14. Angie

Chapter 14

Angie

O nce again, I doubted my choice of outfit.

I sat on a cold metal stool, listening to the thud of axes slamming into wooden planks. The hem of my black skirt only reached mid-thigh. Every time I bent over, no matter how many times I told myself to think positively about my body, I couldn’t help but be self-conscious of the exposed cellulite on my upper legs. Plus, my thighs kept sticking to the stool. I’d paired the skirt with my cream blouse and hoop earrings, but I should have picked a more suitable pair of shoes other than my black wedge boots; they didn’t help with stability when throwing a hatchet.

Remi had told me to wear something comfortable, jeans and a printed tee. He’d been overruled by Gabby. I never should have consulted her about my wardrobe. Maybe this was her sick, twisted payback for bailing on the Imagine Dragons concert.

Before she’d gotten involved, I’d followed most of Remi’s advice and, according to her, put on an outfit that made me look like a lumberjack.

I’d responded I’d rather be Paul Bunion than be out of place dressed like a Kardashian. It fit the part. After she pointed out Paul Bunion lived alone in the forest with a big blue ox, I’d gone back into my closet and changed.

Remi walked in the door with a black bag slung over his shoulder, and his gaze scalded me from my toes to the tip of my head. He wore a fitted T-shirt, matching the lighter shade of brown in his eyes, paired with loose-fit jeans. After sliding cash to the teenager running the cash register, he walked to my lane.

“Well, you’ll definitely get his attention.” He quirked his lips into a half-smile. “It’ll be difficult to throw axes in a miniskirt and those boots.”

My half-smile froze in place, and I sagged a little. Though I hadn’t admitted it to myself, I’d been waiting for his approval. Why? I had no idea. He’d proven on a daily basis his judgement couldn’t be trusted.

“Gabby …” My voice trailed off. I didn’t have to explain myself to him. I was a grown woman. I glanced back at the place where, a decade and a half earlier, Brady had stood taunting me. No, not tonight. I wouldn’t let him, or any man, affect my confidence. “I like what I’m wearing.” I grabbed the hatchet with a duct-taped handle hanging on the wall and swung it toward him. “You’re here to teach me how to stick this,” I gestured with the axe to the wooden planks with a target painted on them, “—to that wall.”

“Whoa.” He held his hands up. “Put that thing away.”

I clenched my teeth together and returned the weapon to its place. Walking back to the table where Remi had set his bag, I folded my arms and waited for further instruction.

“First, someone who does this regularly doesn’t use the throwing axes provided. They bring their own.” Remi pulled two brand new, sharp hatchets from his bag. He handed me a belt with a metal loop on it. “Here. Put this on.”

I slid it around my waist and cinched it to fit. He then passed me an axe, which I placed in my belt, securing the snap over the protective holder. With it strapped on my hip, my nervous energy ebbed, replaced by a general feeling of badassery.

Remi took the second axe in his hand and toed the throwing line. “First lesson. Stand twelve feet back from the planks. Second. Hold your elbow in front of you, lining it up where you want to throw. Third. Throw with a smooth motion from your elbow and a little flick of your wrist.” He threw the axe, and it landed with the blade centered on the bullseye.

My eyes moved from the target to him. I blinked. Who the hell was this guy? Some reincarnated Viking god?

Remi smirked. “Your turn.”

I straightened my skirt and stepped to the line. Sliding my brand-new axe from its holster, I lifted my elbow in front of me like Remi had.

“Eh-hem.” Remi cleared his throat loudly.

“What?”

“You might want to remove the protective cover before you throw.”

I angled my head to get a better look at my blade. Sure enough, the leather cover was securely snapped into place. Heat burned from the base of my neck and into my cheeks. I yanked the sheathing off, marched it to the table, then stepped back in place. The wood handle grew warm in my sweaty palm. Without thinking or overanalyzing, I swung my arm back, closed my eyes, and let go.

