That One Moment (Lost in London #2)(81)
“What is it?” I ask, my voice nervous and pensive.
“I don’t think I knew why I did it until just this moment right now,” he says, his expression in thoughtful awe.
“What do you mean?”
He sniffs and his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. “You look just like Mum, you know that?”
I swipe at my tear-stained face self-consciously. “Thanks a lot.”
“She was beautiful, Vi, even at the end. Did you know I was alone with Mum the day she died?” he asks and drops his elbows to his knees, gazing hauntingly off into the distance.
“The day she died? What do you mean? Where was Dad?” The image of Gareth as a small boy dealing with that all by himself horrifies me.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Dad could hardly come to her room at the end. He was a wreck. It was painful to watch.” He rubs his lips together before he continues, “I think he was just so overwhelmed. I was only eight and it seemed like all you guys did was cry. Booker was still a baby and I didn’t even know how to change a nappy…No one ever showed me. And Dad was making do, but completely losing it too.” He pauses to shake his head, a look of shame casting over his features. “When he was around Mum, he would shout at her a lot. She would lie in bed and cry every night because of how angry Dad would get.”
Tears. More tears flood my eyes.
“She made me promise not to be cross at him for it. She told me that he was her bestest friend in the whole world. That he was going through a really hard time and she couldn’t help him with it. And it is hard when your bestest friend isn’t there to help you.”
My fingers dig into Gareth’s bicep as he continues.
“I still didn’t fully know what she was going on about. I just knew I loved our mum. And I was sad too,” his voice breaks on a garbled cry. “And I decided then and there that if Dad couldn’t be there for her, I would be. I would be her new best friend.”
“Gareth,” I cry, my belly shaking with quiet sobs. But he doesn’t stop. He just keeps looking forward and continuing his story.
“So I was her best friend and I was there when she died. I held her hand and watched it go limp. It’s strange, but I can still feel the softness of her hand.” He reaches out and takes my hand in his. Mine looks so small and fair toned next to his large, rough palm. “She had these long, elegant fingers…just like yours. You have Mum’s hands, Vi. Did you know that? I’ve probably never told you that.” He sniffles and clasps my hand between his two. “I was eight and I lost my best friend and my mum all in one shot.”
I shake my head in defiance. I can’t believe all of this happened and I wasn’t there for him. I was four, but still. I should have been there for him. “I’m sorry, Gareth.”
“Don’t be sorry, Vi. Just understand me. Understand that protecting you and loving you felt like I was doing all of it for my best friend. It always felt like I had something to prove.”
“I understand now, you daft cow,” I croak and pull him into me for a hug that feels so different. It feels different because, for the first time, I finally feel like I understand my brother and maybe even a little bit more of the stranger who is my mum. “You can be a meddling bruiser of a brother any time you want.” I sniff and back away, wiping the tears from my eyes again. “I’ll be fine, though, really.”
“Damn right you will.” He rubs my shoulders soothingly and then frowns as his gaze narrows on my closet door. “What’s that?”
I roll my eyes. “Oh God, it’s a stupid dress I ordered for Leslie’s wedding this weekend. I was staring at it and feeling sorry for myself.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not going now, of course.”
“The f*ck you’re not. You’re going to that wedding, Vi.”
“What?” I ask. “No. Why on earth?”
“Because best friends f*ck up. But it doesn’t mean they don’t love you.”
My face falls. “Gareth, stop. It’s over between Hayden and me. I’m not going to allow myself to hurt like this again. He’s crushed me one too many times.”
“You’re still going to the wedding,” he drops his chin with a glower.
“No. I can’t face him alone.”
“Good thing you won’t be alone,” he retorts with a cocky grin.
DEJA RED
Red. All I see is red. I close my eyes and still, the backs of my eyelids only show me red.
I stand next to Theo at the altar and attempt to focus on what the pastor is saying…then…the f*cking red again.
A flush moves up Vi’s neck. The urge I have to kiss the heat beneath her skin is so powerful, I actually glimpse over to Liam to make sure that I haven’t moved from my position as best man. In my mind, I’m crawling over the top of every one of these arseholes in the church and covering Vi with my entire body. The urge I have to club her over the head like a caveman and shout out “mine” is…problematic.
And probably a bit psychotic.
Her brother Gareth cuts me a homicidal look as if he can read my thoughts. My eyes twitch nervously, but I still can’t bring myself to tear my gaze away from Vi. She’s dressed in red. Just as I requested…back when life was still bearable. I silently chastise her f*cking git of a brother for letting her out of his sight in that get up. I don’t care how famous of a footballer he is, he’s a f*cking moron. Her red dress is short and flowy with a dangerously low neckline. It’s held up by two floss-like straps that look like all you’d have to do is blow on them and her dress would go slithering to the ground. Gareth’s hatred toward me must be immense for him to allow her to wear that bloody dress just to torture me.