Jase (MMA Bad Boys Book 3) (2 page)

Looking at my watch, I reply, “An hour.” I nod my head at his restless hands. “Sexually frustrated or something, Roofie?”

“What?” He crinkles his brows and then look at the paper on the floor between his legs. A chuckle works its way through his chest and he shakes his head from side to side. “God no. Court hearing today for mum is all.”

“Ah shit, yeah, I completely forgot, mate, I’m so sorry.” Guilt pools into a puddle of acid at the pit of my stomach. “Works been crazy. Who knew that London could have so many fucking fires in a week?”

“That bad, huh?” I nod my head, agreeing with him.

Being a firefighter for the city has his perks but then every fucking teenager likes to set fire to stolen motors or bikes these days and this week is one of them weeks where they’re all out in force. Must be something in the air, the end of winter is finally showing and it’s not as bitter as recent months so I’m guessing those little shit heads are making up for lost time. “You could say that.”

“We’ve hardly seen you lately, is everything okay?” I can feel Roofie’s stare on the side of my head but I don’t turn to face him, I just get up and brush myself down. “Jase?”

“I’m fine, everything’s fine. Just been putting in extra shifts.” I take the last swig of the now luke-warm water and place the bottle in the tin can by the fridge. “Catch ya later.”

I agree, I’ve not been around a lot and I’m not exactly lying when I say I’ve been putting in extra shifts because I have, but there’s a reason I have. I mean, who the fuck wants to be around smooching and shit when you’re not getting much yourself? Who wants to be the loser sitting there while his friends make out in front of them? I’m not sure they even realise half the time that I’m even there or when I get up and leave. It just feels that all our friendships are starting to crumble and that’s because of the girls. Now that just makes me sound like a prick and I don’t mean to be, but whatever happened to fucking guy time?

Really, I should just take the initiative and organise a night out without Carlotta and Gemma but wouldn’t that then make me an arsehole for rejecting the girls? I sigh, maybe I should just voice my opinions to Beast and Roofie but then again I don’t want to risk pissing those two off. They’re amazing fighters, much better than me, of course, as they’ve been in it a little longer, and I don’t want to be on the receiving end of one of their punches that’s for sure.

I can feel the distance parting me with my non-blood brothers and it hurts my heart. We’ve always been the three musketeers in a way, we do everything together… did everything together anyway.

As I’m cleaning up in the locker room, I hear my cell chimes with an incoming message. I don’t know whether to bother looking to see if it’s from Jennifer, the ex, or if I should just ignore it. But what if it’s Beast with an upcoming fight? Fuck. I swipe the screen to unlock it, open the text from the notification bar and read down the message. My life stands still in that moment as I stare at the screen of my phone. My heart’s stopped beating, I’m sure, and I feel like hurtling my phone across the empty room.

Jen: I’ve been trying 2 reach u but ur still ignoring me. Wanted 2 tell u in person, but I’m pregnant. Ur the daddy. J x

It’s been months and months since I’ve been with her, long before Beast and Carlotta got together, maybe six months ago. I highly doubt the poor kid is mine unless Jen is the size of a house. Looking back now, I’ve been ignoring her since I last slept with her, before I chucked her shit out of my house and it’s been just as long since I’ve seen her. Could she be telling the truth for once in her life?

The fury and anger building has me turning and punching a locker, leaving an almighty dent in its wake. This can’t be fucking happening. Why wouldn’t she have told me sooner? Why the fuck has she kept this from me?

I know damn well that I’m not ready to be a father, I’m the big kid of our group, always having a laugh, playing pranks and shit. I’m far from daddy material and I’m far from fucking ready.

Placing my hands on the lockers in front of me, I hang my head and take some deep breaths trying desperately to calm my erratic heartbeat before I give myself a fucking heart attack. Shit, what do I do?

When I feel I have myself under control a little better, I finish getting dressed and shove my cell back into my gym bag. I’ll need to think of a response because right now, I’d probably say the wrong damn thing. That’s the thing with me, I say shit how it is with most people, but I don’t think it would do me any good to say anything to her now. If she is pregnant, and it’s mine, then I need to know why she never just texted it to me months ago. If I’m the dad, I’ve missed out on all the scans and a stabbing sensation clocks me in the middle of my chest, taking the wind out of me and shaking me to my core.

One more deep breath and I swing my duffel over my shoulder and leave the airless locker room, the smell of sweat and feet is welcomed right now, and a sense of calm washes over me. Nothing beats being in the gym, its practically my second home and I love the sounds of metal on metal and the chains that rattle above the punch bags. What I like about this gym is that we’re like one big happy family.

“Laters, Jase!” Roofie calls from behind me as I make my way through the main room. I give a two finger salute and carry on without saying jack shit. I don’t need any of my buddies knowing about this just yet. I need to separate the fiction from the truth and that won’t be easy with a person like Jennifer Horley.

