Saving Axe

by Sabrina Paige

  That was even before I started sleeping with my boss.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Dr. Barton.” One of the medical students who was supposed to observe me waved his hand in front of my face. “Dr. Barton? Are you okay?”

  “Huh?” I asked. “Of course.”

  I’d just finished putting on a gown, gloves, and mask, and I was scheduled for surgery imminently. But my hands would not stop shaking. My heart raced, and I could feel tiny droplets of sweat collecting on my forehead, running down my temples to my cheeks.

  “You don’t look so good, Dr. Barton,” he said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I was having a hard time breathing. It felt like something was constricting my chest, and I wanted to rip my gown off so I could just breathe. “Is it really hot in here, or is it just me?”

  “It feels all right to me, Dr. Barton,” he said. “Do you want me to see if the temperature can be adjusted?”

  “Please,” I said.

  Please let this stop, I prayed. Not here. Not now. This can’t be happening.

  I couldn’t breathe. The room was spinning, and I felt so light-headed. Then everything went dark.

  When I came to, Ben Jackson, my boss, was standing over me, and I was on a hospital bed in an empty room. “June,” he said.

  “What happened?” I knew full and well what had happened, but I couldn’t admit it to myself. I had failed, and not just today.

  “You fainted. How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, I’m fine,” I said, forcing a brightness into my tone that I didn’t feel. “I was just dizzy. I forgot to eat breakfast this morning.”

  “Yes,” he said. He sat down in a chair beside my bed, silent, his eyes on me. I knew what he was thinking. He’d been my supervisor years ago when I was in residency. He knew me fairly well, and he knew what happened during deployment- not the specifics exactly, but there weren’t too many surgeons who had wound up involved in a blast on a humanitarian mission outside the base.

  As big as it was, the Navy really was small. And the physicians' community, even smaller. Word got around.

  “I did,” I said. “Really.” I don’t know if I was trying to convince him or convince myself.

  “June,” he said. “This isn’t the first time.”

  “No.”

  “I’ve witnessed it personally.” He was reminding me of the time I scrubbed in to assist him, during my first month at the hospital. I’d had the same symptoms as I’d had today, but not on this scale. He was perceptive, though, and noticed my hands shaking immediately, pulling me off the surgery and relegating me to the role of observer. It was embarrassing then, but not nearly as humiliating as this was today.

  That time, I’d chalked it up to nerves related to the new job, and he had seemed to take that explanation. It wasn’t much of one, I knew that. And I’d gotten myself into therapy immediately, worried this would derail my career. But as it turned out, therapy hadn’t been the quick fix I was hoping for. In fact, I was beginning to think it was making things worse.

  “I know, sir.”

  “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

  “Nothing.”

  He was silent. “Fine. But I can’t have you operating when this is happening. I have to pull you off surgery.”

  ~ ~ ~

  He'd pulled me from surgeries, and things got better. Temporarily. Then I was reinstated, and it was fine for a while. No panic attacks, at least. By the time things got worse, we were sleeping together and the lines were blurred. He should have pulled me from operating, should have noticed when I was going off the deep end.

  I'd played God on the operating table, decided that a man should die - a bad man, but still.

  When I turned in my resignation, Ben begged me to stay, said he was in love with me.

  I didn't feel the same way.

  I just wanted to get away from everything. Get back to my roots. Start a new life, a peaceful one. A life where I didn't get involved with the wrong guy. One that didn't involve hard choices.

  And then Cade walked up the driveway.

  Cade, the boy I'd loved once upon a time. Those early years stood out in my mind, the technicolor memories of my first love.

  Before everything in my life went grey.

  Cade certainly wasn't a boy anymore, though.

  No, now he was a man. A biker, at that.

  Axe.

  Just thinking about him now sent heat rushing through my body. Standing there by his father's porch, his hair falling in pieces around his face, looking at me with his big blue eyes the same way he had looked at me in high school. Facing me, in that leather vest, the one with the emblem on the back, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up over his forearms. Forearms that were now covered in tattoos.

  I wondered where else he had tattoos.

  And felt my body respond to the thought, a visceral immediate reaction, the heat of arousal in my belly, spreading through me. Even though no one was outside with me, I could feel myself flush with embarrassment.

