Riding The Ex-Military Biker

Chapter 1

Zuri

The blast of Texas heat hits me as I step out of the airport, my phone immediately buzzing in my pocket. 

"Hey, Mama," I answer, juggling my suitcase and trying not to drop my carry-on.

"Zuri! Did you land okay? You didn't get lost, did you?"

"No, Mama, I'm good. Just stepped out of the terminal." I flag down a cab, giving the driver a quick nod as I load my luggage into the trunk.

"I'm so proud of you, baby," she croons.

I take a deep breath, feeling the usual mix of pride and pressure. "Thanks, Mama."

"Remember to call me tonight, okay? I want to hear all about it."

"Sure thing. Love you." I end the call just as the cab pulls away from the curb. 

The driver glances at me in the rearview mirror. "Where to?"

"St. David's Hospital, please."

We merge into traffic, and I watch the cityscape blur past. Austin feels both familiar and foreign, a city I've known of but never truly explored. The cab smells faintly of fast food and air freshener, a mix that is somehow comforting in its normalcy.

"First day, huh?" the driver asked, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, trauma nursing. It's gonna be... intense."

"Better you than me," he chuckles. "You ever see anything really gory?"

I nod, recalling shifts at the clinic that were more battlefield than medical facility. "A few I'd like to forget, that's for sure."

We pull up to the hospital, a sprawling complex of buildings that seemed to hum with urgency. 

"Good luck on your first day, break a leg!" The driver says as I'm rummaging through my purse for some cash. 

I shoot him a pointed look, accompanied by a sly smile, "little morbid, don't ya think?" 

He laughs, "Okay, so maybe not the best phrase for the venue… We will just leave it at knock em' dead!" He breaks into a fit of laughter, followed by a rather productive cough that sounds alot like years and years of Marlboro's. 

I hand him my cash, grab my bags, and bid him farewell. There's a feeling of a mix of excitement and anxiety churning in my stomach.

St. David's Hospital looms above me, its luminous sign casting a pale glow over the entrance. I straighten my scrubs, feeling the familiar fabric stretch over my shoulders, a comforting reminder of the countless hours I've already spent in similar attire.

"All right, Zuri," I mutter to myself, adjusting my name badge so it sits perfectly. "Time to shine. You've got this."

I take a deep breath, letting the scent of freshly brewed coffee from my travel mug fill my nostrils. I raise the mug to my lips, savoring the bitter taste that always manages to wake me up, no matter the hour. 

The automatic doors slide open with a soft whoosh, and I step into the bustling lobby. The sounds of beeping monitors, rolling gurneys, and hurried footsteps fill the air. The scent of antiseptic and latex mingles with the lingering aroma of cafeteria food.

"Excuse me, where's the nursing station for the trauma unit?" I ask a passing orderly.

"Down the hall, take a left. Can't miss it."

I follow his directions, my heart pounding louder with each step. The station is a hive of activity. A nurse looks up from her computer, eyeing me with curiosity.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Zuri Jackson. First day on my trauma rotation."

She smiles, standing to extend a hand. "Welcome, Zuri. I'm Emily. Let me show you around."

We navigate through the maze of corridors, Emily pointing out key areas and introducing me to staff. 

"Don't worry," she says, noticing my wide eyes. "You'll get the hang of it. Just remember, it's all about teamwork here."

"I can do that," I replied, my grip tightening on my bag. 

We reach the break room, a modest space with a coffee machine that looks like it has seen better days.

"Grab a refill if you want it. You're gonna need all the energy you can get."

I top off my mug, the bitter aroma offering a small comfort. "So, what's the craziest thing you've seen here?"

Emily chuckles, leaning against the counter. "Let's just say, you'll have stories to tell by the end of the day."

The intercom crackles to life, summoning a code blue. Emily straightens her demeanor shifting to laser-focused. "Looks like you're up. Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I say, adrenaline already coursing through my veins. 

We make our way through the maze of corridors, the fluorescent lights casting a sterile glow on the polished floors. The further we go, the more my nerves settle. This is where I belong, where I can make a difference.

I push open the doors, stepping into the controlled chaos of the trauma bay. A tall man with a commanding presence, glances up from the patient he's working on. His badge says Dr. Evans. 

"Jackson, right?" he says, his tone brisk. "Grab some gloves and get over here. We've got work to do."

"Yes, sir," I reply, pulling on a pair of gloves and moving to his side. The adrenaline has kicked in, sharpening my focus.

"All right, what’s the story?" I ask, sliding into place.

"Fall from a ladder," Dr. Evans replies. "Multiple lacerations, possible internal bleeding."

"Got it." I lean over the patient, my hands steady. "Hey there, you’re gonna be okay. What’s your name?"

The patient groans, eyes fluttering open. "T-Tony."

"Tony, I'm Zuri. We’re gonna take care of you, but I need you to stay with me, all right?"