A clank and a thud, like a blade sinking into the wood, echoed in the lane.

“Ahh! Ye-ah! ”

I couldn’t tell if Remi’s exclamations were good or bad. Maybe I’d hit the target and shocked him.

Opening my eyes, I examined the boards and the floor in front of them but couldn’t find where it’d landed.

“You almost hit me.” Remi breathed hard.

I cringed and turned around, but still couldn’t find it. I met Remi’s gaze as his expression changed from startled to all-out laughter. He backed up, leaned on the counter-height table, and pointed up at the ceiling.

Grimacing, I peered upward, and there, stuck in the beam above my head, was my axe.

Remi wiped his eyes. “I’ll pay you a thousand dollars if you can do that again.”

Thankfully, we’d come early enough that only two other lanes were being used. The teenager at the counter tipped his head in my direction. Would they kick me out for hitting the beam above my lane?

“Stop laughing.” I glared at Remi. “Quick. Help me get it down before anyone sees.”

“It’s too late for that.”

Sure enough, the other four people in the lanes across from us pointed and whispered to each other. I jumped and tried grabbing the handle but missed and wobbled on my wedges once I hit the ground.

“Hold on.” Remi chuckled and dragged a stool over to me.

He went to climb onto it, but I pushed him out of the way. I could get my own axe. Daniel would be here in less than an hour, and I hadn’t even managed to throw the thing in the right direction.

I was doomed. Standing on my tippy toes on the stool to reach the handle, I yanked on it and tugged it in all directions. It didn’t budge. Putting all my weight into it, I flexed my arms and heaved. Both of my feet lifted off the stool, which teetered and fell, leaving me dangling for a split second. All at once, the axe slid free—a scream squeaked from me as I plummeted toward the floor with a sharp blade clutched in my hands.

This is how I’m going to die … Angelina Johnson, the axe, on the concrete floor.

My journey to guaranteed pain ended almost as soon as it had begun, but instead of impacting concrete, Remi’s sturdy arms wrapped around me, clutching me to his chest. The weight of the axe propelled my arms downward, and the shiny, lethal metal barely missed my temple and Remi’s thigh. The wooden handle jerked against my grip.

Sounds of blood rushing through my ears quieted the calls of concern from the other patrons. The space between my face and Remi’s was less than a thin slice of sandwich bread—

the cheap kind we ate during harvest.

His eyes met mine, and for an infinitesimal moment, his gaze warmed and touched my lips. Holy mother of pearl! I wanted to close the bread-width gap and mack on him, but my mind clung to Daniel and the future I’d built up in fantasy land with him.

Numbing tingles radiated into the tips of my fingers. I lost my grip on the axe. Remi’s lips pinched together, a sheen coming over his eyes like he was about to cry.

Then he dropped me.

My backside hit the cold, unforgiving ground. A shockwave from the impact jolted through my spine. “Oof.” I glared at Remi. How dare he drop me?

But he wasn’t looking at me. He hobbled on one foot, rubbing the toes on the other. “Ow. That hurt. Ow. Ow. Ow,” he repeated over and over. “Did you have to drop the butt end of your axe on my toe?”

He put his foot down and limped back and forth in our lane while I struggled to a standing position. I tugged my shirt and skirt into place and retrieved my axe.

“So, you dropped me?” Some hero he’d turn out to be. A little hit to his toe and the damsel would be plummeting down a cliff to her death.

“It hurts.”

“And now, thanks to you, my butt will have a bruise the size of the Snake River Canyon on it.”

But I knew it could have been much worse. Images of a compound fracture of my radius and ulna—the scan of my cracked skull—a gash on my head to match the one I already had—flashed through my mind. I was a blasted nurse. Pulling stunts like this was how trauma happened.

“Don’t blame me. This whole situation was caused by you. I mean, you closed your eyes before you threw the axe.” He gestured toward me with open palms, his fingers spread wide.

