by Anne Malcom
“It’s club business. I got no choice,” Ranger replied. He did have a choice, he just didn’t want to be at home with his wife. And his children who couldn’t understand what was going on but knew something was wrong.
“We need you here,” I pleaded, my voice small. It had taken me too long to understand the extent of the chasm between us. Too long to recognize how hard Ranger was working to distance himself from me. Now I didn’t know what to do. How to act. I was scared. He was like a stranger.
“Lucky will be outside,” he said. “You don’t have to let him in the house.”
“Of course, I’ll have him in the house,” I snapped. “He’s not a dog.”
Beyond that, I liked Lucky. Some of his light has been dimmed throughout this, but he worked hard at keeping everyone together. He always had a smile and a joke for Jack, a hug and kind word for me.
“Well, you won’t be alone.”
I glared at Ranger. “This isn’t about being alone. This about my husband taking every chance he can get to escape his wife. His family. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we exist.”
“Of course, I’ve fucking noticed!” he roared.
I flinched at his outburst.
“I’ve got shit to do,” he said, quieter now.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “First and foremost, you’re taking a long look in the mirror to see if you can recognize the man standing in front of you, because I sure as fuck don’t.”
Then I turned away from him, hoping he wouldn’t leave like this.
But the door closed and I was alone with my thoughts. With the truth of what my marriage had turned into.
I was still awake when he got home. As much as I wanted to be the kind of woman who could sleep soundly in an empty bed, the fight with her husband hot on her skin, I was not. I didn’t work that way. Words circulated around my head. I’d let myself fantasize about the ways he might come back, how we’d sort it out, and it would end in epic making up.
I still thought this, no matter the fact that I’d been with my husband for over a decade, and we’d been through many fights, none of them ever working out like that.
Despite the fact that we’d had many fights, this one felt different. Scarier. The cracks that had emerged after we lost the baby had found their way into the foundation of us, damaging the entire structure of our relationship. Add to that the pressures everyone felt around the club. Things were escalating.
It was ugly of me to stand at Laurie’s funeral feeling grateful that it wasn’t my husband being buried, but that’s what I’d done. Truly, there was no use feeling grateful about anything because this wasn’t over. There would be more funerals, something told me that. It was in the way Ranger acted. The fact that we had increased security, that I had to text Ranger anytime me, Lily and Jack were leaving the house, and he had to know where we were at all times.
Yeah, things were bad with the club and bad with us.
So I was awake because I was afraid something had happened to him. Afraid something happened with him and one of the many women who offered an easy fuck without expecting anything in return.
The roar of his bike alerted me to his arrival, followed by a thump as he took off his boots at the front door. He didn’t come into our room immediately. Murmured voices carried to where I laid as he likely said goodbye to Lucky, who’d been watching Charmed in our living room.
The front door closed.
Lucky left.
Still no footsteps heading to our bedroom.
A clang of glasses and bottles told me what he was doing.
I should’ve stayed in bed. Should’ve squeezed my eyes shut and pretended to be asleep until he stumbled in here or until I woke up to an empty bed and my husband sleeping on the couch.
Instead, I pulled back the covers and got out of bed. I did not go for my robe or my slippers because I worried that would make me look like the cliché shrew of a wife. Then again, he was coming home late, reaching for the whisky bottle, so he was swimming in clichés too.
I checked on Jack first, placed my hand on his little chest, pulled up his covers and closed his door quietly. Then I did the same to our sleeping toddler. She had been a good sleeper since the beginning, and I was thankful for that now. I had a feeling this was going to get loud, and despite Jack being a heavy sleeper, I did not want his early memories being his parents screaming at each other.
Ranger was standing at the kitchen counter when I walked in. There was only a dim light on in the corner, cloaking him in shadow.
He knew I was there, but he didn’t look up. His shoulders were slumped. Everything about his posture screamed defeat. I sighed, forgetting my anger because my love for my husband would always trump that. My heart would always hurt seeing him look like this, knowing how much he carried on his shoulders.
He needed comfort. Our marriage needed repairing, sure, but nothing would get fixed if my first instinct was to give him anger instead of understanding.
I stopped abruptly when I got close enough to smell it. It was so strong that I thankfully didn’t need to get any closer to him for it to blanket my skin.
Perfume. Cheap. Fruity. Not the kind I wore, but definitely on brand for a woman who hung out at a biker club trying to fuck anyone in a cut.
The only reason I didn’t double over in pain was because I was pretty well versed in how to cope with it. I’d gone through childbirth. Losing a baby. Burying my best friend. I knew how to feel bone wrenching pain and still stand.
My hand was shaking when it found the light switch. He did not deserve to get to hide in the shadows and down whisky right now.
No, the mother fucker needed all the harsh light in the world to shine on him right now.
Still, he didn’t look at me. His gaze stayed firmly fixed on his glass of whisky.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t look at me either,” I whispered.
He picked up the glass and downed it, immediately pouring another. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
My blood boiled. “I don’t want you to say anything. I want my husband to come home not smelling like a whore. But then again, we obviously don’t all get what we want.”
He shuddered ever so slightly at my words but still didn’t look at me.
“Did you fuck her?” I asked, making sure to make my voice as flat and cold as I could. I needed to prepare for the answer. Needed to shield myself against the truth I already knew.
Ranger didn’t have the arrogance to look shocked or offended. He didn’t have the compassion to look sorry either. Not now, not in the middle of this ugly situation. This horrible period of our relationship.
“I kissed her,” he said, in the same cold, flat tone I’d adopted.
