by Amity Cross
“I, uh…” It was his turn to stumble over his words. “I live in the neighborhood,” he finally offered.
“You live around here?” I asked. “The rent must be killer.”
His eyes darted to the side. “It’s nothing special.”
“Was that how…” I glanced at my hands.
“I was on my way home,” he said. “I don’t know why I did it… Why I went in there.”
“I’m glad you did.” I raised my head and met his gaze. I could melt in those eyes.
“You bake cakes?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“You’ve always wanted to do that?”
“Always. There’s something about mixing all those ingredients, you know? Creating something new, something tasty. Cakes are a celebration. They make people happy.”
“You seem driven,” he commented. “That’s a good thing.”
“I suppose.”
“You don’t think so?” He started picking at the label on his beer again.
“I’ve sacrificed a lot,” I replied, watching his fingers. “It takes time and capital to open a shop, especially in the food business. There’s a lot of red tape. I’ve let a lot of things fall by the wayside. Travel, friends…relationships.”
His lips quirked, and I bit the inside of my cheek. That was the first hint of a smile he’d given me, and man, oh man…
“So, no boyfriend?” he asked, making my insides flutter.
I shook my head, and his smile widened even further. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but I leapt headfirst into the biggest one of all. Did he…like me?
“You?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
“It’s a long story.” He glanced away, the shutters slamming shut—not that they were open every far in the first place.
“What do you do…for, uh, work?” I asked lamely.
“Nothing special.” He shrugged and wrapped his hand around his beer. I watched as he lifted the bottle to his lips and sipped. When he set the bottle down, he studied my features, his gaze lingering on my lips. Or at least, I thought that was what happened.
Was it my imagination running wild again? Something passed between us, and it was almost heavy enough for me to reach out and grasp it.
He checked his watch, and I squashed down a pang of jealousy. Totally my imagination.
He had a whole life outside of me, the woman who was still a stranger to him. He had people and friends and a job, not to mention the string of women he was probably dating. He’d said he was single, but that didn’t mean he didn’t already have half of Melbourne on speed dial.
“Do you have somewhere to be?” I asked a little too sharply.
His eyebrow quirked. “I have a commitment I need to honor.”
I scowled and reached for my drink. Rather than question him further, I downed the rest of my gin and tonic. He probably had a hole he needed to honor with his cock.
“Where do you live?” he asked.
“Northcote,” I replied. “I can get the tram pretty much all the way.”
“I can wait with you if you like.”
“Yeah,” I said with a smile, my jealousy toning down some. “I’d like that.”
Gathering my handbag, we left the bar, Mark holding the door open for me. We crossed the street between the cars that were banked up in traffic and walked down the block to the tram stop.
Standing side by side, we fell into another awkward silence. There was so much I wanted to say, but I couldn’t find the words. I wasn’t even sure if he would listen let alone give a stuff. He’d haunted every moment since the night of the fire, and now it was becoming increasingly like a first date from hell. There was a wall—that I suspected was of his making—and I hated it.
I could see the tram in the distance, rolling along the tracks at a snail’s pace behind the wall of traffic.
There was something there. I could feel it vibrating through my nerve endings. It couldn’t be one-sided. It just couldn’t.
“Can I see you again?” I asked, glancing at him.
Mark tensed slightly, hesitation written all over his face.
“Listen, Callie—” he began, but I shook my head.
“Don’t say it,” I interrupted, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Just say ‘It was nice to meet you, and I’ll see you around.’ Just say that, okay?”
His brow creased, and his gaze fell. “It was nice to meet you. I’ll see you around.”
The sound of the tram door squealing open was my signal. Turning, I hightailed it out of there, knowing the chances of seeing him again were slim to none. It didn’t bode well for me because the mystery surrounding his sad eyes had only deepened. Then there was the matter of my heart. My stupid, fickle heart.
Swiping my card against the reader, I moved down the tram and found a seat by the window. As the doors shut and we began to move, I didn’t have the courage to look up to see if he’d waited to see me off or had left the moment I’d turned around.
I didn’t have the strength to take another blow like that.
Sinking back into my seat, I knew when I got home, I was going to dream about him again. And this time, it would be dirty as hell.
8
Storm
I watched the tram begin to move, carrying Callie with it.
She was sitting by the window, her face angled away. She didn’t look back, and I didn’t blame her. I’d avoided answering every question she’d thrown at me while she’d given hers freely. I was such an asshole.
I shouldn’t have gone, but I just couldn’t help myself. I’d watched her through the window of the bar as she’d waited, checking her phone over and over, her hopeful gaze lifting to the door every time it opened. I’d watched, battling with myself. Should I go in, or should I leave her there?
After a while, the pull of her mysterious green eyes had reeled me in, and it was all I could do not to beg her forgiveness there and then. It was all pre-emptive, after all.
Callie Winslow with her cake shop. Single, pretty Callie Winslow with her flushed cheeks and pink lips.
She was beautiful, intelligent, curious, and her awkwardness was enamoring after the kind of women I’d been with before her. She was nothing like the bitches who hung around The Underground looking to bag themselves a fighter. She’d asked questions and fought back, not afraid to walk away when I was a complete dick to her. She wasn’t dying to impress me so she could get a free ride. She’d worked hard for her dreams, and it sounded like she’d sacrificed a lot to get to where she was.
