Flawed Heart

It’s been a long time since I’ve been to something like this, and I’ve never handled these situations well. I was never the clubbing, partying type. I always preferred to snuggle up watching movies, but I learned to deal with these places, because Max always liked them. I know how to handle myself, but it’s been a while. I feel like a fish out of water.

I find a space at the bar and squeeze in, glancing around, my heart pounding. I can’t see Max, but then for all I know, he’s changed and I won’t recognize him. I don’t know what I’m looking for—in my head the man I love is tall and built with dark messy hair and brown eyes. I don’t know what he’s like now, but I don’t think I’ll miss him. Max has the kind of face you never forget.

“What can I get you?” the barmaid asks, her hands moving rapidly as she serves drinks. She doesn’t even stop to look up.

“Just a vodka and cranberry, thanks.”

In seconds, she’s whipped it up and is sliding it at me. Holy crap, she’s good. I hand her the money and she runs it through the machine while holding a bottle in her free hand and pouring. Yep, she’s impressive. She moves on before I can even thank her for the drink. I take it and turn, putting the straw into my mouth and sipping as I glance around.

I have no idea where to start.

I walk through the crowd, past the booths, and find a spot in the corner of the room to stand. From there I can see the bar and the full dancing space. I study all the people, watching them dancing and grinding, laughing and kissing. My heart flutters and I focus my attention on the bar to avoid the pain seeing such affection brings.

I never considered that Max might not even be working tonight. Granted, it’s a Saturday night, and most club owners work the busy nights, but he could be sick, or away, or with . . . someone. My heart squeezes and I keep my eyes on the bar, watching everyone work. I’m focusing so hard on them that I don’t see the man and woman standing at the end of the bar. It isn’t until she moves and I catch a glimpse of his face that I turn and stare.

My heart stops beating.

I’m a good ten meters away, but even at this distance I know it’s him. The way he holds himself, the domineering way he moves—it’s absolutely Max. A lump forms in my throat as I take him in, and something inside my heart cracks as I study a man I do not know. This isn’t the Max I remember. This man is huge, scary and emotionless. Even while he’s talking, his face is blank. Nothing. There’s nothing.

Just like when I left.

Max was always big in build, but this man is huge. His arms are bulging from his tight black tee and his forearms are ripped. Gone is the messy black hair; instead, it’s cropped a lot shorter, meaner even. I can’t see his eyes from here, but I can see the crooked way his nose sits on his face, and the scarring on his cheeks. He looks taller, I swear, and so much bigger. His jeans are ripped and black, and his boots look like they belong on a biker.

That man is not my husband.

He’s not.

Oh God.

The lump in my throat expands and grows until I feel like air is no longer getting into my lungs. I start panting, but I can’t take my eyes from him. When the woman beside him moves again, I finally tear my eyes away from his face and look to her. She’s blond, pretty, and kind of reminds me of his old girlfriend Demi. She reaches over and tucks herself into his side, running her fingers down his chest.

Something strange explodes in my chest. It’s rage and jealousy and possessive desire. He’s my husband. How dare she put her hands on him? I instantly shake the thought from my head, shocked that I had it at all. I left him. I have no right to feel this way. Of course he’s seeing other women. What? Did I expect he’d hang around waiting for me? He doesn’t even love me. He fell out of love with me five years ago. He told me so himself.

He moves away from the bar and a group of people seem to stick to him like flies, following him towards a massive entrance into what I’m guessing is a back room. I put my glass down on a nearby table and follow the crowd, trying to join in so I don’t look suspicious. The group is about fifty people, maybe more, and they’re all moving to a room where a set of stairs slides down to what I’m assuming is the basement.

Everyone shuffles down, and when I reach the stairs, I go too. People shove and push, but as we near closer to the bottom, I forget it. I forget because the roar of voices and thumping feet down here is out of this world. I’ve never heard a sound like it in my life. As the space comes into view, I gasp. Pippa was right; it’s a massive fighting ring.

In the middle of the room there’s a huge ring, roped off. There are currently two fighters in there, red gloves on, throwing punches at each other as they dance around the ring. The crowd surrounding them is huge, stomping their feet, screaming, booing and waving money in the air as if it means absolutely nothing to them. Someone pushes me from behind, and I force my feet to move again, blending into the crowd.

I glance around for Max, but I don’t see him. I turn back to the fight, watching in fascination as the men move, throwing precise punches, and fighting like true champions. I don’t even want to know where Max gets people like this.

I’m busy watching them, so transfixed, that I don’t see the fight break out beside me. It starts between two men, who yell and scream at each other over a woman. The woman in question is standing with a sheepish look on her face, and my guess is that she’s probably seeing both of them, considering the words they’re throwing between each other consist of “She’s mine” and “Stay the fuck away from her.”

Before I know it, they’re throwing punches and people are diving in. I try to step back, but end up tripping over. I go down with a scream and my eyes widen in shock when the men keep moving towards me. They don’t know I’m here, and I’m about to get trampled. I try to scurry backwards, but there are people behind me, shuffling and yelling, spurring them on.

I have no option but to sit here and wait for them to finish their fight. I drop my face into my hands and cover it, trying to protect myself. People are shoving around me, knocking my body from side to side as they cheer the fight on. I keep my face down, but I don’t miss the loud, booming, familiar voice that rings out. “The fuck are you bastards doing fighting in my club?”

I don’t look up. I can’t. My entire body is frozen. If I stay like this, maybe he won’t see me.

“He fucked my woman!” one man yells.

“I don’t care if he fucked your dog,” Max bellows. “Take that shit outside, right fucking now.”

There’s more arguing and then comes the words I never, ever wanted to hear. “Hey, you okay down there?”

Oh God.

He’s talking to me.

I can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t do anything but tremble. Maybe if I just turn and scurry off, he won’t notice me. Maybe he’ll just think I’m a drunken woman who has no idea what she’s doing.

“Hey, lady, you okay?”

Oh God.

I’m contemplating my move when a hard, firm hand wraps around my arm. It then tugs, and my hands fall from my face. I stare at the floor; I can’t look at him, I can’t . . . I’m not ready. I should have never come here.

“Look at me.”