Dominate Page 9

  Vi seems perfectly at ease with everything for someone who, not very long ago, was terrified of taking Hayden’s name. I haven’t been able to ask her if she’s sticking with Harris or taking the Clarke family name yet. I don’t really want to disrupt too much because she seems to be in a great mood. My hope is she already has it figured out.

  There hasn’t been any talk about the wake that’s to happen tomorrow morning at ten o’clock according to the itinerary. It feels like an elephant in the room that everyone is ignoring. Similar to how we all acted as kids when Dad was being, well, Dad.

  “I think Vi needs a hen do tomorrow night,” Belle proclaims from her spot in the middle of the table between Tanner and Poppy.

  Tanner replies, “If Vi gets a hen do, then Hayden gets a stag night.” He waggles his brows at Camden seated across from him.

  Belle swerves her dark eyes to Indie. “Tequila Sunrise night, don’t you think, Indie?”

  “What are you guys talking about down there?” Vi chirps, too far away to hear the conversation.

  “A hen party. Just the girls. Sloan, you have to come as well. We’ll teach you all about Tequila Sunrise nights,” Belle states confidently.

  Sloan shifts in her seat. “That is like a bachelorette party?” Sloan asks and the girls nod back enthusiastically. “Sure, I’d love to go. I’ve never really been to one.”

  “Never?” Belle asks disbelievingly.

  Sloan shakes her head. “No. I mean, I got married so young right before I had my daughter, Sophia, so there wasn’t really a chance for me to go to one.”

  “That’s what babysitters are for,” Belle retorts.

  Sloan looks down at her plate, a tightness to her posture that wasn’t there a second ago. “Sophia was a particularly difficult baby, so I never used a sitter.”

  Hayden is the one to speak up next. “Did she have colic? My niece, Marisa, had colic horribly. I was living with my brother and sister-in-law at the time, so I was there for all of it. Really bloody hard, but we found tricks that helped.”

  Sloan’s cheeks flush and she sets her fork and knife down on the table. “It wasn’t colic.”

  “Reflux?” Indie asks, her voice taking on a medical tone with just one word.

  Sloan inhales deeply and looks over at me nervously. “Um…no.”

  “What was it then?” Belle pries, ignoring the cues that Sloan doesn’t want to discuss the problem. “Was she a bad sleeper? Or perhaps gastrointestinal issues?”

  Sloan anxiously chews her lip, and I frown back at her just as she replies, “Sophia was diagnosed with a type of brain cancer when she was six months old.”

  The entire table goes completely quiet, everyone’s forks frozen midair as the weight of Sloan’s words sink in fully.

  Sloan winces and looks away from my hard stare. She splays her hands out on top of the table, a trembling in them that is visible only to me. “She’s healthy now. Cancer-free by the time she was three years old. She’s almost eight now, so her five-year milestone is coming up, which is a very big deal.”

  “What kind of cancer was it?” Indie asks and Belle leans in with sharp eyes, laser focused on Sloan.

  Sloan begins discussing the particulars of Sophia’s diagnosis and how they didn’t know her issues as a newborn were symptoms of a much greater problem. When she tells us about the first seizure Sophia had in her crib at only six months old, my hands begin to tingle around the napkin I’m gripping like a vise.

  Part of me is frustrated that I’m finding this information out for the first time along with my entire family. I thought Sloan and I had moved past the secrets and the boundaries. Granted, I know that I haven’t officially met Sophia in any formal capacity. Sloan has to be wary of introducing her daughter to the men in her life, so I understand that. But I’m aware of Sophia’s existence now, and this is a huge part of Sloan’s life that is significant enough to share. The fact that she didn’t tell me makes me wonder how much has actually changed between us.

  But the bigger, more mature part of my mind knows that it’s very typical for the Harris family to flush out personal details of one’s life before a person is ready to share them. Even my brothers’ wives seem to be hardwired with that “no secrets” rule of thumb when it comes to people they are curious about. They were like that with me when I first told them about Sloan, and right now they are hitting her with a Harris Mental Shakedown that no one can protect themselves from.

