by Nina Levine
“I hear ya, sister.” She sighs as I hear Winter’s ute pull into the garage. “I love my man, but he’s hard work sometimes.”
“Speaking of men, I have to go. Mine just got home. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Love you, girl.”
We end the call and I turn to watch for Winter and Max coming in the house. Max’s face is the one I see first, and I smile big as I open my arms to give him a hug.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says as he wraps me in his arms. “How are you?”
I cling to him for a little bit longer than I usually do. It’s been five months since I’ve seen him, and I’ve missed him so much. When I let him go, I keep hold of his arms and say, “I’m doing okay. How are you?”
His eyes narrow on me. “Only okay?”
I smile and let him go. “I’m sure Winter’s told you all about my moods.”
“He hasn’t,” Winter says, joining us. His hand goes to my waist and his mouth to mine for a quick kiss as he moves past us.
“No, he hasn’t told me about your moods,” Max confirms. “But based on the fact you’ve confessed your moods throughout every IVF cycle you’ve done, I figured that was a given. I just wanna know how you’re doing with everything else.”
“I love you, Maxxi. And I think okay really is the best way to describe how I’m doing. I’m hanging in there. Winter is doing all the believing for me.”
“Well add me to the list of believers. I’ve got all the faith in the world for you.” He angles his face up like he’s sniffing something. “Is that spaghetti I can smell?”
“Yes. And I made your favourite cheesecake for dessert. We’re celebrating that you’re here for the week. I can’t remember the last time you stayed so long.”
Winter finishes filling the fridge with the few groceries he picked up for me and says, “We’ve got something else to celebrate, too. Max has news.”
My eyes widen at Max. “Tell me!”
Max grins. “I’m going to propose to Georgia in a couple of weeks and since she and I have already talked marriage, I’m pretty sure she’ll say yes.”
“Oh my God, this is the best news!” I throw myself at him with another big hug. When I let him go, I say, “I’m so excited and happy for you.”
Winter reaches up into the cupboards for the whisky and two glasses while I ask Max a thousand questions about how he’s going to propose. Handing Max a glass, he says, “To the second part of your life, brother. I know Georgia is going to make it good.”
Max’s eyes meet Winter’s and they exchange a look. It’s the look I sometimes see them give each other. Because I only know their relationship from the outside, I don’t know exactly what it means, but I do know I like whenever they exchange it. Winter always seems happy at the time, and that’s all I want for him. Max, too.
They take their drinks out to the deck while I finish preparing dinner. Fifteen minutes later, we’re sitting around the table out there eating and catching up.
“So tell me, Birdie,” Max says, leaning back in his chair, “has Winter managed to fuck more shit up at your work since the last time we spoke?”
I laugh at his question while Winter shakes his head. Placing my hand on my husband’s thigh, I say, “Hell no. I haven’t let him back in to cause any more damage.”
A couple of weeks ago, I asked Winter to come in and erect some new walls to create more treatment rooms for me. He did that no worries, but on the way out, he tripped and ran into a display we had up, which resulted in a hole in the wall.
“And for the record,” Winter says, tracing his fingers over my hand, “the less I’m asked to do around the studio, the better, so I’m good with this.”
“Ah,” Max says with a grin, “this was your evil plan all along, wasn’t it? You intentionally put that hole in the wall so she wouldn’t ask for your help anymore.”
Winter extends his arm across the back of my seat. “It’s a wonder I’m still married after all the shit you bring up that gives her ammunition to bust my balls.”
I lean in close to him, loving how the tension he always carries has eased with Max’s presence. “Trust me, baby, you give me enough ammunition yourself.”
His eyes find mine as the corners of his mouth lift. “And yet you love me enough not to bust my balls 24/7,” he murmurs while searching my eyes.
Max has ceased to exist for me. The only person I’m aware of is my husband. I actually can’t recall the last time we were this easy with each other. I miss this. “I love you,” I say as I press my lips to his. It’s not a long kiss, but it’s a kiss we won’t forget in a long time. He feels it too; that much is clear in his eyes when I pull away.
“Okay,” Max says, breaking the moment, “before you two forget I’m here, I wanna discuss prams with you.”
“Prams?” Winter says, sounding as confused as I feel.
“Yeah, you know those contraptions you put babies in. Prams. I wanna buy you one as a gift and so I need to know what kind you’re considering.” He looks at me. “Especially you, B. You’re the one who’ll be using it the most.”
My heart constricts with love for Winter’s brother. It also gasps for air a little, because I’ve gone from having to deal with Winter’s need to go looking at baby furniture to Max now wanting me to think about prams. It’s a lot to wrap my head around when I can barely wrap it around believing I’ll make it through this pregnancy and deliver a healthy child.
Deep breaths.
In.
Out.
You’ve got this.
Winter’s fingers thread through mine and he squeezes my hand.
“We haven’t really thought about it, Max, but we will,” I say. “Can we get back to you on it?”
“We’re going looking at baby stuff this weekend,” Winter says, squeezing my hand again and keeping a tight hold on it. “We’ll check some out then.”
