Because I know the day when I’ll be forced to face reality is quickly approaching. It’s stalking me like a lion, prowling behind me, nipping at my heels, breathing down my neck with its promise to strip me of my ruse and deliver me into the truth I’ve been stubbornly dodging since the day Jon died.
I’m not sure if I want to keep living like this.
THREE
Nate
Tossing party food and drinks into my shopping cart, I speed through the aisles in the supermarket. When I pass a pair of old ladies with purple tinged white hair, I wink. They both gasp and it makes me laugh. I turn back to look at them with a flirtatious quip on my lips that’s brought to an abrupt halt when I run into something.
“Ouch. Fucking hell, watch where you’re going!” A female voice curses me out. When she twists to face me, my eyes widen. She’s hot as fuck. Nineteen, maybe twenty years old. Tattooed and athletically built with hatred in her eyes. Exactly my type. That little tasty fact is solidified when she glances down at the back of her leg and cusses me some more. “Look what you’ve done. Moron.”
Fuck. I think I’m in love.
“I’m sorry,” I say, dropping to my knees. When I take hold of her ankle, she jerks in my grip. My fingers tighten as a reflex and her struggle ends immediately. “I didn’t see you there. Let me have a look.”
I peer up at her when I finish inspecting her ankle and find amber eyes staring down at me. There’s hungry intent in her gaze as she runs it over my face and down my body. Lifting her ankle closer to my face, I draw my eyebrows together and pretend I’m worried about her injury.
In truth, it’s not that bad. The skin is slightly broken, and a little bit of blood has formed. She’s lucky, the way I hit her could have caused a lot more damage.
“I’m okay,” she purrs. Seems she’s changed her tune now she’s got a good look at me.
My thumb has a mind of its own, drawing circles on her soft skin. The tiny gasp she makes spikes my desire and I decide on the spot that I’m going to taste this chick, if it’s the last thing I do.
A shudder runs the length of my spine when she tugs her leg free and stands fully upright again. Her long dark hair sways around her toned shoulders and we both take a moment to really look at each other. It’s clear that I appreciate her edgy look—tight tank, denim cut-off shorts that highlight the huge-arse tattoo that covers her right thigh, and Doc’s that should’ve protected her ankle better than they did—as much as she likes my dirty denim, faded Harley T-shirt, and chains.
“I don’t think it’ll bleed too much.” She follows her statement with a come-fuck-me smile.
I reply with a chuckle, “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. Your pain has turned out to be my gain.”
One perfectly sculpted eyebrow arches, and she tilts her head to the side. “How so?”
Running my gaze over her face, then dropping it to her chest, I smirk when she pulls herself taller and visibly preens under my inspection.
“If I hadn’t hurt you, then you wouldn’t have cussed me out, and I wouldn’t be taking you out tonight.” I answer her question with unconcealed desire in my voice. Holding my hand out, I continue, “I’m Nate, by the way.”
She leaves me hanging. “You’re very cocky, aren’t you, Nate?”
“You have no idea.”
“Too bad, I already have plans for tonight.” The little hottie wriggles her eyebrows at me as she turns me down stone-cold with a smile. “But you have a good day now.”
Without giving me the chance to convince her, she pushes her shopping cart away. Smelling a game commencing, I follow her. One tug on the handle of her cart is all it takes to stop her from leaving.
“I’ll bet I can show you a better time than anything else you’ve got planned.”
With a shake of her head that’s at odds with the ground she concedes when she speaks, the little hottie continues to play coy. “I’ll think about it. Maybe we can meet up later tonight? Discuss our options further?”
“Sounds like a plan to me. Where? And how will I get hold of ya?”
Eyes hooded with desire; she yanks her shopping cart free of my grip. “I’ll be at Nitro’s from about ten ‘til it closes. Find me there.”
“I’ll see you tonight,” I yell after her. Her arse sways, a definite sashay in her step, and I take a second to appreciate the sight before one glaring omission hits me. “Hey, what’s your name?”
