Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
Flyboy
Fuck me, why the hell do I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus where the driver is auditioning for a part in the next Fast and the Furious movie?
I mean shit, I know everyone was partying and letting loose at Razor and Edge’s wedding, followed up by the reception, but I was trying to keep my wits so that I could be at the hospital when Riley got off shift so I could finally convince her to take a ride with me on the back of my bike.
But fuck, right now, waking up, I feel as if I’ve been overindulging on some whiskey and boozing away on a five-day bender.
Well, time to get the lead out of my ass, and get a move on with starting my day.
I reach up to wipe the crust from sleep away from my eyes. Then pause, wondering why I can’t move my arm. What the fuck? Panic races through my veins like a racehorse let loose from the gates. I let my anxiety run free for another second before calling on my military training, using my breathing exercise to calm down my rapidly beating heart, and focus on the task at hand. It takes longer than I would ever admit to gain control.
That’s when the beeping of a machine and an antiseptic smell hits me.
The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor, and the scent of a hospital, wrap around me like an old friend. Motherfucker, this can’t be good, not at all. First, I feel as if I’ve been run the fuck over by a big rig. Secondly, I can’t move my fucking arm. Thirdly, I’m in the goddamn hospital, and it’s not for a fucking job.
I inhale deeply, calming my racing heart—making it so that I can think a little clearer before opening my eyes. When I finally clear the cobwebs from my vision, I look around the room, taking everything in. The information on the walls tells me that I am indeed at the hospital where I work. All the drawings, get well notes, and flowers scattered around the room tells me that I’ve been here longer than what feels possible.
What the holy hell is going on? Why the hell can I not move my arm or leg? I need answers, and I need them right the fuck now. The situation I’ve woken up to renders me incapable of slicing through my thoughts and putting them in a tangible order. I’m essentially unable to continue calming myself as prior training has taught me to do. The machines around me start going off at a blaring pitch as panic washes over me. I close my eyes, praying for the first time in eons that I can fucking remember, for this to all be a nightmare and not my reality.
“Okay, asshole, do your body check,” I mumble underneath my frantic breath. I wiggle the toes on my left foot, rotate that foot at the ankle, and strain from the effort to bend my knee. It moves a smidgeon, but not enough for my liking.
My right side, on the other hand, is not so great. I can move my toes, but that is about all for my right leg. I look down, seeing a lump under the blanket. Fucking hell, that’s not a good sign. Looking over at my right arm, I see it also is a limp mass as well. Trying to move the fingers on my right hand seems an impossible feat. All I feel is some pulling and a shit ton of agonizing pain. I feel metal bracing digging into my side, somehow instinctively knowing this hand is going to be a nasty end result, and I’ll be lucky to use it ever again.
I need those fucking answers, and I need them right the fuck now .
I use the hand that doesn’t feel like it’s been crushed to oblivion, and reach around, searching for a call button. I am beyond thankful when I find the little remote hanging over my bed railing, just as I go to press the little red button, the door flies open, with it brings uncontrollable anxiety. Uneasiness races up and down my spine, bumps raise on my flesh, my fight or flight instincts kick into high gear, only I have no weapons nor a way to protect myself. It doesn't help that I have no idea if an enemy is encroaching upon me as the door continues to creak open.
I lay there, sweat pouring down my temples, not uttering a word, only waiting to see what's fixing to happen next.
“You could wake up anytime now, asshole!” Duck yells as he saunters into the room.
“Duck, you really think that’s what he needs right now?” Lil’ Red chastises as she comes through on his heels, holding a bouquet of fresh flowers.
“Normal is what he needs, and I’ve always called him an asshole. So, yes, Red, that is exactly what he needs to hear,” he retorts back, shaking his head at her.
I don’t say anything, keeping my lips sealed. I continue to lay there, listening, and watching my brother banter back and forth with his woman whose eyes and tone are full of compassion, yet laced with a sassy candor. I clear my throat to speak, and the room stills, everyone stops talking. Hell, at this point, I think they’ve even stopped breathing. I chuckle quietly, seeing Duck for the first time, I think, ever stunned to silence. Clearing the clog in my throat again, trying to speak, causes me to cough and groan.
