“I can hear you thinking,” she tells me in a sleepy voice. “Tell me what’s got you worked up.”
Blinking hard, I try to smile at her when she carefully extricates her hair from my fingers so she can sit up. When she stretches, I run my gaze over her elegant body before settling on her beautiful face. It hurts more to look at her, than it does to think about what I did.
Yesterday, Jep told me how she demanded he come with her when I ran out of Nitro’s. How she’d somehow known that I was in a bad place. How she’d made him tell her about my fucked-up childhood and my diagnosis. How’d they watched me kick away the stool...
I have a lot to thank them both for; I know that.
That doesn’t make it any easier to handle seeing her.
Before this, I thought she was too good for me.
Now, I’m certain.
“Why are you still here?” My voice is dry and scratchy. It hurts my throat to talk, although the doctors have said there’s no reason why I can’t. “You should’ve run for the hills by now.”
It’s not technically the answer to her question, but it is the biggest worry on my mind. The fact that I can prioritise my questions again is a testament to the meds. The static is gone. My brain gives me enough peace to sleep, even as they reduce the pain meds. The manic energy that consumed me has been dialled down to a manageable level.
“I’m here because I want to be,” Amy states in a tone that brooks no arguments. “I’m here because I like you. I’m here because I want you to come back to me. I don’t care if I need to wind duct tape over every inch of your body to hold you together, I’m going to have you back in one piece, one way or another.”
“Duct tape?” I fix a questioning look on her.
“Yeah,” she replies with a yawn. “My dad always told me that if duct tape can’t fix it, then it’s fucked and needs to go in the bin.”
I bite out a laugh when she swears. It gets caught in my sore throat and ends up sounding more like a wounded seal than actual humour.
Amy yawns again, then smiles at me. “Of course, the duct tape’s only a last resort. I’d hate to have to throw you in the bin after all the effort we’ve gone to so we could keep you.”
“Amen to that,” Jep drawls. He walks into my hospital room with Angelo hot on his heels. “My shoulders still ache from holding you up.”
His tone is flippant. The pain I see in his eyes is not. With Jep’s history, I know he’s going to feel what I tried to do all the way to his soul for a very long time.
“I’m sorry.”
He flicks the end of my nose then shakes his head. “There’s no need to be sorry. Just do everything in your power to get better. I’d be fucked without you, man. If anyone’s sorry, it’s me. I should’ve seen what was happening before it got this bad.”
Angelo settles his long body into the sole visitor’s seat. He folds his arms behind his head and glares at me. I try not to wither under his fierce appraisal. I’m not entirely sure how successful I am.
The man has an angry stare that makes your hair stand on end.
“I’m not going to be quite so forgiving,” Angelo announces. “I asked you if you were off your meds and you lied to me. I was ready to start putting them in your food when you went and did this. After all that Hayden’s been through with Mari and Gabe, what could possibly lead you to believe any of us would be better off without you?”
I’ve pleaded with them not to tell my uncle what I did. His absence so far makes me think they’ve listened. From the reports I’ve received from each of them, I’m happy for Hooligan to bask in the glow of his new relationship rather than put his life on hold for me again.
“That’s not how it works,” Amy slides to the edge of my bed and gets back to her feet. She stands in front of Angelo with her hands on her hips and hits him with a look of vengeance that would rival his own death stare. “Depression is a chemical imbalance of your brain. Sure, stopping his medication didn’t help, but it’s not Nate’s fault and if I hear you say that to him again, I’ll kick you out of here myself.”
Angelo holds his hands in the air as Amy berates him. He shoots a glance at me over her shoulder and I can’t help but smile at my fiery, self-appointed guardian angel. I’d bet my last dollar that he’s deliberately winding her up to prove something to me.
That’s how my kinda uncle works.
He’s doesn’t say much.
He’s not prone to sentimentality.
But he gives the best advice anyhow.
Satisfied that Angelo has conceded her point, Amy climbs back onto the bed and folds herself into my side. The four of us shoot the shit for a while, joking about Jep pulling double shifts at Black Hearts MMA in my absence, and laughing about the argument Angelo had with Steve for trying to poach Hooligan’s best fighter from underneath him.
While I’ve been flat on my back in this bed, they fixed all of my problems.
I’ve learned a tonne of lessons out of this, but the biggest one is all the reasons I have for living.
I have friends.
I have family.
I have Amy for as long as she’ll have me.
None of them care that my brain is wired differently and that I’ll probably need to take pills to manage my condition for the rest of my life. They only care about me and my happiness.
That’s the thing I need to remember to hang onto when the going gets tough.
I’m not magically cured because I’m back on my meds.
Life will get tough again for me.
Hell, life gets tough whether you’re living with a diagnosis like mine or not.
When the nurses try to kick everyone out at the end of visiting hours, I smile as Amy argues for another hour and the nurse concedes with a wink in my direction when my girl isn’t looking. She shuts the door behind her and leaves me and Amy in our own little world.
Amy climbs back on the bed and lets me hold her again.
She feels like home combined with my future and a second chance all rolled into one delectable package.
She still scares me as much as she did the first day I met her.
