5. Doc
DOC
Three weeks in, and Diesel was bleeding out on my table.
"Stay with me, brother." Gauze pressed against the knife wound in his side, my hands moving with the precision that came from three tours and too many combat zones. "You're not dying in my clinic."
"Wasn't planning on it," he managed through gritted teeth.
The blade had gone deep. Nicked an artery. I could see it in the blood flow, the way his breathing had gone shallow. This needed to be fast and clean or I'd lose him.
Pope stood by the door, Hammer at his side. Waiting. Watching. Ready to call it if I couldn't save him.
I didn't give them a reason to call it.
My hands didn't shake. Not once. Not when I made the first incision. Not when I found the bleeder and clamped it. Not when I sutured layer by layer, methodical and steady.
The brothers had gotten into it with some Iron Serpents at a bar two towns over. Diesel had taken a blade meant for Hammer. Now I was keeping him breathing while sirens wailed somewhere in the distance.
"Done," I said forty minutes later, stepping back. "He'll live."
Pope's shoulders dropped. "Good work, Doc."
Stripping off my gloves, I finally let myself register what had just happened. Emergency surgery. Life or death situation. High stress, everything on the line.
And my hands had been rock-steady the entire time.
Not shaking. Not trembling. Just... steady.
I stared at my palms in the fluorescent light, turning them over. The same hands that used to shake every night in the dark. The same hands that had made me doubt I'd ever be whole again.
I knew why they were steady now.
Rory. Luna. The life waiting for me upstairs after I finished cleaning up. Someone to come home to that wasn't nightmares and guilt.
Purpose. Family. Love.
Fuck. I was in love with her.
Three AM when I finally climbed the stairs to the apartment, exhausted and covered in Diesel's blood. I'd cleaned up at the clinic but my shirt was ruined, my jeans stained.
The apartment was dark except for one lamp by the couch.
Rory sat curled up under a blanket, a book in her lap. Relief flooded her face when I walked in.
"You're okay." She crossed to me immediately. "I heard sirens and Maddie called and said there'd been trouble and I didn't know if—"
"I'm fine." I caught her hands. "Diesel took a knife. He's stable. Pope's watching him tonight."
"You've been working this whole time?" Her fingers traced the blood on my shirt. "God, Cole."
"Had to make sure he'd live." I pulled her against me, needing her warmth. "I'm okay. Better than okay."
"You're shaking." Her palms pressed against my chest.
She was right. Not my hands this time—those were still steady. But my whole body trembled with exhaustion and adrenaline crash.
"Come on." She took my hand, led me to the bedroom. "Shower first. Then bed."
She stripped off my ruined clothes and guided me into the shower. Washed the blood away with gentle hands while I leaned against the tile and let her care for me the way I'd been caring for them.
When we finally fell into bed, I pulled her close and buried my face in her hair.
"I was worried," she whispered.
"I know. I'm sorry." I kissed her shoulder, her neck, needing to feel her alive and whole beneath my touch. "I love you."
The words escaped before I thought about them.
She went still. Then turned in my arms to face me, her eyes searching mine in the darkness.
"Say it again."
"I love you." Easier the second time. True both times. "Have for a while now. Didn't want to scare you off."
"Cole." Her fingers traced my face. "I love you too. So much it terrifies me."
I kissed her then—slow and deep and full of everything I'd been holding back. She opened for me, her body arching into mine, and the exhaustion vanished in the face of needing her.
"Let me—" I started, but she was already pushing me onto my back, straddling me, taking control.
"You've been taking care of everyone else all night." Her mouth found my throat. "Let me take care of you."
She rode me slow and steady, her hands braced on my chest, her eyes holding mine. Building it up gentle and perfect until we both shattered, her name on my lips and mine on hers.
After, wrapped around each other in the dark, she whispered it again.
"I love you."
"Love you too, sweetheart." I pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You and Luna both."
For the first time in three years, I fell asleep without nightmares.
Two days later, I was helping Rev tune a bike at Redemption Customs when Matt showed up.
Heard his voice before I saw him. "Where is she?"
I straightened from the engine, wiping grease from my fingers. The afternoon sun behind him cast his shadow long across the garage floor.
Matt stood in the entrance, backlit and tense. No uniform this time. Civilian clothes and a jacket that didn't quite hide the gun at his hip.
"You need to leave."
"Not without my family." He took a step forward, hand moving toward his waistband. "You think you can take what's mine? Think I'd let that happen?"
"She was never yours." I kept my tone calm, medic-calm, the voice I used on people about to do something stupid. "You can't own people, Matt. And she left you. It's over."