Turning, I strode down the side street and made my way back to my apartment. The same apartment I’d paid for with money I’d won from illegal cage fights. I didn’t rent here. I owned.
A row of lock-up garages sat below the warehouse styled building, and I pressed the fob in my jeans pocket. The door closest to me began to rise, revealing my motorcycle. It was a Yamaha V Star Custom that I’d won in a bet with a guy at The Underground six months ago. The bet being, if I could put down the guy in my next fight in less than two minutes, I would get the bike. If not, I had to help him out with ‘a problem.’
Obviously, I’d won the bike, and whatever the guy’s ‘problem’ was, it was no business of mine. The motorcycle was slick as.
Grabbing my jacket from the seat, I shrugged it on and reached for my helmet. When I’d told Callie I had a commitment I needed keep, I wasn’t lying. I hadn’t lied to her at all if I wanted to get technical about it, but I hadn’t exactly been the life of the party she’d been expecting. It was written all over her face. She’d climbed onto that tram fighting back tears.
I’d disappointed her.
Still, I fell back on the same reasoning I’d been beating myself with since the fire. I didn’t want to mess up the good thing she had going with her shop. If it got out she’d been saved by me, her life would be turned upside down by association.
Keep t
elling yourself that, Storm.
Kicking the motorcycle to life, I pulled out onto the street and waited for the garage door to roll back into place. Once it dropped, I roared down the street, the engine I’d spent hours tinkering with echoing loudly. Boys with their loud-ass toys? It was all about flaunting the size of your cock.
When I arrived at the warehouse in Abbotsford, I parked near the entrance and strode inside. Time to honor my commitments.
Nothing ever changed at The Underground. Faces came and went from time to time for whatever reason—retirement or a cosmetic rearrangement in the cage—but the atmosphere didn’t alter. People drank, gambled, fought, and fucked to their heart’s content. Their reasons, like mine, were their own.
Pushing out into the fighter-only area, I went into the men’s change room to dump my stuff.
“Guess I don’t have a fight tonight, after all,” I heard Hamish say behind me. “We all know Storm’s goin’ to withdraw.”
Turning, I scanned the lineup sheet pinned on the wall of the men’s change rooms. I’d been paired with Goblin again. It was an omen.
“Don’t let your hate get the best of you, ginger,” I said, curling my lip.
Walking away, I opened my locker and threw my jacket and keys inside.
“What, you’re not forfeitin’ tonight?” Hamish called out after me.
Ignoring him, I undid all the buttons on my shirt, shrugged it off, and flung it into my locker, as well.
“I’m talkin’ to you, Storm.”
“Yeah, well I’m not replying.”
He slammed his palm down on the locker next to mine.
Rolling my eyes, I said, “You’ve always wanted to beat my ass, Ginger, so here’s your chance. Make your girl proud.”
“You don’t make things easy for yourself, you know that?”
“Isn’t that what you want?” I retorted. “Don’t let my smart ass bother you.” My prickly exterior did wonders keeping people like him away…and stunning women like Callie. One was a welcome relief and the other not so much.
Dropping my jeans, I changed into my shorts, not bothering to glance up when Hamish finally stalked off. Our bout was the second of the night, and we would be called up soon.
Wrapping my hands, I found myself thinking about Callie instead of mentally preparing myself to face off with Goblin. What was the point? I already knew the ending to our story before it began. If I pursued her, I would wind up breaking her heart just like I’d broken Lori’s heart. I didn’t deserve kindness, and I especially didn’t deserve to be loved by a woman like Callie Winslow.
She couldn’t want me like that anyway. The fire had brought us together in an unexplainable moment, but that was it. Beyond that, we were doomed. Callie would go on with her shop and become a raging success while I stagnated in the prison of my own making.
“Storm. Goblin. You’re up.”
Flexing my fingers, I ignored all the eyes plastered on my back and followed the referee out into the warehouse. In the cage, we were being announced to the crowd, and no fucking surprises when I received nothing but boos as I walked through the gate to toe my line.
“Can you feel the love, Storm?” Hamish smirked and rolled his head from side to side.
Remaining silent, I raised my fists, ready to get this shitshow started, and when the referee lowered his arm between us, I launched myself at Goblin. My fist collided with the side of his jaw, and he blinked, shocked I’d managed to hit him so early in the game.
He recovered quickly, bringing his knee up into my stomach. The blow caused me to double over, and some of the air was forced out of my lungs. I wheezed, dodging to the side as his fist flew up from below. His knuckles grazed my cheek, and I rammed my shoulder into his ribs, forcing his ginger ass back into the cage.
We collided with a bang, the entire structure rattling, and the crowd booed and hissed. Hamish slammed his elbows down onto my shoulders, then punched at my head, trying to break free. Loosening my right arm, I rammed my fist into his stomach.
Then his elbow collided with the side of my face, the bone jamming into my eye, and I slackened. It was the chance Hamish was hoping for. He slipped free of my grapple and was on me in a flash.
