Flow (The Beat and the Pulse #6)

by Amity Cross

  “You’re welcome to crash on the couch,” I said, stretching my arms over my head. He’d had four of the six beers, and the cops liked to sit on Hoddle Street bagging and tagging drunk drivers. “Just be careful when Bel comes home. She might molest you in the dark.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  “Just in case, mentally prepare yourself.” Grabbing an extra blanket from the hall closet, I set it onto the arm of the couch. “Bathroom’s through there, just past the kitchen. Help yourself to coffee or tea or whatever’s in the fridge. My room’s the first door up the hall if you need anything.”

  “Aren’t you the attentive host,” he said, giving me a wink.

  “I have a lock on my door,” I said dryly. Hamish smirked. My exterior cracked, and I laughed.

  Leaving him to sort his shit out, I closed myself in my room and changed into my T-shirt and shorts. The moment I unclasped my bra, I turned my back toward the door like he was about to bust in at any second…but I never heard a squeak out of him.

  Lying in bed, the room dark except for the dull moonlight peeking through the curtains, I stared at the ceiling. Knowing Hamish was curled up on the couch in the next room had me wired. We’d talked about everything but relationships and sex. Just the one quip about condoms and that was it. Totally friend zone like we’d planned, so why was I left feeling all amped up?

  I would not fall for another fighter. I would not fall for another fighter. Never ever again.

  Dammit, why did Hamish have to be so…nice? Not just nice… normal. Normal, nice, and decent. Rich, too. Unattached, decent, and rich.

  There was no way I was falling asleep any time soon.

  Fucking fighters.

  Fucking nice, decent, sexy fighters.

  7

  Hamish

  I cleared out of Lori’s at six a.m.

  The house was still dark when I woke. I’d sidled down the hall like I was doing a walk of shame, and I didn’t know what to think when I found her door was still shut. I didn’t know what to think at all.

  Everything had been so easy between us that it had thrown me for a loop. It felt like I’d been king-hit in the side of the head and was down for the count. I usually didn’t drink beer at all, or eat pizza, but I’d sat there like a fool downing the stuff like it was a crutch for my budding social anxiety or something.

  I was amped up with a great deal of nervous energy, and I didn’t know where it was all coming from…or why.

  There was no way I was going home and hospital visiting hours weren’t until later, so I went to Pulse to work out my anxiety in more constructive ways.

  Lori had never mentioned a boyfriend or a break up or anything. If she was mine, I’d sure as hell not let her hang out with an asshole like me. I was skilled in the many ways of getting my cock into a woman’s knickers. I decided she was single until she said otherwise.

  Typically, I thought about Lori’s knickers and what was underneath them. She was tall and thin, but her breasts were real nice and full. The perfect size to fit in my palms. I wondered how far her tattoos went and if she had anything across her stomach that led downward…a tattoo trail that my mouth could follow. I bet she tasted real nice under there.

  “Dude,” Ash said, pointing at my cock. “You’re pitching a tent.”

  Glancing down, I saw I was sporting a hard-on. “Shit.”

  “That’s not being friends with a woman.”

  “Who said I was thinking about Lori?”

  Ash laughed. “You just did.”

  “Fucker.” Standing, I felt like walking into the men’s and jerking off, but I’d just be thinking about Lori, and that wasn’t appropriate or constructive right after a spectacular breakup with a woman I’d thought I was in love with.

  “This just friends thing is hard,” I said, rearranging my favorite appendage.

  “Did she say there was a chance at anything else?”

  I glanced at Ash and shook my head. “Nope.”

  “Do you want there to be?”

  I shrugged. I wasn’t sure if it was just because she was really hot and not the usual type I went for or the fact she was off limits or because I’d been dumped the week before. I still hadn’t had time to work through Josie’s tactful breakup now that Ma was in hospital.

  “It’s pretty soon after Josie,” he went on. “It might be a case of shitting where you sleep, mate.”