That doesn’t mean I don’t want to keep her.
I know this reprieve will end soon.
She’ll have to go home to her son.
I’ll have to go home to face the scene of my biggest mistake.
Knowing this, I concentrate as hard as I can on soaking up every moment that I have left with her.
“You’re thinking again,” Amy interrupts my inner pep talk. “Just spit it out so we can work it out. I really don’t want to bring out the duct tape.”
I salute her with the hand that doesn’t have the drip. “Yes, ma’am.”
Moving until she’s straddling my waist, Amy lowers her weight onto my lap and peers straight into my eyes. “I’m serious. I know you’re scared of this thing between us. I know it’s driving you a little bit crazy. Just know that I’m scared, too.”
Amy leans forward to kiss me. Before I can turn it into something deeper, she pulls away. “How about I tell you what I’m thinking first, then you can go?”
My throat is choked with emotion—it’s like she reads my mind sometimes. I can’t speak so I nod my agreement instead.
“I know this happened fast. It happened without warning. And it happened when we both least expected it,” Amy speaks fast, but her words wash over me in slow motion. They settle on my scarred mind and restore a part of me that’s been broken since my parents decided I was too much of an embarrassment to persevere with. “I have a son. You’re six years younger than me. I want to live in Sydney for the rest of my life. You want to fight overseas. We have a tonne of hurdles in front of us, but so does everyone. We’re really not all that special, you know? In fact, the issues we face are ordinary. They’re surmountable. With compromise and communication, we can find a way through them if we truly want to.”
Sliding my hands down to cup her arse, I pull Amy closer to me. The lump in my throat still
chokes me, but I force my words out anyway. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you. I’m scared of the day when you wake up and realise you’re wasting your time with me.”
“For such a brave man, you’re annoyingly daft sometimes,” Amy replies. She leans her forehead against mine. “You’re willing to walk inside a cage and get punched in the head, but you’re scared that I’m going to be the one who walks away from you? That’s insane. You woke me up from the half-life I was living after Jon died. You showed me that I could love someone again. You gave me the strength to let down my shield and allow you inside. Only a damn fool walks away from a man who gives them that...”
Amy trails off so she can kiss me again. Fisting the front of my hospital gown, she pulls me hard against her and grins. Her dark eyes are filled with love and her need for me emanates from her in waves.
“I might be a slow learner, Nate Harvie, but I am nobody’s fool.”
EPILOGUE
Amy
Six months later
Tonight is the culmination of everything Nate’s worked for over the past six months. I know how hard he’s prepared. How many hours he’s put in at the gym. How long he’s worked toward this dream.
Debuting in the underground fight ring at Nitro’s isn’t his dream, but it is a stepping stone. Until the athletic commission changes the rules governing the medication he takes, my man will need to content himself with the Sydney circuit and working alongside Hooligan at Black Hearts MMA.
Some nights I lie awake and worry that he’s not happy with the lot he’s been handed. Then I wake up next to him in the morning and I see the joy in his eyes for myself and it assuages my fears. We’re campaigning for change as hard as we can, however we’re at a standstill until the world at large becomes more educated about disorders like Nate’s and mental illness as a whole.
The tide is turning, slowly but surely, so I continue to hold out hope.
He’s only twenty-three. While it’s not young in fight terms, it’s not ancient either.
“Mama,” Max says tugging at my dress. “Mate go on?”
The nickname my son has for my boyfriend started by accident. Maxie misheard his name the first time I introduced them, then it stuck. I love it because it fits. Nate is Max’s mate. He’s not his father, although I see fatherly tendencies taking over the more time they spend together. The depth of care and concern Nate has for my child makes my heart swell every time I think about it.
Unless we adopt—not that we’re anywhere near a discussion of that magnitude yet—it’s likely that Max will be the only child we are graced with. The hysterectomy after the car accident that killed Jon left me unable to carry children then premature menopause took care of the rest.
The TV in the room we’re waiting in gives is a bird’s eye view of the ring. Nate wanted me out there, but I can’t do it. Every time a punch is thrown, I flinch. And God help the fighter who connects with my man. Twice at training, I’ve been halfway over the ropes before I realised what I was doing, ready to knock the block of the fighter who’d dared to lay a finger on Nate.
It’s a running joke around Black Hearts MMA that the first person to beat Nate will probably need to go into witness protection to escape my wrath.
We might not have said the three little words “I love you” yet, but we both know what we have is real. Our love for each other is something we prove to ourselves with our actions every day.
“Mate is fighting,” Max exclaims.
He jumps up and down on the spot and claps his hands. My son’s bloodthirsty ways should worry me. They don’t since Hooligan and Nate are both teaching the moral code that all martial arts are centred around. He knows better than the use the skills he’s learning against anyone else.
It’s a lesson he’s learned from the best.
Together, we settle in to watch the fight. This is the same room where we witnessed Gabbi’s debut last weekend. The newest generation of Black Hearts MMA looks set to uphold Hooligan’s legacy with ease. It’s a fact that’s been causing some angst locally and has seen the gym vandalised on more than one occasion.
That’s caused me some sleepless night; however the boys assure me they have it under control.
