Making the Cut (17 page)

“Yeah, I’m done,” I breathed.

Otis waved toward the fellas who were standing off to the side, obviously afraid to intervene. Hollywood and Pete stepped in front of me, picked the man up, carried him past the entrance gate, and laid him on the curb. Luckily, the clubhouse was in an industrial area of the city, and away from the general population, at least at night. Although he could probably use medical attention, he sure as fuck wasn’t going to get it from any of us. When he woke up, he’d realize how he fucked up. More than likely when he was back in Wichita telling stories or asking questions, someone would explain to him the benefit of keeping his mouth shut around the Sinners.

“Well, Avery pointed the kid out. I was just going to carry him out and toss his dumb ass in the street, but fucking Toad came runnin’ out of the dyno room when he heard all the screaming. His fuckin’ belt wasn’t buckled, and his baggy fuckin’ pants were all around his thighs like Busta fuckin’ Rhymes or one a those fuckers,” Otis paused and started laughing.

“So this kid looks at Toad and his fuckin’ pants and he starts laughing. I didn’t hear it, but the fellas said he said some shit like,
what the fuck are ‘you’ gonna do about it?
Yeah, didn’t end well for him. Toad jumped up in the air and did some fucking Bruce Lee shit. Kicked the kid in the head, and when he hit the ground, his head split open like a ripe melon. Funny part was when Toad came back down from the spinning kick deal. His fuckin’ baggy pants hit the ground,” Otis shook his head and started laughing again.

“Commando?” I chuckled as I looked up from my bloody knuckles.

“Yep,” Otis nodded.

I shook my head and laughed, “Can’t buy entertainment like this, can ya? Where’s the girl?”

“In the Shop with Sloan. Think ya mighta scared her a little bit with the beatin’ you gave that poor bastard,” Otis shrugged.

I glanced down at my bloody hand. As I walked toward the shop I pressed my knuckles into my jeans. Avery and Sloan stood talking amongst a small group of Sinners. Without speaking, I walked to the cabinet, grabbed a rag and my lick ‘n stick, and slowly made my way to my bike. Methodically, I wiped the dust off the rear fender, positioned the seat in the center, and pressed it into place. I tied the rag around my hand and looked over my shoulder toward Avery.

“Avery!” I hollered as I stretched my leg over the seat and rested my rag-wrapped hand on the right grip.

Her eyes widened as she spun my direction. It seemed as if she had no idea I was even in the shop. I reached behind me and slapped the lick ‘n stick with my left hand. She smiled, nodded her head toward the fellas, gave Sloan a hug, and pulled her glasses from her purse. As she walked across the shop, rolled the hair tie off her wrist, and pulled her hair into a ponytail, I couldn’t keep myself from smiling.

And I hate people seeing me smile.

Silently, she swung her leg over the fender, dropped down onto the seat, and placed her hands against my waist. I glanced down as she rested her feet on the pegs. After I twisted the throttle twice and pulled the choke, I flipped the ignition and hit the
start
button.

“See you fellas in the morning,” I hollered over the sound of the exhaust.

“Ready?”

“Always,” she responded.

I grabbed a handful of throttle, released the clutch, and pulled out onto the street. I knew Avery had no idea where we were headed; hell, she didn’t care. As long as she was with me, she seemed to be satisfied with everything else around her. I turned and looked over my shoulder as we passed under a street light. She smiled a smile of complete satisfaction. The type of smile that washes over your face naturally and is never created for a camera; the smile you might see only a few times in a lifetime.

As I shifted my gaze to the road and out of her line of sight, I smiled the exact same smile.

AVERY

There comes a time in every woman’s life where she must decide whether or not she wants to take the next step with a man; to add him to the list of
other
men who have gone the distance with her sexually. Very few women, if any, stay with their first love for their entire life. Especially with girls my age, the lists of men continues to grow as we’re drunk and make stupid decisions, are lied to by some smooth talking player, or fall into another trap of some married prick who gives us a false sense of security and really wants nothing more than a quick piece of ass.

A few months ago, I may have eagerly fucked a man who seemed at the time to be a challenge, an impossible task, or someone worthy of my advances. The difficult chase had always made the success taste sweeter. The more impossible the man was to obtain, the more justified the sex was in the end. Now, sitting in Axton’s living room, I had one goal and one goal only.

To end the chase forever.