I think this is the quietest work has been for weeks. Me and my colleagues have been sat at the fire house, shooting the shit since turn over three hours ago. Every shift, they take the piss out of my American accent, over some of the slang I still use that I remember from childhood, it makes the day go quicker and stops my thoughts heading in the direction that I don’t want it to go. Bubbling anger is simmering under the surface still, unable to replenish the need to pummel my fists into someone’s face, preferably Jennifer’s; I’d never hit a woman though. Never.

“Jase? You still here with us, mate?” Jake, the chief of this station says to me while clicking his fingers in my face. Its then that I hear the wailing siren, telling us of an emergency. So much for a quiet day.

“Shit,” I mutter as I scramble to my feet. I fly down the stairs, step into my gear and hop up into the fire truck just as it starts wheeling out of its bay. “Fuck. Sorry, guys.”

“Don’t sweat it. You made it.” As I’m strapping myself into my fire proof pants and clipping the helmet onto my head, I’m tossed to the other side of the truck.

Righting myself, I finally get a chance to ask, “Where are we heading?”

“Oxford Street. Shop fire and arson is suspected. Police will be on scene.” I get a reply from Graham who’s driving and I nod even though he doesn’t see me. Fuck, arson. This will be a shit lot of paperwork for Jake.

I like Jake, one of the few colleagues I really do get on with and can talk crap with also one of the only guys here that doesn’t have a woman warming his bed back home at an end of a shift. I don’t think any of us really know how he managed to get to become chief, he never really leaves the fire house. I can’t even remember the last time he helped put a fire out. Shaking my head, I concentrate on staying in my seat as we race to the scene with our blues and twos going. I can see today being a fucking long day after all. What I would do for a cold beer right now.

Back home, I shower the grime, soot and the stench of fire from my body. Nothing can get the smell of death from my nostrils though and today will haunt me for weeks to come. Seeing a body after a fire never gets easier, even for the hardest of fire crews. We had three deaths today and the witnesses around were barely coherent when asked questions by either us or the police, they were just as traumatised.

Names, numbers and addresses were taken and Jake threw a fit about the paperwork which made me chuckle. He hates it but yet loves his job, he’s one big ass contradiction sometimes.

I scrub my skin until it’s raw and step out of the shower and into the steam filled bathroom. My eyes still feel gritty from the smoke and my nose hurts from the soot gathered up there. Shit, I’m going to have black boogers for weeks to come.

I dress in fresh clothes and spray on some aftershave before gathering my phone and wallet from the dresser in my room. My house is practically a mirror image of Roofie’s, but with better furniture and a manlier feel, especially now Gemma has moved in with him. I can just imagine the decorating she’s about to do, the renovations I know she wants to do. I chuckle, actually thanking my lucky stars I don’t have to deal with that crap. No, I have something far more serious to deal with and I’m still debating whether to call Jen and have it out with her or just ignore it and pretend I never saw that life altering text.

Swiping my cell unlocked, I text Beast to see if they’re out at the pub tonight or if they’re being pussy whipped motherfuckers and staying in. Walking from the comforts of my bedroom, I go to the open plan kitchen and grab a beer from the door of the fridge. I chug it down in one, wanting and needing to wipe my thoughts of a baby and how that will change my life. Fuck. Shit. What the hell am I going to do? I can’t close my eyes without thinking about it. Did she trap me? Is she trying to?

My phone chimes from where I placed it on the breakfast bar and I glance down at the text lighting up my screen.

B: At the pub, mate. U comin? I’ll get ya a cold one. B.

J: On my way dude.

Pouring the last dribble of beer into my mouth, I leave it on the counter and shove my shit into my pockets. I rub my hands down my face and realise I didn’t fucking shave again. Oh well, girls dig the facial hair shit these days. Damn, I need to get laid.

I decide walking to the pub is probably better, time to kill the skeletons in my head. My head is already thumping from the dreaded conversation I know I need to have with my bitch of an ex. Only I would manage to bag a cling-on, someone who has been relentless with calls and texts since I kicked her ass out. But I guess I now know why and I know I need to talk to the guys, I can’t keep this shit to myself.

Arriving the bar twenty minutes later, I swing open the doors to Maroon 5’s bassy tune pumping in the air. This may as well be a nightclub for MMA fighters and the bitches that try to sleep with the biggest player in the game. Fame hungry cunts the lot of them and I’m not sure the last time I bothered sleeping with one. I may act like a player, but I haven’t fucked anyone for months. Sure, I pull plenty but the thought of my dick sinking into one of them has me grimacing.

“Yo! Jase!” Roofie hollers across to me as I’m searching the packed out bar for them.

Smiling wide, I swagger over and plonk my ass on the only available stool, which also happens to have my name on a shitty bit of paper sat on top. That makes me chuckle. “Who’s idea was this?” I hold up the paper and Roofie shoves his hand in the air. Shaking my head, I place the paper on the table and take a long pull from the beer that’s sat waiting just for me.