I frown and motion for Gareth to come along. He attempts to slide out, but the older man steps in front of him. “You don’t have to shove off just ‘cause of this fucking jersey chasing slag!”
My jaw drops and Gareth’s eyes turn a menacing shade of brown. I’ve done this little song and dance for Gareth several times before, and most blokes are keen to sit back and enjoy the show of a pro footballer getting his butt chewed from a relationship gone array. Gareth and I have become quite good at our performances. He even lets me slap him across the face if we get going really well. This has satisfied years of oppression that I suffered for being the only Harris in our household that could never break out of a headlock.
“She ain’t no jersey chaser,” the heavy one says. “I think she’s a proper tart. How much for a rub and tug, blondie?”
The man lays a hot sweaty palm right on my arse and Gareth’s eyes turn to flames as he lunges across the table. But before his hands connect with his throat, the man’s body is wrenched backward and out of the throng of people.
Shouting begins all around me and I shove past the gawking crowd to see what’s happening. My eyes turn wide as I realise it’s Hayden who has the man in a painful-looking headlock. It reminds me of the full nelson wrestling hold they do in America. The man’s lip is bleeding and one eye is partially closed from a fresh punch. His obese belly is hanging out from beneath his jumper as he struggles to breathe against his arms that Hayden has gripped up under his ears.
“Fucking apologise to her,” Hayden roars, his face beet red with fury I’ve never seen in him before. His arms bulge angrily beneath his shirt as he holds his restraint firmly.
The other men all make a move for Hayden, but in a blink, Gareth twists one guy’s arm behind his back, causing the man to drop to the ground writhing in pain. Tanner and Camden have shoved a couple others away from Hayden and stand as a protective barrier between them.
“She’s a fuckin’ jersey chasing cow! What the fuck are you on about, mate?” the man grumbles, causing Hayden to crank his hold on him. The guy cries out with a high-pitch squeal that would be comical in any other setting.
“Fucking apologise!” Hayden roars again, a vein popping out angrily on his forehead.
“All right, I’m fucking sorry! I’m sorry!” the man screams out again. Hayden releases him and gives him a swift kick in the arse, toppling him into the feet of his mates.
Just then, Booker shows up, joined by the bar owner with a menacing-looking bat. “Don’t try a thing, or I’ll call the cops on the lot of ya.”
Everyone freezes but Hayden, who moves toward me and places a hard hand on my back. He walks me quickly to the door. I glance back and see the bar owner pointing the bat at the football fans with a look that says not to fucking try a thing.
“Hayden,” I say as we step outside into the dark London night.
He avoids eye contact with me as he looks up and down the street nervously. As if some divine intervention has been bestowed upon us, a large fifteen-passenger taxi van is parked on the corner letting out another group of football-looking fans. Why the hell are these guys all coming out of the woodwork tonight? Is it fantasy draft night or something? Regardless, we have a getaway vehicle now.
Hayden grabs my hand and pulls me down the sidewalk just as my brothers come barreling out. “This way,” he shouts over his shoulder to them.
We get to the open door of the van. The driver looks like he’s about to argue, but Hayden says, “Two hundred quid for a quick lift.”
“Five hundred,” Gareth says, hopping in past us without pause. The driver’s eyes grow wide as the rest of my brothers barrel in after him.
Hayden holds my hand to help me up and I pause at the step. “Are you okay?” I ask, touching his face.
He yanks away from me and snaps with an acerbic tone, “Fine, get in. We need to leave.”
Hayden folds in behind me. “We should drop you guys first. I don’t want them seeing where Vi lives if they get it up their arses to try and follow.” Hayden turns to look behind us, but seems satisfied enough to turn and face ahead again.
“Smart thinking,” Camden says and then leans forward to give directions to the driver.
“Vi, I’m so sorry,” Gareth starts, punching the back of his seat angrily. “I never would have had you do that if I thought those wankers were that belligerent.”
I shake my head and start to reply.
“She shouldn’t have done it to begin with. Belligerent or not.” Hayden’s voice is cold and threatening.
“Look—” Gareth starts, leaning forward to get in Hayden’s face, but Booker’s voice stops him in his tracks.
“He’s fucking right, Gareth.” I turn back to see Booker staring angrily out the window from the far back row. “That’s the last time you have Vi get you out of a fan jam. Get a fucking bodyguard. It’s not like you can’t afford one.”
The van grows eerily quiet as our baby brother’s chastisement descends over all of us.