“I only wanna fuck, not friendship. Names aren’t necessary,” she retorts.
Holy fuck. I think I’ve just met my soul mate. Throwing my head back, I bellow with laughter. When the old ladies that I winked at when I entered the aisle titter with shock at her profanity, I clutch my stomach and laugh harder.
I was already looking forward to spending tonight at Nitro’s since Hooligan is fighting in the basement of the club. Knowing that this girl might come is icing on the cake.
Little hottie won’t know what’s hit her.
FOUR
Amy
“I won’t be home until after you’re asleep,” I tell Max once we’ve eaten lunch together. Crouching in front of him where he sits in his playroom watching cartoons, I place my hands on either side of his chubby face and plant a kiss on his pouty little lips. “Be a good boy and have fun with Bà. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Love you, Mama.”
Smoothing his shiny black hair down, I walk into the living room so I can grab my hand bag. My mother is sitting on the couch with one of the soaps she records over here playing on the TV. Her addiction is our dirty little secret. My father turns his nose up at her trashy shows and he’s managed to use the rest of our family to shame Má into hiding her habit from him.
“I’m going now,” I say, quietly. Interrupting her soaps isn’t smart, even though she can pause them since they’re recorded. The resulting lectures are not worth pointing that little fact out. “I’ve left food in the fridge and money on the counter if you don’t want to cook.”
“Hmph,” she grunts at me without turning from the television.
After I’ve checked my bag for my keys and slid my phone into the internal pocket, I drag in a deep breath and approach her.
“I really appreciate you watching Max for me today and tonight.” I pause for a moment to make sure she’s listening. “I know Papa gets mad when you come here, and it means the world to me that you came anyway.”
When she continues to stare intently at the screen, I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and shrug. At least I tried. No matter how little impact my thanks has on my mother, I can rest easy at night knowing that I’ve acknowledged her as much as I can. I turn away from her before I give into the urge to press my point further or launch into another explanation about why I can’t be the type of daughter they want.
“It is my duty.” Má raises her voice over the people talking on the TV. “And my honour. You’re my daughter and Maxie is my grandson. It won’t kill your papa to fend for himself for one night.”
We laugh together. A subdued sound that neither of us completely commits to because underneath the surface all our issues continue to bubble away.
“I’m sure you’ve left enough food to feed an army,” I quip. She finally pauses her show and looks at me. Matching dark-brown gazes take the other’s measure. A damning silence grows that I am the first to break. “Well, I should get going. Don’t want to be late. Call me if you need anything.”
I’ve turned the handle and pulled open the front door of my little three-bedroom cottage before Má speaks again.
“You know, if you moved home until you remarry, you wouldn’t have to work these crazy hours. Maxie could have his mother and we could have our daughter back.”
And there it is. The main problem between us. I brought shame to my family when I eloped barely a month after I finished high school. It’s an embarrassment I compound every day now that Jon is gone by refusing to move home and live within the umbrella of my family’s expectations. Until I am t
he dutiful daughter I should be, I will be harangued daily with only the level of their protests differing.
The date with the good doctor last night was only the beginning of their pressure.
My official mourning period is almost over. The two-year anniversary of Jon’s death looms nearer every day. Soon Papa’s silent treatment will become vocal condemnation and my mother’s passive defiance of his wishes will end.
Then, I’ll either capitulate or defy.
A choice that brings consequences either way.
“I know, Má,” I reply as evenly as I can. An angry bubble of grief builds in my chest as my heart rejects what I say next. “I’ll think about it.”
She clicks her tongue; a noisy challenge to my noncommittal answer. We both know that I’m simply keeping the peace because my back is against the wall. I’m reliant on her goodwill whenever Max’s normal sitter can’t have him, and Má will take advantage of that for as long as she can.
