer to him.

  I suddenly feel very out of place.

  This is his family. People that he knows and trusts. I’m an outsider and unwelcome. I don’t belong here.

  As I consider leaving, the older, white-haired doctor whom I spoke to earlier strides into the room with an iPad clutched in his hands. He slides past Gareth’s brothers and introduces himself to Vaughn.

  “Mr. Harris, hello. I’m Dr. Howard.”

  “Tell me what’s going on with my son.”

  Dr. Howard eyes me with a frown before replying, “As I told his wife, we’re monitoring Gareth closely at this point. Severe concussions like this can lift in hours or days.”

  “A severe concussion?” Vaughn’s granite features morph into shock.

  The doctor looks even more puzzled by the fact that I hadn’t relayed this information to Vaughn already. “Yes, but he’s stable and there’s no swelling in his brain, which is a very good sign. A trauma to the temple can be quite dangerous, though, so we’re monitoring him to ensure no brain bleeds form overnight.”

  Vaughn narrows his eyes at Dr. Howard, then turns to Vi as he states, “Right. We’re taking him home.”

  “What?” Vi and I both exclaim in unison.

  “I have a private jet here. We’re going to get him to a London hospital. We need to get out of here.” Vaughn looks around the room, his hands balling into fists by his sides. I notice a sheen of sweat on his forehead that I hadn’t seen before. He’s nervous.

  Dr. Howard holds a hand out. “Mr. Harris, I assure you he’s getting the best medical care here.”

  Vaughn doesn’t look convinced. “I don’t care what he’s getting. We’re getting him out of Manchester tonight.”

  “Travel is not advised in his condition,” the doctor replies warily.

  “It’s a quick trip. Just get me the forms to sign. We’re taking him home.”

  “Dad,” Vi says, stepping up to Vaughn and lifting her hands that are hidden in the long sleeves of Tanner’s jacket. “This isn’t necessary. I think we should listen to the doctor.”

  “Vilma!” Vaughn nearly roars. “My decision is final.”

  Vi cowers like a whipped puppy beneath her father’s harsh command. Booker rubs his hand along her back as she turns her face away from Vaughn. I look over at Camden and Tanner to find they are also frozen in fear. Or maybe it’s just shock? I can’t tell. Regardless, they are all acting like PTSD victims who have been triggered. What is with this family?

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” Vaughn snaps at Dr. Howard, who flinches. “We’ll need to arrange an ambulance transport and a nurse to fly with us. Better yet, a doctor. Perhaps I know someone.” Vaughn pulls his phone out and softly mumbles to himself as he attempts to make arrangements for his unconscious son.

  Booker’s eyes find mine as he cradles his sister against his chest. They all suddenly look so much younger than they did earlier this evening at the gala. Booker is clearly petrified; Camden and Tanner are paralysed; and Vi is a sobbing mess. They remind me of my panicked little Sopapilla at the hospital right before the nurses would come in to start a line on her. Meanwhile, Vaughn is on his phone sounding like Hitler calling in his troops.

  It’s then that I see all the overwhelming moments I had leading up to Gareth. Getting pregnant. Getting married. Sophia’s cancer diagnosis and having to hold her down for doctors to treat her. Being forced to move to England and pushed into a job I’m not passionate about. Being told how to dress my daughter by Callum’s mother, Margaret. The cheating, the divorce, the joint custody. It all comes bearing down on me like the weight of a lifetime’s worth of submission.

  Then I picture Gareth. Alive and virile. Strong and masculine. Every physical attribute an alpha male might possess. But instead of over-powering me—instead of pushing me, and pursuing me, and asking me to submit to him—he drops to his knees. He gives himself to me because he is selfless. Protective. Giving. A true dominant.

  “Just wait a damn minute,” my voice states in the small hospital room filled with Harrises. Chewing my lip nervously, I move to stand by Gareth’s side. I clutch the rail of his bed tightly while channelling all the strength I had for Sophia when she was sick—when she needed an advocate and someone to be strong for her. “You’re not taking him anywhere.”

  “The hell we’re not,” Vaughn replies. “You have no say here.”

  “I am his wife!” I exclaim, shouting my lie as a flippant retaliation.

  “Oh, bollocks,” Vaughn retorts and pins the doctor with a moody glower. “She is not my son’s wife. Did you check her identification? She’s not even wearing a ring.”

  “She came in on an ambulance without identification, sir. We had no reason not to believe her.” Dr. Howard flicks a glance at me like he knows better, but he’s not going to say anything because I’m the only one in this room who’s on his side.

  “You wouldn’t know if I am his wife or not,” I snap back at Vaughn.

