Chapter Six

Gage

I t's been a couple of days since I showed up at Max's door and found him sitting on the floor surrounded by shattered wood, the sound of his anguished cries filling the room. Despite his less-than-ideal mental state over Jaxon up and leaving, he agreed to let me stay in the lighthouse, which was a great relief.

God knows how he managed to spend so much time in this lighthouse before Jax came along. It's like living in a hobbit's house and my standing at six-foot-two doesn't help either. This sofa I'm currently on is uncomfortable as fuck, and it's so small that my feet hang off the edge. It's also a pain in the ass that I need to duck whenever I use the stairs. At this rate, I'm gonna end up with a crick in my neck.

When I snooped around on the first day, I only ventured as far as the bedroom and bathroom areas. I'd already destroyed my bar, so I didn't dare break anything in the lighthouse control rooms.

This building is old, weathered, and built in a time when people must have been shorter, because when I saw the small shower, I immediately declared myself Stig of the Dump and decided I'd rather stink than try to use it. There's no way I'm fitting into that tiny space.

Max's spare clothes, including the tees, pose some challenges as well. They're slightly tight on the chest since I'm bigger than him, but I manage to squeeze myself into them at least. The jeans, however, are too short, and it looks like my ankles have had a fight with a lawnmower.

My hair is getting greasy too; the downside of having shoulder-length hair and one usable arm, I guess. It's my pride and joy, though. Brad preferred my hair cut short, ensuring that I always looked presentable when we went out for dinner. The day I moved to Hope, I decided to let it grow out. It was a little screw you to him. When I rummaged through the desk drawer by the window in the living room, I came across a handful of rubber bands, perfect for tying it up until I could get back home to wash it.

I flick off the TV as the sound of approaching footsteps catches my attention. Max must be on his way up for his routine checks. I hope that today he'll finally strike up a conversation with me. Walking in with a purpose, I sit up as he shoots me a quick glance before heading straight to his desk. This doesn't bode well.

"Hey buddy," I try.

"Mmmm," he grunts back

Not exactly what I was hoping for, but Mama didn't raise no quitter. "Need any help?"

"No." The sharpness of his reply is palpable, and I find myself wincing.

Before I can utter another word, he snatches his book and makes a hasty exit from the room, heading up the stairs.

Awesome. He still can't stand me. I get it. He's pissed about the fire and devastated that Jax took off, but I still stand by what I said—Jax will be back.

Because I've never been in love, I can't relate to what he's going through. Oh well, I'll just have to suck it up and deal with his rejection. He'll come around. No one, not even my grumpy best friend, can resist my charm.

At one point, I did think that I was in love with Brad, but after our split, I came to realize that I wasn't actually upset about the breakup. It was more the convenience of the relationship that I loved. We were simply a temporary solution for each other, offering what we both needed at the time. I'm kinda bummed I wasted eight years with the guy, but I'm a firm believer that everything happens for a reason.

My phone goes off. It's message number five from ‘Tom the Twink.' Yeah, that's his nickname on my phone. Tom was passing through a few months back when he showed up at the bar, all flirty and horny. Of course, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to get my dick sucked! I was always the bottom with Brad; it seemed to give him a sense of power or some shit. There was no room for negotiation when I suggested swapping. So now I'm living my best life, giving and receiving. I open the message and see he's sent a dick pic. Usually, it would get me all fired up, but my little buddy doesn't even flinch. The appeal of seeing Tom the Twink is nowhere to be found. God, I hope I haven't reached that age where my libido just falls off the face of the earth. Or maybe I inhaled too much smoke, and some nerve endings got damaged. I don't know if shit like that can happen, and I didn't even think to ask the doc the other day. Today's definitely not a good day. First Max ignores me, then my dick stops working.

Max comes back down. He must have finished his checks. He walks straight past me without so much as a glance my way.

As the door slams, I call out, "Bye then!" Despite my sarcasm, my chest stings. I don't like that Max is giving me the silent treatment—especially because I don't blame him. I really fucked up this time.