  “I’ve fucked women from The Underground before.” I knew what he meant, but I still wanted to argue the point like an asshole.

  “Yeah, but did they work there?” he asked. “That’s another kettle of fish, and you know it. What better way to spread crap than the bartender telling the right person. Talk about a snowball effect.”

  I didn’t think about it that way, but somehow, I couldn’t see Lori being the vindictive type. In reality, I knew I didn’t know her that well, but something told me I could trust her…which led to the ultimate question. Could she trust me?

  Ash was talking about relationships, romance, and fucking—all of the above. He was my best mate, but even he didn’t know the real reason I was bound to this city and fought at The Underground. Nobody knew but me.

  For a split second, I wondered if Lori was the one person I could finally tell. Maybe, if we were friends long enough. If we were romantically involved? I didn’t know. If I touched her and she didn’t want me, I’d stuff up everything. If I touched her and she wanted it… I couldn’t even dream about that.

  Anyway, after all that was said and done, could I trust her with the burden of my ma? Because that’s what it came down to. Hamish McBride didn’t come in a deal on his own. He came in a package with a mother who was losing her mind and being eaten up by cancer. That was a whole lot of responsibility right there. Nobody would want to take on someone like me if they knew the truth, not when there were plenty of other bastards out there who were perfectly normal.

  Maybe next time I saw Josie, I should tell her how fuckin’ smart she was.

  “Dude,” Ash said, breaking me out of my destructive thought pattern. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Go fuck yourself, Fuller,” I spat.

  He didn’t back down but chose to walk a dangerous line instead. “What’s going on with you?”

  Glaring at him in warning, I snarled, “None of your business.”

  “Hamish, if something’s wrong, I can help you.”

  Anger and annoyance and all the emotions I’d been trying to control began to mix together and bubble like a beaker full of unstable chemicals…chemicals that were about to blow. Turning, I strode away from my best mate, knowing that if I let him prod any more, I’d punch the shit right out of him for no good reason other than he’d poked too hard.

  “You know where to find me,” he called out after me, but I’d already stopped listening.

  I didn’t need anyone’s help. I never had, and I never would.

  Sitting by Ma’s bed, I held her hand as she slept.

  Her skin was looking sallow, and dark circles weighed heavy underneath her eyes. I’d been here half an hour, and I was content to let her rest.

  I’d been back once since she’d mistaken me for Da and tried to claw my eyes out. It was right after they’d operated on her heart to repair the blockage. That time, she’d thought I was a nurse, which was a much more pleasant experience, but I still longed for a moment of clarity. I wanted to ask her about so many things, but I was beginning to lose hope that I’d ever get the chance.

  Ma was dying. It was that simple. She might die without ever recognizing her own son again.

  There was a soft knock at the door, and I glanced up.

  Dr. Schwartz peered around the corner, a tablet in his hands, and gestured for me to step out into the hall. Letting Ma’s hand go, I tiptoed from the room.

  “Hamish,” he said. “How have you been?”

  “Shit,” I replied, still bristling
from my run-in with Ash. “How are you?”

  He shrugged and turned his attention to the tablet. “Your mother’s test results have come back.”

  “And?”

  “I think we should talk somewhere a little quieter,” he said. “There’s a free room down the hall if you wouldn’t mind.”

  I knew it was code for ‘I’ve got nothing good to tell you,’ so I nodded. Fair enough.

  His shoes squeaked on the linoleum as we moved away from Ma and down the hall. Opening a door, he gestured for me to enter first.

  The room was bare of decoration. Other than a desk, chairs, and a cheap looking couch underneath the window, there was nothing glamorous about it. I decided the couch was better than the desk, so I sat my ass there.

  Closing the door behind him, Dr. Schwartz sat next to me. I knew he was readying himself to tell me the bad news, and I found the whole concept condescending. I knew about loss and pain. I knew this day was coming. I just didn’t know it’d be like this.

