Before I’d been wavering on my decision.
Now, I’m rock solid in my belief.
I am Nathan Harvie. I am Hooligan’s nephew. It’s up to me to defend his legacy—to live the life he couldn’t.
Pushing passed the mouthy idiot, I bump him with my shoulder. It knocks him out of place, and he stops talking long enough to thrust a bunch of forms at me. I offer them the most haphazard of glances then scrunch them in my fist when I see what they are.
Drug and alcohol testing permission forms.
My teeth ache from the way I grind them as I toss the sheath of paper into the closest bin. I stalk through the gym, stopping once I see a door with a plaque that reads “Staff Room.” My scowl sends the two women inside scampering and I lock the door behind me.
I take my phone out of my pocket and scroll through the contacts until I find the number I’m searching for. Pressing dial, I wait for the call to connect.
“What’s up?” the jittery voice on the other end of the line asks. “Never thought I’d hear from again.”
“Yeah, thanks for the reminder,” I growl. “I’m not a fan of being ripped off by scumbags like you.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” he cries, his manic defence managing to sound less sincere the longer he speaks. “My E is pure. It was the new supplier who stepped on it. I promise, man. I can—”
“Whatever,” I cut him off. “Need to get rid of some Ritalin and Librium, among other things. That somethin’ you handle?”
His tone changes from pleading to slimy in an instant. “Of course. I’m your man.”
“I want top street value. This shit is the real deal.”
“Like I said, I’m your man.”
Before I can talk myself out of it, I seal the deal. “One hour. Cook Park. If you fuck me over, I’ll have my crew fuck you up. That’s a promise, Thommo.”
“Nate, my man,” he desperately tries to slime him way into my good books. “I won’t let you down.”
Ending the call, I throw myself into the closest chair. With my head leant back, I search the ceiling above me for clues, or my moral compass, or ethics, or something... anything that will make me believe that what I just organised is the right thing to do.
When nothing comes, I hold onto the memories of how I’ve felt every time someone has compared me to Hooligan or commented about how much time he spends with Jep. The sour feeling returns and this time it is vindication.
If anyone is going to live up to the Harvie last name, it’s me.
I want it.
I deserve it.
It’s mine.
Leaning over until I can reach the landline sitting on the small coffee table, I hit the button labelled “Main Office”.
A sweet female voice answers, “Um, Amy’s phone. This is Zali. Can I take a message?”
Seems Steve has put Gabbi’s little sister to work quickly. “Yeah, this is Nate. When Am—I mean, Gabbi comes back, tell her to meet me in the staff room. I have something to discuss with her.”
Without waiting for Zali to answer, I drop the handset back into the cradle and make myself comfortable in the seat.
My gut is screaming at me that I’m making two big mistakes and my brain is providing high-pitched backing vocals to its warning.
I’m sick of both of them and their bossy ways.
That’s why I’m following the devilish voice in my head that says the opposite.
I’m gonna sell my meds to Thommo rather than ask Hooligan for help and pursue Gabbi instead of Amy.
Regardless of the consequences.
EIGHT
Amy
“That was your only chance. Now you’re just a douchebag like the rest of the fucking assholes in this gym.”
Gabbi almost rips the door to the staff room off its hinges when she yanks it open. I rush to get out of her way and end up stepping on Zali’s foot.
She whines.
I gasp.
My best friend stops and glares at us.
Seeing the deadly intent in her eyes, I try to inject some humour into the situation.
“Epic fuck-up, dude. Now you’re on her shit list,” I tell Nate with a completely forced giggle as he pushes to his feet.
Grabbing her little sister’s hand, Gabbi doesn’t stop to see if she did any damage to Nate when she flattened him on the staff room floor, instead she drags her sister off as she storms out of the gym.
My joke fell flatter than an overcooked pancake.
An awkward silence descends while Nate and I stare at each other. His face slowly turns red, two high spots of colour appearing on his cheeks, before he tries to barge passed me out of the staff room. Without thinking, I take hold of his upper arm and squeeze. Sparks of electricity burn my fingers. His muscles move beneath my grip when he tries to shake me off. With a perverse kind of delight churning in my chest, I dig my nails into his flesh.
“She has issues about being touched without permission,” I tell him when he stops moving. “Especially at work where she struggles to be taken seriously.”
He continues pulling against my grip, acting like a typically headstrong male until he suddenly stops. I remove my nails from his skin. Nate leans against the door frame and lets one of the saddest sighs I’ve ever heard escape from his lips.
“I’m fucking everything up.”
“Welcome to the club,” I quip, thoughtlessly. “We’re all messing up some part of our life. You’re not exactly a special snowflake in that aspect.”
Now it’s time for my face to burn. That’s probably the most honesty to come out of my mouth since Jon’s death and it’s mortifying to realise that I’ve done it in front of a twenty-two year old boy.
Yeah, I checked out his date of birth on the paperwork he left on my desk before I followed Gabbi to the staff room.
Sue me.
Moving until I’m leaning on the wall opposite him, I ignore the way my hand burns hotter from the loss his touch. We regard each other in silence; our mutual embarrassment warming our gazes and offering the other comfort in the fact that we’re not alone.
