Battle Hearts

by Nina Levine

  I punch him repeatedly until he lands on the floor again, at which point, I stand over him and grasp his bloody and bruised face. “You done yet?”

  He cracks an eye open. “Get fucked.”

  My phone rings, drawing my attention. When I see Ransom’s name flash on the screen, I answer it. “Yeah?”

  “Thorn’s gonna be okay, but Doc has concerns for Memphis.”

  My body tenses. “What kind of concerns?”

  “The kind where we may be planning a funeral.”

  I eye the asshole on the floor. “Keep me updated. I’m still working on Albert.”

  Shoving my phone in my pocket, I thunder, “You’re gonna start talking and you’re gonna fucking do that soon!”

  It’s not often I lose control, but I lose it now.

  Forgetting the friends Albert has who could harm my club, I succumb to the dark desire I have to inflict pain.

  I deliver a beating the likes of which I never have.

  My mind lets my body take over.

  My fists control me.

  The blood and grunts of pain urge me on.

  I chase retribution for what’s been done to my men.

  God fucking help whoever did this to them.

  They will pay with their own blood.

  By the time I’m finished with Albert, I’m not even sure he’s still breathing. My breathing is laboured, but I can’t hear his.

  Prodding him with my boot, I order, “Open your eyes.”

  When he doesn’t open them, I kick him harder. “Open your fucking eyes!”

  He opens them and looks up at me, but he doesn’t spit back another of his “get fucked” responses.

  Pulling my phone out, I say, “You’ve got twenty seconds to talk before I send the first photo to your wife.”

  I’m deadly fucking serious, too. I’m done with playing nice. When I’m dragged from my wife at night, and when my men are hurt, I’m fucking done.

  “Zenith ordered the hit,” he finally grunts.

  I crouch again. “And who the fuck gave that order? Who runs Zenith?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “All I know is that he does everything he can to keep his identity hidden. His men don’t even know who they work for. I only know this because of whispers around town.”

  “What’s his agenda?” He clearly wants to put Storm out of business, but I want to know what his bigger plan is.

  “From what I’ve heard, he wants the power King has.”

  “In Melbourne or in Sydney as well?”

  He stares at me. “In Australia.”

  Fuck. We’ve underestimated this gang. We knew they were a headache, but we never imagined this.

  “You’re gonna tell me the names of everyone you’ve ever spoken with about this gang. If you leave anyone off the list and I find out later, you won’t like the consequences.”

  I see the fight flash in his eyes briefly, but Albert’s a smart man and knows his options are limited here. Very fucking limited. When I exit his club five minutes later, I’ve got a list of people to visit and extract more information from.

  I head to the clubhouse, arriving about twenty minutes later. Ransom meets me in my office and catches me up on how Thorn and Memphis are.

  Eyeing the bruises and blood on me, he says, “How’s Albert?”

  “Alive, but I had to use his wives to get him to speak, so let’s just say our relationship with him isn’t what it was.”

  “I wouldn’t say we had much of a relationship with him to begin with.”

  “True.” I drop my keys and phone onto the desk. “How’s Memphis?”

  “Doc is still working on him. It’s not looking good.”

  Not the words I wanted to hear.

  I never dealt with loss well in the military, and I deal with it even worse now. It’s senseless any way you cut it, but when it’s not because of war, it feels more so.

  “We have a list to work through.” I hand over the names I got from Albert. “That’s everyone Albert’s ever spoken with about Zenith. They may not know much more than we do, but it’s worth a shot.”

  “You want me to take lead on this tomorrow?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I’ll be around, but I’ve gotta spend time dealing with Torres and some other stuff.” Not to mention I want to keep time for Birdie.

  “Will do. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

  He leaves me alone, and I ease my body into the office chair. My muscles are sore. Fucked after tonight. So is my mind. If it were any other time, I’d take the bottle of whisky down off my shelf and drain it. But we’re so close to my part in this IVF cycle that I don’t.