Since I have nothing better to do, I might as well watch some mind-numbing TV. There's not even Netflix in this godforsaken place. I'm gonna die here, I just know it. RIP to the Hunkiest Man Alive. They can bury me next to my libido. Fuck .

I'm woken up by banging on the door. Glancing at my phone, I see it's 10 a.m. Shit. The doc.

In a rush, I run down, yanking the door open and I'm met with Doc Green, who's wearing green slacks, a white shirt, and a tie with fried eggs on it.

"Good morning, Gage," he says cheerfully.

"Morning, Doc. Come on in." He casually slides past me and makes his way up to the living area.

"How has your stay been so far?"

"It's all right, I guess. I mean, I appreciate having a roof over my head. Where do you need me?"

"The sofa will do. Can I sit on the coffee table?"

"Sure, go for it."

"Let's go ahead and change this dressing. Do you have any concerns about it so far?"

"Nah. It's painful as shit, but I can't complain. It's no more than I deserve."

"Now, don't be like that. No one deserves to be hurt. It was a truly unfortunate accident."

"Yeah, a really stupid one," I mumble.

"We all make mistakes, son. It's just a part of being human. The important thing is that we learn from them."

"I'm sure the whole town hates me by now." Sinking down onto the couch, I sigh deeply. If I'm being honest, I could live with that. But Max hating my guts? That fucking stings. He's more than just a friend. He's like a brother to me.

"Gage, no one holds any ill will toward you. We were all aware of Aunt Petunia's character and the rundown condition of the bar. If you ever need it, remember that you can trust any of us in Hope to be there for you."

I'm already aware of this, but pride sometimes clouds your judgment. Clearly my head's full of cotton since I thought I had it all under control.

"Okay, it's time to change this dressing." With gloved hands, he retrieves a large sterile sheet and spreads it out on my lap. On the table, he puts another smaller sheet, a cardboard dish, and some cotton swabs before flicking open the cap of the sterile water.

"What did the hospital say?"

With each turn of the bandage, a soft hiss escapes my lips. "Gotta see the specialist again next week. Ouch, Doc. Do you do this work because you get a kick out of people's pain?"

"Something like that," he hums, chuckling. "Absolutely nothing to do with helping people."

"How many times do we need to do this?"

"Let's see what's under this gauze first, shall we? Are you ready?" He raises an eyebrow at me.

Taking a few deep breaths, I brace myself for what's underneath. When I was in the hospital, I purposely avoided looking at it. I couldn't handle the reality that I might have injured someone. Not looking made it less real. But I need to face it now.

"Yeah, take it easy and go at a slow pace, alright?"

"Certainly. I'll do my best to be gentle." He applies a portion of the saline solution to help loosen the gauze, preventing it from completely stripping off my skin.

The sound of the gauze leaving my skin is not pleasant, and as he slowly pulls it back, I grind my teeth from the pain and discomfort.

"It looks good, even with the healing still in the early stages, but I've seen worse. I think it has the potential to heal on its own with no surgical procedures. Keep in mind, I'm no specialist, so don't take my word for it."

As I inspect my arm, I can't help but wince at the sight of its bright red, inflamed appearance. Some parts of it gleam with a shiny finish, while a few blisters are still visible. It's still swollen and the cold air stings like a motherfucker. Although it's not pretty, I know it could have been so much worse.

The sight of my arm for the first time, coupled with the pain of exposing it, makes me feel lightheaded. I lean back on the sofa, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths, hoping I won't vomit.

It reminds me of an eventful day at the beach six years ago, before I'd moved to Hope. I'd joined my work friends for a fun day of drinking, swimming, and catching up. Arrogantly, I'd declared my immunity to sunburns and refused the sunblock they offered, only to suffer from sunstroke later after falling asleep in the blazing midday sun. The pain in my back from the sunburn was excruciating, and I couldn't stop vomiting from the severity of it. It took me weeks to recover from that. You better believe I wear sunscreen now.

