by Amity Cross
17
Storm
After a week of staring at the walls in my apartment and showering with my arm wrapped in a plastic bag, I’d had just about enough.
Callie was everywhere I turned. She was the woman in the line in front of me at the supermarket. She was the woman I passed on the street. She was the woman inside a shop I passed. She was the woman at the gym. She was the woman in my dreams.
Fucking hell.
I’d messed up, and this time, despite trying my hardest, I cared. I actually cared, and to make matters worse, I didn’t know what to do about it. I couldn’t fight, I was limited to what I could do at the gym, I couldn’t ride my motorcycle, I couldn’t do anything. I’d even taken to avoiding Callie’s shop after I’d walked past the other day and saw a notice pinned to the window. The opening was in three weeks.
I was on my last legs. Grabbing my keys and jacket, I slammed the front door closed and strode out into the crisp autumn air. The sun was shining, but heavy gray clouds loomed in the distance. Throwing my coat on, I draped it over my left shoulder. I was still unable to wear it properly because of my cast and cursed every time it slid off.
Walking down Brunswick Street, I weaved through slow walkers and powered toward the city. When I reached Victoria Parade, instead of heading toward the CBD, I turned left. I walked and walked, not knowing where I was going, but my feet seemed to know the destination.
What was I supposed to do now? Losing Callie had hurt more than I knew it would, and everything after her seemed pointless. I couldn’t fight for at least another five weeks, I had no job prospects, no friends, no nothing. Where could I go? There was nobody who would listen to a washed-up arrogant son of a bitch like me. No one.
It took me the best part of an hour to walk from Fitzroy to Abbotsford. That was when I realized where my subconscious had led me. Pulse Fitness. My ex, Lori, worked there. I wasn’t sure if it was suffering from some kind of insane desperation or I was looking to prod at an open wound, but the death wish in me was strong today.
Pulse Fitness was like a mecca for fighters, but it was a heaven I was barred from. I wasn’t welcome here, and I knew it. I felt like I was knocking on the Pearly Gates, knowing the bouncers would come out at any moment and haul me back to the bowels of Hell where I belonged. Still, I was a moron in all senses of the word, so I stepped into the foyer.
I couldn’t go any further without a security tag, so I lingered like a desperate hanger-on. Staring through the window into the gym, I saw some familiar faces and curled my lip. Hamish fucking McBride was everywhere. He was going hard with some weights while in the background, I could see some fighters from the AUFC.
It was just another place I didn’t belong, and standing here made it even clearer. Mark Ryder, always on the outside looking in like a worthless piece of shit. They always told stories about your downfall but never about the bit that came after. The nothing.
I shouldn’t have come here.
Turning, I stumbled slightly as I came face-to-face with Lori Walker. The stunning, blue haired, tattooed knockout I was foolish enough to cheat on. And foolish enough to come and see.
She looked really good. Her hair was still her trademark shade of cobalt, and I wondered if all her towels were still stained. It looked cool, but the dye used to rub off on everything, not to mention the bottom of the shower. Her arms seemed more colorful than I remembered. Had she gotten more tattoos to add to her collection?
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, staring me right in the eye.
She was pissed and had every right to be. In a moment of desperation, I’d broken my promise, and my hole just got deeper and deeper.
When I didn’t reply, she rolled her eyes. “If you’re here for money, I don’t have any. And if you’re here for sex, you can forget about your balls because I’ve got a dozen fighters in there that’ll rip them off before you even get close.”
“No, it’s not like that…” I scowled and shook my head. Forever making mistakes. Turning, I muttered, “Forget about it.”
“Wait, Storm…”
“I shouldn’t have come here,” I said, reaching for the door.
“Storm.”
I glanced at Lori over my shoulder. I was such a bastard even when I was trying to do the right thing. I had nobody, and whose fault was that? Mine.
“What’s wrong?” Her gaze fell on my arm and back up again.
I did what I did best and remained silent. That way, my mouth wouldn’t get me into trouble.
“You broke your arm,” she stated as I turned to face her.
“Hamish took me to the hospital,” I said. When her eyes narrowed, I snorted. “He didn’t tell you.”
“No.”
“I’m not surprised,” I drawled, falling back on old habits. “Ginger always knows how to play his cards.”
“Stop it,” Lori said, snarling. “Just stop it, Storm.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop covering up your pain like that.” She shook her head. “It’s not helping anyone.”
“So?”
“So?” she scoffed. “That’s a flat-out lie, and you know it. You wouldn’t have come here if… Why did you come here?”
I shrugged. I was beginning to wonder myself.
“Does it have something to do with that fire?” She watched my reaction closely, and when I scowled, she added, “It must be hard having all that shit dragged up again. I’m sorry.”
“What? You’re not going to accuse me of staging it?” I cradled my arm against my stomach. “I could have used it to get back into the UFC’s good graces or at least tried for the AUFC.”
“The two most important words in that tirade was could have.”
Lori sighed, pushing a strand of blue hair behind her ear. Just like Callie did. At the thought of her, my pain seemed to intensify. My arm throbbed, and I felt like I was going to have a heart attack. I stared at Lori as the foyer seemed to shrink, and the noise from the gym dulled.