  I can’t go home to Birdie yet. Adrenaline and anger course through my veins so heavily that going home to her is the last thing I should do. So I clean up and spend the next hour in my office calming down. Ransom comes in at some point and gives me the news that Memphis has pulled through. He’s not out of the woods, but Doc isn’t saying he’s at death’s door anymore.

  At 10:15 p.m., I finally head home after texting Birdie to let her know I’m on my way. She needs her trigger shot at 11:00 p.m. exactly, and I want to be the one to give it to her.

  The house is silent when I arrive, and I wonder if she’s fallen asleep. I can’t hear the TV, which is what I expected to hear.

  I find her passed out on our bed, her face buried in her pillow. When I wake her, it looks like she cried herself to sleep. Her puffy cheeks and eyes give it away.

  She scrambles to a kneeling position and throws her arms around my neck. “Oh my God, you’re okay!”

  “Fuck, angel,” I say, wrapping my arms around her. “You cried yourself to sleep with worry?”

  Her arms stay tightly around me for another few moments before she lets me go and meets my gaze. “No, I cried myself to sleep because we fought and I felt like shit afterwards. And because I felt like you were an asshole to me, but maybe let’s not go over that again because I can’t tell at this point whether it’s the drugs making me think that or whether you really were.” Her eyes roam my face and I wait for her response to the bruises and swelling. She surprises me, though, when all she says is, “That looks sore.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  She stares at me for a beat but doesn’t say anything else. I’m not sure if I wish she would throw me a thousand questions over it or not. At least when she’s throwing questions, I know what she’s thinking; when she’s silent, I’m left wondering what crazy thoughts she may be having.

  “It’s time for your shot,” I say.

  She nods. “Tonight I want you to tell me your favourite boy and girl names out of all the names we’ve talked about.”

  I knew this question was coming. Ten points to me for anticipating it and having an answer ready.

  I jerk my chin. “You get ready; I’ll get the shot.”

  When I come back with the needle, she’s sitting in the armchair in the corner of our bedroom where she always does her shots. I kneel in front of her while she pulls her T-shirt up. As I pinch her tummy and inject the needle, I say, “My favourite names are Chelsea and Oliver.”

  Her face fills with a smile. “I didn’t think you’d know your favourites.”

  “Good to know I can still surprise you.”

  “What about middle names?”

  I should have known that was coming. “I don’t think we need middle names.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I finish the injection and dispose of the needle in the sharps container. “I’ll have to get back to you on the middle names.”

  She leans forward, her eyes lighting up and her voice softening as she says, “We’re going to make a baby in a couple of days.”

  I place my hands on her thighs. “Yeah, baby, we are.”

  “I don’t like fighting with you.”

  “I don’t like it either.”

  Her forehead rests against mine and she clutches my T-shirt. “This has been so much harder t
han I ever imagined. I hope we never have to go through it again.”

  “I thought you wanted two kids.”

  She lifts her head to find my eyes again. “I did. I do. God, I don’t know anymore. All I know is my mind’s a mess. The messiest it’s ever been, and some days, I can’t think straight enough to even know whether you’re being an asshole or not, let alone to think about doing this all over again.” She pauses. “How many kids do you want?”

  If she’d asked me this before we started IVF, I would have said two. Now, I’d be the happiest man alive to have one child. I’m not keen to watch Birdie go through this again. “I just want to be a dad, and I only need one kid to do that. If you want more than one, I’ll stretch to two, but don’t ever ask me for three.”

  Her smile washes over me. “I love you, Winter.”

  “I love you, too.” Those three little words don’t come close to describing what I feel for Birdie. Even when she’s fighting with me, I still feel more love for her than I can verbalise. I agree wholeheartedly that this IVF cycle has been harder than I imagined. I was prepared for a hard time, but when you’re watching the woman you love and would die for go through what Birdie’s gone through, and you’re unable to take any of the burden, the word “hard” is lacking. I too hope we never have to go through it again.