Once Doc finishes cleaning the wound, he gently applies cooling aloe before carefully putting on a sterile gauze and wrapping it up again. After that ordeal, I desperately need pain meds. I make my way to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and swallow some down, while Doc Green packs up his equipment.

My phone pinging again reminds me of my broken dick, and since I have zero shame, I ask, "Hey Doc, I have a question." I give my neck a rub. It's now or never. I gotta ask if I'm about to lose my pole dancing stick.

"Gage?" he says, reminding me of how I've left him hanging. "What's the question?"

"Huh? Oh, um. Something's wrong downstairs."

"Downstairs?" He looks confused.

I motion toward my broken dick. "Ya know, downstairs."

"Oh right, you mean your penis?"

"Jesus," I groan with mortification. I guess I discovered my shame after all. "Yes."

"Okay, what's the problem with it?" Doc asks patiently, his face nothing but neutral professionalism.

"I've been receiving texts from Tom the Twink, but nothing seems to be happening down there."

"Tom the Twink? Am I supposed to know who that is?" he asks, a peculiar frown between his bushy brows.

"Oh, he's a hookup of mine. He's been texting me, but nothing's happening down there… you know." I point to my junk again. "I think it's broken, and I can't have a broken dick. I'm too pretty to be out of service."

Doc suddenly bursts into laughter and gives me a friendly pat on the back. "I apologize, Gage. I shouldn't be laughing, but you truly have a talent for expressing yourself."

"This is serious business, Doc. What am I gonna do?"

Doc gains his composure and asks "So, is this a recent development?"

"Yeah. Usually, I don't have any problems with guys, but look at this picture he sent me." I grab my phone from the table to show Doc.

"No need for me to see it," he rushes out. "I trust your word," he indicates with his hands up. I pocket my phone. "There's no need to worry. Keep in mind that you've recently been in an accident, and your body is still in the recovery process. Being in an unfamiliar environment can contribute to feeling unsettled too, and so your body is out of sorts. Give yourself time to recover, and once you're back in the bar, I'm sure the issue… ahhh … ‘ downstairs ' will resolve itself."

"So, he's not gonna shrivel up like an old prune and fall off?"

"No, Gage," he chuckles. "It's completely normal, but if you still have concerns in a few weeks, then please drop by the clinic."

"Okay, thanks Doc. I'll walk you out." I already feel much better knowing my little guy is gonna stay attached to my body.

"How's Max holding up, by the way?" Doc asks as we reach his car. "I heard Jaxon left town."

"Ahh, well, he's not doing so great. Stomps into the lighthouse, does his work, and then leaves without saying anything."

Sighing, he laments, "Heartbreak has that effect on people."

"It's rough seeing your best friend like that, ya know?"

He agrees with a nod. "Yes, it is, but he'll bounce back. Give him time, and just offer your support when he's ready." Glancing at his watch, he grimaces. "Well, I'd better be on my way. There's no rest for the wicked."

Placing his medical bag in his trunk, he stops abruptly, throwing his hands up. "Oh, I almost forgot! I have something for you." Retrieving a Kraft box from the trunk, he hands it to me.

"Sherry prepared some treats. She thought it might make you feel better."

Taking hold of it, I sneak a peek under the flap, and I'm greeted by the enticing smell of baked goods. My stomach lets out a shameless sound of appreciation. I wasn't about to complain to Max about the lack of food in the lighthouse after he gave me free lodging. I could walk my ass into town and pick up my truck and get groceries, but the pain meds directions recommend not driving whilst taking them. The last thing I need is another accident.

"You tell Sherry she's a star and that her drinks will be on the house once I reopen."

"I'll be sure to pass along the message to her. Have you heard any updates about the extent of the damage?"

"Yeah, I got a call yesterday. The fire chief informed me they would be going in today. Said he'll contact me in a few days to let me know when I can go back."

"Hopefully, it won't be as terrible as you expect, and you'll be back home soon." Taking a seat behind the wheel, he says cheerfully, "See you in three days!"

"See ya, Doc. And thanks." Let's hope the doc's predictions are right, and there isn't too much damage. At this point, I have no idea what I'll be walking into.