“Please, tell me you all see him looking at us?” Duck implores, pointing at me with wide, pessimistic eyes.
“I’ll get the nurse,” Lil’ Red whispers, her eyes wide, and red-rimmed. There’s a glossy sheen coating the irises, you can see the struggle as they fight to break free from the shackling confinement of her tear ducts.
“Fuck, man-I-you’re fucking awake. Damn, say something, anything." The fear and stress in my brother's voice has me glaring, and trying again to clear my throat so I can speak through the dryness.
“Whaaa—.” Is all I get out since my throat feels as if it’s been towed through the Mojave Desert.
“Finally, you asshole. You’re awake! I can’t fucking believe it. You, new guy, call Prez and let him know,” Duck issues the command, pointing and snapping at the guy standing sentry in the corner.
I open my mouth, trying to speak, only once more, nothing comes out of my parched throat. The door bashes open with gusto, and in walks an older nurse, and Lil’ Red is solidly on her heels. The nurse looks up from the tablet balanced in her hand, grinning down at me as she sets about checking all my intravenous lines.
“Well, well, look who has finally decided to wake up. Can you tell me what your name is?” the nurse inquires.
Briefly, I open my mouth to give talking another shot, but instead of words expelling from my lips, I hack and cough as I try to speak, sounding as if I’ve been gargling rocks, causing me to groan out in excruciating frustration, and wincing from the pain… my throat feels as if it’s been coated with shards of splintered glass when I try to verbalize my thoughts or ask the endless questions rummaging through my mind. I need to know what landed me here, what my prognosis is, and I’m ready to begin the process of getting my ass out of here and back to the clubhouse. The nurse picks up a plastic tumbler off the table beside me, holding it outward, and bends the straw to my waiting mouth.
“Take a drink. We’ll try answering the questions you have after that,” she firmly dictates.
I take a long, drawn-out pull on the straw placed at my lips. The cold water is like a cold sliver of heaven as it shimmies and slides down my sore, scratchy throat. After a few quick swallows, she pulls the cup away, making me wish the straw was permanently glued to the skin of my lips. Umm, no, I want the fucking water to quench my thirst.
“More,” I order, my chest rumbling.
“It’s been too long. Too much, and it will all be coming right back up, no one wants that,” the nurse says. “Now, can you tell me what your name is?”
“Flyboy. Can I have more water now?” I ask, my tone coming out as snappy and condescending. My patience with her is waning, I’m not in the mood for inconsequential or stupid questions.
“Umm. Not what I had in mind,” she states, looking concerned.
“That’s his road name. Man, what’s your given name?” Duck chuckles, slapping my left foot.
Pain shoots up my foot and leg. I groan, shooting a threatening glare at him.
“Fuck! My bad brother,” he apologizes, holding his hands up in a universal sign of someone expressing their regret, and side-stepping backward to add some much-needed space between my throbbing appendage and himself.
“Felix Holloway,” I answer, past the bullshit. “Can I have that water now?”
“Perfect. What is the last date and time you can recall?” she queries.
I think back to the last thing I can remember. My mind calls up the image of Razor and Edge saying their vows and pledging their lives as one, uniting in marriage. In my mind, I remember Riley in her hip-hugging dress, every perfect inch of her body capturing my attention—from the snug way the material hugged her curves as she shifted in the shimmery fabric, to the way it had me licking my lips, wanting to taste, savor, and memorize every centimeter of her supple skin. Then more memories arise, ones that bring about a sense of dick-rising satisfaction—us living in the moment… together. I internally smirk as I recall all of the times we would brush against each other at the hospital, the late nights commiserating after a shitty rotation in the ER. Evenings where we'd get a drink at the local bar down the block from the hospital, realizing how much I wanted Riley there with me, for more than just times of celebration or after a mentally and emotionally draining shift. I jumped on my bike, ready to get to her, and then, my memory goes black, the pieces from there are fractured in my mind.