  13

  Birdie

  * * *

  “Birdie,” Winter says as I turn up the TV in our private room in the IVF clinic. “Lie down and take some deep breaths.”

  “No,” I say, wondering if he’s right. Maybe I do need to take some deep breaths. I feel like I could do with the oxygen. “I’m going to help you with this. I told you I would. I just wanna make it as easy for you as possible. I mean, no man wants to be jerking off while everyone walking past the room can hear him.”

  We arrived at the clinic at 7:00 a.m. this morning for our egg collection and had to wait hours to be called. There are ten other couples here today doing the same thing, which is apparently a lot. I’m kinda pleased they’re busy today; it means the collection room is busy, and as a result, we were asked if Winter wanted to create his specimen in the private room we’ve been assigned. I just love the way the nurse said “create your specimen.” Winter didn’t react, but I acted like a fucking idiot and giggled. Just once, but it was embarrassing. I swear it’s a combination of the drugs and my nerves causing me to act so weirdly. Since we were shown to our room, I’ve been unable to relax. I mean, they left a Do Not Disturb sign on the door. Hello, is that not announcing to the world what’s going on in here? I feel for Winter. This has to be awkward for him, and I just want to make it as unawkward as I can; hence I’ve turned the TV up in preparation for what we’re about to do.

  “Don’t worry about me,” he says. “I don’t give a fuck if the whole of Melbourne hears me jerk off.” He glances at the television. “And the last thing I need is to do it to an Everybody Loves Raymond fucking soundtrack.”

  “You’re just saying that to calm me down.” I cock my head. “I mean, isn’t this weird for you? It’s fucking weird for me.”

  He comes to me and takes hold of my waist. Pulling me close, he says, “It’s a weird way to conceive a child, that’s for damn sure, but everyone in this place is here chasing the same goal. I feel no shame to pick up that cup, go in that bathroom, and do what I need to do to make our baby. Just like you shouldn’t feel any weirdness about what you’re going to do.”

  I grip his biceps, not worrying whether I’m hurting him. He came home bruised and beaten two nights ago, and it all looks sore to me, but nothing slows Winter down. I mean, the man is still recovering from his knife wound and getting on with what he has to do; some bruises don’t worry him. “How do you always know the exact right thing to say to me when I’m a mess?”

  He brushes his lips over mine. “Sixteen years of knowing you will do it.”

  “Okay, we need to do this. We’re running out of time.”

  Winter grabs the cup and turns the TV volume back down. “You rest. I can do this on my own.”

  “I don’t want you to have to.”

  “Birdie,” he starts, and I know from his tone what he’s going to say. He’s going to try to boss me into lying on the bed, but that’s the last thing I’m about to do.

  “No,” I cut him off. “It’s my turn to boss you into something.” Grabbing his hips, I try to spin him around while saying, “Turn this ass around and go into the bathroom, and let me help you.”

  His lips pull up in amusement. “You should try to order me around more often. It’s getting me hard.”

  “Good. That’s our mission.” I lift my chin towards the bathroom. “Go.”

  I follow him into the bathroom and close the door behind us. At the exact moment the door clicks shut, a cramp hits me, and I reach out and grip Winter’s forearm, squeezing it as the pain shoots through me.

  Panting with the cramps, I close my eyes and wait it out. I already feel atrocious thanks to my swollen ovaries that are fighting for space inside me. I’ve ballooned so much that my jeans don’t fit me. I had to buy stretchy pants to fit my huge belly.

  “Fuck,” Winter says, trying to get me to sit on the toilet.

  I shake my head and open my eyes as the cramp eases. “I’m good.”

  His eyes hold the same frustration that his voice does when he says, “You’re in pain. Don’t tell me you’re good.”

  I take hold of his face, my eyes pleading with him to understand that I really want to do this. “Please let me do this for you.”

  “You’ve already done enou—”

  I press my lips to his and kiss him. Slowly. Deeply. With all the love I have for him.

