That One Moment (Lost in London #2) (31 page)

I roll my eyes. “Hayden doesn’t drink, Tanner. I told you.”

“Oh yes, that’s right. Vi hardly drinks either. One pint and she’s pissed. I don’t know what’s with people like you.” I reach out to give him a shove and he dodges me easily.

Hayden laughs good-naturedly, but I’m cringing inside. “Hey, Booker!” I exclaim and smile sheepishly as he comes walking over. I swear his tall muscular frame seems to grow every time I see him. “This is Hayden.”

Booker reaches out and shakes Hayden’s hand, his eyes narrow as he scans him up and down. He looks downright impolite which shocks me. This whole brotherly meet-and-greet was his idea. His demand, really. I had made the mistake of telling Booker that I was seeing Hayden, and he sussed it out that Hayden was the same guy I’d told him called me a “blonde distraction.” He said the only way he could be convinced Hayden isn’t a prat was to meet him himself. And there’s no such thing as one Harris brother. One goes, they all go.

Hayden and I make our way over to the booth where Camden and Gareth are seated, while Booker heads to the bar for more drinks. Gareth is properly moody toward Hayden, which doesn’t surprise me. I’d warned Hayden of that. Camden is indifferent. And Tanner is Tanner…Nothing fazes him. Booker rejoins us and passes a beer to me and a water to Hayden.

“Tell us how you two lovebirds met,” Tanner sings in a high-pitched feminine voice. Camden picks up where he left off with a flicker of his wrists and a happy clap. “Yes…and don’t leave out a single scrumpet of detail!”

Hayden laughs and looks to me for an answer. “Well—” I start, but he cuts me off.

“Her dog attacked me.” The pleased grin on his face as he eyes me with contempt makes me giggle.

“That a boy, Bruce,” Gareth mumbles and takes a drink.

“Bruce didn’t attack him…More like his leash attacked you,” I add, shoving Hayden in the side playfully. “We were going to a pub opening and sort of smacked into each other. The pub owners are friends with my coworker, Leslie. You guys know Leslie.”

“Leslie is marrying my brother,” Hayden adds helpfully, and I briefly realise the wedding is next weekend and we haven’t discussed whether or not we’re going together.

“Sounds like destiny,” Tanner sighs dramatically and flutters his lashes. We all laugh. Tanner’s always the clown.

“And just like that…smooth sailing love story.” Booker states with an edge to his voice. “So, Hayden…what do you do? Like…for a living?”

Hayden’s brows lift and a small smile plays on the corners of his mouth at Booker’s blatant challenge. Build-wise, Booker is maybe just a touch larger than Hayden, but they are very nearly evenly matched. “I am a partial owner of a custom furniture business with my brother. C. Designs? Theo’s the designer and creator. He’s got a pretty large following. I’m just the bookkeeper.”

I frown. “Hayden’s very talented as well. He’s got a great eye for designing smaller detailed pieces.”

Hayden pulls a face at my defensive addition to his story. “None of that is making me money yet. I just do it as a hobby for friends. For now, my brother’s business keeps us all very busy.”

“And that earns you a proper living?” Camden barks, taking a large swig of his dark beer, all evidence of playing vanished. I down a gulp of mine as well.

Hayden nods. “Yeah, I’m living with my brother right now, but not because of financial reasons.”

“His brother just had a baby,” I interject. “She’s three months old and beautiful. Hayden is great with her.”

Hayden frowns at me again. “She’s a great niece. I’m very attached.”

“So you’re close with your family then?” Tanner asks kindly.

This makes me nervous. Diving into family details so quickly wasn’t expected. I thought they’d start talking football to be honest.

Hayden swallows but keeps his tone light. “My family is great. My parents and youngest sister live in Essex. I live with my brother not far from here. And I had an older sister who passed away four years ago.”

My brothers all look at him in stony silence.

“Fuck,” Camden says first, his face paling slightly as he looks at me with a renewed sense of appreciation.

Gareth’s moody expression turns cold and bleak. Tortured. I lean forward when his eyes start to look glossy, but Booker’s comment distracts me.

“Is that why you don’t drink?” Booker’s prying voice is challenging and cocky, clearly not worrying over any ounce of decorum.

Hayden cuts his eyes to Booker and I see Booker actually shrink in his seat. “Partially. It’s complicated,” Hayden replies, sipping his water. “So what about you lot? Can I ask you questions, or am I the only one under fire here?”

