Conflict (Black Hearts MMA, #2) by Kylie Hillman

Author:Kylie Hillman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mixed Martial Arts Sports, Sport, Sports Romance, New Adult Sports Romance, taboo romance, age gap romance, action adventure romance, opposites attract, Action, Action and Adventure, Action and Adventure Romance Fiction, Action and Adventure Crime Criminals, MMA Fighter Girl Fighter, Black Hearts MMA, MMA romance, MMA, Fight CLub, fighter, female fighter, love at first sight, fighter romance, Contemporary Literary Romance, contemporary fiction, New Adult, enemies to lovers romance
Publisher: DyMi Ink
Published: 2019-04-24T04:00:00+00:00

NINETEEN

Nate

Seeing Amy screaming at something only she could see should have been a deal breaker.

Hell, I’m sure it would’ve sent most men running for the hills.

Normal men.

Weak men.

All it did to me was set off a protective instinct I didn’t know I possessed for anyone outside my immediate circle—Hooligan, Jep, Drew, Taz, my Aunt’s brother, Angelo, and my Aunt Mari and my cousin, Gabe, when they were still alive. At first, I’d dropped to the ground behind her and shielded her with my body from whatever attack was imminent. Then, I’d used the warmth and the solidness of my body to envelop her when I’d realised she was stuck in painful memories conjured by her own head.

The signs of trauma were clear. I’d seen them in my uncle after he’d identified my aunt and cousin’s bodies, and later in my kinda step-aunt, Anita when she’d lost her shit when an explosion had ripped through the concrete factory around the corner from Black Hearts MMA one day when she’d been visiting.

Amy had some dark shit in her past and she was not even close to having dealt with it.

I should feel bad for her.

I don’t.

If anything, I’m glad—in a completely sick way that I’d never tell her about.

It evens the playing field.

I’m fucked up.

She’s been fucked up.

In a morbid way, we match.

After following my directions back to the house I share with Jep, Amy pulls into the driveway and turns off her headlights. In the darkness, she slumps back in her seat and I hear a deep sigh leave her a minute later.

It’s a sound I know well.

Shame.

“Why haven’t you asked what I was screaming about back there?”

Reaching across the car, I take her hand and pull it into my lap. With strong, sure, even strokes, I massage her palm and tendons then work my way down her fingers, one at a time.

This time when she sighs, the sound is lighter.

“I didn’t ask you for the same reason you didn’t ask me the name of my diagnosis,” I reply when she twists in her seat and offers me her other hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re not like other men.”

Her assessment doesn’t sting because she offers it without a judgement.

“Nope.”

“I used to be like other women,” Amy ventures in voice as quiet as it is timid. “I miss being like other women. Uncomplicated. Unbroken. Just an ordinary person.”

I let her confession hang in the night air. There’s nothing more to say, really. She might miss being normal. I don’t. I never have been. My baseline for regular was broken at birth. I don’t know any different to the way I am.

The meds I got rid of helped in some ways and hindered in others.

They evened me out so I could cope, but I’ve come to realise over the past few days that they also stole the highs and lows of life from me. I’ve never felt anything as much as I’ve felt everything since Friday.

The good. The bad. The ugly. The beautiful.

“Are you going to ask me inside?” Amy breaks the silence that’s fallen.

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