War of Hearts

by Nina Levine

  He sits up, swinging his legs over the bed and standing. Jerking his chin, he says, “We’re gonna have some breakfast, and then I’m gonna show you some shit you can do to defend yourself if you need to.”

  Before I’ve left the bed, he’s out of the room and down the hall.

  “Ah, I’m going to need a shower first,” I call out.

  “Make it fast, princess. I’ve got shit to do today,” he calls back.

  I’m pretty sure it’s messed up that I like him calling me princess even though he started calling me that in a mean way. But that’s because I don’t think he uses it in a mean way anymore. I need to remind myself, though, that I like him in a different way than he likes me.

  I throw myself in the shower and make it as quick as possible. That I’m no good with fast showers means that Fury has time to cook bacon and eggs before I join him.

  He eyes me as he transfers the eggs to our plates. “That’s your idea of a quick shower?”

  I shrug. “I tried.” Sliding onto a stool across from him, I say, “I’m not trying to be ungrateful here, but I don’t eat bacon. So you can have all of that.”

  He stops what he’s doing. “Who the fuck doesn’t eat bacon?”

  “Me.”

  “Fuck, are you vegan?”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  He shakes his head. “Not a bad thing, but I’m not down with any evangelical vegan bullshit. I’ll do a lot of fucking things for you, Zara, but listening to that shit isn’t one of them.”

  I skip over the vegan stuff—because I’m not vegan—and focus on what he says about doing a lot of fucking things for me. His words spread warmth through me. I have family members who will do anything for me, but I’ve never had a friend who is willing to go out of their way and do stuff to help me like Fury has.

  “Thank you for being my friend,” I say softly. “I know we started off rough, and I know you probably weren’t looking for an eighteen-year-old friend, but just so you know, you’ve found one.”

  He’s slow to respond to that. In fact, he kinda goes still and just stares at me for what feels like a long time. To the point where I feel a little awkward that I even said it. God, he probably thinks I’m a silly teenage girl who—

  “I wasn’t, and I’m not,” he says gruffly.

  He’s saying he doesn’t want a friend, but his eyes aren’t in agreement. “People don’t do ‘a lot of fucking things’ for people they don’t think of as a friend. We’re friends whether you want one or not. Just sayin’.” I drop my gaze to the plates of food. “Now give me my breakfast and let me eat so we can get this self-defence stuff done so you can go and do all the shit you have to do today. And by the way, I’m not vegan, but I’m gonna love harassing you with all that evangelical vegan bullshit you love so much.”

  “Fucking hell,” he mutters as he shovels all the bacon onto his plate. Then, sliding my plate across to me, he says, “There’s coffee too if you want some.”

  “See, we really are friends; you made me coffee, too.”

  He arches his brows and hits me with an exasperated look. “You want some or you wanna sit around and talk shit all day?”

  I laugh. “Well, I would say yes, but I don’t drink coffee.”

  He does what I call the male eye-roll and mutters, “Of course you fucking don’t.”

  I push his mug of coffee closer to him. “Drink up, buttercup. We’ve got shit to do.”

  The look on his face is priceless and I decide there will be more of this in our friendship. Fury is way too intense and serious; he needs a friend like me to ruffle him a little and bring some fun into his life.

  After breakfast, we clean up the kitchen together. Fury knows his way around a kitchen, which impresses me. But then, his house was spotless, so I’m getting the idea that he’s pretty domesticated.

  “How old are you?” I ask as he empties the sink, suddenly realising I don’t know this about him.

  “Twenty-five.”

  “When’s your birthday?” When he gives me that “are we really doing this?” look, I say, “Seriously, birthdays are the best day in the whole year. I need to know when yours is so I can remember to help make it special for you.”

  The look in his eyes turns hard. He’s back to that serious, intense Fury I know so well. “Birthdays have never meant anything to me. I don’t celebrate them.”

  My heart hurts for him as I remember what he told me about his parents. When he told me, I was too focussed on myself to really process it, but I’ve since thought about it. Especially with everything else I’ve learned about him and his family.

  “Okay,” I say softly, not wanting to push him to talk about stuff that’s hard for him. Then, in an effort to shift the mood back to a lighter one, I say, “FYI, my birthday is on the twenty-fifth of December, and I’m big on people not giving me one fucking present to cover both my birthday and Christmas.” I look at him pointedly. “Just so you’re aware and can act accordingly.”

  He chuckles as he shakes his head. “Thanks for the heads up, princess. Now, get your ass outside so we can run through this self-defence stuff.”

  I frown. “It’s hot outside.”

  “You haven’t been outside yet to know that.”

  “Dude, it’s hot in here; I know it’s gonna be unbearable out there.”

  He groans. “We can’t do this inside; we need space. You can take another shower after we’re done. Besides”—his eyes drop to my body—“you’re wearing the tiniest fucking shorts I’ve ever seen on a woman; you’re not gonna sweat to death.”

  I look down at my shorts. “These are not tiny.”

  “They fucking are.”