I saw his fist coming, and I knew the right move to block—putting my forearms in the line of fire to protect my face—but I didn’t raise my arms. I took the hit to the side of my head, his knuckles grazing the corner of my eye socket, and I stumbled.
The crowd cheered and rattled the cage as I recovered, but I knew their cries weren’t for me. I was the villain in this story, and Goblin was the righteous hero.
As I twisted to the side to avoid another punch, I felt blood trickling down my face from an open cut in my eyebrow. My head swam, and I fought to hold my balance as Goblin kicked. His foot hooked through the middle of my legs, and before I knew it, I was landing on my side, my shoulder jarring painfully on the concrete. Luckily, it didn’t pop out of the joint. Otherwise, I would be down for six weeks with no cash flow.
Too stunned to move out of the way, I took another fist to the head as Goblin tried to knock me out, but like the stubborn asshole I was, I held on.
“Tap, Storm,” he was saying. “Stop trying to be the hero, and just admit it. You’re done.”
“What if I don’t want to?” I tasted blood on my tongue.
“You got a death wish?” He hit me again.
Maybe I did.
He raised his fist and hesitated. I didn’t move. I didn’t do anything. That was when the referee stepped in, dragging Hamish off me and declaring him the winner.
I didn’t hear the crowd cheering, I didn’t hear the boos directed my way, I didn’t even register when the cage door opened and someone pulled me to my feet, and I definitely didn’t register the light shining into my eyes. My pupils were reactive, I wasn’t brain dead, but I felt like I deserved it.
Shaking off the unfamiliar hands, I strode from the cage, my head spinning. People parted to let me through as I swiped at the blood pouring from my face. Out back, I stumbled, and my shoulder hit the wall.
Breathing deeply, my ears rang as the effect of the beating I’d just taken began to take hold. If I didn’t pass out, I was going to puke. Blood was all over my hands and was dripping onto my chest. Watching a couple of drops splatter on the polished concrete under my feet, I didn’t hear the door open behind me even though beyond it, The Underground was blasting with noise.
“Hey!”
Someone grabbed my shoulder and turned me around. Hamish.
“Come back for more?” I drawled.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked, his stupid Irish face hardly had a scratch on it. “You didn’t even try.”
“You want to know why I never fight you, ginger?” I said, snarling.
His lip curled. “This oughta be good.”
“Because I made a promise to Lori,” I declared, the vein in my forehead twitching.
Hamish’s expression darkened, and he shoved me back against the wall. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”
“A year ago, when you were too busy pushing her away, I went and saw her.”
The fighter’s eyes narrowed. He was an inch away from punching my face in for the second time that night. This time, all it would take was a little slap around the mouth, and he would drop me like a stone.
“What we talked about is none of your fucking business,” I went on. “But I promised her I would leave her alone, and she would never have to see me again. Letting you fight me? It would pull me back into her world. I may be a total dick, but there was no way I was going to hurt her again.”
“Then why did you just fight me, Storm?” he said with a snarl.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I could do with a little punishment. Like hell, I was telling him that.
“You never deserved her,” he said, his eyes darkening.
“Yeah, but the way you’re acting right now? She doesn’t deserve that, either. I can only hop
e you cut the crap when you go home to her.”
“You don’t know anythin’ about us, Storm, so shut your mouth.”
“You’re right,” I said to the Irishman. “I don’t know.”
Hamish blanched and leaned back slightly. That was the last thing he’d expected to come out of my mouth, but I was so done with keeping my mouth shut. Being the local punching bag had worn so thin it was translucent.
“I’ve kept my head down,” I went on, anger rising thick and fast. “I’ve pushed everyone away. I punish myself for my stupid-ass mistakes every fucking day. I can’t go pro. I can’t get a real fucking job, and my name means shit… Hell, I just let you fight me so you could finally shut the fuck up about how much of a twat I was to your girlfriend. What else do you want from me, Goblin? What the fuck else do you want?”
He stared at me, his expression changing so fast I wasn’t sure he knew what he wanted, either.
Finally, he said, “Get the fuck out of my face.” Stepping away, he strode down the hall and disappeared into the change room, leaving me leaning against the wall.
Wiping the back of my hand against the cut over my eyebrow, I didn’t even hiss when it stung. Glancing at the blood on my hand, I thought about Callie and her green eyes.
I shouldn’t have gone tonight. I could never live up to the hero she believed I was. Not when my past kept punching me the face.
My stomach rolled, and I barged into the change room. Ignoring the hushed whispers, I locked myself into a stall and immediately threw up.
It was nice to meet you. I’ll see you around.
9
Callie
Slamming the front door closed, I stomped into the kitchen and dumped my handbag onto the table.
“Uh-oh,” Macy said, leaning against the counter. “I don’t like the look on your face.”
“What are you doing home so early?” I asked. “I thought you were going to be out late.”
“Change of plans,” she replied, looking me over. “Everybody bailed at nine. Pussies.” She rolled her eyes. “For a bunch of highly strung accountants, you think they’d get blind drunk on a Friday after work, but no… They’re all in bed by nine thirty.”