Saving Axe (Motorcycle Club Romance, Cowboy, Military) (Inferno Motorcycle Club) (23 page)

"Here," I whispered, taking off his tee-shirt.  "You're soaked."

"June," he said.  "I'm sorry."

"
It was a panic attack," I said.  You have nothing to feel sorry for.  "I get them too."

He wrapped his arms around me, slid into bed behind me, his skin warm against mine.  "The nightmares don't
happen every night," he said.

"It's okay, Cade."  I closed my eyes.  "You're
safe."

Before I drifted off to sleep, I thought,
It's my heart that's in danger.

Axe

Safe.

I lay there, holding June, not daring to move, listening to her breathing get deeper as she fell asleep in my arms.  I wanted to avoid having to talk about what had just happened.  I didn't need to play twenty questions with her about this shit.

The fucking nightmares, the panic attacks...they were old hat for me now.  I'd had them for years, and it wasn't like June could do anything about them.  Right after I'd gotten out, I talked to someone at the VA, made it through a couple sessions before I decided dredging up my past was abo
ut the most useless shit ever.

I didn't want to relieve that shit with June.

She was in that convoy - the explosion.  She'll understand.

I squelched that fucking voice in my head.  I'm sure June didn't think I knew, but I'd looked her up.  I knew about what had happened, how she was in Afghanistan, attached to one of the medical battalions who'd gone out on an easy humanitarian mission.  Teaching
doctors from a local Afghani hospital.  As soon as I started reading the article about her, I knew she would have loved that, volunteered for it.  One of the vehicles in their convoy had hit an IED and the convoy had taken fire - a whole fucking group of doctors.  June had dragged her wounded corpsman out of the line of fire, but he'd died anyway.  The article had called her "the hero surgeon."

If anyone would understand this shit, it would be June.  She'd said she had panic attacks.
  I knew from experience that was probably the tip of the iceberg.  But June, she dealt with things differently.  Fuck, she channeled her shit into opening a bed and breakfast.  Her big act of rebellion was quitting her job as a surgeon.

I channeled all my shit into becoming better at being a murderer.  There was a big difference between us.

All the bullshit, the nightmares, the waking up in cold sweats...it was just easier to not talk about it.  I'd learned that much.  All the shit I'd seen - there was just too much of it to put into words anymore.  It had become part of me, part of my soul.  Killing for the club just confirmed what I already knew about myself - that I was too far gone to do anything else.

I wasn't always like this, though.  The Marines do a pretty good job of putting you through the ringer before you become a sniper - psych evaluations and all that bullshit.  They have to be sure you're not a fucking psychopath before giv
ing you a weapon and asking you to act like one.  Most of the guys I knew were just like me - good guys, guys with families, guys from ranches or small towns who knew their way around rifles.

And after what happened with June's family, the secret I had kept, I told myself that doing this was the only way.  It was my path to redemption.  I was part of something bigger than myself, something noble.

So I deployed, five times in as many years.  Volunteered for missions.  I was shit hot, and it felt good to be good at something.  But I was a sniper during the first five years of the war, when shit was bad.  I pictured myself lying in a field, shooting targets from a half a mile away.  Sometimes it was like that.  But mostly, it wasn't.  It was protecting a squad on foot in Baghdad or in Ramadi, taking out targets in buildings.  It was always business, never personal.  I never felt bad about any of the targets I killed - they were always armed, always the enemy.

The guys I was protecting, the ones I lost...those were the ones I felt bad about.  Those were the deaths I couldn't get out of my head.  Those were the guys I would feel responsible for failing, until the day I died.

And those were the scenes that replayed in my mind, over and over like a video stuck on a loop.  Those were the images that haunted me during the day, popping up when I least expected it, when I caught a whiff of something in the air, or heard the sound of a car backfiring.  Those were the nightmares that stole my sleep.

At night, I would close my eyes, and see it in my mind's eye...the flash of light,
clouds of dust and debris kicked up around me, the billowing dust cloud that colored the air.  I'd hear the explosion, followed by a moment of dead silence, and then the ringing in my ears.  I'd feel the shockwave from the blast wash over me before I was thrown to the ground.

Every night, the same thing.  And in my dreams, I'd see the men I failed to save.

