Surrender (Harris Brothers, #4)

by Amy Daws

Hell, even our mum’s dad played for a time in Sweden.

I know that she hates tea but loves teacups. And that she has a genuine laugh and a fake laugh, and the genuine one is a rare unicorn that only comes out when she is completely surprised.

This is the most bizarre conversation I’ve ever had, and that’s saying a lot because my brothers have spoken to me for hours about the size of their balls.

“I’ve never had a term of endearment.” I’ve never been inspired to give one, is what I think. Instead, I reply, “You should have that and so much more, Sloan. Just tell me what you want and I will give it to you.”

“Tell me what to do. Give me an order. Whatever you want. You’re not out of control right now, Sloan. You are completely in control. With me. I give it all to you.”

Gareth had the ability to reach inside of my body and prop me back up on my feet. He stabilised me at a time I wanted to simply crumble to the floor.

“When’s the last time you dipped and drived, Harris?” “Is that a proposition, Hobo?” I ask flatly, turning my unamused face to him. “Because I have to say, my type is a bit less desperate.”

on behalf of the Football Press Association, I’d like to formally congratulate you on being selected as England’s Player of the Year.”

“It’s the one where they kick the ball around on the grass and they wear really cool socks.”

I can spend some of my free time with Gareth. It’s like Zumba, but I get to make up all the moves!

“I don’t want you to dominate me, Sloan. I just want to surrender to you.”

She’s dressed in a Manchester United T-shirt with HARRIS in big block letters on the back, and I know she has an Arsenal jersey and enough Bethnal Green kits to wear every day of the week. My sister is fooling herself if she thinks she’s not a footy mummy already.

The kids are always asking for something. A snack, a drink, help with the telly, someone to play with. It never stops. Four kids is too many. I can’t wait for Vi to turn five in a couple of months. Maybe she can start helping in the kitchen and keep the twins out of my way.

She smiles sadly. “Sometimes when you love someone too much, your heart is louder than your head.”

The truth is, that’s why it’s difficult for me to imagine leaving Manchester. This is where my only positive childhood memories live on.

I nearly ask for the recipe before covering my mouth and mumbling something about how it would pair nicely with a red wine. Asking for a recipe is a mom move. Super mom move. You don’t ask for recipes from the guy you’re fucking.

“This is properly more exciting than Zumba!” She giggles.

“How do you see me?” I ask, my voice thick with fear. He sighs heavily like he’s been sitting on his answer for ages. “Like a fucking lioness. And any rightful king would be a fool not to bow to his queen.”

but Rocky diverts my attention back to her as she clasps her tiny fingers on my cheeks. “Garee,” she coos. I swear to fucking Christ my heart stops. “Did she just…” Tanner barks from the table,

I’ve spent my entire life using my head to handle things and look where that’s gotten me. Perhaps now it’s time to say “fuck it” and use my heart for once. My heart is not submissive, though. It will not surrender. It will fight back.

When he breaks away, I moan from the loss of his pressure on me. My hands feel pasted to the bricks above me as he steps back with a fire in his eyes, like he’s ripped an organ straight from my body and is holding it hostage in front of me.

As that realisation settled in over the week, I knew it wasn’t our arrangement that made me strong. It was Gareth.

“I’m pretty sure I stopped a couple of your attempts this season already.” Cam scoffs. “I let you block my shots. I have the utmost respect for the elderly.”

“Sloan, where are your knickers?” She smiles and pulls her lip into her mouth. “I Gareth Harris’d tonight.”