That One Moment (Lost in London #2)(80)

“When was the last time you had a bath?” a familiar voice asks from inside my room.

My eyes fly open and land on Gareth sitting at the foot of my bed. “How did you get in?” I snap, sitting up and rubbing at my crusty eyes. I suck in a sharp breath as the tender skin around the edges smarts.

“I stole Dad’s spare key. He wouldn’t give it to me either. Said I needed to let you sort this one out on your own. But after ten f*cking un-returned calls, I’d had it up to here, Vi.” Gareth’s arm flexes as he demonstrates just how far up he’s had it.

I roll my eyes and scowl as I take in his appearance. He’s freshly showered, his dark brown hair still wet on the ends. That’s just annoying.

“You didn’t need to come,” I grumble, throwing the covers off myself and waltzing into the bathroom. I leave the door open while I stand at the sink and splash cold water on my face.

“By the looks of it, I needed to come five f*cking days ago.” He leans on the frame of the door and his penetrative glower reflects at me in the mirror.

I wince at my own reflection but refuse to confirm his fears. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Too f*cking bad,” Gareth barks, standing up straight. “You look like you haven’t eaten or showered in days. Have you even been in to work?”

“I worked from home.” I glare at his reflection. “See? I’m not a weakling, Gareth. I’m doing just fine. I’m making my deadlines, answering emails. I’m a proper grownup.”

“Oh yeah, it really looks like it.” Bruce comes trotting over to him and nudges his hand for a pet. “Poor bastard. Bruce probably hasn’t seen the light of day all week.”

“Stop,” I demand, turning around to face him. “I don’t need to hear this, Gareth. Bruce has been well taken care of. Spoilt rotten with my daily presence. Does he look neglected?”

As if on cue, Bruce’s jaw drops wide into a squeaking yawn and he lies down right at Gareth’s feet with a sad huff.

“I’ve been by C. Designs,” he says out of nowhere. My eyes fly wide. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans on the doorjamb as if he told me it was raining outside. It’s f*cking London. It’s always raining!

I storm over and poke him in the chest. “You haven’t really been over there, have you?”

He nods defensively. “If not me, Booker, Cam, or Tan. One of us has been driving there every f*cking day.”

“And doing what?” My jaw is slack.

Gareth’s eyes narrow as he continues that infuriatingly cocky, footballer nod. “Don’t worry, I haven’t laid a hand on him. We’ve just been watching.”

“Watching for what? Has he seen you?” My voice rises with panic.

“Oh, he’s seen us,” he chuckles.

“Oh my God, Gareth!” I shriek. “No! What do you think you’re doing?”

“We’re sending him a f*cking message, Vi.” He points his finger in the air to accentuate his point. “He’s got a hell of a nerve acting all noble in front of us one night and then slagging you off the very next day. He’s a slimeball. You’re better off.”

My eyes sting, but there is no sign of actual tears. My tears are completely dried up. “Gareth. This has absolutely nothing to do with you!” I rake my hands through my ratty hair and grip the back of my neck as I walk back into my bedroom. “Why? Why do you guys keep doing this stuff?”

He follows, towering over me as I sit down on the bed. “Look, Vi. My season’s almost starting again! I don’t have to tell you that that means I’m leaving for Manchester in two weeks. I can’t just leave you here with that f*cking prat sniffing about.”

“It’s my life!” I cry out and stamp my feet on the ground. “I don’t need you tousling every man who jilts me. At my rate, it’ll become a full-time f*cking job.”

“Oh stop,” he scoffs. “You’re just doing a proper job of picking morons.”

“I don’t, Gareth,” I groan at the deep pain that I feel every time I think of Hayden. “Hayden wasn’t a moron. He was everything. But he didn’t see that. He didn’t want it. He trusted me with so much of his life, but in the end he still couldn’t manage to fall in love with me. He walked away.” My chest shudders into a fit of an awkward dry sob as I keel over and cry into my hands. God this is pathetic. I can’t even cry properly.

Large warm arms wrap around me. He begins shushing and rocking me back and forth as I somehow hit a new well of tears buried in an un-tapped crevice of my body. “It’s not the men who are the issue, Gareth. It’s me. And it’s embarrassing enough having men not give two shits about me. I don’t need you guys adding fuel to my pathetic flame. Just stop trying to protect me.”

“I can’t do that, Vi,” Gareth groans, the deep timbre of his chest rumbling against my ear.

“Why not?” I lift my head and shove the hair out of my face. “Tell me, Gareth. What is the reason that you have to continually insert yourself into my life?”

He frowns and eyes my blotchy skin with a thoughtful expression. His hazel eyes soften, replaced by a deep sadness that makes me realise in that moment that his over-protectiveness isn’t a superficial choice. He exhales sharply, his face wincing in silent pain.