Stepping out in the morning air, I let the front door shut swing behind me. My legs are weak and my heart hammers hard as I stumble my way to my car. Once I’m safely cocooned inside, I let the sorrow that’s been boiling within me simmer over the edges. It spills free—from my mouth in sobs and my eyes in tears. Careful not to mess up my makeup, I wipe under my eyes with my thumbs and try not to blink too often.
The drive to The Fitness Hub where I work as the one of two office manager’s gives me barely enough time to get my shit back together, but as always, I manage. I guess there’s perks to living under the constant cloud of sorrow that has dogged me for the past two years. It’s taught me how to get my emotions outwardly under control while my insides dance to their own bleak rhythm.
By the time I’ve greeted everyone at the gym as I head deeper into the building toward my desk outside the owner’s office, I’m back to myself. Snarky and sassy Amy. Beautiful but unobtainable Amy. Personable yet professional Amy. Funny Amy. Friendly Amy. Eager to assist Amy. I’m a multitude of things to those I work with—yet not one of those personas is the real Amy.
That Amy is kept hidden behind a careful mask, and only comes out of hiding when she’s in the safety of her own bedroom. She’s the one who mourns her husband and daughter, rails angrily at the photo of a dead man, and refuses to leave the room until he’s wished her a good day. No one here—no one anywhere—knows that Amy and that’s the way it’s going to stay.
“Can I help you?” I ask the blond man with his back to me when I enter the office area.
He finishes reading the poster on the wall, then shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and turns to me. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him. He’s beautiful—mid-length blond hair that flops on his forehead, long, athletically muscled limbs covered in tattoos, intense emerald-green eyes that cast a spell over me, and a disenchantment with the world that clings to him like an invisible cloak. At first glance, I can tell that he’s bad, he’s sad, and he’s mad at everything.
He’s a kindred spirit—someone who’s felt the wrath of the universe and come off second best, just like me.
He’s trouble with a capital T.
“Yeah,” he answers me in a husky drawl. “I’ve got a meeting with Steve.”
My gaze refuses to move from his face and my feet won’t cooperate when my brain screams at them to take me behind my desk. The blond goliath seems to instinctively know the affect he’s having on me and I can see that it amuses him. His mirth is exactly what I need to regain control of myself. It reminds me that I’m not here for anyone’s enjoyment.
“Okay. Let me check.” With a deliberate sway to my hips, I make my way to my desk. His sharp intake of breath is the perfect balm to my bleeding ego and I drive home my point by leaning lower than necessary when I leaf through the pages of the owner’s diary to get to today’s date. When I return my attention to his handsome face, I’m forced to supress at smile at the way he quickly averts his gaze from my cleavage. “Name please?”
“Ah, Nate... Nathan Harvie,” he replies.
Finding his name on the page, I run my fingernail along the line to see what he’s here for. He’s our new Night Manager it seems. Which is surprising since I was part of the interview process with Steve and I’m certain I would remember him if he’d taken part. Since my boss is known for his altruistic ways, I rein in my surprise.
How else would a widowed mother of one with only a high school diploma and no previous experience hold down an office manager’s job complete with flexible hours?
Nathan Harvie is just another in a long line of Steve’s pet projects.
I don’t mean that snarkily—I am one myself.
I lift the phone’s handset from the cradle and press “1” for Steve’s office. He answers on the second ring.
“You’re here early?” he questions me.
“I swapped with Jules to have last night off,” I remind him quickly. My normal hours are three in the afternoon until midnight—The Fitness Hubs peak evening hours—which I’d swapped with the daytime office manager in order to attend the ill-fated date with the doctor last night. “I’m pulling a double today.”
“That’s right,” Steve replies, happily. “I forgot about that. How was the date?”
“Lame as hell,” I groan. “Another one of my parents’ good intentioned meddling’s gone wrong.”
Steve chuckles. I open my mouth to elaborate when I’m interrupted by a fake cough. Nate Harvie has perched his arse on the edge of my desk and is leering over me with annoyance on his face. Glaring at him, I hook my foot around the leg of my office chair and wheel it out from under my desk.