“Sounds good,” Max says, and I exhale my relief that he doesn’t push for more than that.
I look at Winter. “I wanna look at flooring on the weekend, too. I think we need to consider ripping up our carpet.”
He frowns. “Why?”
“I’ve been reading about PFAS in carpet and I’m concerned our carpet is so old it would have them. These chemicals are really bad for us.”
He lets go of my hand as the easiness between us disappears. “You realise how much that will cost?”
“Yes, but I think we should add it into our budget. These chemicals can really impact fertility.”
“You’re already pregnant, so we don’t need to worry about that anymore.”
I stare at him, not loving the tone he’s taking with me. “I know, but… well, we don’t know the future, Winter.”
His eyes bore into mine. “We do know the future. And we also know our budget can’t stretch to new carpet.”
My tummy knots with anxiety. We do know the future. That’s his way of reminding me this is our last shot at having a baby. And while I agreed to it, I think I want to revisit that conversation. But that’s for another day. Right now, I just need him to understand replacing the carpet is important to me. “What I’m saying is I think we should sit down and go over the budget again. I’m willing to make whatever changes I have to for this to happen.”
“I’m not,” he says firmly, his voice growing louder, “because it’s not something we need.”
A text comes through on his phone and he allows it to draw his attention away from me.
“Fuck,” he mutters. Then looking back at me, he says, “I have to deal with this.”
Before I have a chance to reply, he pushes his chair back and leaves us.
“You okay?” Max says as I stare after my husband. When I don’t answer him, he says, “Birdie.”
I snap my gaze to Max, trying not to crumble in front of him. “What?” I heard his question, but I can’t get my thoughts in a straight line enough to answer it.
“Give him some time to process what you’ve said.”
>
“I don’t think time is what he needs. I think he’s already made his mind up.” I hear Winter yelling at whoever he called, which is unlike him. Either I’ve pissed him off or they have, and I’m pretty sure it was me.
“You know he often makes a decision on the spot but then changes it,” Max says.
I stand. “I love you for trying to help, but Winter has changed. With me, at least. He thinks I’m consumed by my need to rid our home of chemicals, to the point where he switches off when I try to bring it up with him. I just want him to listen and acknowledge the truth in what I’m saying.”
“He has mentioned it to me, and I don’t think it’s that he doesn’t believe what you’re saying.” His eyes soften. “I think he’s just honestly worried it’s become an obsession that’s taking over your mind and your life. I think it hurts him to watch you struggle.”
“It hurts me when he shuts down and refuses to listen.”
Max nods. “I can see that. Unfortunately that’s the thing about marriage; when you’re in the thick of it, you can’t always see clearly. I hope you’ll try to talk to him about this again and give him a chance to think it through.”
Tears threaten as I think about how right he is. I know I don’t always see things clearly, so I know it must be the same for Winter. “Thank you, Max. I’m sorry I’m ruining dinner, but I need a little timeout to get myself together.”
“Go. I’ll keep Matt occupied.”
I make my way into the bedroom and lock myself in the en suite. Sitting on the toilet, I let my tears fall. Some days I feel so alone it’s hard to breathe. Winter might be by my side in all of this, but over the years we’ve somehow disconnected. It’s been such a gradual process that I didn’t see it happening. We cling to our love, but it doesn’t always feel like we cling to each other. Sometimes I feel him slipping away so keenly the ache is like a knife piercing my heart.
“Birdie.” Winter knocks on the door. “I have to go out.”
I madly wipe my tears. “Okay.”
“I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
“Okay.”
Silence for a beat. Then—“Open the door.”
“No, I’m not finished in here.”
“Fuck, Birdie, I know you’re upset with me. I don’t wanna leave it like this.”
I open the door. “You don’t have time to finish our conversation, so you should just go.”
“Our conversation was finished, but—”
“No, it wasn’t. God, why do you have to be so dismissive about some of the things that are important to me?”
He works his jaw. “It wasn’t my intent to be dismissive, but when you talk about our baby like it’s a given you’ll miscarry, I don’t want any part in the conversation.”
“Don’t you understand I’m just trying to be prepared for all possible scenarios?”
“I get that, fuck do I get that, but just for once, can we fucking enjoy being pregnant?”
I stare at him, willing him to take back those words. They’re like a slap to my face. Seven years of doing this together and this is how he feels? Like I’ve never once let us enjoy any part of it? Swallowing hard, I bite out, “You should go. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”
His face is a mixture of anger and regret, but mostly anger. And unlike how he used to handle me in the early days of IVF, he turns and walks out of our bedroom. Winter doesn’t fight with me how he used to. And some days it feels like he doesn’t fight for me either.
23
Winter
* * *
I watch Birdie sleep. She’s slept in this morning after the long night we both had of very little sleep. After I left her and Max to go and sort out the mess Striker had made, I came home late to find her already in bed. She was as far on her side of the bed as she could get. And instead of checking in with me like she used to do when I came home in the middle of the night, she didn’t utter a word. Back before IVF took over our lives, she had to get her hands all over me while she checked to make sure I was okay after a night taking care of club business. Now, I barely feel her hands.
