Battle Hearts

by Nina Levine

  “I know that will never happen because this was our last time doing IVF, but I need you to know I’m probably going to be cluckier than ever when I see you with our daughter. So you need to prepare yourself for that. Like, you may need to do battle with me over it at times.”

  I smile. “With our son you mean?”

  I hear the smile in her voice when she says, “Yeah, with our son, baby. That wasn’t the important part of what I said, though.”

  “I know. And I hear you. I need to prepare for battle.”

  “Yeah, you do. And I need you to know that deep down I know we can only have one child, so when I argue with you over wanting more, it’s not really me arguing; it’s my hormone-filled alter ego who I wish would shut the fuck up some days.”

  I chuckle. “Don’t you worry about me. I’m used to doing battle with those hormones. I’ve got this, angel.”

  She lifts her head and looks at me with a serious expression, like she’s grateful as fuck for something. “Thank you. You have no idea how much I love you for that alone. For always having me even when I give you enough ammunition to shoot our relationship down.”

  I cup her face. “I’ve always got you, Birdie. Fucking always.”

  She kisses me again and then says, “Okay, now we need sleep. God knows you exhausted my entire body tonight. It might take me days to recover.”

  After I roll her onto her side and spoon her with my arms tightly around her body, I say, “You’ve got six hours to recover and then I’m coming back for more.”

  She wiggles her ass against me. “I love my bossy man, even when he’s demanding things that will likely never happen.”

  “Oh they’re gonna happen, angel. My mouth on your pussy is the only fucking way I wanna wake up tomorrow.”

  Birdie’s asleep within ten minutes, but I lie awake for at least another hour, unable to shut my thoughts off. They’ve been like this since Max’s death. Replaying everything that happened that day. The what-ifs never fucking leave me alone. If I hadn’t asked Max to meet me at the clubhouse, he’d still be alive today. That knowledge fucking slays me. I’ll carry guilt and regret to my grave over his death.

  Unable to sleep, I leave Birdie and head out to the back deck, grabbing the bottle of whisky from the kitchen on the way. Throwing some of the amber liquid down my throat, I scroll my phone looking at photos of Max. Fuck knows why I do this to myself every damn day, but it’s become almost compulsive. I have this driving need to see him each day. To remember our memories.

  I lose myself in the memories and the whisky. It’s not until the silence is fractured by a scream that I’m jolted back to reality.

  Birdie’s scream.

  Fuck.

  When I arrive in our bedroom, I find her sitting in the bed, panicked, staring down at the mattress. As I move closer, I see what she sees and my heart fucking breaks. It shatters into a million fucking pieces as I watch my wife sit with tears streaming down her face. Tears I know won’t ever stop. The blood Birdie is sitting in will guarantee that.

  27

  Birdie

  * * *

  My body rejected my child.

  Again.

  This time, though, it sent me a message I’ll never erase from my mind. Not only did it get rid of my baby, it expelled so much blood I didn’t think it would ever stop. The mattress was soaked with it. The toilet filled with it. The shower flooded with it. The message was loud and clear: stop putting babies in here.

  I had an incomplete miscarriage that required a D&C. We were in the hospital all night and most of today; the worst day of my life. I’ve lived many worst days of my life, but this really is it. I don’t know what there is after this.

  My body doesn’t work properly. I can’t give Winter a child. We can’t have the family we planned.

  “Do you want a tea or anything?” Winter asks, drawing my attention to the doorway of our bedroom. He brought me home an hour ago and settled me in here before leaving to go make some calls.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  I don’t want to drink tea.

  I don’t want to eat food.

  I don’t want to breathe.

  I just want my baby.

  Winter joins me on the bed, sitting with his back to the headboard and his legs extended in front of him. He pulls me close and I welcome his embrace.

  Smoothing my hair, he says, “Your mum called.” When I don’t say anything, he continues, “She knows you won’t be going to visit her next week and is thinking of coming down to spend some time with you here. Are you up for that?”

  I love my mum, but I don’t want anyone here at the moment. I only want Winter. “No. Not yet.”

  “Okay. I’ll let her know.”

  I stare at the bed. “Thank you for organising a new mattress.” Winter organised his guys to come around today with a new one. Something I’m extremely grateful for.

  He doesn’t say anything; he just bends his face to kiss the top of my head.

  I curl into a ball with my head on his lap. Gripping his thigh, I say, “Do you think I did anything to make this happen? Or do you just think my body can’t ever make a baby?”

  “You did nothing. The doctor reiterated that more than once. This wasn’t your fault, Birdie.”

  So it’s just that my body is faulty.

  We turn silent for a long while, each lost in our thoughts. Not for the first time, I wish I could read Winter’s thoughts. He always says none of this is my fault, but what if he’s really thinking he should have chosen a woman who could make babies? What if he grows resentful of the fact I can’t give him a child?

  His phone rings and he swears before answering it. “Yeah?”

  He listens for a beat, and then says, “I need you to take over for a few days, brother.”

  Winter was supposed to leave tomorrow for a trip that would keep him away for a few days. He cancelled that earlier. I didn’t realise he was planning on staying home for a while, but I like that he is.