He nods weakly, wincing as I apply pressure to a particularly nasty cut.

"Zuri, can you handle the sutures?" Dr. Evans asks, his focus already shifting to another part of Tony's injuries.

"Of course, sir." I glance at the nurse beside me. "Sutures, please."

The nurse hands me the needle and thread, and I get to work, the repetitive motion calming in the chaos.

"Zuri," Tony gasps, his voice strained. "Am I... am I gonna make it?"

"Tony, you picked the right team. We’ve got you." I keep my tone light, masking the intensity of the situation. "Besides, I didn’t get all dressed up just to let you go on me."

He chuckles weakly, a sound that quickly turns into a groan of pain. I glance up, meeting Dr. Evans’ eyes.

"We need to move him to surgery," I say, stitching the last of the laceration. "He’s got internal bleeding."

"On it." Dr. Evans signals to the team, as we prep Tony for transport.

I step back, the adrenaline slowly ebbing. Dr. Evans looks over at me.

"Nice work, Jackson."

"Thanks, Doc." I smile, feeling the rush of accomplishment.

"Keep that up, and you’ll fit in just fine," he replies, his tone gruff but approving.

The calm before the storm doesn’t last long. Just as I am walking out of the OR bay, the intercom crackles again.

"Attention, all trauma staff. Multi-vehicle accident incoming. Prepare for multiple casualties."

Emily's eyes meet mine from across the room, and I can see the same mix of anticipation and dread. "Ready for round two?"

"No rest for the wicked," I quip, tossing my gloves in the bin and grabbing a fresh pair.

The trauma bay buzzes like a disturbed beehive. Nurses and doctors scramble, prepping stations, double-checking supplies. I grab a cart, loading it with gauze, IVs, and anything else I can think of.

Dr. Evans barks orders from the center of the chaos. "Jackson, you're on triage. Get ready to assess and prioritize."

"Got it, Doc." My heart pounds, but I focus on the task at hand. The ambulance sirens grow louder, and I take a deep breath, steadying myself.

The first stretcher rolls in, a young woman with a gash on her forehead and a leg bent at an unnatural angle. Her eyes dart around, wild with fear.

"Hey there," I say, moving to her side. "I'm Zuri. What's your name?"

"S-Sarah," she stammers.

"All right, Sarah, we're gonna take good care of you. Hang tight." I give her a reassuring smile, then turn to Emily. "Priority one. Get her to X-ray, stat."

Emily nods, and the orderly wheels Sarah away.  The next patient comes in, a child no older than ten, crying and holding his arm.

"Hey, buddy," I say, crouching down to his level. "What's your name?"

"Lucas," he sniffles.

"Lucas, I'm Zuri. Can you show me where it hurts?"

He points to his arm, which is swelling and is bruised. "I think it's broken."

"You're brave, Lucas. We're gonna fix you right up. Priority two. Get him to ortho."

The flow of patients doesn't stop. Each new face brings a new challenge, a new set of injuries to assess. I move from one to the next, my mind racing to keep up.

Just as I'm about to breach the staff room to pack up and head to my new apartment, my pager alerts at my side

"Room 203. Assessment. Then free 2 go."

I stifle a groan, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle into my bones. But this was what I signed up for, right? I grab a fresh pair of gloves and head to room 203.

A nurse aide is just stepping out of the room as I round the corner. 

"Hey, any details you can share?" I ask.

 "Yeah, I just tried to get him to gown up and he told me that wasn't happening.” She begins to flip through her clipboard. “But as far as I know, Involved in a motorcycle incident. Vitals are stable, just some minor cuts and road rash, paramedics just insisted he come." 

"Roger that, I appreciate it." I say with a smile.

"Good luck, you might need it," she replies as she walks off. 

I step into room 203, the faint scent of antiseptic hitting my nose. The man on the bed is tossing and turning in his sleep, seemingly troubled by what he's envisioning. His rugged appearance immediately catches my eye. Tattoos snake up his arms, disappearing under the sleeves of his torn shirt. Dark stubble covers his jaw, giving him an air of danger that was both intriguing and slightly intimidating.

I knock on the glass door of the exam room, and he immediately startles awake, seemingly unaware of his surroundings.

I sprint to his bedside, "hey, you're okay, you're at St. Douglas hospital, my name is Zuri, your nurse." I tell him softly, trying to ease his apprehension.

Once reality starts dawning on him, the vulnerable uncertainty etched across his face from moments earlier transforms into something darker, someone hesitant, someone who seems to have seen a lot of shit. 

I take a moment to study him. His muscular build and the way he holds himself now screams confidence. He looks like the type who doesn't take orders well, and the stubborn set of his jaw confirms it. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, flick to me, and the room seems to shrink.

“You must be Jaxon,” I say. "Jaxon Hawkins?"

“Legally,” he replies gruffly. "But most everyone calls me Jax or Hammer."