Tanner laughs and they eagerly start discussing football. This feels better. Talk of emotions at a table full of British lads is never top on anyone’s list of hot things to do in London. Gareth remains eerily silent the entire time, though, staring at his glass with morbid intent.

“Wanker,” I hear Booker mumble as Hayden answers Camden’s question about who his favourite footballer is.

“Booker, a word,” I hiss, knowing I can’t take another second of his pouty teenager act. I pop out of the booth, motioning with my head like a maniac. “Can I trust you guys not to be arses while I’m gone?”

“Probably not,” Camden replies, taking a swig. “But it’s worth a shot.”

I roll my eyes and Booker follows me to the loo hallway. I stop and turn a murderous gaze on him. “What the hell, Booker?” I seethe, barely able to contain my temper.

“What?” he barks back defensively.

“What are you trying to do? Win the award for the biggest arse of a brother tonight? Christ! I expect it from them, but not you. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“He’s not good enough, Vi,” he snaps back, shoving a hand through his short brown hair.

“You’ve barely spoken to him!”

“I don’t have to. I can tell. He doesn’t drink…at all,” he growls. “What is he? A recovering alcoholic? Boy, you really picked a winner.”

I shove him hard and catch him off guard enough that he stumbles back into the wall. “You listen here, baby brother. I’m still your big sister. I practically raised you. If I tell you someone’s important, they’re bloody important. End of.”

“Everything okay?” Hayden asks, coming around the corner. He narrows his eyes knowingly.

I cut one more withering glance at Booker. “Everything’s fine.”

“Okay, well a pack of fans have descended and Gareth told me you’d know what to do?” Hayden looks at me and shrugs his shoulders.

I nod and sigh. Welly’s is supposed to be sacred. The pub owner loves the guys and keeps a lid on the fact that they stop in regularly. Most pubs broadcast it for business, but I suppose it was bound to happen eventually.

“All right, just maybe hang back here with Booker. It’ll be easier for us to get out that way.” I throw a warning look at Booker and he nods subtly knowing that Hayden is not to be messed with right now.

I pull off my denim jacket and toss it haphazardly at Booker. Hayden eyes me in confusion as I crack my neck and put on my own game face. I stroll over to our booth and blanch at the larger than expected crowd swarming the table. There’s at least six middle-aged blokes decked out in football fan gear and everything. Super fans to be sure. Two have slid into the vacated side where Hayden and I were seated. Gareth seems to be blocking anyone from sitting down next to him.

I clear my throat loudly as I approach and poke one gentleman on the shoulder. “Oi! Pardon me, but I need to talk to that bloke right fucking there.” I hitch up my accent to sound thicker and more Manchester by dropping off the ends of most of my words.

The heavier-set of the bunch turns on me with his nose wrinkled. He reeks of alcohol and fish n’ chips. “Get stuffed.” He turns back to the table like I don’t even exist.

I could be offended by his cheek. However, I’m a Harris, so I’m not so easily derailed. I tap the man next to him. This guy has to be pushing fifty and idolizing Gareth like he’s fucking royalty. “That fucking footballer has loads of explaining to do, so I fucking need to get in there. Get out of me way!” I exclaim, ramping up my performance to be a bit more wild and dramatic.

Several of the guys turn and look at me now, clearing a path for me to slide through. Gareth’s eyes land on me with a silent cheer of appreciation. Then he realises he’s on, so he’s got to react. “Freya! What on earth are you doing here?”

“Don’t you Freya me. Your arse is coming with me, mate. You haven’t rang me in weeks!” I crow out in my best jilted female voice. “And bring those worthless brothers of yours. All of yous is about to get it good from me and me flat mates.”

“Oi, shove off ya bird,” one bloke croaks from a few bodies away.

I frown and motion for Gareth to come along. He attempts to slide out, but the older man steps in front of him. “You don’t have to shove off just ‘cause of this fucking jersey chasing slag!”

My jaw drops and Gareth’s eyes turn a menacing shade of brown. I’ve done this little song and dance for Gareth several times before, and most blokes are keen to sit back and enjoy the show of a pro footballer getting his butt chewed from a relationship gone array. Gareth and I have become quite good at our performances. He even lets me slap him across the face if we get going really well. This has satisfied years of oppression that I suffered for being the only Harris in our household that could never break out of a headlock.

“She ain’t no jersey chaser,” the heavy one says. “I think she’s a proper tart. How much for a rub and tug, blondie?”