  When he ends the call, I say, “Will they be okay without you?”

  “They’ll have to be. There’s no fucking way I’m leaving you.”

  My heart squeezes with love for him. As much as my mind tries to fuck with me over whether he’ll end up resenting me for never giving him a family, I know deep down that he loves me with every fibre of his being. I know he will always choose me regardless of what I can’t give him. And I know we will be together forever.

  I just wish our forever wasn’t littered with heartache and hurt.

  I drag myself through the next couple of days, my body as dead as my heart and mind. The doctors say you can recover from a D&C quite fast and resume normal activities within a few days. They say it’s a safe and simple procedure. They say your body may still feel like its pregnant and that it may take some time for your hormones to adjust. They say a lot of things, but what they don’t tell you is your heart may never recover. I don’t think mine will ever recover from this.

  Mum has called every day. So have Cleo and Lily. I don’t want to talk to anyone, so I tell Winter no each time he tries to get me to talk to them. The sad look in his eyes when I tell him no makes me want to hide under the blanket. I hate seeing that sad look in his eyes. It’s one thing for me to be sad, but it takes chunks of my soul knowing he is.

  “I’ve gotta go into the clubhouse tomorrow,” he says as we lie together on the third day after we lost our baby. He’s stayed home with me since then, and I’ve dreaded the day when he has to leave me. But I know he can’t stay here forever. Neither of us can, even though it’s exactly what I want to do. I’ve barely left our bed, and I don’t think I ever want to.

  I roll over to him so I can be close to his warmth, to his love. Spreading my arm across his body, I say, “You go do what you have to. I’m good here.”

  His strong arm comes around me. “You are far from good, angel. I won’t be long at the clubhouse. Maybe you could facetime with your mum while I’m gone.”

 
; I’ve spoken with Mum once since the miscarriage, and I know I should talk to her again, but it all feels too hard. However, that’s not fair to her. She’s my mother and I know she’s hurting for me. “I will.” If I were a mother, I’d want to comfort my child as she went through this.

  Oh God.

  I’ll never be a mother.

  I’ll never have a child to comfort.

  I’ll never have a child to love.

  I grip Winter’s T-shirt as fresh tears slide down my cheeks. “Why?” The word rips from me, a jagged slice of emotion, and I sob into his chest as more words tear from me. “Why do we not get to have a child?”

  He hugs me tighter. Winter thinks he can protect me from anything, but he can’t. He can try all he likes, but he can never protect me from the harsh reality that I will never bear a child. I will never be a mother to my own flesh and blood.

  We lie together in silence for a long time. I think about the room we started preparing for our child. About the cot and the sheets and the blankets and everything else I bought to fill it with. But mostly I think about the love we filled that room with. The love we have for a child we will never have.

  I don’t think God is even a man anymore.

  He’s a monster.

  No God I love would ever allow me to hurt this much.

  “Birdie.” Winter’s voice sounds from the doorway.

  I stop what I’m doing and turn to him. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “What are you doing?”

  It’s pretty obvious what I’m doing: I’m dismantling the cot. But I know that’s not what he’s asking. He’s asking why I’m doing it four days after losing our baby. He went into the clubhouse today for the first time since my miscarriage. I wandered around the house, lost, after he left. The numbness I’ve had inside me since I discovered the blood in our bed refuses to leave. I’m not sure it ever will. I felt it more keenly without Winter home and spent hours crying. When I managed to stop the tears, I found myself in here with a burning need to get rid of this cot.

  “We don’t need this anymore,” I say.

  “Yeah, but you could have left it for me.”

  “Why? Why should you have to do all the shitty jobs? That’s not fair to you.” He’s been taking care of all the shitty jobs for seven long years; it’s time I handled something for him.

  He moves closer to me. “What’s going on, angel?”

  “Nothing’s going on; I just want to get this out of here. It’s time for us to start our new life.”

  “Fuck, baby.” His eyes flash with concern. “It’s been four days. There’s no need to rush shit.”

  I exhale a long breath. “I’m exhausted by it all. You are too. I just want it all out of our lives.”

  “It all?”

  I throw my arms up. “All this baby stuff. All the IVF stuff. All of it! We’re done. We agreed this was our last shot. It failed. Let’s move the fuck on.”

  The concern in his eyes intensifies. He probably thinks I’ve finally lost my ever-loving mind. I might have; who the fuck knows anymore. The only thing I know for sure is that I’m finally done with IVF. I can’t go through this again and neither can Winter. He’s as broken as I am, and I hate seeing him so devastated.

  He pulls me to him. “Don’t you think we should talk about this some more?”

  “What’s left to say?”

  “You always have a lot to say.”

  “I have zero words left on this topic. I’m all the fuck talked out.”

  “You’re angry and sad and defeated, angel, but I guarantee you, you’re not all the fuck talked out.”

  “I am. Trust me. I fucking am.”

  “Talk to me, Birdie. Throw your hurt out.”

  “I don’t want to throw it at you. You don’t deserve it.”