"It's over when I say it's over." His grip closed around his weapon. "Now where the fuck is she?"
"Bad move, cop."
Hammer appeared from the back of the garage, Diesel beside him despite the bandages under his shirt. Then Pope stepped through the side door, and suddenly the space was full of brothers—Rev, Jax, Ghost, all wearing their cuts and making it clear Matt had fucked up.
The temperature in the garage dropped twenty degrees.
"You're out of your jurisdiction," Pope said, his voice deadly quiet. "Threatening a man at his work. With a weapon."
Matt's hand froze on his gun. His gaze darted around the garage, taking in the brothers surrounding him. The odds that had shifted completely against him.
"This is between me and him," Matt tried, but his voice had lost its certainty.
"No." I stepped forward. "This is between you and reality. She left you. Got a divorce. She's with me now. And you showing up here with a gun to threaten me? That's not getting her back. That's proving she was right to run."
"You don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly." Hammer moved closer, all muscle and menace. "You're a coward who used his badge to terrorize his ex-wife. Now you've got no badge here. No jurisdiction. No power."
Pope crossed his arms, blocking the exit. "You're surrounded, outgunned, and out of your depth. Walk away right now, or we handle this our way."
The words hung in the air. No mistaking their meaning. Matt was standing in an MC garage, surrounded by brothers, with his hand on a gun he'd never get drawn in time.
One wrong move and he'd disappear.
Matt's face went pale as understanding hit. His fingers slowly released the weapon, hands rising slightly.
"Smart choice." Pope's tone didn't warm. "Now get the fuck out of our town. And if you ever come back, if you ever contact her again, we won't be this generous."
Matt glanced around at the brothers closing in. At me standing my ground. At Pope's cold certainty.
Then he bolted.
Scrambled out of the garage like the coward he was, engine starting, tires squealing as he fled Saint's Hollow.
"Let him go," Pope said when Hammer moved to follow. "He's done. He knows it. We know it. And he knows if he comes back, we'll bury him."
I nodded, my hands still steady despite the adrenaline. "Thanks, brothers."
"That's what family does," Hammer said. "You'd do the same for any of us."
Later that night, Pope called with an update. Matt had transferred to a department across the country within twenty-four hours. Put in for relocation so fast it was clear he wanted distance between himself and the Hellbound Saints.
He was gone. Really gone this time.
"How do you know he won't come back?" Rory asked that night, curled against my side in bed.
"Because he's a coward." I stroked her hair, breathing in her vanilla scent. "Cowards fold when they're exposed. Matt thought he had power—the badge, the authority, the ability to intimidate you. Today he learned he's got nothing here. The brothers made sure of that."
"I can't believe it's really over."
"It's over." I pulled her tighter. "You're protected. Luna's protected. And he's three thousand miles away trying to forget he ever fucked with an MC."
She was quiet for a moment. Then: "Your hands haven't shaken all day."
I blinked. Glanced down at my palms in the dim light from the living room. She was right.
Usually by now, exhausted and winding down, the tremors would start. The PTSD creeping in. The memories.
But my hands were steady.
"Mine either," I said quietly.
"Why do you think that is?"
"Because I've got a reason to stay steady now." I kissed the top of her head. "Worth fighting for."
"Doc?" Luna's small voice came from the alcove. "I had a bad dream."
"Come here, baby girl." I lifted the blanket, making room between Rory and me.
Luna climbed up, Mr. Hops clutched tight, and burrowed into the space between us. Her small body fit perfectly there, warm and trusting.
"What was the dream about?" Rory asked, smoothing Luna's hair.
“Daddy finding us and being really cross.” Luna's voice was tiny. "But then Doc punched him again and he ran away."
"That's exactly what happened," I said. "And he's not coming back. You're protected now."
"Promise?"
"Promise." I tucked the blanket around her. "You and your mama both. Always."
Luna was quiet for a beat. Then: "Love you, Doc."
The words struck deep. This kid who'd been running scared five weeks ago. Who'd had an asthma attack in my clinic. Who'd watched me punch her father and decided I was worth trusting.
"Love you too, baby girl."
Her breathing evened out almost immediately, exhausted from her nightmare and comforted by our presence. She'd be asleep in minutes.
My eyes met Rory's over Luna's head. Tears tracked down her face, but she was smiling.
"This is everything," she mouthed.
I nodded, throat tight.
My hands were steady. My family was protected. The nightmares had stopped.
And lying here between the two people I loved most in the world, I finally understood what healing looked like.