  “Sophia spent her infancy and toddler years in and out of hospitals and doctor appointments. I didn’t work because I was taking care of her and advocating for her health. I always said I got a medical degree from Google, which I know doctors hate.” She laughs a nervous laugh as everyone at the table listens intently. “But we’ve been good for a long time now. Honestly, all that knowledge I used to have feels like it’s from another lifetime.”

  Vi shakes her head. “That had to be so difficult, Sloan. I’m so sorry you endured that pain. I can’t imagine Rocky being that sick. It would kill me. Completely kill me.” Vi’s voice cracks at the end, and Hayden grabs her hand tightly in his.

  Sloan nods sympathetically. “I know it sounds bad and impossible—and believe me, it was—but you don’t know your own strength until you’re forced to use it. I’m sure any of you in my position would have been just as strong. Now, Sophia is healthy, and girlie, and silly, and begging me to let her play soccer. It’s a big battle between us right now because I’m still so protective over her health.”

  An image of Sloan rushing out on to the football pitch plays in my mind, and it makes so much more sense now. Her hysteria, her fierceness, her unforgiving attitude toward her ex. At the time, I was so focused on the fact she had a child, I didn’t really take note of how concerned she was for her daughter’s safety.

  “I can only imagine,” Vi agrees. “If Rocky was ever ill like that, I’d probably homeschool her because I’d never want her out of my sight.”

  “Oh, I wanted to,” Sloan replies with a laugh. “But when my ex-husband moved us to Manchester a few years ago, he was insistent that Sophia attend the same schools he did.”

  My brothers nod politely, a sense of wariness over the mention of her ex.

  “But Sophia is doing great in school, and she keeps reminding me she’s not a baby anymore. I live in the past too much, so it’s hard to see sometimes. It causes me some serious control issues.” Sloan laughs and shakes her head.

  Belle’s voice is firm when she chimes in next. “You have control issues because you are the mother of a survivor. Don’t feel bad about that. I operate on babies in the womb. I see parents lose their children, and that’s not how life is supposed to be. Children should bury their parents, not the other way around. You wear your control issues with pride because you still have your Sophia. You’re an inspiring mother, Sloan. Truly.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a teardrop fall down Sloan’s face before she wipes it away quickly. “I don’t feel very inspiring. I feel neurotic most days,” she utters through a garbled laugh.

  “You’re not,” I state, my tone fierce and unrelenting as I finally feel compelled to break my silence. Sloan looks over at me with wide, tear-filled eyes. Eyes that reach out and grab my throat, making it ache with the need to soothe and take away the pain she has suffered alone. But I can’t change the past. I can only control the present. “Don’t feel bad for caring deeply about your child. We should all be so lucky.”

  Sloan’s chest quakes and she husks out a quiet, “Thank you,” so only I can hear it.

  As if my family can tell we need a minute to collect ourselves, they break away from our conversation and begin talking to each other.

  Sloan leans in close to me, her voice trembling when she croaks, “I was going to tell you all of this, I swear.”

  I shake my head to silence her. “It’s fine, Sloan.”

  She reaches out and grips my fisted hand that’s resting on top of the table. “It’s not fine. I’m so sorry yo
u had to find out like this, Gareth, and I need you to know that I was going to tell you everything. But after the attack, there was never a good time. I was still coming to grips with the fact that you care about me after everything I hid from you.”

  Her eyes cast down with shame and anguish. I hate it. It reminds me of the person she was after Callum. Not the person she turned into with me or the woman who ripped her daughter off a football pitch in front of a slew of people. The pain in her body language has me desperate to pull her onto my lap and kiss away all her worries. Every last thought, until it’s only me and her in this moment. But it’s not about us right now.

  I lift her hand up and press it to my cheek so I can kiss the inside of her palm. “Don’t apologise for this, Sloan. This is bigger than both of us. I’m just glad Sophia is okay, and I’m sorry I pushed you to come here. Had I known—”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she cuts me off and runs her thumb along the scruff of my jaw. “I needed to be reminded I have a parachute on and it’s okay to take some risks now and again.”