I would be a fool to believe at this point in time I was falling in love with Axton. To do so would be juvenile, and completely inaccurate. I’m not a foolish woman, and I don’t fall into the typical patterns of wishful girls who fall in love with every man they meet. I did know one thing about Axton if I knew nothing else; being in his presence allowed me to exhale. When we were together, I relaxed. Nothing else around me mattered when he was by my side. After spending time with Axton, for the first time in my life I felt comfortable in my own skin. It wasn’t necessarily what he said, because he was a man of few words. It was more of what he
didn’t
say, and his ways of speaking which weren’t necessarily vocal.

Maybe what I was feeling was the
onset
of love. I didn’t know for sure, and would have no way of knowing; as I had no experience with being in love. Quite possibly it was Axton’s alpha male presence combined with his
don’t fuck with me
walk and handsome looks. It could very well be the fact that I
knew
in his presence I would never be harmed by another man. This certainly wouldn’t prevent
him
from harming me, but I had a gut feeling as tough as he was, he would never be violent toward me.

Nervously sitting on the couch, I waited for him to get out of the bathroom. I looked around the house, surprised by the cleanliness. Everything was perfectly placed and the entire home appeared spotless. As I surveyed the contents of the living room, I realized everything in the home was symmetrical. The pictures hanging on the walls were all placed in a pattern. The lampshades were all perfectly positioned, none were out of place or titled. Two couches, a loveseat, and two chairs were in the living room. A coffee table in the center was decorated with two stone bookends and a dozen or so hardbound books that appeared to be no less than a century old. I stood from the couch and quietly walked toward the bedrooms. One room had a bed, nightstand, dresser, and weight lifting equipment. Again, everything was perfectly placed. I glanced in the other bedroom. One entire wall was a bookcase. After counting the spines of a few books and performing some simple math, it appeared there were over a thousand books in the case. A bed, nightstand, a sewing machine, and digital clock were the only other objects in the room. The bed, although made with a simple comforter and two pillows, was crease and wrinkle free. As I turned to walk from the room, I noticed a small cardboard box on the floor neatly placed by the door. I looked inside.

My cap, gown, diploma, and the gift box sat inside.

You sneaky fucker.

I tiptoed back into the living room and walked toward the coffee table and bent down. I carefully traced my index finger along the spine of the books,
A Bridge Too Far, Making of the President, The Blue and Gray, The Caine Mutiny, Midnight, Robin Hood, Closing the Ring, Cast the First Stone, Mark Twain’s Works, The Days of McKinley, The Birth of Britain.

As I heard Axton turn the faucet in the bathroom off, I fell backward onto the couch and rested my cheek in the palm of my hand. A few seconds later, he emerged from the bathroom.

“Your hands steady?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“Your hands, do you shake?”

“No, I mean not really. Why”

“Here,” he said as he reached toward me.

I took a small plastic tube from his hand. As I looked at it curiously, he explained.

“Superglue. I need you to glue this back together,” he sighed as he sat down beside me.

He pulled a dry washcloth from his front pocket and dabbed at the large cut across the knuckle of his middle finger.

He raised the washcloth slightly and fixed his eyes on mine, “I’ll dry it up with
this
, and you squirt a little glue inside and pinch it together. Don’t
smash
it together, or it’ll look like shit when it heals. You only get one fucking chance with that shit, you know.”

I scrunched my brow, “Superglue?”

“Best shit ever,” he nodded.

I glanced down at his hand. A cut which would probably require at least four or five stitches was across his middle knuckle and onto the back of his hand. As he dabbed the blood from it, I could see into the wound until it quickly filled with blood again. It appeared to be open clear to the bone of his knuckle.

“Uhhm. That looks like it may need…” I began.

“It
needs
Superglued. Give me that shit,” he snapped as he reached for the glue.

I pulled my hand back sharply, “I’ll do it. Jesus, Mr. stubborn. Press down on it for a minute.”

“Does this stuff hurt?” I asked.

He raised both eyebrows and stared as he pressed the corner of the cloth onto the top of the wound, “Look at me. Do I really look like the type of guy that would complain if it did? And no, it doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts. It’s only uncomfortable for a second. Ready?”

I pilled the cap from the glue and squeezed the tube until a small drop began to rise on the tip, “Go!”