“This is about something more, isn’t it?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.
I didn’t say anything.
“You know, it’s infuriating when you do that.”
“So I’m told,” I drawled.
“What’s happened to you?” she murmured. “When you came to see me that day… When you told me the truth…” She sighed and glanced away. “I thought you would be okay, but it seems like the opposite happened.”
“I suppose it did.”
“That woman in America…” she said. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course, it does,” she exclaimed. “The woman you saved from the fire…”
“Don’t,” I snapped.
“You care about her, don’t you?”
“I said don’t.” My hackles rose, and I felt like storming out of there and never coming back, but I was stuck to the spot. Maybe deep down, I wanted her help, and that was why I came here in the first place. Or maybe I wanted to see what her life was like after dumping me because that would be Callie…getting on with shit without me. Her life was better without me in it.
“You know, I can read you like an open book,” Lori stated. “She found out before you could tell her, and you didn’t stick up for yourself. You’re still punishing yourself for no good reason. You’ve isolated yourself, and for what? Yeah, you hurt me, but you made amends. I forgave you. And that other thing… It wasn’t your fault.” She took a step closer and inspected the cast on my arm. “You made mistakes, Storm. You’re human. The difference now? You know you did, and you made up for it, but pushing everyone away, being hostile and believing you’re the bad guy? You’re wrong.”
“I’m not,” I said, my throat tight.
“Fuck, you’re such a dumbass,” she cursed. “You deserve to be happy, Storm. If you care about her, go tell her the truth. Fight.”
I stared at her, not believing the shit that was coming out of her mouth. After the a
wful things I’d done to her, here she was telling me I deserved to be loved? She was on crack.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” I said, turning toward the door. “I’m sorry I broke my promise.”
“Storm!”
She called out after me, but I didn’t want to hear any more bullshit. I was done. I had to forget about Lori Walker, Callie Winslow, and whoever else wanted on the list. I had to forget and move on. Maybe I should move to another city, but what would I do for money, then? Oh, yeah, with my newfound hero title, finding work would be a breeze. What would Callie say about me, then? I won’t be anyone’s stepping-stone.
I stormed outside and kept walking. Lori didn’t follow.
I deserved to be loved? Fat fucking chance.
18
Callie
The heartbreak Twister cake went viral. Not in a salmonella poisoning way, but an Internet sensation way.
It was kinda ironic. The story of Mark and the fire had exploded after that first article, and as a result, interest in my cakes and the shop opening was a hot topic. I’d accused him of using my near-death experience as a stepping-stone, and here I was profiting off it as well.
There was nothing I could do to stop it, no matter how hard I tried to fend off messages and comments about the asshole Mark Ryder and his shady past. Once the train had left the station, someone had severed the breaks. I’d complained for years about my mediocre, lonely life, and now that something was happening, I wanted to get off the roller coaster. Stat. This was not how I wanted to be discovered.
So, when I got a message from Justin the firefighter asking me out for a drink, I immediately replied with a yes. Justin…well, he was normal. I needed normal. Normal was the antidote to drama, right?
We met at a bar on Brunswick Street the following Thursday. It was exactly a month after the fire and two weeks after the article about Mark broke. Which meant, it was two whole weeks since I’d seen the fighter. Our whirlwind romance had blown the roofs off the neighborhood, and now the cleanup was in progress. It was a strange notion when destruction only took seconds while the aftermath could take years to deal with. What a pain in the ass.
Justin arrived before me. He was sitting on a stool at the bar, watching the door anxiously, and when I arrived, he stood and smiled from ear to ear.
“You look beautiful,” he said, raking his gaze over me.
“Thanks.” I flushed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I was doing the awkward thing. Mark had said I did it when I was into someone, but I was beginning to believe it was a symptom of being the center of attention.
“What are you drinking?” Justin asked.
“Gin and tonic.”
I stood beside him, giving him the once-over as he placed an order with the bartender. Justin scrubbed up nice out of uniform. He was wearing a tight pair of blue jeans with his boots tucked underneath. His black shirt was buttoned up to the collar, and the arms were rolled down all the way. His hair was artfully messy. The kind of rough and ready look that probably took a good fifteen minutes to arrange each strand just so. And he was clean-shaven. Everything about him was the opposite of Mark.
Paying for our drinks, he picked them up as we scoured the little bar for a spot to sit. Finding a table among the crowd, we sat opposite one another. I perched awkwardly in the corner, nursing my bag on my lap.
“How’s the shop coming along?” Justin asked, attempting to get the conversation started.
“Good. They should be ready to start the fit out soon.”
“So back on track?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “It’s almost back to the point I was at before the fire. I just need my oven and a fridge or two installed, and I can start using the kitchen again.”
“That’s great,” he said with a smile. “I often pass by and see tradies working in there. How are you after the fire? Have you been feeling okay?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I was fine after a little oxygen. No sweat.” Apart from a few nightmares. I didn’t add that last part on account of not knowing the guy. Best way to put a dampener on a first date was to talk about the dreams where you were being burned alive. That would go down a treat.
“You ended up finding the guy?” Justin asked, bringing up the inevitable.