I was stirring cream into my coffee, trying to force myself to wake up, my head still groggy, when I heard June pad into the kitchen, her footsteps light on the tiled floor.  She slid her arms around my waist, and I felt myself stiffen.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing."

That wasn't true.

June stepped back away from me, touched my arm.  "Cade," she said.  "Turn around and look at me."

I turned, sighing.  Exasperated.  Not with her, but with myself.  "What, June?"

"What happened last night-" she began.  I cut her off.  I didn't want her pity.

"What happened last night won't happen again
," I said.  I wouldn't let it.  I told myself she would understand, but the truth was, we were different.  She had so much shit in her life, and she'd risen above it.  I would drag her down.

"
Cade, it's okay.  I've had panic attacks, nightmares."  Her hand was still on my arm.  "It helps to talk about it."

I drew my arm back from her, sat at the table with my coffee.  "I don't need to talk about it."

"I'm not saying you need to.  I'm just telling you that it's fine if - "

I cut her off.  "
Leave it alone, June.  It's not your fucking problem."

It was m
ean, what I said, and I immediately regretted it.  The silence hung heavy in the air between us.  I heard her clear her throat, and I didn't want to know what she was about to say.  Probably kick me out.  I wouldn't give her the chance.

I stood up, not looking at her.  "I need to get back to t
he house.  My dad's going to be wondering where the hell I am.  Crunch too."

"I'm pretty sure they k
now where you are," June said.

"Still, I should go."

"Just like that," June said.

Now I looked at her, standing,
with her back to the kitchen counter, her arms crossed in front of her.  I might not have been able to save some people, but I could save her from me.

"What did you expect from me, June?
" I asked, knowing I was being mean.  I steeled myself.  It was for the best.  "Did you think I was going to hang out here and play house with you, just because we screwed a couple of times?"

June's eyes narrowed.  I knew I was hurting her
, but she didn't need me around her.  What did I think was going to happen here, anyway - June would ride off on the back of my bike, into the sunset?  She didn't need to be involved in my life.  I might be fucked up beyond redemption, but I wasn't an idiot.  June was way too good for me, and I knew it.

"No," she said.  "I sure as hell didn't peg you for the marrying kind."

I knew I wasn't that type, but hearing it from June, the girl I used to think I'd marry, still stung.  "I was, once."

"Yeah, well, you're right, you know.  The Cade I knew back then is long gone.  I thought I saw a glimpse of him over the past
couple of days, but I was wrong."

Part of me wanted to argue with her, tell her that Cade, the one from high school, was still there, that I wasn't completely l
ost.  But that wasn't true.  I was, and I'd been lost for a long time.

"Nope.  You're right," I sa
id.  "That Cade is long gone."  I turned away from her.  I didn't want her to see my face.  She'd always had an uncanny knack for being able to tell when I was lying to her.  I started to walk away, toward the hallway, but stopped.  I couldn't help but get in a parting shot.  "I guess you'll have to find a new fuck toy now."

"Cad
e," she said, her voice cracking.  For a moment, I thought about turning around, but I knew if I did I would be at her mercy.  She already had too big a hold on me.

It would be
better for her if she hated me.

It would be
better for her if I were gone.

"I w
ondered when you'd be back," my dad said.  His back was turned to me, and he ran a brush along the flank of one of the mares.

"You need some help with anything,
Pop?"  I lingered at the door of the barn.

"Need some help muc
king out the stalls," he said.  "Pitchfork is over there."

I worke
d silently, losing myself in the physical labor.  Working the ranch had always helped me quiet my mind, no matter what the problem was.  I was hoping it would work when it came to the thoughts about June.  I just needed to silence what was going through my head.

"So," he said, finally turning to me when I'd made my way to the stall right beside him.  "You've been at June's
place for the past two days."

"Let it be,
Pop."  I didn't want to answer questions about her.

He ignored me.  "Are you going to do right by that girl?"

"Pop."  I turned toward him, set the pitchfork up against the side of the wall.  "What are you talking about?  Me and June, we're not anything."

He looked at me, his gaze unyielding.  "Son, you and June have always been something.  You've been something since the day you me
t.  Now, I stood by and watched you throw everything away, push away everyone who loved and cared about you, when you ran off to California with the biker gang."