As soon as he pulled the cloth from his skin, I lowered the tip of the tube to the wound and attempted to make a perfect line of glue along the cut. As I was finishing my masterpiece, the blood began to boil from the cut. I opened my mouth and lightly bit the tube, holding it in my teeth. Half frantic, I pulled the washcloth from his hand as I pinched the cut together. Almost magically, the wound closed and stopped bleeding. After a few seconds of blowing on it, I wiped the excess blood.

I sat back, placed the lid onto the tube of glue, and admired my handiwork.

“A regular Florence fucking Nightingale,” he chuckled as he looked down at his knucles.

“Yep. Now all I need is for you to get the syndrome or whatever,” I said as I handed him the tube.

He shifted his gaze from his hand to me, “What syndrome?”

“The Florence Nightingale syndrome,” I said as I stood.

“Sit down,” he chuckled.

“What do you know about that?” he asked; as if he were in shock I even knew who Florence Nightingale was.

I sat lightly on the edge of the couch, “It’s where the caretaker develops a romantic interest for the…”

“I
know
what it is,” he snapped.

Well, if you’ve read all of those books in the back room, I’m sure you do.

He studied his hand for a long moment and then glanced up and broke the silence, “I don’t like sleeping in my bed if I’m dirty.”

I gazed his direction and attempted to keep my face free of expression, “Okay.”

He continued to stare at his hand, “So we’re both going to need to shower. You’ll be staying here tonight.”

Sweet Jesus.

Thank you Lord.

I looked down and began to pick at my cuticles. I had no intention of allowing him to see my face.

“Okay,” the word barely escaped my dry lips.

“So we can shower together or separate, but I’m exhausted,” he said as he stood.

I glanced up and spoke almost apologetically, “Whatever makes you more comfortable.”

“Look, don’t think for one minute you’re the first woman I’ve seen naked.
People
don’t make me uncomfortable. If you’re fine seeing my scars, come on,” he said as he turned away.

I attempted to hide my excitement as I followed him to the bathroom. On this night I watched Axton beat a man half to death for attempting to claim me, learned he trusted me enough to allow me to tend to his wounds, came to his home for the first time, and now prepared to shower with him and stay all night.

Progress.

Axton and I were making progress.

AVERY

With my head on Axton’s chest, I waited quietly for him to fall asleep. As his breathing shifted to a soft effortless pattern, I relaxed and inhaled the scent of his soap on my skin. The first time I saw him naked was in the shower, and we didn’t even have sex. Seeing his naked body and not greedily attacking him was not an easy feat, but it was a necessary one. It was crucial that the relationship proceeded at Axton’s pace, not mine. Most women would be frustrated or disappointed with the return on their investment with Axton. I, on the other hand, was absolutely thrilled with what I had received from him. Dressed in one of his wife beaters and a pair of his extra-large sweat pants, the only thing absent was the low, scratchy rumble of his voice to comfort me.

I stared at the ceiling and attempted to count the times I had ridden on his motorcycle.

When we rode to the park and he asked me if I spoke Spanish. To eat in Wichita at the noodle place. Pizza downtown. When he dropped me off at work and went to make a
deal.
The ride home later. The other time he took me to work, and waited while I worked a two hour shift because Lori’s fat ass was sick. To eat noodles again. To the coffee place in Riverside the first time. Down to the spot by the bridge where the big tree is. Riverside coffee shop again.

I started to fade in and out of sleep, and I wasn’t a third of the way done. I began counting again at the most recent, and started working backward. There were too many to count.

To his house. To the barbeque. To get new shorts before the barbeque. The night we just went
to relax
. Graduation day back from Benton. To Benton. God, riding with all those bikes was so cool. When we rolled up to the restaurant at the airport, it sounded like a hurricane. Everyone turned and looked. It was so cool to be a part of that. When we walked into the bar, I was so proud to be with him.

When we left with the other group of bikers, God it felt so powerful. More than twenty of us, side-by-side at eighty miles an hour, following the curves together, staying a foot or so apart. It looked like a work of art as we flowed down the highway.

He said
slim and not at all
the day we met. Before long this summer will be over, and I’ll have been on his bike the entire time.

Pretty God damned slim, and not at all.

Ha.

Progress.

Axton might be a big, mean, complex person, but to me, he’s Axton. I wouldn’t change anything about him, even if I had the chance.

What do I like about him the most?

Let me think...