  She smiles and, fuck me, now I really want to kiss her. Take her away from this dinner and thank her for trusting so much of herself with not only me, but my entire family. Instead, I lean across the table, press a gentle kiss on her forehead, and murmur, “Thank you for being here.”

  I pull back and she smiles a small smile meant only for me, and our eye contact says so much more than words ever could.

  We return to the conversation at the table that’s a great deal lighter now, but I see my father watching us intently. His eyes are narrowed and his mouth is tight, like he’s holding something back.

  “Are you okay, Dad?” Vi asks, eyeing him cautiously from her seat right beside him.

  “I’m fine. Just fine.” He forces a smile, then slides his gaze to Sloan again. “I’m just having a lot of flashbacks after hearing everything about Sloan’s daughter. What did you say her name is again?”

  Sloan clears her throat and replies timidly, “Sophia.”

  He smiles. “A beautiful name. I’m so glad she’s doing well now. I’d really love to meet her someday.”

  My head pulls back from his comment. If anyone will be meeting Sophia in any capacity, it will be me. Not him.

  “I remember when Vilma was sick,” he continues, his eyes still thoughtful on Sloan. “It’s very hard to watch a loved one suffer like that, isn’t it?”

  Sloan’s eyes flash over to me, but she turns a polite smile back to my dad. “Yes, it really is.”

  “They can seem so helpless. So tortured. And you have to watch them hurt. It’s dreadful, isn’t it? Doesn’t seem fair.”

  My entire body is stiff. My posture ramrod straight. What the fuck does my dad know about my mother’s suffering?

  “Well, I’m certainly one of the lucky ones,” Sloan answers, shifting nervously in her seat. “So many other moms that I met in the hospital had a much more difficult journey.”

  Dad nods heavily. “Was your husband helpful through it all?”

  Instantly, I place a reassuring hand on Sloan’s back and whisper in her ear, “Don’t fucking answer that.”

  “It’s all right,” she soothes, looking over at me with wide, haunted eyes before turning back to my dad. “My husband was a very busy man. My family helped when they could, but it was mostly just me taking care of Sophia. As hard as it was, I think we’re even closer now as a result.”

  Dad has a proud sort of smile spread across his face that has my hands clenching into fists. “That’s a wonderful silver lining then. Vilma was always such a strong advocate of our family being close. She used to say that if we didn’t know the size of all our children’s feet, we weren’t paying enough attention to one another.”

  “She did?” Booker asks, his voice high and curious like he’s latching onto this memory of Mum and keeping it all for himself.

  I’m actually gutted by his reaction. I can tell him so many more memories about Mum if he really needs them. Real, tangible memories that are hidden deep within me. I just never realised he wanted them so much.

  Dad nods his confirmation. “I saw a quote once that an individual doesn’t get cancer, a family does. And I completely agree. It’s best when family rallies around each other to overcome an obstacle like that. And even though our Vilma didn’t live through her fight, she would be so happy we’re all here together like this, celebrating her life on a holiday.”

  Vi smiles a wobbly, relieved smile and tears begin slipping from her eyes. Suddenly, Dad reaches over and pulls her into a side hug. I notice the twins also seem touched by our father’s words. I feel as though I’ve entered some sort of dinner theatre that everyone forgot to tell me about.

  Is our father forgetting the piles and piles of awful moments that happened leading up to her death? Has he blocked those out? Am I truly the only one who remembers the way he picked fights with our mother time and time again? About how he made her cry, then left the room in a huff? I still remember the time he left her on the floor in the shower because she said something he didn’t like. He broke our mother’s heart over and over. And now everyone is hanging on his every word? What the actual fuck?

  Dad settles Vi back in her chair, then stands up. He makes his way down the table, directly toward Sloan. My brothers swerve their eyes to me, then to Vi, wondering what the hell is going on. I wish I fucking knew.

  Without a word, he moves past me and reaches out for Sloan’s hand. She takes it as he pulls her up out of the chair and…

  …hugs her.

