Strength Read online

  She passed away in our family home sometime after her diagnosis. Dad retired from the sport just before then. Both our maternal and paternal grandparents passed away before I was even born, so there were no other family members to help him take care of us. Although, I’m not sure it would have mattered since he refused all offers of help from friends. He was determined to raise us on his own. Truthfully, I think he just didn’t want anyone around to witness his immense grief.

  It was…painful.

  After Mum’s death, Dad moved us permanently into the mansion he and Mum owned in the posh neighbourhood of Chigwell. They had a smaller flat in Manchester during football season so Dad could be closer to his team, but I don’t remember much about living there. Our dad’s career was very successful and had set us all up for life. Materially, we wanted for nothing. But it still wasn’t an easy childhood. He loved us fiercely, but being both a mother and a father is too much for any one person to handle. I think the stress of it would have killed him had he not been offered a managing position for Bethnal Green Football Club.

  Once football came back into his life, he was a new man. Happier and more alive than I’d ever remembered him being. I was so delighted to see this newfound light in him that I was all too willing to help pick up the slack with my brothers. And when your dad manages a team and your brothers all play, you pretty much have no choice but to submerge yourself in the lifestyle.

  Football was my life. Without question. I didn’t play a lick of it, though. Honestly, I had no desire. Booker was a killer goalie, and Camden and Tanner argued over who was the better striker between the two of them. Me? I was just happy to mother-hen them and know the ins and outs and needs of a footballing athlete.

  Last year, I finally reached my breaking point when Gareth got in a massive row with my boyfriend at the time. Rumours had been circulating that Pierce was cheating on me. He showed up when we were all at a pub, and Gareth grabbed him around the throat. He looked positively homicidal as he slammed Pierce against a wall. Paparazzi got hold of pictures, and the whole scene almost ruined his football career. It wouldn’t have been that big of an issue for me if it was the first time Gareth did something like that, but it wasn’t. My relationship track record is meagre to say the least. Regardless, every one of my breakups involved one of my brothers turning into a crazy, neurotic, bruiser of a brother. Maybe if I had been the one to do the dumping, things would have been easier for them to accept. However, I am cursed with constantly being the dumpee.

  But Pierce was the straw that broke the camel’s back. After that incident, I knew I had to get out of my dad’s house or I’d never have a life without my brothers interfering. And I am doing a proper job of it if I may say so myself. Of course I’m still very close to my family and I see them every week, but having my own space to go to has been extremely liberating.

  “How was China, Vi?” Gareth asks after some idle football chatter. They’re always talking football.

  “Fine, fine. Nothing too exciting. I’m just finally starting to feel human again. It’s always so exhausting over there. Those factories work intense hours.”

  “I want to go with you sometime,” Booker says, propping his head on his hand. “I imagine it’s beautiful there.”

  “You see plenty of the world with the team, Book,” Camden admonishes.

  “Yeah, but it’d be quite different if I didn’t have to think about the game the whole time.”

  “Oh, stuff it. We live a life other sorry bastards only dream about. You’d do well to remember that.” Camden scowls into his glass as he takes a sip.

  “There’s more to life than football,” I snap defensively on behalf of Booker. He’s the littlest and even though he stands six inches taller than me, I can’t help but see him that way. I’m protective over him the way all of my brothers are protective over me. And I sometimes get the impression he doesn’t even like playing football but is too scared to ever say.

  “Not in the Harris house.” Camden takes another long drink of his beer.

  “You doing anything special for your birthday, Vi?” Tanner asks, oblivious to Camden’s owly mood toward Booker. Tanner doesn’t take anything too seriously, including girls. He and Camden aren’t identical but they look very similar, which is probably why Tanner wears his blonde hair shaggy around his ears. It matches his playful personality perfectly.

  “Not really. I mean…I have…well, a date I suppose.” I look down and cringe.

  “Who the fuck—” Tanner barks and Camden finishes his sentence.

  “What’s his name? I better not bloody well know him.”

  “Why don’t you just spend it with us?” Booker asks quietly beside me.