Another text comes through. It’s the second one from the Silver Hell president this morning.
* * *
Bull: Your boy has fucked shit up.
Me: You at your clubhouse?
Bull: Yeah.
Me: I’m on my way. You and me are gonna fix this.
* * *
With one last glance at my wife, I shove my phone in my pocket and exit the house before making the trip to the Silver Hell clubhouse. When I arrive, I’m greeted by two club members who make it very clear I’m not welcome here.
“Let him in,” Bull barks from the front door.
The Silver Hell clubhouse is as different to mine as you can get. Mine has the touch of a woman who cares for it; this one doesn’t. This one is a mess of empty booze bottles and neglect.
Bull leads me into the bar area, plants his feet wide and crosses his arms. He’s a big motherfucker, packed with beer rather than muscle. And he’s seen better days; at nearly sixty, he’s an example of hard living with no care for anything but good times.
“Not sure how you think we’re gonna fix this, Winter,” he grunts.
Striker fucked up worse last night than he’s ever fucked up. After doing what I told him to, he later changed his mind and told the girl he refused to help her raise the child. That set shit in motion that I spent hours reversing. What I didn’t do, though, was talk to Bull again, and it seems that was my mistake.
“I’ve sorted Striker out, so I don’t see why you and I have a problem,” I say. “But clearly we do, so let’s talk. Tell me what you need to fix this.” The last thing I wanna do is bend over for him, but Striker’s made it so I may have to. With the shit going on between King and Stark, I need to do everything in my power to fly under the fed’s radar.
“I don’t like the way he’s handled this and I sure as hell don’t like him. And neither do my members. We’re looking for a little of your business to make shit better.”
“So that’s what this is all about? It’s not that someone got knocked up; it’s that you wanna milk it for something that’s worth far more than what this situation calls for.”
“Read into what you want; I don’t give a fuck. But I want that business or my boys are gonna come knocking for payback.”
“What the fuck for?”
“For the way he treated my member’s sister.” He straightens his shoulders. “No one fucks with our family and gets away with it. You know how it works.”
“I do know how it works, and I feel the same way. No one threatens my fucking club and gets away with it.” I get my bearings, readying for a fight. I should have brought men with me for this, but my head wasn’t fully in the game thanks to being focussed on my problems with Birdie.
Bull appraises me for a long while. “It seems we have a problem then.”
I step closer to him. “As far as I’m concerned, I fixed the fucking problem last night. Your girl got what she needs. However, if you continue down this path of making threats against my club, then yeah, we do have a problem. I’d tread carefully if I were you, Bull. Storm isn’t a club you wanna make an enemy of.”
If he stops to think about this, he’ll know I’ve spoken the truth. Storm has more allies in Melbourne than he does. We also have the backing of King and his entire east coast network. Silver Hell won’t survive going up against Storm.
When he doesn’t respond to that, I take a step back and say, “I take it we have an understanding?”
His lips form a thin line. “Get the fuck out of my clubhouse.”
I do as he says and don’t look back. Every step I take, I do with the expectation it might be my last. I wouldn’t put it past one of these assholes to pull a gun on me. However, they don’t and I make it out alive.
When I arrive at my clubhouse, I locate Ransom. With every furious breath inside me, I demand, “You seen Striker today?” It’s only just past 8
:00 a.m. so I don’t expect him to be in yet.
Ransom surprises me when he says, “Yeah, he’s out in the garage.”
I stalk out to the garage where Striker and Memphis are working on their bikes. Barely containing my rage, I bark, “Striker, I want you out of here and I don’t wanna fucking see you for at least a month.”
Striker stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Where the fuck do you want me to go?”
I cover the distance between us in two strides and take to him with my fists. I pummel the fuck out of him until Memphis pulls me off him. Fighting Memphis off, I roar, “Let go of me!”
“Fuck, Pres,” Memphis says as he follows my order. “You’re gonna fucking kill him if you keep going.”
My wild eyes land on Memphis. “This is between me and Striker. Either shut the hell up or leave.”
Shock fills his features; I’ve never spoken to him in this way. He holds his hands up defensively and nods as he steps back.
Directing my attention back to Striker who lies at my feet bloodied, I say, “You’ll go to Adelaide. They need help with some shit at the moment.” The Adelaide president rang me last week looking for any assistance I could give; turns out I have something to offer.
With that, I exit the garage and head to my office.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I sit at the desk. “Fucking hell.”
“You look like shit,” Ransom says, entering the office and closing the door after him. “What the fuck’s going on?”
I jab my finger in the direction of the garage. “If he fucks anything up again, he’s fucking out. I’m done giving him second fucking chances. I had to make a threat I wish to fuck I’d never had to make this morning because of him.”
“What kind of threat?”
“The kind that will start a war if I have to make good on it. Let’s just say we’re on high fucking alert at the moment. If you see a Silver Hell member, watch your back. We need to organise church for this morning; everyone needs to be aware of this.”