“My aunt was raped and murdered,” Nate confesses. He drops his head into his hands and seems to stare at the floor. “I know better than to touch anyone without permission, but my head is a mess today, and I’m acting worse than normal.”
I don’t know what to make of his confession, however I sense his need to purge. It matches my own. Thankfully, I’m better equipped at dealing with my demons so I keep my mouth shut and concentrate on offering him something I would never accept for myself.
A non-judgemental, listening ear.
“Gabbi’s pretty easy to apologise to,” I reply. “If you tell her that you fucked up, she’ll forgive you.”
Another sigh is his only response. I feel the sound deep in my soul and I understand what it means. My initial assessment of him was correct—he is a kindred soul. His sigh is filled with the same loss and torment that lives in my chest. The cause may not be the same, but the effect is identical.
He’s lost.
He’s searching for an anchor.
He’s young enough that he might have found one in another lost soul I know.
Gabriella Mitchell.
“If you’d like, I can probably get her to Nitro’s tonight. We’re overdue a girl’s night out, and I’m pretty sure she’s only playing hard to get with you because you’re coming on too strong.”
Lifting his head out of his hands, Nate looks me in the eye with a fierceness that I feel all the way to my bones. There’s a moral core to him that he desperately hides from the world—through fear or for bravado’s sake, I don’t know. It definitely there, though. I can see it in the way he sizes up my motives.
“Why would you help me? She’s your friend and she’s made it pretty clear she doesn’t like me.”
With a half-shrug, I tell him the truth. “Because I can see that you’re sorry for the way you handled things. Look, I know Gabbi can be prickly at times. There’s a rea
son for it, but it’s not my place to tell you. What I can say is that she was different with you until you pushed her too far and I enjoyed seeing that side of her.”
“So you’re saying I’m not so bad, after all?”
Shaking my head, I dodge his bait. I cross my arms over my chest and hit him with my mother-knows-best look—the one that works so well on Max when he’s trying to pull the wool over my eyes. “Personally, I find you brash and annoying—apparently, Gabbi doesn’t find that as off-putting as I do.”
“Okay,” Nate agrees in a husky tone. He holds out his hand. I take hold of it, gritting my teeth so I don’t groan when the sparks descend once more. “If you can get her to Nitro’s tonight, I’ll do my best to make amends for my brash and annoying ways.”
“Deal.”
Steve sticks his head around the corner. I drop Nate’s hand like it’s on fire. He smirks, and I pretend that I don’t comprehend the source of his amusement.
“Nate,” our boss calls across the room. “I know you’re in a hurry to get ready for Hooligan’s fight tonight, but there’s someone I’d like you to meet before you go.”
The air around Nate changes with Steve’s request. It feels like every ounce of vulnerability he possesses has been sucked out of the atmosphere. I feel the change in him as much as I see it... and I recognise it for what it is.
Nate wears a dozen different masks—dependent upon situations and circumstances.
He’s a master of disguise
He’s a chameleon, like me.
My heart performs a back flip in my chest as he passes me to follow Steve.
Warning bells clang in my skull when he pauses long enough to peer into my eyes. My dark orbs burn into his bright green; the mutual understanding we had shared, and lost with Steve’s arrival, reappears for a second to link us together again.
“Thank you for not judging me,” he murmurs in a voice that only I can hear. “I can’t say that about too many others so know that I appreciate it more than you can ever understand.”
The façade he chooses to show to Steve drops into place and he leaves me standing by myself. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. I can barely think. I’m surrounded by memories of Nate’s husky voice offering his thanks and his subtle cologne as it invades my senses.
I’m a mess of emotions—unwanted needs and desires.
My conscience sounds the alarm and the voice that lives in my head—the one that we all have—calls into question my motivation for pushing Nate toward Gabbi.
As much as I love Gabbi, I’m more scared of Nate.
It’s stupid. Weak as fuck. But true, nonetheless.
In less than two hours, he’s stripped me of my strongest disguises and forced me to see the woman Jon left behind. I don’t want to acknowledge her so I’m using my wish to see Gabbi happy as an excuse to hold this twenty-two-year-old man child at arm’s length until I can construct a stronger camouflage to hide the real Amy from him again.
NINE
Nate
Constant exhaustion caused by a mind that will never shut up.
Aggressive disregard for letting others have their turn.
Chronic foot in mouth disease from disengaging the filter between my brain and my mouth.
The driving need to start a new project before I’ve finished the old one.
Impulsive and overreactive to anything I perceive as threatening.
Fight, flight, freeze, defrost, then wreak havoc wherever I can find an opportunity.
The laundry list of symptoms that my parents always passed off as a lack of discipline on my behalf runs circles around my brain as I watch my local dealer approach on foot. I’m on my last nerve after waiting for him in the drizzling rain. He’s twenty-five minutes late for our meeting, and I’d hazard a guess by the jovial sway in his step, that he’s already been prematurely celebrating his unexpected windfall.
Foreboding runs the length of my spine.
If I do this, it’s going to be three months before I can fix my mistake.
Can I hide the signs for that long?