  “He better not be a prat like the last one,” Gareth’s voice booms loudly over all of them. “I won’t tolerate another wanker like him stepping inside our home. I’ll fucking lose it, Vi. You better not bring him around.”

  I turn my wide, accusing eyes on him. He’s the oldest one! He should be more mature about this! “Do you hear yourself right now? You’re nearly thirty, Gareth! I expect more from you. All of you! Christ, I’m twenty-five years old, and you lot are going mental over your sister having a date! I’m going to date! This is why I moved out. This, right here. You guys can’t just let me figure things out on my own. Do you want me to end up alone forever?”

  “Stop being dramatic. You’d hardly be alone,” Tanner bellows. “You’d have us!”

  “Are you fucking dense? You lot are going to find nice girls to settle down with someday, and I’m not going to be the lonely sister tagging along with you on romantic holidays.”

  “Oh, Christ, be serious. We’re not going to settle down,” Camden mumbles into his glass.

  Gareth at least has the cheek to look contemplative.

  “You know what’s worse?” I groan. “I don’t even have a date. I made it up as a test, and you buggers all failed miserably.”

  I see Camden exhale with relief as Gareth murmurs, “Thank fuck for that.”

  Booker turns his quizzical brow to me. “This is good then? You don’t have a date?”

  “No, I don’t have a date!” I shriek. “Let me out.” I shove against Tanner to move over. He eyes me sternly and doesn’t budge an inch. “You know what? I’m going to start throwing punches if you all don’t let me out of this booth right now.”

  Tanner bursts out into a hearty laugh. “I love when you throw punches. You get that weird vein in your forehead that looks like Harry Potter.”

  That sets Camden off, too. “Fuck, you’re right! She does! It’s like a little bitty lightning bolt of ineffectual fury!”

  When I see Gareth start chortling, too, it makes me see red. “You know what? It’s my birthday and you guys are ruining it. I don’t have a date. I have nothing. I just wanted a quiet day at home and the opportunity to move on with my life. There’s nothing bloody wrong with that.” I’m surprised when I feel the sting of tears pricking at my eyes.

  Tanner’s face drops instantly. “What’s this? No tears! Christ, Vi, we are only messing about.” I fight his huge embrace as he pulls me under his arm and rubs my shoulder.

  “Bugger, I didn’t think you’d get emotional over it,” Camden says, reaching out and gripping my hand in an apologetic gesture.

  “Vi, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” Booker says, which only makes me laugh.

  “Book, you really need to stop apologising for these prats,” I giggle and sit up, dabbing the corners of my eyes.

  “Camden’s the prat,” Tanner mutters. “He’s the one who always makes you cry.”

  I hold my hand out to stop Camden from unleashing on Tanner. “Stop. I’m fine. I’m just feeling a bit emotional today. It’s probably my period.”

  I look up and see all their faces frozen in horror and disgust. “I thought you boys are supposed to be tough footballers!” I exclaim, erupting into a fit of giggles.

  They all shake their heads and, in unison, pick up their glasses to take
long gulps of their beers. They even set their drinks down at the same time. Now my eyes are wet from tears of laughter instead of sadness. These brothers of mine are a pain in the arse, but they’re mine. And the truth is it isn’t just them that upset me today.

  They have no clue how incredibly hard it is to share a birthday with a ghost.

  The next day, I’m decked out in green and white as I hop into a cab and head to the Bethnal Green F.C. stadium, Tower Park. Normally, summertime is the off-season when my brothers are gifted some very rare downtime. However, tonight is a friendly match against Arsenal.

  These matches are a big draw in London, so I arrive extra early before the crowds really begin to roll in. Although, there aren’t many sights that beat a packed Tower Park. Loud and bustling. Electric and inspiring. It has a magic about it that I wish I could bottle up and sprinkle all over London.

  Tower Park is a second home to the Harris family in many ways. When our father started managing here, things in our home really improved. The biggest difference was that it pulled Dad out of his grief over losing Mum. He had a sense of purpose again. Something to get up for every day that didn’t remind him of her. And when the boys began showing interest in the sport, it helped him reconnect with them in ways I didn’t know were possible. It was a joy to witness because they needed it. Dad has always been harder on the boys than me, but football brought the five of them together.