  I needed to get control of myself.

  Reaching down to pick up my beer, I took a drag on my bottle, closed my eyes, and leaned back in the chair, inhaling deeply from the chilly Colorado evening air. The only sounds out here were the crickets and the wind gently rustling the trees. The air smelled like summertime and fresh sagebrush, the same way it did when I was growing up here. Back then, we'd tear through the neighborhood on our bikes, free of the responsibilities of school, wind blowing in our faces. There was nothing better in life than that feeling. I knew that then, and I knew it even more now.

  Of course, seeing Cade dismount his bike and walk up that driveway might have been a close second.

  When I opened my eyes and looked up, I saw a figure on the deck at Mr. Austin's house, and my heart skipped a beat.

  Cade waved at me, and held up at bottle of some kind. I waved back, and watched as he hopped over the porch railing.

  Shit. I didn't need him over here.

  Not at one in the morning.

  And certainly not when I'd just been thinking about where all of his tattoos might be.

  He walked across the lawn, his steps uneven, and when he got to my porch, I could have smelled it on him even if he hadn't have been brandishing the bottle in his hand.

  Cheap whiskey.

  Bailey, guard dog that she wasn't, ran up to him, licked his fingers, and settled down beside him.

  "Hey," he said, scratching Bailey behind the ears. "Don't you know you're supposed to be in bed?"

  "She likes you," I said. "It looks like you're awake, having a little party of your own."

  He held up the bottle. "Want some?"

  I shrugged, and took it from him, taking a sip and nearly spitting it out. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. "God, that's awful."

  Cade sat down on the step. "So what are you doing, sitting out here all by yourself?"

  I couldn't tell if it was just late or his words were slurring.

  "I couldn't sleep."

  "That's what this is for," Cade said, shaking the bottle.

  Yeah, he was definitely slurring.

  "Yeah, that'll definitely help with your sleep," I said, sarcastically. Just because I'd stopped being a surgeon didn't mean I stopped thinking like a physician.

  He didn't notice the sarcasm. "It helps turn off my mind."

  I couldn't help but ask. "Bikers do a lot of ruminating about things?"

  "You have no idea," he said.

  "My mind runs on a loop." Why did I just say that?

  He closed his eyes, silent for a while, and I wondered if he had passed out. "So you came back to West Bend, Junebug. Starting a bed and breakfast."

  Junebug. Other kids had called me Junebug when I was young, and I'd hated it. Then Cade had called me the same thing, and it became my favorite name in the world. "I am. I bought this place. Just need to fix it up a little bit."

  "Returning to a simpler life,” he said. He ran his finger down
the neck of the bottle and I pictured him running his finger down the length of me. “Do you remember when we used to plan to run my dad’s ranch?”

  It had been my life’s ambition. I nodded. “Do you ever think of coming back home?”

  “Every day,” he said. Then, quickly, "Not really."

  He looked tired. Sad.

  "You look like you never left," he said. I felt naked under his gaze. Vulnerable.

  I laughed, suddenly nervous. "You mean I look like a local again."

  "No, that's not what I mean, Junebug," he said, his gaze intense. "This place, it looks good on you."

  "Well, you look different," I said.

  Cade laughed. Axe. The name somehow suited his new persona. His biker persona. I'd always thought of him as a cowboy. Even after I’d heard he joined the Marines, I couldn’t shake the thought of him still riding on the ranch, back here in West Bend. "Not exactly what you expected, is it?"

  "I didn't expect you at all," I said. I didn't mention that for years I'd fantasized about running into him. That was a long time ago.

  "I hoped I'd see you again," he said. "But not like this."

  I took a drag of my beer. "What is 'like this' exactly?"

  He was silent, his eyes studying the ground. "I needed to get Crunch and his family out of trouble. It's nothing, Junebug."

  It was more than nothing. I knew that much. "Are you in trouble?"

  "No,” he said, finally making eye contact again. “Yes.”

  “With the bikers?”

  “Probably.”

  What the hell was the appropriate response for this situation? “Well, that sucks, huh?”

  Cade laughed, the sound warm, just like I remembered. “Yeah, it does. You want to join me?"

  It took me a minute to figure out he was talking about sitting on the stairs. No, I thought. That's the last thing I need, to get even closer to him.