  “I’m not saying to direct it at me. I’m just saying get it out. With me.” When I stare at him in silence, he pushes, “Do you think it’s fair that we did seven fucking years of IVF to end up with nothing? Do you think it’s fair we lost this baby just after we lost Max? Do you think it’s fair you had to endure ten fucking rounds of IVF with all those needles and tests and fucking scans? All those moods? All the fights we had because of all that shit? Because I fucking don’t.”

  The ugly words he speaks coil through my mind and body, dragging up all the hurt I’ve shoved down deep over the years. So much fucking hurt. And anger. And bitter, crushing disappointment. These emotions and feelings flood my veins until I can no longer contain them.

  Pushing away from him, I yell, “I hate everything we had to go through! All of it! I hate that I injected my body with God knows what chemicals. I hate that my body failed us. I hate that I subjected you to all my moods. I hate that I don’t get a baby even after giving up so much.” I reach for him again as tears stream down my face. “I hate that you don’t get a baby when you did nothing wrong. I hate watching you go through all of this. Oh, God”—my voice cracks—“I hate all of this for you.”

  I bury my face in his chest. His strong arms circle me and he holds me tightly while I sob.

  It takes me a long time to get all my tears out. Winter doesn’t let me go; he waits it out with me.

  When I finally gather myself, I look up at him. Touching my hand to his face, I say, “I hate that we can’t do it all over again and try one last time, but I know we won’t survive it if we do, so I choose you.”

  I’ve never seen Winter cry. Not once. He doesn’t cry now, but I know he feels his emotions stronger than ever by the way he’s looking at me. He looks destroyed. Ruined. And when he speaks, I hear the utter brokenness in his soul. “I choose you, too.”

  28

  Winter

  * * *

  Four Months Later

  * * *

  “What time will you be home tonight?” Birdie asks as I put my phone between my shoulder and my ear so I can listen to her while I load guns into the van. Ransom and I are moving them from the storage warehouse to the clubhouse this afternoon. I want a stockpile there in case we need them in a hurry.

  “I’m not sure. It’ll probably be late.” I lost four club members last night to Zenith; I’ve got a lot going on.

  “Yeah, I figured. I’ve got a lot of work to take home and catch up on, so I was thinking we could maybe just order dinner in. Do you want me to order you anything or will you just get something yourself?”

  “Don’t get me any. I’ll sort myself out.”

  “Okay, baby. I’ll talk to you later.”

  We end the call and I concentrate on what I’m doing.

  “How many more?” Ransom asks as we half fill the van.

  “This’ll do for now.” A text comes through and I check my phone.

  * * *

  Axe: We’ve finished going through the data on the phones.

  Me: I’ll be back at the clubhouse soon.

  * * *

  Last night, two men hired by Zenith broke into the clubhouse, killing four club members and shooting King. Fury and King fought them off and killed them, leaving us with their phones to go through. Axe and Griff hacked into the phones and discovered information relating to what Zenith has been up to. They shared some of that information last night and have spent today combing through the rest of the data on the phones. I’m hopeful there might be something useful, because since they reappeared in Melbourne just over seven weeks ago, they’ve delivered hell to our club.

  Ransom and I finish at the warehouse and make the drive back to the clubhouse. When we arrive, we direct Striker and Memphis to unload the guns while we head into the surveillance room to talk with Axe.

  “These guys weren’t just hitmen hired by Zenith recently,” Axe says once King and Griff join us. “They were hired months ago and then joined the gang as members, and they were in deep with a guy who we think must be either the leader or the second-in-command, Leif Jensen. The data we found detailed a lot of emails back and forth.”

  “So we have a name now,” I say, f
ucking happy about that.

  Axe nods. “Yeah. I’ve got Zane running checks on him. We should have that information in the next few hours.” He looks between us. “Zenith got into bed with Hagarty about three months ago. He was funding them because he wanted King taken down. He then brought Stark on board from what we can tell. Zenith paid her good money to clean their shit up. It also appears she was on Hagarty’s payroll. However, Hagarty recently pissed Zenith off when he refused to cough up as much cash as they wanted, and Stark pissed them off when she wouldn’t agree to cover up something for them, so that’s why the gang took them both out.”

  It surprises me that Hagarty and Stark were working together. She wanted him off the streets years ago. It doesn’t surprise me, though, that he got into bed with Zenith. “And what do we know about them setting up in Brisbane?” I ask.

  “Not much,” Axe says. “Just that they’ve moved all their men to Brisbane. I couldn’t find anything to confirm they’ve shut down their operations here, though.”

  “I’ll call Cole and let him know,” I say.

  “Yeah,” Axe agrees. “And Zane is tracking all the chatter there. He’ll let us know if anything comes up.”

  King steps in. “What was on the phones about Moses?” The baby born to a Sydney club member fifteen years ago who disappeared. The baby the feds have been trying to pin the disappearance of on King.

  “His name popped up in emails between Stark and Leif. She wanted him to pay a visit to a woman by the name of Eloise Carter. That ring any bells?”

  King contemplates that but shakes his head. “No. I’ll run it by Hyde and see what he knows.”

  Axe directs his attention to me after King steps out of the room to make the call to Hyde. “I’ve started going deeper through your members’ personal lives and am listening in on their calls.”