  “The tests showed that the cancer has spread further than we could have anticipated,” he began. “At this stage, there isn’t much we can do.”

  “You can’t do anythin’,” I said dryly.

  Dr. Schwartz shook his head. “I know you prefer me to be direct, so I’ll tell you the reality of it. We can’t operate, Hamish. It’s much too risky, and even if we could remove the cancerous tissue, your mother would need a lung transplant. With her Alzheimer’s, the likelihood of her ever reaching the top of the list is slim. Personally, it’s my opinion as a doctor that she won’t ever be eligible.” He fished around in his coat pocket. “I’d like to talk to you about some options for—”

  “Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t tell me to send her someplace to die.”

  “Hamish…there’s nothing we can do but make her comfortable. She’s not feeling it much now, but soon, she’ll be in a lot of pain. There are ways to manage it, ways that end-of-life care is well versed in administering.”

  I ground my teeth together, seething at the fact he wanted me to send Ma off to slowly waste away. Lock her up someplace where she’d never see the world around her. She was forgetting things, but she was still in there. She wasn’t insane. It wasn’t her fault.

  “What about chemotherapy?” I asked. “That’s somethin’?”

  Dr. Schwartz frowned. “Yes. It may prolong her life, but it would make her nauseous—”

  “How long?”

  “Without any treatment, I would estimate she has about two to three months.” I felt my heart drop. Two to three months? “With treatment, and it would have to be aggressive, we may be able to extend it to six.”

  “And we can try for the transplant list?”

  “Hamish…” He was beginning to look uncomfortable, but all I gave a stuff about was doing whatever it took to save my ma’s life.

  “That’s how these things work, right? Shrink the cancer with chemotherapy, operate, and transplant. Right?”

  “Usually it is, but your mother’s cancer is advanced. It may only be prolonging her pain and putting her through undue stress that she might not understand due to her Alzheimer’s. That’s my professional opinion, but the decision is up to you.”

  It was selfish, I knew it was, but I wasn’t ready to stop fighting for her. I was so used to fighting through the pain that I didn’t think twice about it. Pain was irrelevant.

  “Do it,” I said.

  “Hamish…”

  “I’ve made my decision,” I snapped.

  “Listen to me,” Dr. Schwartz said firmly, his voice taking on a fatherly ‘you’re grounded’ tone. “The kind of cancer your mother has…it can be hereditary.”

  I blinked hard a few times, letting his words sink in. “Are you sayin’ I might have cancer, too?”

  “There’s a chance, and I think you should rule it out as soon as possible. Early detection is the only thing that can stop it spreading before it reaches the point of no return.”

  I cast my gaze away and stared at the poster for flu vaccinations plastered on the wall. A smiling child being jabbed with a needle by a friendly health nurse. As if my life wasn’t fucked up enough as it was.

  “Just take care of my ma,” I said after a long moment of silence.

  “Hamish—”

  “Just take care of her, doc.” I rose to my feet, everything inside me shutting down except my need to draw blood in the cage. “Can you do that?”

  He watched me carefully, then nodded. “I can.”

  “Good.”

  Before he could say anything else, I strode from the room and flew down the hall, walking straight past Ma’s room and out into the cool Melbourne air. She didn’t need to see me like this even if she couldn’t understand.

  It was going to be one hell of a fight at The Underground tonight.

  8

  Lori

  Running a cloth along the top of the sticky bar, I glanced up at the crowd that was beginning to gather for another night of fights at The Underground.

  I wiped another inch and glanced up again. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but it had me all worked up like a bee in a jar.

  Usually, I’d be switched to work mode in this place, which was aloof and slightly bitchy. It kept the undesirables away and things running as they should. I was on this side of the bar, and they were on the other. Hands off. I had to be a hard-ass in this place, or I’d get walked all over and tossed around like a sex doll out back. Like I always said…you had to be a particular kind of crazy to work in a place like The Underground.

