Page 83 of Dominate
I reach out to stop her from hitting him, but she yanks her hands away from me and takes off up the stairs with Rex following on her heels, dragging his leash behind him. My eyes connect with Gareth’s as we both drag huge breaths into our lungs.
Freya then appears in the doorway, out of breath as she states, “Blimey, Sophia and Rex are too fast for me. We should think about getting an elliptical trainer, Sloan. Or a treadmill. Something! That sewing machine pedal is doing nothing for the circumference of my arse.” Her voice stops as she looks around the room and sees us all standing here, frozen in horror. “What have I missed?”
Gareth shakes his head and stands up slowly, grabbing his bag up off the floor. “I don’t belong here.”
He moves to walk out the door but pauses when I call out, “Gareth.”
He shakes his head again, refusing to look back at me. “I don’t belong here.”
With that, he walks out of my house and out of my life.
SUNDAY NIGHT DINNER.IT’S SUPPOSEDto be the one day a week that brings the Harris family together. The one place that brings us joy and helps us remember why we love being Harrises.
Tonight, it’s hell on earth for me.
I’m sitting at the kitchen counter, surrounded by everyone. Dad’s holding Rocky. Vi, Hayden, Camden, Indie, Tanner, Belle. Booker and Poppy each with a newborn in their arms. All of them press in around me so close, I can barely breathe.
I tried to stay silent when I first arrived. I wasn’t going to tell them about Sloan’s inheritance, the fight with Callum, the heartbroken look on Sophia’s face, or the unanswered text message I sent to Sloan telling her I am sorry. I tried so bloody hard to keep it all in, keep it safe, keep it silent, keep it protected.
Then they did the Harris Shakedown on me. They got it all out. Every last miserable detail. Now, here I sit, on trial as the lot of them try to figure out my life for me.
“Gareth, tell me exactly what Sophia heard you say again,” Vi states, leaning across the kitchen sink and propping her head in her hands.
I groan and cover my face with my hands. “She heard me say that her father doesn’t love her.”
“Which is bloody true!” Tanner retorts from the far end of the counter as he stuffs a chocolate into his mouth.
“It might be true, but it’s not something a seven-year-old should ever hear no matter how vile the father is,” Vi corrects, looking at me with so much sympathy, I want to vomit.
“I didn’t mean to say it. I didn’t mean to put my hands on him. I just lost it.” I bow my head and slice my hands through my hair.
“You were being territorial and protective,” Tanner states firmly.
“He was being a Harris,” Camden adds.
“It’s just like when you went mental on my ex-boyfriend a few years ago,” Vi adds another iron in the fire. “You have a temper, Gareth, and you need to get control of it if you’re going to be a dad.”
“I’m not going to be a dad!” I exclaim, my head pounding inside my skull. “I don’t deserve to be a dad,” I mumble, shaking my head and seeing the horrified pain in Sophia’s eyes all over again.
That look, that expression, that hurt. I put it there. My actions. It was like I was staring in the mirror of my eight-year-old self after one of my father’s fits.
I’m a fucking monster.
“Gareth doesn’t have a temper nine times out of ten, though!” Booker argues, his voice rising defensively as he bounces his baby in his arms. “It only comes out when necessary, and that Callum bloke was going after Sloan. He had it coming. The arsehole deserved a lot worse. Gareth shouldn’t have to apologise for that.”
Booker stares back at me with so much blind devotion, it shocks me. This youngest brother of mine is usually soft-spoken and mild-tempered. But he’s unapologetic in his statement right now, and I don’t feel worthy. Sloan and Sophia aren’t my family, and there’s nothing I can do to change that now.
Dad remains silent in the background, listening and taking everything in while the rest of our family begin concocting a trip to Manchester for an in-person Harris Shakedown on Sloan and Sophia. It’s a bloody mess. The entire conversation is swirling into madness that I can’t stand to sit and listen to anymore.
I mumble something about needing to go to the loo and manage to slip off my stool and out of the kitchen. My body enters into some strange form of autopilot as I bypass the loo and head for the stairs.
I slowly climb each step as my mind drifts off into the past. I pause on the second level and look down the hallway. All four of our childhood rooms positioned two on each side. I can still see Poppy sneaking into Booker’s room like she did so often when they were little and thought no one was looking. I can see Tanner and Camden sneaking girls up the stairs. I can see Vi’s makeup spread out all over the counter and her screaming at us to stay out of her stuff.
So much of my life has been spent watching over my siblings. Kids who weren’t mine. But something about Sophia felt different. She was mine. She felt like mine the second I met her on the pitch at the Kid Kickers camp.
I turn the corner and climb up to the third level of the house. I pause outside the loft bedroom door that we rarely ever went into after Mum died.
I turn the knob that probably hasn’t been touched in years and push the door open to reveal the room of haunted memories. The room is completely empty. No bed, no dresser. No photos on the walls. Just light wood flooring, three big windows, and loads of things I’d rather forget. I step inside and instantly recall Mum’s bed. Big brass frame, white sheets. An IV cart positioned next to the wall and an oxygen tank nearby. Mum always wore white, silky nightgowns that were so soft, I can still remember the feeling of them. I open the door to the wardrobe where they used to hang. It’s empty. Dad burned most of her clothes in the fireplace downstairs shortly after she died. I recall Vi crying because she wanted a jumper of Mum’s and he refused.
