That One Moment (Lost in London #2) (3 page)

“I want to go with ya 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 going when you don’t have to be thinking ‘bout the game the whole time.”

“Oh, stuff it. We live the life other sorry bastards only dream of. 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 continue seeing 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 blond 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 while Camden finishes his sentence, “What’s his name? I better not bloody well know him.”

“Why wouldn’t ya 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? So 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.”

This 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 were 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 and stop Camden from unleashing on Tanner. “Just 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 were all 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 and 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 pain. 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 BABY WHISPERER

S
prawled 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 fiancé, Leslie. The baby has been 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 moments.”

My jaw clenches as I stare at the clock, watching each passing moment that I’m forced to sit here and listen to my niece’s desperate cries. I unsnap and re-snap the brown 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’ll ever meet, but for some reason she likes me.

“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 had lying around. Especially when I bloody well live with them and hear that 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 could strap 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.”

Her cries continue to calm as I swing. She doesn’t like to be bounced. Everybody wants to bounce her, but it just pisses her off more. I peek at our reflection in the long horizontal mirror on the side wall between the bedroom and the large en suite bathroom. Marisa’s eyes look dazed and heavy now. She’s seconds away from falling asleep.

“Hayden, you freaking British baby whisperer,” Leslie gripes in her distinct American accent.

“She was going to crash any second. You almost had her. This is just luck.”

She drops down onto the bed and pushes her auburn hair back from her face. “It’s not luck, Hay. You have the touch. Jeez, I don’t know what we’d do without you here.”

I huff out an incredulous laugh at that preposterous notion. She’s got no clue how much they help me a thousand times more than I could ever help them. She saved my fucking life for Christ’s sake. Yet I know that Doc is right…There is more to the world outside this flat.

I pause as I hear a soft snore coming from beside my ear and glance at the mirror to find Marisa out cold. I smile triumphantly and turn her to show Leslie.

Her face splits into a grin as she thrusts her hands into the air and does a hilarious silent scream with a little wiggly butt dance. My chest rumbles with laughter as she flops herself back onto the bed and lets out a huge sigh.

After a moment, she sits up and has a serious look upon her face. “Hayden, I know tonight is your big night and you probably have like a trillion things on your mind…but is there any way you could hold her for a while so I can make some calls and take a shower?”

“It’s a tough job, but I think I might just be man enough to do it,” I say with a wink. “Don’t tell my brother, though. He’ll thump me if he knows he missed out on cuddle time again.”

Leslie smiles in a quiet way she only ever does when she thinks of my brother. “He’s hauling the last furniture pieces for the auction over to the ballroom now. He should be back any second and you shall be relieved.”

“No worries. There’s an old football game on downstairs. I’ve got this,” I said, lifting my eyebrows and glancing down at the limp, pink, perfect bundle against my chest.

Leslie smiles affectionately at Marisa before she turns her twinkling green eyes on me. “Thank you, Hayden.”

I head downstairs thinking about how lucky my brother is to have a woman like Leslie. I’ll be proud to call her my official sister after their wedding. Resuming my place on the couch, I allow the slow, rhythmic breaths of Marisa to calm my nerves over what I’m about to do this evening.

The truth is I’ve wanted to hold Marisa all day. She is my moment in reality that reminds me there are bigger struggles happening in this world than my own. And that there are people who need me, even if they are only thirteen pounds. This perfect, fussy baby has become my safety net. My anchor. Holding her against my heart reminds me exactly why I need to always keep it beating.