  These shorts cover a lot more of my legs than the ones I used to wear. I have no idea what he’s on about. Meeting his eyes again, I say, “You are clearly blind,” before leading the way out to the backyard.

  I was right: it’s fucking hot out here, but I don’t complain. I simply wait for whatever he wants to show me. I might be grumbling about the heat, but I’m grateful for him taking the time to help me.

  “Number one thing to do,” he says, moving close to me, “is get loud if someone comes at you. Show him you’re not an easy target and tell him to back off, loud enough so that if there’s anyone around, they’ll hear you.”

  I nod and say, “Okay,” while trying to ignore the way my heart has started beating faster.

  “You wanna aim at his vulnerable areas,” he says, pointing at each area as he names them. “Eyes, nose, throat, groin.” He stops for a moment, before asking gently, “Are you okay?”

  God no, I’m not okay, but I desperately want him to continue because I know this stuff will be helpful. “This is bringing stuff up for me,” I say, a little shakily. “Like, I’m feeling kinda tight in my chest. But I don’t want you to stop.”

  He takes a beat, thinking about what I’ve said. Then, nodding, he says, “I have an idea.”

  “What?”

  “You’re gonna box this shit out. We’ll get to the self-defence stuff later.”

  “Huh?”

  “Boxing,” he says, like that clears everything up for me. When I continue frowning at him, he says, “Boxing saved me when I was a kid. It gave me an out for my anger and made me feel strong after feeling weak my entire life. It might help you, it might not, but you won’t know until you try.”

  “Where are we gonna do this?” I’m not too keen on the idea of doing it in a gym where there’s a million eyes on me.

  He must be able to read my hesitation, because his eyes soften and he says, “We’ll do it at my place.

  21

  Fury

  * * *

  Zara’s a natural at boxing.

  She’s agile and moves fast. She’s got good reflexes and the confidence to use them. She listens to everything I say and tries what I suggest.

  The thing she really has going for her, though, is that she’s not afraid of it or of hitting hard. She wants to fight.
This instils confidence in me that I’ll be able to help her learn to defend herself, because when you teach a person who doesn’t wanna fight, they use those skills to evade and avoid fighting, but when you teach these skills to a natural fighter, they’re gonna use them to fight.

  And that’s what she needs: to fight her way out of the fear holding her back. She’s building her mental strength with her shrink; I’ll help her build her physical strength.

  “Oh my God, this is so good!” she says after we’ve been going at it for an hour. Her face is flushed, her eyes are bright, and she’s breathless as she collapses on the floor in my garage. The thing I can’t stop looking at, though, is the smile prettying up her already beautiful face. I don’t think I’ve seen her smile this much since I’ve gotten to know her.

  I jerk my chin. “Get up, we’re not finished.” I’m pushing her hard because I think she needs it, but also, I think she can handle it.

  Sucking in deep breaths, she says, “I’m not sure I can.”

  I reach down and pull her up. “You can. The minute you say you can’t, you can’t.” I hold up my punching mitts. “We’re gonna do some footwork again. After that, we’ll take a quick break.”

  Her eyes widen. “Dude, I’m tired. I need longer than a quick break.”

  “You’ll get ten minutes. Then we’re gonna jump rope for ten minutes. Then you’re done.”

  I expect her to argue with me, but she doesn’t. She does glare at me for a beat, but she does the work and makes it through. And then, she’s really fucking exhausted, which was my goal. Her body is flooded with adrenaline thanks to her anxiety and fear; the exercise will help her get rid of it.

  “You’d make a good PT if King ever runs out of work for you,” she says after I take her back upstairs and pour her a drink of cold water. “But for real, you’re a little hard-core. I thought for sure I was gonna pass out at one point.”

  “But you didn’t, and now you know what you’re capable of.”

  “I’m going to have to get a punching bag and some gloves.”

  “Don’t get anything without asking me first. You need the right shit. And you can use my stuff whenever you want until you know for sure you wanna keep at it.”

  She grins at me and then motions between the two of us as she says, “See, friends. You let me use your stuff; I let you come over and hang out with me at midnight. We’re definitely friends.”

  Christ, I want far more than a friendship with her, and that’s some hazardous shit right there. Zara is a relentless siren that I’m finding increasingly hard to keep my distance from. However, I at least need to keep her firmly in this friend zone she keeps talking about.

  “Okay, I need to go do some shit, so I’ll drop you back at home.”

  She drains her glass. “I just need to use your bathroom.”

  At my nod, she leaves me to head down the hall. I decide to change my shirt and head into my bedroom.

  After I change, I exit my room and make my way out to the front of the house. As I near the front door, I lock eyes on Zara, bent over, ass in the air as she retrieves something she dropped.

  “Fuck.” It falls from my mouth before I can censor it. I’m an ass man, and that is one sight I wish to Christ I’d never seen. It’s fucking tattooed onto my brain now.

  She straightens and turns to me.

  We don’t move.

  The moment turns into an unbearably long one in which I go to fucking war in my head.

  I want nothing more than to close the distance between us and kiss her. When she takes a step toward me, and then another, and another, I shake my head and growl, “No.”

  She doesn’t listen.