  He presses her head to his shoulder and hugs her like a father would embrace his daughter.

  What the ever-loving fuck is going on?

  I hear him whisper into Sloan’s ear, “If there is anything you ever need, we are here for you.”

  Sloan’s trembling in his arms, obviously overwhelmed with emotions. It only aggravates me further, especially when I look around the table and see everyone’s reaction. They are staring up at him like he is God and they are prepared to follow him blindly. Never mind that he flooded the earth or sent plagues to entire nations. Never mind that he made his son die on a cross. Right now, he’s having a revelation and we should all bask in the glory that is his name.

  He pulls away and holds Sloan’s face in his hands. “Unfortunately, we are experienced in painful pasts, so we are well equipped to be there for you in any way you need.”

  “What the fuck?” I grind out between clenched teeth, unable to contain my silence a second longer.

  Dad and Sloan both turn to look down at me. Sloan’s eyes are wide and wary. Dad’s are innocent and confused when he asks, “What did you say, Gareth?”

  I narrow my gaze at him with a slow, menacing shake of my head. “If you’re a bloody expert on painful pasts, then we’re all fucked.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks, his hands releasing Sloan as she sits back down in her chair and removes herself from the line of fire.

  I stand up, splaying my hands out on the table so I’m eye level with my father. “If you’re going to treat Sloan during hard times the way you treated Mum—the supposed love of your life—then I think she’s better off on her own.”

  Dad’s brows lift in challenge, his warm, loving eyes from earlier replaced with a cold, calculating stare. “I assure you, your mother was the love of my life. There’s no doubt about that.”

  I bark out an annoyed laugh and shake my head. “And now we’re all supposed to let you talk about those days like they were completely normal? Let you recite uplifting phrases about cancer and life lessons like you’ve learned so much?”

  “Gareth,” Vi states my name in warning, looking at me with pleading eyes. She’s begging me to stop, but I can’t stand this anymore. I cannot.

  Dad replies slowly, “I never said I’m an expert, but I think I know a thing or two about enduring hardship.”

  “You know sod all about enduring anything. You buried your head in the sand the entire time!” I push back from the tab
le and begin pacing as I take in the faces of my siblings, who all look shocked and afraid. They’re the same faces they had when they were little and Dad yelled at them because he didn’t know what to do with his grief. The same faces I tried to hide from him so he couldn’t hurt them the way he hurt me on a regular basis.

  I point an accusing finger at all of them. “You’re all hanging on his every word because you think what we lived through was normal. But that’s only because none of you remember what it was like when Mum was alive. I remember those days all too well, and they were a million fucking times better than the life we had.”

  “Gareth,” Booker says softly, shooting me those eyes of his that I can so easily picture on him as a toddler, asking me for a snack, or a toy, or a drink, or a nappy change. “It wasn’t all bad.”

  “Do you know who changed your nappies after Mum died, Booker?” I ask, propping my hands on my hips as I await his answer.

  He tugs on his earlobe and shakes his head.

  “Vi did,” I reply, then move my eyes to Camden and Tanner. “Ask Vi how old she was when she was changing her baby brother’s nappies.”

  “Stop, Gareth,” Camden begs softly, his eyes downcast as Indie reaches over and takes hold of his hand.

  “She was four. Fucking four years old and barely strong enough to hold Booker in her arms let alone wipe his arse. And I was busy chasing you twins around the garden so you wouldn’t get too close to Dad and get us all in trouble, because all we had to do was look at Dad to piss him off back then.”

  “Come now, Gareth,” Dad retorts. “Surely you can see I needed time.”

  “Well, you got it! Years of it!” I exclaim, moving in toward him so we’re eye-to-eye. He winces at the volume of my voice but holds his ground. “Your grief started before Mum was even fucking dead, and none of them have a problem with it because they don’t remember how good it was before. Family was the most important thing as long as Mum was healthy.”

  Dad exhales heavily and pins me with a pained stare. “Gareth, I’m sorry for my struggles with your mother’s illness, but that’s all in the past and I’d like to forget about it.”