What if what Hooligan’s told me since I was fifteen is correct, and I actually need the pills?
Too bad, so sad. Right?
Nothing ventured; nothing gained.
While I’m still under the veil of normalcy created by the medication, this plan seems sound. No more dulled appetite. No more worries about the fight commissioner disapproving my licence. No more jabs from the other fighters about my skinny frame.
I can do this.
Three months is a piece of piss if I put my mind to it.
Hell, I’m probably cured anyway. It’s been almost eight years since I started taking them.
“Nate,” Thommo mutters my name. He’s two years younger than me but looks about ten years older.
I should feel bad for contributing to his delinquency; however he would’ve got the pills from someone else anyway, and I need the money bad enough to swallow my scruples.
Not that my uncle would be inclined to agree.
I give Thommo a nod of acknowledgment before I light up a smoke. The long drag I take does nothing to calm my head. Willing my brain to find some fucking chill, I let my Harley rock between my thighs. The heavy weight is reassuring. My legs balance the machine with ease.
My bike is my lifeline and I need to remember that.
If I need to burn off steam, I can go for a ride. If Hooligan gets suspicious of my behaviour, I can blame it the full-time work roster I’ve told him I’ll be pulling at Steve’s gym.
Unzipping my backpack, I pull out the medication. The clear plastic bag is filled with three months’ worth of prescription bottles—the most I could get in one go. It had taken me less than half an hour after I’d left The Fitness Hub to fill all my prescriptions. The pharmacist hadn’t batted an eyelid. The salesperson hadn’t asked me why I needed so much. It had been easy as pie—too easy—to cash out my lifeline before heading to Cook Park to meet Thommo.
Some bottles are orange, some clear, and one bright purple. A kaleidoscope of chemicals to keep me on an even keel. My daily diet since I was fifteen mocks me, a rattling testament to my weakness, to my difference, so before I can change my mind, I shove the meds at Thommo.
The pills I hate are worth a mint on the street.
Enough to buy me twelve weeks of part time hours at work and full-time hours in the gym. Enough to buy my uncle’s MMA gym the breathing space it needs. Enough to buy me the shot at pro I so desperately want.
Pushing all the reasons why this is stupid out of my head, I focus on the one thing that means the most to me. If I do this, I can follow in my uncle’s footsteps—make him proud of what he helped me become after he took me in off the streets when my parents disposed of me like the teenaged version of a used-up tissue. I’ll never have to listen to people compare Jep to my uncle instead of me ever again.
With a decisive thrust, I push the bag of pills at Thommo. His greedy eyes light up, then he slips me the wad of cash he was concealing in the sleeve of his tattered and stained sweatshirt. I narrow my eyes at the dirtiness of the notes, swallowing a shudder of disgust when I take them from him. No doubt these notes have been held by some grubby fingers and shoved up some even grubbier noses in their time.
Hand-sanitiser will be my first port of call when I get home.
Transaction done; I take another drag of my cigarette. Thommo turns and all but sprints across the broken asphalt of the crappy park I picked to meet at. The motley crew of drug-fucked dickheads who gather around him just before they all disappear from sight with their bounty sets my teeth on edge. I’ve just contributed to the further downfall of my suburb for however long it takes them to snort their version of kiddie cocaine.
It is what it is.
My conscience will ease up before I set my bike in gear. Contrary to my uncle’s example, I’m not going to beat myself up for something I’m not truly responsible for.
Those kids were mainlining whatever substance t
hey could get their hands on long before I came along, and they’ll be doing it long after I’ve achieved my goals.
It might have been the wrong way to go about it, but I did it for the right reasons.
I will be the next MMA champion for Black Hearts MMA.
Hooligan can retire happy, knowing his name is in good hands.
And I will finally be something more than the family fuck-up.
After pressing the ignition button, I grin as I count through the money then stash it in my back pack. Jep cracked a joke earlier today about it being my turn to pay for the drinks tonight. Little does he know; I’m bringing both cash and a girl to the fight.
Thinking of Gabbi sends thoughts of Amy splintering through my mind.
She’s a conundrum, that one.
She also scares the living shit out of me.
When we talked in the staff room this afternoon, her presence was worse than a truth serum to me. I told her about my Aunt Mari and thanked her for listening.
I never do that.
Normally, I’d rather drown under the angry torrent of my mistakes than admit that I’d fucked up.
Amy changed all that with a few sentences and a listening ear.
Fuck that and fuck her.
If I’m going to get through the months ahead without my meds, I can’t afford weaknesses like her.
She needs to stay far away from me... further away than I’ve ever pushed a woman before.
TEN
Amy
“I hope I can trust you with this?” I ask my best friend’s little sister in my best no-nonsense I’m a mum and you should fear me voice. “Gabbi needs a night out.”
“I’m not a freaking child,” Zali replies with a dose of snark. My fingers tighten around my phone. One day, I’m going to slap the snippiness right out of this bimbo Barbie wannabe. Unfortunately, today is not that day. I need her compliance tonight if I’m going to get Gabbi to go out with me. “I can look after Cooper just as well as Gabbi can.”
Conflict (Black Hearts MMA, #2) Page 5
