Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Two fitful nights of sleep left me wrecked. An apology stuck in my throat, cutting like broken glass. I’d insinuated Hatchet couldn’t handle his sister. Deep down, I knew that was bullshit.
I’d watched him at the clubhouse, kneeling in the gravel to tie Leo’s shoes when he showed up with Ace. Letting Tilly and Talia climb him like a jungle gym. Becoming an instant best friend to Sofia when her life was turned upside down.
He also helped every prospect adjust, quietly showing them the ropes, without making them feel like idiots.
Impulsive, sure. A flirt with every woman he met, absolutely. But the biker had a big heart. He cared. If anyone could take in a scared fifteen-year-old girl, it was Hatchet. I felt like shit for implying otherwise.
The world blurred on my drive to work as my mind shifted to the long day ahead—charts stacked, monitors beeping, residents barking orders, insurance companies denying coverage. Another day in bureaucratic paradise.
I started my day with an angry appendix in a middle-aged man and a woman with blinding migraines.
Lunch was a protein bar choked down after stitching up a construction worker’s gashed forearm.
Then the rush hit. A kid with a busted collarbone from a playground fall, an oil rig explosion, and a fender-bender.
I didn’t dare utter it out loud, but I was grateful for the busy shift. Free time left too much space in my brain to spiral about my fight with Hatchet. When I finally had a moment to breathe, I pulled out my phone, typing and erasing a message several times before I finally pressed send.
Me: I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean you couldn’t handle it. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense that you’d want to step up for Jessa.
I waited, watching the three dots blink and disappear a few times before a response came through.
Hatchet: I’m sorry I overreacted.
Me: You know what would make us both feel better?
Before I could even ask, he sent over a cute photo of Chaos in a pile of stuffing, her tongue lolling out like she was proud of her little gremlin achievement.
Me: It’s kind of scary that you can read my mind like that.
Hatchet: If you’re bored tonight, you should come with me to look at houses. See if the yard is acceptable for Chaos.
Me: You’re growing up right before my eyes.
Hatchet: Never. I’m Peter fucking Pan.
The rest of my shift dragged with one last code blue before I clocked out, my scrubs reeking of antiseptic. On the drive home, my phone rang, and I smiled when I saw it was Hatchet. “Hey, I’m on my way over.”
“We’re going to have to reschedule,” he said, his voice tight over the faint clank of tools in the background. “We need you at the clubhouse. Merrick needs stitches.”
“Is he OK?” I asked. When it came to the Mavericks, a bar fight could lead to bullets flying. I caught my brother’s deep rumble—something about a ‘fuckin’ torque.’”
“Yeah, he just cracked his head on the bike stand. I’d say it made him grumpier, but that’s just his sparkling personality.”
“Be right there,” I said, pushing down the accelerator in my truck.
When I walked into the clubhouse, the sharp tang of motor oil and blood cut through the usual smoky haze. Chaos yipped from Hatchet’s feet, bounding over to me. She nipped my leg and bit at my fingers as I crouched to scratch her ears.
“Don’t let her do that,” Hatchet growled.
“Oh, she’s fine. She’s just a baby.”
Merrick sat at the bar, holding a gauze pad pressed up against his head.
“Thought you might want to practice sutures this evening,” Hatchet said, gesturing to the field kit already spread across the bar.
I rolled my eyes. “I get enough practice at work.” I slipped behind the bar, scrubbing my hands under scalding water till my skin pinked. I hoisted myself onto the surface, sitting eye-to-eye with Merrick. “Consider my service the rent payment for the month, by the way.”
“It’s fine. It’ll stop bleeding on its own,” Merrick grumbled. “I don’t need stitches.”
I snapped a pair of rubber gloves onto my hands. “Oh, did you go to medical school? Did you become a doctor? No? Then shut the hell up.” I pulled away the cotton and grimaced. The ugly gash with jagged edges welled with blood. “That’s definitely going to leave a scar.”
“On his perfect face?” Hatchet asked. “What will happen to his modeling career?”
Merrick glowered at him.
I held back a laugh as I pressed the dressing back. “Hold it there for me,” I ordered. I checked Merrick’s pupils, and they responded fine. “Your thick head must’ve protected your brain. At least you don’t have a concussion.”
I hummed to the country music playing on the jukebox as I cleaned and sutured the wound. My phone, which I’d left on the other side of the bar, chirped three times. “Hatchet, will you check that for me? My PIN is 1954.”
Hatchet reached over the bar and grabbed my phone. A growl erupted from his chest as he silently read the text. “What the fuck.” His eyes flicked to mine. “This asshole’s still texting you?”
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Merrick added, trying to turn his head before I palmed his cheek and forced him to stay still.
“Stop moving or I’ll sew your eyebrows together,” I snapped. I shrugged, focusing on the next stitch. “I don’t even read them anymore. Just delete and block.”
“This isn’t an ‘I miss you, please come back’ text,” Hatchet bit out. His jaw flexed. “He’s threatening you. He’s calling you names.”
Merrick shoved his hand out toward him, palm open, silently demanding my phone, but I smacked his wrist down. “Chill out unless you want a lobotomy.”
“We can’t look the other way,” Merrick said, his voice going to that low, cold tone that promised violence.
“This is why I didn’t tell you guys,” I muttered, snipping the suture and tying it off. “I don’t need you overreacting. It’s just a couple of text messages. He’s not even in the country right now. He’ll get bored and move on soon.”
“If he sends you one more text, I’ll cut his hands off,” Merrick threatened.
I rolled my eyes, even as a chill slid down my spine. My brother wasn’t joking. Chaos whined at my feet, picking up on the tension. I slid off the bar and snapped off the gloves. “You’re not cutting anyone’s hands off. I’ve got it handled. I’m not a damsel in distress.”