  She keeps coming until she’s standing in front of me. Right in front of me. Too fucking close in front of me.

  Eyes searching mine, she says, “When you told me we’d be nothing more than a quick fuck, did you mean that?”

  “When I told you that,” I say, every bit of tension I’m feeling threading through my voice, “I was trying to keep shit settled so I didn’t do something that’d cause problems with King.”

  Christ, why couldn’t I just lie to her?

  “So you didn’t mean it?”

  My head is screaming at me to lie. To tell her I don’t want to know every inch of her body and that I don’t want to spend hours tasting her. But I can’t do that. I can’t deny what I want any longer.

  “This is so much more than a quick fuck, princess.”

  Her breathing picks up and her lips part. Taking the one last step that’s separating us, she places her hand to my chest. Her touch burns, intensifying my desire. “I want to kiss you.”

  I pull her hand from my chest, keeping it firmly in my grasp. “No.”

  Fuck. No.

  She fights with me for her hand and says, “If you won’t allow this to go anywhere, why do you keep showing up? Why answer my texts? Why keep helping me?” She finally yanks her hand from mine and jabs my chest, getting worked up. “Everything you’re doing is just making me like you more!”

  This situation is a mindfuck and I bounce off her anger. “I’m not trying to make you like me more; I’m trying to make sure you’re okay, because fuck me, the state you were in the other night was bad, and I was worried about you.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I work my jaw. “You wanna try that again?” It comes out low and harsh. Not because I’m angry with her, but because I’m fucking pissed off at the situation.

  She straightens her shoulders like she’s preparing for battle. “I said, bullshit. You might have been worried, which I appreciate, but I call bullshit that that’s the full reason for everything else you’ve done.”

  My anger rolls through me. “You can call bullshit as much as you like. The truth is we can go round and fucking round on this forever, but it will never be more than what it is now.” I jerk my chin towards the door. “We’re done here.”

  Her eyes search mine for another few moments before she spins and exits the house. She doesn’t speak another word to me after that. She’s pissed. Fuck, we’re both pissed. And while I know I’ve made the right decision, it doesn’t fucking feel like it.

  22

  Zara

  * * *

  It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen Fury. Since the day he told me were “done here.” At the time he told me that, I thought he meant done arguing for the day. In hindsight, I think he meant we are done. Completely. As in, he’s staying away forever.

  I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to take my mind off him.

  I’ve had two more appointments with my psychologist. They’re getting easier and with each passing day, using the techniques she’s teaching, I’m finding my ability to cope with the fear and paranoia is improving. She’s made it clear that this may be a long journey, so I’m prepared for that.

  I’ve started running daily again. And doing yoga a few times a week. This shit works. And it also helps counteract all the cake I’m eating, because baking has become my new best friend. I’m making so many bloody cakes that I’ve had to start offloading them to Mum and Gran. King’s probably the only one happy about this; Mum and Gran want all that sugar about as much as I do.

  I’ve also been job hunting. I’m not having much luck there, but I’m not giving up. It doesn’t seem like business will pick up anytime soon at the bookstore, and I really need a cash injection. Especially since I’m no longer on friendly terms with my new mechanic.

  My favourite thing I’ve started doing in the last two weeks, though, is reading to a lady in a retirement village who can’t read anymore due to bad eyesight. After a guy from the village contacted my boss to see if there might be someone at the store willing to do this, I’ve visited Rosie three times and read with her. She loves romance novels as much as I do, and she’s a lot of fun. She’s nearly seventy, but she acts like she’s barely fifty. I hate that her eyes have given out on her, so it makes me happy to help bring books back into her life. And since I’ve decide
d to cut ties with all my shitty friends, and since Fury doesn’t seem to want to be my friend, it’s nice to have Rosie to spend time with.

  It’s late on a Saturday afternoon and I’ve just spent three hours reading with her when Holly calls and asks me to pick up a bike part from Sarge on my way home. He’s at the clubhouse so I take a detour and stop off to collect the part.

  I park my car near the front door, noting how many bikes there are here today. My guess that it’s going to be rowdy inside is confirmed the second I push through the front door. The laughter and noise coming from the bar is louder than I’ve heard here for a while.

  “Hey, Zara,” one of the guys greets me, a little drunkenly and a whole lot happily. They all greet me the same way as I cut through the crowd to the bar where Kree’s working, looking kinda stressed.

  When I reach the bar, I lean across and say to her, “You look like you could do with a hand. You want me to help?”

  Relief fills her face as she nods. “Yes girl, get your ass back here. We’ve got a birthday celebration going on that I didn’t know about in time to call reinforcements in.”

  I grin at her. I don’t know Kree as well as Mum does—they’re super close—but I love hanging out with her. She’s witty, sarcastic, and fun, and I especially like the way she doesn’t put up with shit from anyone.

  “You take that end,” she says when I make my way around the bar to join her.

  I move quickly because there are a lot of guys waiting to be served, and we get through the first wave in just under twenty minutes. I know there’s another wave coming because more guys have entered the bar, plus the ones we already served are going to want another drink soon.