Page 30 of Dominate
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 you 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?”