I tell the nurse everything important, except, and outside of my dire need for Riley. I don’t think she would want to know about me imagining or wanting to bend Riley over my bike as I slide into her warmth, pounding into her over and over until we both come to completion. Yes, not the time nor place for those animalistic thoughts. I need some fucking solid, as well as some brutally honest answers, before I can get to that graphic imagery and investigate those sinful feelings further.
“Well, everything’s looking good. I’ve put a call into the doctors to let them know you’re awake and alert, they should be down soon to speak with you, go over your prognosis, and let you know what to expect. If you need anything between then and now, just hit the call button, and let me know.”
“Right this second, I need some more fucking water.” My anger and frustration with everything is getting the best of me, and I let my irritation fly at her.
“You can have some water. Small, slow sips, and not too much at once,” she says, leaving the room.
Everything is quiet as everyone watches me gradually sip on the water. After a minute, I grow tired of the ominous quiet and the ogle-like staring.
“Tell me what happened,” I demand, my tone stern.
“Like you said, you left the club to go see Riley at work, and the next thing we know, we get a call from her that you were currently being rolled into emergency surgery. The cops told us that a teen was texting and driving, running you off the road,” Duck informs me.
“Stupid fucking kids and their damn phones. How long has it been since the day that happened?” I probe, zeroing my eyes on him, making it obvious that I’m needing that answered before learning anything else.
“It’s been four, long, painstaking months since that night.” Lil’ Red sobs as Duck pulls her into his body.
“Fucking hell! Four fucking months?” I bellow, my gut clenching, because to me, the wedding—yeah, it happened yesterday.
I can’t believe this shit. That means months of physical therapy are ahead of me, and who knows what other surgeries I’ll need to have as a follow-up. I could even have to restart my residency program here at this very hospital. I was so fucking close to achieving my dream of becoming a doctor. Now, I have no goddamn idea when, or if, I’ll ever be able to fucking walk again.
“Prez says they’re on their way,” the new guy adds.
“Hell, yeah. This is going to be great. Once the doctor says you can go home, we’ll have one hell of a welcome home party.” Duck excitedly bounces on his toes, anything that’s cause to throw a party has my brothers roaring and ready to go.
As I go to speak, my throat clamps up, and I end up gurgling some water. Feeling as if I can carry on, I express, “Fuck that’s annoying. I think it’s going to be a long time before I’m up for a fucking party, brother.”
I need to know where Riley is, but at the same time, I’m too afraid to ask. Discovering she hasn’t been here, or that she didn’t care that I was bedridden and comatose, would break a piece of me.
“Brother, what has you thinking so hard?” Duck asks.
“Riley?” Her name is all I say.
“What about her?” Lil’ Red turns, squinting, looking at me as if she’s examining me.
I just glare at her. The grin spreads across her face, and I watch as it spreads wider, broadening as time progresses.
“I let her know when I went to get the nurse that you were awake. She’s been here every day since you were admitted.” The smugness on Lil’ Red’s face as she relays the information, and her brazen demeanor, shows how far she has come since we rescued her.
I lie back, digesting that, and let the warmness of knowing she cares for me, help me relax enough so my eyes drift shut. I fight sleep as rigorously as I can, but the pull of the abyss lulls me back underneath the blanket of darkness.
I peacefully dream, my inner fantasies materializing through the comfort of dreamland.
Riley in that form fitting dress.
On the back of my bike, her body pressed into mine.
Writhing under me as I slide balls deep into her tight sheath.
I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep when the sound of the door groaning open wakes me. Opening my eyes, I find half the club, and the Ol’ ladies standing there, watching me. I make visual contact with all of them before I decide to speak. They all look tired and stressed, making me wonder if any of them have cracked a smile or laughed since they saw me last.
“You guys didn’t have to dress up for little ole me,” I joke, before cracking a grin.
That breaks whatever tension-filled silence was plaguing the room. All the guys come over, shaking my hand, the ladies softly pat me on the chest. Once everyone has reassured themselves that I’m awake, they all settle in, and start chatting. I tilt my head back on the stack of pillows underneath my head, listening to them, taking in all the voices, and quietly observing their ongoing conversations.
This here is what family is all about. The only thing that could make this reunion feel better, would be if Riley was here with me, sitting at my side.