  For that reason alone, I fell in love with football as well.

  I spot Gareth standing at the player’s entrance, posing with a couple of young boys as their dad snaps a photo with his mobile. I lean against the brick wall and watch him with pride as he offers an easy smile to the dad and signs the kids’ jerseys. He’s always been great with fans, especially children. He even started a youth football program in Manchester a few years ago, called Kid Kickers, and it’s going brilliantly.

  I know he’d make a wonderful father, but he never seems to give women the time of day enough for that to happen. Of course I’ve seen him flirt loads, but I always get the sense he does it for show more than genuine interest. And the women he does give any attention to seem to disappear just as quickly as they come.

  Gareth’s eyes find mine as he waves goodbye to the kids. I walk over to him, and he throws his arm over my shoulders to pull me down into a playful headlock. “Let’s get inside before anyone else sees me.”

  We are permitted through the gated entrance that’s reserved for players because the entire staff knows us. However, it’s quite rare for Gareth to attend Bethnal Green matches because of his own football schedule, so it’s a fun treat to have him by my side.

  We make our way to our seats that are midfield, first row. I’ve never sat in the upper box seats where the wives and girlfriends sit. It’s much too far away, and I need my brothers to hear me from their positions on the pitch. Not to mention I get the distinct impression the WAGs aren’t nearly as into the manoeuvres of the game as I am.

  I sit back in my seat and watch Camden, Tanner, and Booker warm up just as a girl plops down in the open seat on the other side of Gareth. She’s tall and lanky with blonde hair that she’s endlessly flipping as she giggles at her own daft jokes. Gareth doesn’t seem the least bit interested, but she doesn’t notice.

  Finally, an older man stands in front of her and shows her his ticket to grumpily inform her that she’s in his seat. The blonde gets a big pouty lip and leans over Gareth to address me. “Want to trade seats with me, lovey?”

  My brows arch. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m only a few rows back. Swap me.” She winks like she’s speaking some secret girl code I should know.

  I open my mouth to reply, but Gareth leans forward and states with a deep warning tone, “You can go. I’d rather watch this game with my sister.”

  She huffs out a laugh. “Surely you’re joking. She can’t possibly be more fun than me.”

  “She is ten times more fun, and I’m serious. You should go,” Gareth deadpans.

  The corner of my mouth curves up into a smile as the girl’s eyes flick from Gareth’s to mine. With a frustrated little growl, she turns her head and whips Gareth in the face with her hair as she stomps off.

  Gareth sits back and shakes his head, his jaw ticking with annoyance. “Ignore her. She’s just a Harris Ho.”

  My nose wrinkles. “I hate that term you guys have coined.”

  His brows lift. “It’s just another term for groupie. If you played football, I’m sure you’d have some male Harris Hoes yourself.”

  “Hardly.” I roll my eyes so far back, I swear I can see the pouting blonde behind me. “They wouldn’t get past the Harris Shakedown you lot would put them through. That is a large reason why no one is breaking down my door.”

  “Well, they would be if you knew how to pick good ones,” Gareth says, looking at me with warning eyes. “That ex of yours was a wanker.”

  “Can we please not talk about him?” I groan, crossing my arms. “He was the first bloke in ages who didn’t care about you four, so I had blinders on to his other annoying qualities.”

  “I’d say,” Gareth replies through clenched teeth.

  “You don’t get it,” I snap back at his tone. “It’s really bloody hard to date anyone with the headlines you guys carry around with you. Plus, all four of you are constantly trying to call the plays in my life!”

  Gareth’s face contorts with frustration. “If you dated a man who was worth anything, we wouldn’t have to because he would know that you are the superior Harris in all ways.”

  I roll my eyes, hating the way Gareth gets when he puts me on a pedestal like I’m God’s gift to the world. The truth is I’m painfully ordinary in a family full of extraordinary.