The man lays a hot sweaty palm right on my arse and Gareth’s eyes turn to flames as he lunges across the table. But before his hands connect with his throat, the man’s body is wrenched backward and out of the throng of people.

Shouting begins all around me and I shove past the gawking crowd to see what’s happening. My eyes turn wide as I realise it’s Hayden who has the man in a painful-looking headlock. It reminds me of the full nelson wrestling hold they do in America. The man’s lip is bleeding and one eye is partially closed from a fresh punch. His obese belly is hanging out from beneath his jumper as he struggles to breathe against his arms that Hayden has gripped up under his ears.

“Fucking apologise to her,” Hayden roars, his face beet red with fury I’ve never seen in him before. His arms bulge angrily beneath his shirt as he holds his restraint firmly.

The other men all make a move for Hayden, but in a blink, Gareth twists one guy’s arm behind his back, causing the man to drop to the ground writhing in pain. Tanner and Camden have shoved a couple others away from Hayden and stand as a protective barrier between them.

“She’s a fuckin’ jersey chasing cow! What the fuck are you on about, mate?” the man grumbles, causing Hayden to crank his hold on him. The guy cries out with a high-pitch squeal that would be comical in any other setting.

“Fucking apologise!” Hayden roars again, a vein popping out angrily on his forehead.

“All right, I’m fucking sorry! I’m sorry!” the man screams out again. Hayden releases him and gives him a swift kick in the arse, toppling him into the feet of his mates.

Just then, Booker shows up, joined by the bar owner with a menacing-looking bat. “Don’t try a thing, or I’ll call the cops on the lot of ya.”

Everyone freezes but Hayden, who moves toward me and places a hard hand on my back. He walks me quickly to the door. I glance back and see the bar owner pointing the bat at the football fans with a look that says not to fucking try a thing.

“Hayden,” I say as we step outside into the dark London night.

He avoids eye contact with me as he looks up and down the street nervously. As if some divine intervention has been bestowed upon us, a large fifteen-passenger taxi van is parked on the corner letting out another group of football-looking fans. Why the hell are these guys all coming out of the woodwork tonight? Is it fantasy draft night or something? Regardless, we have a getaway vehicle now.

Hayden grabs my hand and pulls me down the sidewalk just as my brothers come barreling out. “This way,” he shouts over his shoulder to them.

We get to the open door of the van. The driver looks like he’s about to argue, but Hayden says, “Two hundred quid for a quick lift.”

“Five hundred,” Gareth says, hopping in past us without pause. The driver’s eyes grow wide as the rest of my brothers barrel in after him.

Hayden holds my hand to help me up and I pause at the step. “Are you okay?” I ask, touching his face.

He yanks away from me and snaps with an acerbic tone, “Fine, get in. We need to leave.”

Hayden folds in behind me. “We should drop you guys first. I don’t want them seeing where Vi lives if they get it up their arses to try and follow.” Hayden turns to look behind us, but seems satisfied enough to turn and face ahead again.

“Smart thinking,” Camden says and then leans forward to give directions to the driver.

“Vi, I’m so sorry,” Gareth starts, punching the back of his seat angrily. “I never would have had you do that if I thought those wankers were that belligerent.”

I shake my head and start to reply.

“She shouldn’t have done it to begin with. Belligerent or not.” Hayden’s voice is cold and threatening.

“Look—” Gareth starts, leaning forward to get in Hayden’s face, but Booker’s voice stops him in his tracks.

“He’s fucking right, Gareth.” I turn back to see Booker staring angrily out the window from the far back row. “That’s the last time you have Vi get you out of a fan jam. Get a fucking bodyguard. It’s not like you can’t afford one.”

The van grows eerily quiet as our baby brother’s chastisement descends over all of us.

“It’s not all Gareth’s fault. I’m a big girl. I chose to do it,” I say, coming to his defense.

“Well, you chose wrong,” Hayden growls. “Had I known what you were doing—”

“I still would have done it! You’re not my boss, Hayden,” I snap.

“Vi,” Camden warns.

“What? It’s true. I’m not going to let you all manhandle me into what you think is best for me right now. This is horse shit. I’m a fucking adult. I’m tired of you all interfering.”

“Vi!” Tanner snaps out of nowhere. “I’m bloody grateful Hayden was there tonight. That scene was rubbish and scary as fuck! I for one am glad you have him. Just stop with the independent woman, feminist shite and say thank you to your bloke for defending you the way he did. It could have been so much worse.”