  But I stood anyway, moved beside him on the stairs. Bailey harrumphed and moved back up to her spot on the porch. As soon as she moved from between us, the proximity to Cade felt close. Too close. I didn't look at him.

  “So, what’s keeping you up at night then?” he asked.

  What the hell should I say to that? "Well, I'm not generally in the habit of telling all my secrets to every dirty biker that walks through my door."

  He leaned forward. "Well, I'm not just any old dirty biker," he said. "Am I?"

  "No, you aren't." My heart thumped loudly in my chest.

  "Well, I can't promise I'm not dirty," he said.

  I shivered, but not from the cold, biting my bottom lip. No, I'd bet he was all kinds of dirty now, wasn't he? I sat there, feeling paralyzed by desire for this man I didn't know anymore. The man sitting beside me was sexy as hell. And dangerous, I reminded myself.

  And drunk.

  I looked over at him, my eyes wandering from his hands, to the tattoos that snaked across his forearms to his biceps. An image peeked out from under the sleeve of his tee shirt, and I recognized the symbol. I reached over, lifting the edge of the fabric, squinting to see underneath. An Eagle Globe and Anchor, surrounded on each side by an "S." I dropped the sleeve, and looked up at him.

  His expression was curious. "Something interest you there?"

  "You were a sniper," I said. “I knew you were a Marine. I didn’t know any more than that.”

  He drew his arm away from me like I'd shocked him. "Yeah, and?"

  I regretted seeing it on his arm. The way he looked at me just then, it was a mixture of wounded and defiant, like he was daring me to ask him more, but terrified that I would. I hated seeing that look on him.

  "It was a long time ago now," he said. Clearing his throat, he took another swig from the bottle. He was silent for a while. Then, "I was going to get in touch, you know.”

  I nodded, swallowing hard. “Ditto.”

  He took another long swig of the bottle and offered it to me.

  "No, thanks." I shook my head, wondering exactly how much of it he had already drunk tonight. A lot, by the looks of it.

  “I emailed your aunt every so often to see how you were doing," he said. I just never could bring myself to - after what happened, you know?”

  “I never blamed you,” I said. That wasn’t true, not really. After their deaths, I had blamed anyone and everyone, especially myself. "We were just kids."

  "Yeah,” he said. “We’re not kids anymore, though, are we?” I could feel him looking at me, and I forced my eyes straight ahead. Don't look at him. If I did, it would be all over.

  "No," I said.

  "We're definitely both grown-ups now," he said, his voice thick. "And now we're both back here."

  He suddenly felt too close. "Why did you come here, Cade?"

  "I already told you."

  "Not to West Bend. Here."

  “Why do you think I came over here, Junebug?” He looked at me, those piercing blue eyes hooded, then reached out, ran his finger along my arm.

  I bristled at his touch. The nerve of him, thinking he'd come over here and get laid. After all this time, that's why he came over here? And drunk. I wasn't exactly a teetotaler, but when your parents are killed the way mine were, you get a little touchy about booze. Cade should have known better.

  And still, even with all that, his touch made me shiver.

  I needed to get away from him. I stood, leaning against the porch railing. "I hope you didn't think it was a good idea to drink most of that whiskey and come over here for ex sex."

  He smiled crookedly.

  The shithead.

  Then he stood, bottle in hand, stepped close to me, and leaned in. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. "Don't tell me you're not interested."

  "Fuck you, Cade." This Cade, the drunk, arrogant, criminal one, was nothing like the one I'd left behind in high school.

  This one was just an asshole.

  "I'll fuck you when you beg me, Junebug," he whispered. He stepped back and winked, then started down the steps. He turned around, wobbled a little as he walked backwards toward the field. "Don't forget, I know you. I know what makes you beg."

  Fuck him.

  Beg him? He had to be kidding. I wouldn't beg him for anything.

  Axe

  "Uncle Axe!" MacKenzie launched herself into my arms, the way only little kids can do, with no reservation. "Eew!" she yelled. "You're sweaty!"

  I swung her around in circles in the grass, until after a few turns I started to feel nauseous. It had been a couple of days since the last time I'd had something to drink, but I swear I still felt hung-over.