  Gareth leans in closer to me, his eyes intense and pinning me to my seat. “Plus, you deserve a man who’s not afraid to stand up to us, Vi. The minute you bring someone around who has some balls for himself, I promise, I’ll back off and let you live your life.”

  Part of me wants to stay cross at him, but the other part hopes a man like that exists for me. I need someone in my life that will worship me and put the insecurities I have inside of me to rest. A man like that would be worth the anxiety my lack of a love life currently gives me.

  The match begins, and it’s a belter to the very end. A high-scoring match is never good for the keeper. Booker looks angry and frustrated in the net as he claps his goalie gloves together and yells at his defenders for not doing their jobs. He’s yelling everything that I’m hoarse from yelling as well. Gareth shakes his head every time I stand up and scream at the ref for not calling some very obvious tackles.

  Thankfully, Camden is on fire, already earning a hat trick with over ten minutes left in the match. Tanner has scored one goal, but the opposing defender is all over him, yanking on his kit and throwing legs out for some seriously cheap shots. Tanner is doing all he can to draw a foul, but the ref must still be on a fucking holiday.

  With only minutes left, Tanner goes down hard. The dirty wanker of a defender went in for a high tackle, popping Tan right in the face with his elbow. It was a red card move by any standards, but the game continues. Tanner struggles to see as he moves to stand up, yet the ref still calls nothing.

  Gareth—my normally silent brother—is on his feet in seconds, yelling louder than I’ve ever heard him yell before. He’s nearly climbing over the barriers as a slew of expletives not suitable for children stream from his mouth. I join him, even more fired up now and plotting ways to slash the ref’s tires before he leaves tonight.

  Our father turns to look at us from his position on the sideline. His eyes are steely on us as he shakes his head and silently tries to shut us up.

  But neither of us care because nothing comes above our beloved Harris Brothers.

  SPRAWLED OUT ON THE LONG grey couch in my brother’s flat, I flick mindlessly through the channels on the telly, trying to stop myself from going upstairs to help my brother’s fiancée, Leslie. The baby has b
een crying for fifteen minutes straight, but Leslie made me promise to back off and stop helping so much.

  “You’re not going to live here forever, Hayden. Theo and I have to figure this out on our own. She’s fine crying for a few minutes.”

  My jaw clenches as I stare at the clock, watching each passing second that I’m forced to sit here and listen to my niece’s desperate cries. I unsnap and re-snap the leather cuffs on my wrists to try to distract myself. She wants me. I know it. I can feel it for Christ’s sake. She’s the most gorgeous and the most colicky baby you’d ever meet, and she likes me for some reason.

  “Colicky,” I huff. What an odd word for a single, twenty-six-year-old male to know, but fuck. I couldn’t not read the baby books Leslie and Theo have laying around. Especially when I bloody well live with them and hear the poor child wailing every single night. The five S’s are like the Bible around here. Swaddle, side, shush, swing, and suck. No five tips have ever helped a family more, I assure you.

  I glance down at my watch for the fourth time in the last three minutes and see it tick over to 11:11. I pinch my eyes shut and exhale a wish for luck. A wish for a time machine. A wish for change.

  Finally, as if Leslie could hear my silent pleas, her head pops up over the cast iron railing that looks down on the sunken living room. Her face looks flushed and she is near tears. Without hesitation, I spring up and take the steps two at a time all the way to her and my brother’s loft bedroom.

  “She doesn’t even like the football hold right now. I’ve rubbed her tummy, but she’s not gassy. I thought if I strapped her to me while I got ready, she’d settle down, but she won’t. She’s tired. I know she is. She just won’t fall asleep.” Leslie’s voice cracks at the end.

  “I wish you’d stop fighting my help,” I say, scooping up a besotted three-month-old Baby Marisa off the bed. I tuck her into that perfect place between my shoulder and neck where my voice can tunnel right into her ear. Then I begin shushing her loudly while I swoosh from side to side in short, fast spurts. Her tiny, rigid frame instantly relaxes. A few more loud puffs of air later and her wails morph from battle cries into the cry that sounds more like she’s saying, “It’s about bloody time you got here, Uncle Hayden. Mum’s been messing about with me for ages.”