  I glanced up again, and this time, I realized something was different. People were talking heatedly among themselves like the juiciest gossip in town had just broke major headlines. Instantly, I thought about Hamish and me, then I dismissed the idea. I wasn’t that far up the popularity tree in this place. Shit, I wasn’t even touching it…but Hamish was. Hamish was beloved around here.

  Turning my attention back to the bar, I wiped my way down the length, trying but failing to overhear what everyone was so enthusiastic over. It might just be a good fight tonight. There was always a rivalry or revenge beating that needed working out in the cage. Yeah, it had to be something like that.

  I was on with Sandra and Stu tonight. Sandra I liked, but I’d rather clean the toilets in this place with a toothbrush than spend time with Stu, and that was saying something. The dunnies here were like a toxic waste dump.

  Sandra had been working the bar for the past year, and nothing much seemed to faze her. She was tall, curvy, had chestnut-colored hair that fell halfway down her back, long eyelashes, and perfect olive skin. She was pretty, but not like the whores who circled around the fighters hoping they’d slip and their cocks would fall into their vaginas. Nope, Sandra had the kind of natural beauty that didn’t need fake tans or makeup to enhance. She was just pretty.

  “Hey,” she said as I leaned against the bar beside her.

  “What’s going on out there? Is there some scandal I don’t know about yet?” The last time this place was buzzing was when Maverick beat the shit out of Steel and put the guy in hospital. Which, in reality, wasn’t that long ago. We were due another hurricane around these parts.

  “Some fighter is back,” she replied. “He’s before my time I think because I didn’t recognize the name. Apparently he’s hot. Like steaming.”

  “There isn’t a shortage of those around here,” I said, thinking about Hamish.

  Oh shit, Hamish. He was a can of worms if I ever saw one.

  The other morning, he’d left before I woke up. The blanket I’d given him had been folded into a neat pile and left on the couch, the beer bottles had been dumped into the recycling bin, and the leftover pizza was in the fridge. Talk about considerate, but I’d been a little disappointed he hadn’t stuck around because his presence was that infectious. I couldn’t blame him, though. He probably had a life that needed attending to. I seemed to be the only loser in this place who gravitated around their work. I didn’t e
ven have a fuck buddy to ease the ache between my legs. Not that I wanted one, but unfortunately for me, spending time with Hamish had only made me realize I was still harboring my little crush on him. I had to get a handle on that before it got out of control. There were way too many things about him that made my ovaries want to explode.

  “So, who’s the fighter?” I asked.

  “Some guy named Storm,” Sandra replied, and I felt my expression fall. “He was one of the favorites around here a few years ago before he went off to fight in the UFC in America. Or so I hear.”

  My whole body was beginning to overload and not in a good way. It was like someone had just slammed their fist down on my self-destruct button, and I was mentally scrambling for a way out.

  “He’s here?” I asked, my gaze darting across the crowd. If I saw him first, then I could hide. Yeah, evasive maneuvers. They did it in the military all the time. Hostile targets trying to engage and all that.

  “I haven’t seen him,” Sandra went on, oblivious to the cold sweat beginning to take over my entire body surface. “But he’s on the board to fight tonight. Apparently, the odds are off the charts. Like two to one.”

  My mouth fell open. “You’re kidding? He’s fighting here?”

  She shrugged. “That’s all I know.”

  “Why would he stoop if he’s in the big leagues?”

  “Maybe he got kicked out or maybe he lost. I don’t know. You can always ask him.” She winked and then pushed away from the bench as some customers approached, leaving me on my own to ponder.

  Storm. It was a name designed to cast fear into the bones of every woman who’d been dumped by a fighter in this place. It was a name that stirred up a different kind of storm. The storm of blind anger.

  My hands began to shake, and I curled my fingers into tight fists. I was going to puke…like exorcist puke.

  “Hey, Lori.”

  The sound of Storm’s voice sent shivers down my spine, but they weren’t those kinds of shivers. More like shivers of repulsion as my body instinctively tried to dry retch.