“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?"