“Yeah. Before it was in the papers,” I replied with a shrug. “I didn’t exactly know.”
“Of course, you didn’t,” Justin said with a reassuring smile. “No one did. He hasn’t given you any trouble, has he?”
“No.” I eyed him warily, sensing he wanted to go in to bat for me. It was a little too much, too soon. Calm down, I thought to myself.
I swirled the straw around in my drink, the ice cubes clinking against each other, then I stabbed the slice of lime repeatedly.
“That cake you posted online is amazing, by the way,” Justin said, attempting to change the subject.
“Thanks.”
“I don’t know how you come up with your ideas, but it looks complicated.”
“It’s not really,” I said. “It’s just chocolate sponge with a boysenberry jam filling. Then fairy floss and lots of icing and lollies.”
“You lost me at sponge.” He flashed me a dazzling smile.
“So how long have you been a firefighter?”
“Five years,” he said, his face lighting up. “It’s a really difficult selection process. There’s a written exam, a fitness test, medical, psychological evaluations…”
He began to rattle off his life history in the Melbourne Fire Brigade, and I stared blankly at him, nodding and smiling at the right intervals. He was nice even though he was a one-dimensional guy, so why did I feel so disappointed? The moment I left, I had the odd feeling running up and down my spine that I would burst into tears.
Deep down, I knew nothing would come of Justin and me. Nothing at all. When I looked at him, I didn’t feel the spark I’d felt when I looked at Mark. When he spoke, my thoughts drifted away, and when he asked me a question, it was an effort to answer. I was such a bitch.
Glancing at my phone, I saw it was ten p.m.
“I’ve got to get going,” I said, showing Justin the screen. “It’s getting late, and I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”
“Shoot,” he said. “Me, too. I lost track there.” He smiled again and pushed his chair back. Holding out his hand, he helped me to my feet like a gentleman. “Can I give you a ride home?”
“Uh… I’m not far. I have to make a stop on the way, anyway,” I replied, deftly dodging his attempts at getting me alone. He would try to kiss me, and I would have to let him down. I just couldn’t do it.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded.
“Well, I’ll see you then?” He raised his eyebrows hopefully.
“Sure,” I replied as we walked through the bar and out onto the street. Damn, he even held the door open for me. Why couldn’t my bits zing for him? He was hot, sweet, and all the things a girl could ever want in a guy. What was the problem?
We hugged goodbye and parted ways, and the date was over.
Walking down Brunswick Street, my shoulders sagged. There had to be something wrong with me.
Standing outside my shop, I smiled when I saw the signs had been put up in the windows. The glass was still blocked out with newspaper, but the gold decals were in place. The Fitzroy Cake Company was that much closer to becoming a reality, and for the first time since the fire, my heart began to race with excitement.
Grabbing my keys from the bottom of my bag, I unlocked the door and stepped inside. Darting behind the counter, I flicked on the light switches and took a deep breath. It was exactly as I’d envisioned it. Better, actually.
All that was missing was the shop fixtures. The counters, the shelving, display cabinets, tables, and chairs. And out in the kitchen, the ovens, fridges, and appliances were yet to be delivered. Then once the doors opened, it was time to start paying back my business loan.
I was on the downward slope of the speed b
ump. The one and only decline I was grateful to ride. This was the tipping point. The last month was an ugly pimple between my eyes, and now it had popped. This was it. Finally.
Turning, I envisioned the place where I would put the Twister-themed cake. Maybe I could do a special display every month and make a feature out of it. Spinning around, I could see the display cases lit up and stuffed full of colorful cupcakes and macaroons. Mix and match, pick and mix, twenty different flavors. Christmas-themed cinnamon spice, pumpkins at Halloween, mangos in summer, sparkles at New Year’s, rainbows for Gay Pride.
Turning, my elation popped and fizzed, then died completely as I came face-to-face with Mark ‘Storm’ Ryder. He stood inside my shop, his jacket half hanging off, his left arm in a cast, looking like a lost puppy that had been fossicking through a dumpster.
I opened my mouth, but he beat me to it.
“Before you get that restraining order, you need to know one thing.” He stared at me, his brow furrowed. “It was a lie.”
“What?” My gaze fell to the cast and back up again. I didn’t understand.
“What happened with that woman in America. It was a fabrication. I’ve never raised my hand to a woman in my life.”
“How am I supposed to believe that?” I asked. “Am I just supposed to take your word for it?”
“What would you like me to say?” he asked. “I wasn’t the first person she conned. It was her word against mine, and the evidence was stacked against me. A few photographs, a few tears, and all of a sudden, she was a hundred thousand dollars richer, and I was broke. She didn’t care what happened to me. I was destroyed. My reputation, my career, everything. I can’t even get a minimum wage factory job.”
It was my turn to stare at him. It was the most I’d ever heard Mark speak in back-to-back sentences, and I wasn’t sure how to take it. Those sad eyes that had haunted me the night of the fire were back and in full force. Was this his version of broken? Was this his truth? I didn’t know.
“Callie, I would never hurt you,” he went on. “I’m fucked up, but I would never hurt you like that.”