  He holds back to begin with, but it doesn’t take long for him to surrender. I sense the moment he gives in, and I slide my tongue over his while threading my fingers through his hair how he likes.

  “Fuck,” he groans, his lips leaving mine. “I’ve missed this.”

  I have, too. IVF has resulted in me feeling unsexy. When strangers are probing you with dildo-cams multiple times a week, and you’re dry and too sore for sex, and moody, the last thing you want is to get naked with your husband. Not even to kiss him and just make out. I hate this, but it’s the truth of the journey. And it’s why I have this overwhelming need to do this with Winter today.

  I undo his belt and jeans before reaching for his dick. Stroking him, I move my mouth to his ear. “When we’re done with all this, I want you to spread me out on our dining table and eat me like you used to. I want your tongue, and your fingers, and your dick every-fucking-where. And after you’ve fucked me every way you want, I’ll fuck you in all the ways I want.”

  “Jesus,” he rasps, his hand landing on my ass, gripping me hard.

  I stroke him faster, loving the effect I’m having on him.

  His other hand comes to my jaw and he directs my mouth back to his, bruising my lips with the kind of kiss that jumbles all my thoughts into a beautiful tangle. His ability to make me feel good about myself works wonders for my anxiety.

  Winter lets go of my ass and grabs the collection cup. His lips leave mine, as does his other hand, which he shifts to his dick. Taking over from me, he finishes himself off, keeping his eyes firmly on mine until he has to direct his attention to the cup.

  “Fuck,” he growls, coming and filling the cup.

  When he’s finished, and the sample is safely stored in the brown paper bag he was given, he kisses me roughly and says, “I fucking love you.”

  “Thank you for letting me do that. For helping me feel sexy again.”

  His brows pull together. “You don’t feel sexy?”

  I shake my head as I glance at the floor, feeling all kinds of weird now that I said that out loud. It’s absolutely dumb to admit to the man I’ve known and loved for sixteen years that I don’t feel sexy. This is just something I need to work through. And I’m sure I’ll go back to feeling normal after we’re done with IVF.

  He tips my
chin to bring my eyes back to his. “Birdie, talk to me. Why don’t you feel sexy?”

  “Can we just forget I said that?”

  “Fuck no. I want to understand where that came from.”

  I hold his gaze. “You’ve gotta admit sex and IVF don’t go well together.”

  “Yeah, but what’s that got to do with you feeling sexy? You’re the sexiest goddam woman I know.”

  “All the ultrasounds, all the injections, all the cramps, all our arguments, all of it…. I haven’t wanted sex, haven’t wanted you to touch me. And when you do touch me, it’s to do the shots or to place the hot water bottle on me, or something to ease my pain. It’s dumb, I know, but none of it feels sexy or like I’m doing anything to hold your attention. I feel like all I do is probably push you away. God, I’m not explaining this very well.”

  “Yeah, you are.” He pulls me close. “I’ve stopped touching you because I know you’re in pain, and I’ve stopped initiating sex because I don’t want you to feel pressured. But, angel, you need to know you have my complete attention. In all the fucking ways. To say I’m counting down the days till I can fuck you is an understatement.”

  His words cause a wave of intense emotion to wash over me, and tears to fill my eyes. “Thank you. God, now I’m going to cry. I swear, these drugs are the fucking devil.”

  “Can’t argue with you there,” he says, letting me go. “I have to get this sample to the nurse. Are you good for a bit?”

  I wipe my tears. “Yes, go. No, wait.” I practically throw myself at him and kiss him again. When I’m finished, I smile and push him away. “There, now you can go.”

  I need to know what I did to deserve a man like Winter, because I may need to do it again to ensure he stays mine forever.

  14

  Birdie

  * * *

  “What is that?” Cleo asks as she eyes the thing in my hand.

  I hold it up, bringing it closer to the phone screen so she can get a good look. “That is a progesterone pessary, my friend. And later tonight, right before I go to bed, I shall insert it as far as possible into my vagina as I can.”