  He cuts me a warning glance. “I would know if my son was married. This conversation is over. I have a jet on standby, and we’re bringing him back to London. He can recover at home with me.”

  “No!” I bark, squeezing my hands on the railing as hard as I can. I feel so overwhelmingly protective of Gareth in this moment that I can hardly stand the determination searing through my veins. “Yo
u’re not taking him. Who do you think you are?”

  “I beg your pardon.” Vaughn narrows his eyes at me, then looks over at Vi for support. Vi continues to wither under his stare, which completely confuses me because she had no problem stepping up to me in the bathroom at the gala.

  But he can stare me down all he wants. I may not be Gareth’s wife, or girlfriend, or even friend with benefits right now because we haven’t had a chance to discuss our situation, but I know what’s best for him. I’ve been here. I’ve been in his life. And Vaughn’s not taking Gareth away from me before we’ve gotten started.

  I pull my shoulders back and push my chest out, lifting my chin high to show all the confidence I’m barely holding onto right now. “You can’t just march in here and take Gareth away to London. Manchester is his home. His house and his life are here. You couldn’t even be there for his award tonight—a truly amazing achievement he has worked so hard for. You don’t get to waltz in here now and play caring father. That’s not how being a parent works!”

  “Oh, and I suppose you know so much about being a parent,” he snarls at me, his cold eyes severe on mine.

  “I do!” I nearly roar, my body leaning over the bed to challenge Vaughn. “I have a daughter who is my entire world. And if she was unconscious in a hospital, I would damn well hope someone like me would put her health as top priority and not your level of comfort because you’re in a city you’re terrified of for some unknown reason!”

  Vaughn’s eyes are lethal on mine as we have a stare-down over Gareth’s hospital bed. It’s dead silent and when a familiar voice cuts in, I think I might be dreaming.

  “Did you just dom my dad, Treacle?” Gareth’s voice croaks from below.

  My eyes fall down on him as a rush of emotions shoot through my entire body. His stunning hazel eyes flutter open to look up at me, and I swear my heart could burst out of my chest. “Oh my God, Gareth!” I exclaim with a sob, dropping down over top of him and grasping his face in my hands. “You’re awake.”

  “Of course I’m awake. Fuck, there’s no way I could have slept through you two rowing like that.”

  I laugh awkwardly and run my fingers over his whiskered jaw, taking in the furrow of his brow and his pale complexion pinking up in front of me.

  “Why the tears?” he murmurs, lifting his hand and swiping his thumb across the paths of liquid running down my face.

  “I don’t like you unconscious,” I reply stupidly because it’s all I can think to say.

  “Well, I’ll try not to do it again in the future.” Gareth’s eyes narrow as he takes in the welt on my cheekbone. “Fuuuck, Tre. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I croak, holding back a small sob. “I’m fine because you’re fine.”

  “You don’t look fine,” he replies through clenched teeth and reaches out to touch my cheek again. “God, what the bloody hell happened? I remember walking up to my house, but everything is fuzzy after that. Who did this to you?”

  “We were attacked, Gareth,” I state quietly, the heaviness of what’s happened to us barrelling in on me full force. “Someone broke into your house and we were both attacked, but I’m okay.”

  “Fuck me,” he growls as he slowly sits up while the doctor presses his stethoscope to his chest. Gareth shakes his head slowly and looks over at his brothers, who suddenly seem a bit taller now that their brother is conscious again. “I’m going to murder whoever—”

  I press my fingers over his dry lips and shush him as the doctor steps back and reaches for the chart at the bottom of the bed. “Calm down, Gareth. The police don’t know who did it yet. We can talk about everything later. I’m just so glad you’re awake and talking. And that you didn’t get amnesia and forget who I am.”

  Gareth’s angry eyes soften at my small attempt at a joke. He cups my face again, stroking his thumb over my cheek. “I could never forget my wife,” he states with a tiny grin.

  I drop my face onto his chest with mortification. “This is really awkward.”

  He runs his hand down the back of my head and his chest vibrates with his voice. “I must be concussed because I’m certain I would never forget marrying you.”

  I look back up at him and expect to see teasing in his eyes, but I don’t see that at all. I see…determination. Stone-cold, determination.

  Suddenly, Dr. Howard clears his throat behind me, and I straighten to see Gareth’s entire family watching us. They’re all sort of staring agog, as if what they’ve just witnessed between us was something they’ve never seen before.

  Dr. Howard moves past me with his flashlight to check Gareth’s eyes while his brothers step forward and touch his feet under the blanket.

  “Glad to see you awake, Gareth,” Booker says quietly with a shy smile.

  “You’ve looked better,” Camden adds with a lopsided smile.

  Tanner chimes in, “Yeah, thanks for not getting dead on us, big bro.”