I shoved my axe into its holder and pointed my finger at him. “You’re the one who set this whole night up. So, yeah, I might have thrown the axe and stuck it to the beam, but I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you … and Daniel’s going to be here in forty-five minutes. I still have no idea how to throw the axe down the lane, let alone hit the target.” The longer I spoke the more animated I’d gotten. The worker behind the cash register had been walking toward us but then changed his mind and went back to his post—probably to call his manager.

Great. Now, they’d kick me out before my date had the chance to walk in the front door.

“Calm down.” Remi held his hands in front of him like he surrendered. He stalked to his axe where it was still stuck in the bullseye and pulled it out in one decisive tug. The cords on his forearm remained tense the entire way back to my side. “I told you we should have done this two days ago.”

“I didn’t have time for that.” Between work and farming, I barely scheduled enough time to eat and sleep.

Remi’s breath hissed through his teeth, his upper body tense and rigid. “Stop arguing with me and get on the throw line.”

I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him and stepped to the spot he indicated. My shoulders sagged, and I kept my mouth shut. There was no way he’d be able to make me proficient at this in time. I’d accepted I was going to make a fool of myself.

“We’re going to try something different.” Remi tucked his axe into his belt holder and came to my side. “Grab your axe.”

“I don’t see the point.” Who was I kidding? My hands still shook from the last time I tried throwing the blasted thing.

“Just—” He reached around me and snagged the instrument of torture hanging at my waist and held the wooden handle to me. “Trust me.”

Skeptical this would go any better than last time, I took the axe with my right hand.

Remi stepped behind me. “Hold it with both hands.” His voice tickled my left ear. Chills raced along the side of my body, chasing away the remnants of my frustration. “Forget about everything. Your stress. Worries. They don’t exist here.” He softly gripped my forearms and lifted the axe above my head, his fingers running along my arms until their warm tips rested on my wrists. The heat from his body ebbed into the back of mine. “Focus on the target. Don’t release your hold on the axe too soon or too late. Channel your frustrations at the center of that target. Take a deep breath. And throw.”

His hands fell away from mine. I took a deep breath. The center of the target was Papa’s cancer diagnosis, medical bills, and declining health. It was the countless hours it took me to maintain the farm. My lost sleep. The hours I spent at work trying to get the money to support my legacy. It was all my loss. My debilitating responsibilities. My pain.

And it deserved to be decimated.

I released my breath, steadied myself, and catapulted the axe at the wood panels. The blade buried into the dampened pine with a satisfying thunk.

My chest heaved up and down as if I’d run a mile. I didn’t look at Remi, reveling instead in the victory of success.

“Yes!” Remi grabbed my shoulders and shook them. “You did it!”

I looked over my shoulder at him, and I couldn’t stop the warmth generated by his praise from spreading through me. Remi whooped and did an overexaggerated fist pump, turning my smile into laughter. He came to my side, and, as if he’d been born with the axe in his hand, he threw it and hit the little blue dot on the upper left of the board.

We did this a few more times. Remi giving me tips when I missed, but by the time Daniel was set to arrive, I was throwing at a seventy-five percent success rate.

Nervous energy took hold of me. What if Dan rejected me? What if he liked how I looked with a few more pounds on my body?

As if reading my thoughts, Remi caught my hand and squeezed my fingers. “You’ll be fine. Keep doing the double-handed throw, and you’ll impress the hell out of him.”

What he didn’t know was throwing the axe was the least of my worries.

“Remember, I’ll be in the lane right behind you, listening—”

“Oh, right.” I yanked my AirPods free of my black, fringed purse, and tucked one into my ear, then let my long hair hide it from view.

Remi put in his own earbuds, then started scrolling through his phone. Mine buzzed from somewhere inside my purse. I tapped on my Airpod and answered.

“Can you hear me?” His real voice echoed in the ear without the mini-speaker in it, while also reverberating through the earpiece.

“Loud and clear.”

At least I’d get through this night with the comfort and support of Remi.