by Amity Cross
“Fairy floss?” Macy suggested.
“Genius!” It was dense enough to cover the insides, and I could use little bamboo skewers to pin the flying debris up and down the twister. Best.
Dropping everything, I threw open the cupboard doors searching for the fairy floss maker I got for Christmas one year. It was a cheap little thing, but it could crank out the floss like nothing else and was better than trying to do it in a saucepan.
“Are you okay?” Macy asked, watching me closely.
“I’m fine.”
“The last time I saw the kitchen like this—”
“I’m fine,” I said, hauling the appliance out of the cupboard over the fridge.
“That story in the papers…” she went on, looking sheepish.
“I can’t think about that.” I dumped the fairy floss maker on the last empty spot on the table. “The shop is weeks away from opening, I’ve got this cake, I need to keep my staff informed and busy, and there’s just too much to do.”
“You always do this,” she complained.
“Do what?” Now, what ingredients did I need? Sugar, corn syrup, water, and a little pinch of salt.
“Throw yourself into your baking when you don’t want to face something.”
I placed my palms down on the table and closed my eyes. Saying a little prayer, I glanced at my housemate. “I did face it. I faced it the other night.”
“What do you mean?” She frowned and sank down into a chair.
“Mark came by the shop when I was cleaning out the damaged stock.”
Her mouth fell open. “And?”
“And I gave him a chance to explain, and he didn’t say anything.” I rolled my eyes, totally over the whole thing. “He just stood there. Completely silent. Saying nothing.”
Macy worried her bottom lip, and her fingers began pulling the hem of her blouse. When she got that look, I knew something was up. The last time I’d seen it was when she accidentally threw out the tiny container of gold foil I’d bought for a client’s wedding cake. It was actual gold, too. The edible kind. She felt awful for weeks.
“Macy…” I said, narrowing my eyes.
“I said I thought I knew him from someplace,” she blurted. “It came to me later, so we Googled it, and I mentioned it to Kevin…”
“You squealed to Merritt?” I exclaimed. “He’s a fucking journalist, Macy! Did you even stop to think I mightn’t want my name splashed all over the papers? Especially after finding out the man I’ve fallen for was convicted of assault against a woman. Fuck!” With a frustrated cry, I grabbed a knife and brought it down on one of my marzipan cows, severing it in half.
“You fell for him? Seriously?”
“Dodged a bullet,” I muttered.
“Callie… I didn’t realize…”
“It’s a good thing you didn’t,” I replied. “I could’ve found out later in a worse way.”
“But…”
“But what?”
“Do you think it’s true?” she asked, looking agonized. “Do you think he really did those things?”
“How are you doubting it when you’ve never met the guy?” I retorted. “I met him all night long, you know.”
“Did he give you any indication that… You know.”
“That he might be a violent asshole? Not at first.”
Macy tilted her head to the side.
“He showed up to our last date with a split eyebrow and a black eye,” I explained, sitting across from her at the table. “He told me he’s a fighter.”
“Yeah, he was in the UFC. Ultimate Fighting. It’s a rough sport.”
“He was banned,” I replied. “He said he’s involved in illegal cage fights now. He warned me…” I shook my head. He’d wanted to remain anonymous for a reason. Was that just a story he’d told me, or was it the truth? Did he want to get back into the UFC, or did he really not want people to know about his past?
Nobody wants to listen. They just want to point fingers and blame. His words echoed in my mind with startling clarity. Something about his story bothered me. His inability to stand up for himself, his evasiveness, his blatant disregard for his own safety… Something wasn’t adding up, but it didn’t erase the fact that he’d purposely lied to me. Call me old-fashioned, but sleeping with someone actually meant something more to me than a good time.
Standing, I tapped my fingers lightly on top of the chocolate cake I’d taken out of the oven earlier. It had cooled enough for me to tip it out of the pan.
“Maybe you’re right,” Macy said. “Are you mad at me?”
Sighing, I tipped the pan upside down, and the sponge slid right out. Perfect.
“Maybe you should’ve told me first before running your mouth off to Merritt,” I said. “But I can’t stay mad at you. You know I can’t.”
“I’m really sorry. You seemed really into him.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, grabbing a knife and slicing the chocolate sponge. “I really was.”
That night, after I’d finally dragged myself to bed and my cake was complete, I started dreaming of fire again.
This time, Mark didn’t come, and I lay on the storeroom floor as flames licked at my body, searing and melting me alive.
Jerking awake with a cry, I began to sob, my hands batting at imaginary flames. My blankets were tangled, and sweat covered my body, sticking my nightie to my skin.
The light flicked on, and Macy appeared in the bedroom door. “Callie? Are you all right?” When she saw me in hysterics, she ran over, flopped onto the bed, and wrapped her arms around me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, wiping at my tears. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Don’t be,” she replied, drawing back. “Did you have a dream?”
“I was on fire… I was…” I hiccuped and rubbed my palms over my arms. “He left me…”
She sighed, lost for words, and hugged me again.
“If it’s so wrong, why do I feel like shit?” I blurted, realizing I hadn’t cried once over Mark’s betrayal. I’d forced it down ever since I found out, and even more since he’d come by the shop, and still, I hadn’t let go.
“Because you cared about him,” Macy replied. “He saved your life, Callie. That’s gotta leave some kind of mark.”
“I wanted him to be the one so badly…” I muttered. “I’m tired of being alone, Mace. I’m so tired…”
“It’ll happen one day.”
“What if it doesn’t?” I argued. “What if this is as good as it gets?”
“Then it’s pretty good,” she retorted. “You’ve got your shop, your friends, and you’ve got your success. Not everyone gets to do what they love for a living. You’re lucky.”
I nodded, my heart still feeling heavy. I knew I should be happy. All of those things were great, and life had dealt me a good hand, but something was missing. I didn’t feel complete. The maw inside me yawned, and I began to ache.
I wanted Mark to be the one so badly… I had terrible taste in saviors, not to mention men in general. Just my luck.
“Will you be okay? Or do you want me to stay a little longer?” Macy asked.
“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “I’ll be okay.”
“Well, okay. Wake me if you need me.” She gave me one last hug and left, turning off the light as she went.
When I was alone again, I buried back underneath the covers and curled up into the fetal position. It had felt so real. The dream and the other bit… The heart thing. What a mess.
I fell back into a fitful sleep, unable to shake the awful tingling down my spine.
16
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 awful 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.
17
Callie
The heartbreak Twister cake went viral. Not in a salmonella poisoning way, but an Internet sensation way.
It was ironic in a way. 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. 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.