“How’s my calendar looking today?”
“I’ll just check,” I tell Steve.
Once I’ve settled myself comfortably in my chair, I smirk at Nate. He crosses his arms over his chest, and I lean back in my seat and inspect my nails.
“Seriously?” Nate snaps. His green eyes are darkening as his mood turns sour so once I’ve decided that he’s been sufficiently punished from taking amusement at my momentary lapse in decorum, I put him out of his misery.
“Okay, Steve,” I say slowly, pretending that I’m still going through his schedule. “Your day looks pretty good. Your lunch appointment is here—Nathan Harvie. Do you want me to send him in?”
Steve coughs, then answers me with a splutter. “Ah, shit. Yeah. Send him in.”
“Will do,” I reply.
“Um, Amy,” Steve ventures in a timid voice. “Can you get an employment contract together for me? I might’ve promised Nathan the Night Manager’s job, even though we agreed on that other guy, and then forgot to tell you about it.”
Reading between the lines, it’s clear to me that Steve not only forgot to tell me, but he also forgot to tell Jules and everyone else who works here. This is par for the course with my boss. His flights of fancy and on-the-spot gut calls should cause a lot more chaos here than they do, yet he somehow manages to find his way through the mess to own one of the most successful twenty-four hour gyms in Sydney.
“Will do.” I end the call the call with a giggle. Looking up at Nate, my earlier annoyance with him is forgotten. Steve has a way of making me forget all the crap in my life. “He said you can head right in.”
Confusion is the dominant expression on Nate’s face when he runs his green gaze over me. I smile wide, innocence personified, and determined to throw him further off balance. He shakes his head, then shrugs. Desperately suppressing my laughter, I bite down on my lip and pretend that I’m not watching his tight arse as he walks away from me.
“Jesus, Amy.” I throw myself back in my seat and giggle like an idiot once he’s closed the door to Steve’s office behind himself. “Get a grip.”
FIVE
Nate
“Your receptionist is weird,” I tell Steve when the sound of crazy giggling invades the office after I’ve shut the door. “Hot as fuck, but weird.”
Standing across the other side of his desk, Steve holds out h
is hand to me. I shake it, then end with a fist bump. My family and Steve go back years, multiple decades even. All the way back to his and Hooligan’s attempts at turning pro when they were both young fighters.
Steve’s career was lucrative and illustrious, and he came back from the States with enough money to set up this gym and buy a big house in a nice suburb for his American wife and their kids. My uncle, on the other hand, barely made it out of Australia before he was pulled back to his country of birth to fix everyone else’s fuck ups. Hooligan fell in love with a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, took me in when his older brother—my dad—threw me out of home after one too many screw ups, and barely made enough from fighting in the Australian underground scene to build the gym that currently houses the Black Hearts MMA training centre.
They were two men who were handed the same opportunity, but only one was allowed to flourish.
I honestly believe that half of the reason Steve is giving me this job is because he still feels bad that he succeeded when Hooligan didn’t. I’ve heard both my uncle and Steve acknowledge that Hooligan was the better talent—and I’d believe it after watching them tussle.
“You leave her alone,” Steve quips. He lifts his eyebrows and hits me with his no-nonsense will be tolerated look. “Amy’s been through a lot and she’s only just now finding her way out the other side. Last thing she needs is you messing with her head.”
I salute him. “Duly noted.”
He grins at me. “That was surprisingly easy. You off your game or something?”
“I don’t mess with stuck up bitches—especially ones that look the way she does,” I explain. Amy is the kind of girl who expects a man to worship the ground she walks on simply because she exists, and I don’t play like that. Classically beautiful women have had their heads filled with fairy-tale bullshit since the day they were old enough to listen. “They’re hard work for little return, and I’m not a fan of women who look down their noses at blokes like me.”
Conflict (Black Hearts MMA, #2) Page 3