All in all life is good.
Is this how I ever expected my life to turn out after Jon died?
No, it isn’t.
It has exceeded my expectations and then some.
“How’s he going?” Anita, Nate’s kinda step-aunt asks as she walks into the room.
She’s like me and prefers to see the violence from a distance. Angelo, Gabbi, Hooligan, and Jep are all front and centre. I can imagine the directions they’re yelling at Nate as he battles his opponent—all of which he’ll ignore to follow his own natural rhythm and instincts.
His steadfast belief in his own abilities is the biggest change he’s made during his recovery.
Every time I watch him back himself, my heart feels a little fuller and I worry a little less about him.
An expectant silence grips the room as me and Anita get sucked into the fight that’s unfolding. Maxie loses interest and starts playing with the Lego Nate tucked in his gym bag for him. Every now and then, I cast an eye in his direction to make sure he’s occupied. Every time I do, I smile because he’s so content in this new life of ours.
Halfway through the second round, Nate wins by making his opponent tap out. Me and Anita jump to our feet and cheer, then we hug. I wipe away the tears that dampen my cheeks and Anita sniffles as she tries to fight her emotions. Seeing her wet eyes makes me cry harder, so I head into the ensuite bathroom to wipe my face.
I don’t look a fright when Nate gets back here.
Hearing voices in the room, I quickly walk back out there so I can congratulate Nate, only to end up stopping in my tracks when I discover the room is filled with strange leather-clad men. Looking for Max, my stomach drops into my shoes when I see that one of the men, a huge giant with a man bun and a beard, is holding my son.
Thankfully, Max is oblivious to the danger and is fascinated by the scary man’s facial hair.
“I’ll scream,” I warn them. “There will be a dozen security guards here in seconds.”
The leader, a fierce man with copper-brown hair and a bodybuilder’s build, laughs at me. The rest of them join him. I open my mouth to follow through on my threat when Anita steps out of the middle of the group. She’s tugging an older man behind her, and it quickly becomes obvious that she knows them.
Not that this means anything to me.
In truth, I barely know her. She’s like a ghost, disappearing for weeks on end only to return without explanation and an aura of complete happiness around her. No one else questions her, so I haven’t either.
That doesn’t mean I haven’t wondered about her.
“Amy,” she says, “This is my husband.”
The older man holds out his hand to me. I hesitate, looking him over and trying to decipher if he’s friend or foe. No one has ever mentioned that Anita was married to me.
While I scrutinise him, he does the same to me. His hair is almost white—the colour that most natural born blondes turn as they get older—and he’s rather handsome, in spite of his age. I would judge him to be between forty-five and fifty.
“I’m Butch,” he tells me. His voice is like melted chocolate—smooth and rich. An involuntary shiver runs the length of my spine and Anita grins. “This is my club. We’re here to help Angelo with the little vandal problem he said you’re having.”
One by one, they introduce themselves. With names like Mad Dog, Timber, Kid, Grinder, and J-Boy, they’re a motley crew and it’s highly unlikely I’m going to put the names to the right faces for a while.
“Where’s Angelo?” the one I think is named Mad Dog asks.
I point at the TV screen that still showing Nate and the Black Hearts MMA crew celebrating in the middle of the ring. “The fight just finished. They won’t be long.”
Anita busies herself getting
them all beers from the well-stocked fridge. She ushers them further into the room and they take a seat wherever they can find one.
Slowly, I sidle closer to the giant, blond man. I’m not entirely comfortable with him holding my son. Of course, when I try to get Max’s attention, he becomes selectively deaf.
“Just like my boy at home,” the blond man muses. I stop trying to get Max’s to come to me and really look at him. Once you see past the leather and the long hair, his eyes are kind and his smile seems genuine. “None of them can hear when you want them to do somethin’ they’re not interested in.”
I chuckle. “Tell me about it. It’s amazing how they can hear a lolly wrapper open from two blocks away, but they never hear you when you ask them to hang up their wet towel.”
“I’m Timber, by the way,” he says, holding out the hand that’s not balancing my son in the air. “Figure our names woulda gone straight over your head. There’s more than a few of us come down here to help.”
Running my eyes over the skull patch on the front of his leather vest, I learn the name of his club and discover that he’s the Vice President. These men are a long way from home if the location embroidered on his leather is correct.
“I’m Amy,” I say, taking hold of his paw-sized hand and shaking it as firmly as I can. “So, tell me, Timber. What brings the Black Shamrocks MC all the way from Brisbane to help with a battle brewing between two rival MMA crews?”
The blond giant smiles. This time, it’s not friendly in the least. Fear licks at the base of my spine and it only grows in intensity when he answers me in a no-nonsense voice.
“Angelo’s family, and we don’t take too kindly to people fucking with our family.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
Thank you so much for reading Conflict, Black Hearts MMA Book Two. I hope you enjoyed it and will consider leaving a review on your retailer of choice. Dissent, Black Hearts MMA | Book Three is available to pre-order. If you enjoyed Conflict and want to know when my next book comes out, sign up for my newsletter.
Conflict (Black Hearts MMA, #2) Page 16