  “Pupils are good. I’m just going to check your pulse here.” Dr. Howard grabs Gareth’s wrist and stares down at his watch.

  As soon as the doctor releases Gareth’s hand, Vi is in Gareth’s arms, crying and murmuring unintelligible words into his shoulder. He runs his hand down the back of her head, soothing her until she’s composed enough to stand up again.

  Once she steps away, Gareth’s eyes find his father, who’s nearly hugging the wall. He’s so uncomfortable. It’s as if Gareth waking up reminded Vaughn that he is in a hospital and now he’s frozen in fear.

  Gareth clears his throat and turns his focus from his dad back to Dr. Howard. “So, what did you tell my wife about my condition? How long am I out of football?”

  I back up from Gareth’s bedside, suddenly feeling self-conscious. It was easier being Gareth’s advocate when he was unconscious. Now I don’t know how to feel. Gareth’s hand quickly reaches out and clasps mine so I can’t move away from him. I look down at him with relief. How does he have the ability to help me feel strong when he’s laid up in a hospital?

  Dr. Howard’s eyes narrow sympathetically. “Well, we need to evaluate some new scans and do some cognitive tests before we know anything conclusively. But I’d venture to guess a couple of weeks at the very least.”

  Gareth closes his eyes in pain. “That bad?”

  “With this level of concussion, it’s necessary. You need rest and relaxation after a blow to the head. You’re very lucky. Injuries to the temple can be fatal.”

  I inhale sharply at that comment and Gareth squeezes my hand reassuringly. Looking at me, he replies to the doctor, “I can handle some rest.”

  Vaughn is still silent as Dr. Howard tells Gareth that he’s going to go put in an order for another head scan and that he wants to keep him overnight for observation. He pins Gareth with a serious expression and adds that no travel is advised, then makes his way out of the room.

  Gareth accepts gentle hugs from all of his brothers and yet another long, tearful hug from Vi. It’s clear that his siblings aren’t used to their big brother being down.

  Finally, Gareth’s eyes turn back to his father, who still hasn’t moved off the wall. “Am I dreaming, or are you seriously in Manchester right now?”

  Vaughn’s Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow. “I’m here,” he replies stoically—much more mild sounding than he was a few moments ago.

  “Why?” Gareth asks, confused.

  Vaughn looks around the room, clearly uncomfortable that he has to think about where he is again. “Well, you’re hurt. I…had to be here.”

  “I’ve been hurt before,” Gareth retorts.

  “Not like this,” Vaughn states firmly, his brow furrowed. “Which is why I want you back in London. They have the best doctors there. You can recover at home with me. I can take care of you. Vi will help.”

  My throat tightens with a tiny growl that Gareth hears. He gazes over at me and offers a small, reassuring smile. “I think I’m good here, Dad.”

  Vaughn’s brow furrows as he stares at our clasped h
ands.

  Then Gareth adds, “But I’d like it if you stayed in town for a bit.”

  “Here?” Vaughn asks, his hand going to the back of his neck and squeezing nervously.

  Gareth exhales, and his expression shifts from soft and open to hard and closed off. The wall that I’ve seen on his face before is coming back. He’s preparing himself for rejection. He’s preparing to have his father do what he expects: Leave. Avoid Manchester and his home and any memory of a life he once had here.

  Then, four words are uttered from Vaughn that shock everyone in the room. “Very well. I’ll stay.”

  THE AWFUL TEXTURE OF THE hospital gown is spiking my blood pressure, but my heart is also racing over the fact that Sloan is so fiercely by my side. It’s no wonder she went after my dad. She’s in full-blown fearsome mother mode, and it’s making it really hard for me to focus on anything but her.

  But after my family steps out into the waiting room for the police to come in to take statements, I learn the full scope of everything that happened and my hospital gown is the last thing on my mind.

  Sloan and I walked into my house in the middle of a burglary. It was likely the same burglars who hit Hobo’s house, but we must have caught them early. As far as the police could tell, there was only some minor vandalising that was noted. They are working with my security company to recover the CCTV footage which will hopefully provide some clue as to how they got in without setting off the alarm.

  Whoever it was, one of them must have had somewhat of a conscience because they used my mobile to call an ambulance before they fled the scene. When the first responders showed up, Sloan had just come to, but I remained unconscious all the way to the hospital.

  Sloan’s eyes are red and downcast as she describes what she recalls to the female officer sitting beside her. “I woke up on the floor in the entryway and was covered in blood. It took me a minute to realise it wasn’t my blood but Gareth’s. His phone was laying right next to him, and it started ringing so I answered it. It was the 999 dispatcher. She said someone had called from his phone and the ambulance was close.”