I nodded once, even though the pain was blinding, all consuming. A knife through my belly, tearing through the skin so my insides hit the floor. The kind of wound that killed you slowly, but not before you’d been through the worst pain you could ever imagine.
“Once?”
He narrowed his eyes, his mask faltering as uniquely male rage filtered in. “What the fuck difference does it make how many times I did it? I did it.”
He hated himself. I saw that, beneath all the anger he was trying to use to cover it up. He might not have been sorry—in this moment, at least—but he was neck deep in self-loathing.
Ranger was an honorable man. Lived by his own code. All the Sons did. Now, a lot of those Sons, the ones with Old Ladies, they had different kind of codes when it came to fidelity. Like, if you were in a different state it didn’t count. If she didn’t find out. If you didn’t take off your cut. You get the gist.
Ranger did not have those kinds of codes. Because of the kind of man he was, sure, but also because I’d made it clear that cheating was a dealbreaker for me.
Once I’d firmly immersed myself in the Sons of Templar universe, I’d understood what manwhores they all were. How easy it was for each of them to get laid. There were always women around, clinging to the club, wait
ing for their moment.
I’d never thought less of those women; they were just doing what they could to get through their lives. Find adventure, whatever. Even the most calculating of them—I didn’t like them, that was sure—but there was no equation without a man’s involvement. It takes two to tango and all that.
Ranger had made his promises that he would never touch another woman. Those promises were made, of course, back when he couldn’t keep his hands off me. When we were gripped by the throat with our intense young love.
We hadn’t loved each other any less over the years since.
But our love had changed with the seasons. We had moments of that intensity. Weeks, months where we were both like horny teenagers. But there were other times that were quieter, when we used the bed to sleep only. To watch movies with our kids.
Pressures of life, the club.
The realities of marriage.
We were going through one of those seasons. A bare one. We had sex, but it wasn’t for passion, more out of routine, obligation. Even the worst sex between us was better than what a lot of people got in a lifetime. But still... It wasn’t anything like what a young woman with fake tits, blowjob lips and legs to her neck could offer.
I hadn’t been stupid enough to think Ranger wouldn’t ever be tempted, he was a man. But I had expected him to show restraint. Loyalty. Honor.
“It matters,” I said on a rough swallow. “Because more than once constitutes a habit. An affair. A continuing deception. Once is different. It’s no less despicable, but it’s different.” I sucked in a breath, preparing myself. “So how many times was it, Cody?”
He flinched.
I never called him Cody unless I was mad. Even then, I hadn’t been mad enough to hit him with the name of the boy who had died when he put on the Sons of Templar cut in years.
I was glad about that flinch. A small shred of evidence that I’d caused him pain. Sure, I wanted to cause him more. I wanted to step forward and kick him squarely in the balls that had tempted him to try to ruin our marriage.
But then again, if it wasn’t just his balls, if it had been his head—the one on his shoulders, that is—that had caused him to do this, then there wasn’t a marriage left to ruin.
Ranger eyed me, a hard stare. Was he considering lying? Was he measuring whether the truth would get him what he wanted?
“Once,” he gritted out.
“Do you care about her?” I asked, unable to stop.
“Care about her?” he scoffed. “Of course I don’t fucking care about her. She’s a hot body at the club. I was drunk off my ass. Fucked up in my head, and I kissed her. I don’t even remember her fucking name.”
“Ah, well that makes it so much better,” I muttered.
His hand curled around the edge of the kitchen counter, knuckles going white from the force he was holding onto it.
“Why didn’t you fuck her?” I asked. “If you were going to see what the inside of another woman’s mouth tasted like, why didn’t you stick your dick in her too?
I was being crass. Vulgar. Cruel. But I didn’t care. Couldn’t care.
“Because I couldn’t,” Ranger bit out. “I could barely stomach kissing her. Hated every second of it, hated myself for doing it. Because touching any woman that isn’t you is a fucking betrayal of everything I am.”
The words would’ve been nice if he wasn’t saying them with the same mouth he’d cheated on me with tonight.
“Why did you do it then?” I asked.
“I’m trying to get rid of you!” he exploded, his roar echoing over the corners of my brain. We’d fought plenty in our marriage, but he’d always spoken in aggressive, sharp and quiet tones. He’d never raised his voice.
Which is why I was struck dumb.
Plus, it wasn’t the volume in which he said the words, it was the words themselves.
Ranger started pacing.
He never did that either. The man had always been annoyingly free of most nervous tics.
“Fuck, Lizzie, the club...” he trailed off. Stopped pacing. Stared at me.
I’d been married to this man for years. Known him for longer. I was an expert in Cody, an expert in Ranger. I knew every movement on his face, every expression.
But this man standing in front of me was a stranger.
“The way things are going, it’s darker than I ever thought we would go. I’m in deep. Even if I wanted to get out, I couldn’t. Not now. And I don’t want to. That’s not the right thing to say as a husband and a father—” his voice broke and he sucked in a sharp inhale. “But fuck, it’s the only thing I have to say. I hate myself. But the club is me. It’s my blood. And those men are my brothers. It’s not inside me to walk away... even if I could. I do love you. More than anything. And I don’t want you hurt. But I also don’t want to find you broken and half dead on the side of the road.”
Laurie. He was talking about my beautiful friend, raped, tortured and abandoned like garbage just because she’d loved a man who wore a Sons of Templar cut.
That’s all it had taken... a little bit of love pointed in the wrong direction. It became a death sentence. Not just for Laurie, who I’d known almost all my life, but for Bull. He was gone now. Just an empty shell wearing a cut, breathing, not existing.
That would be Ranger. That’s what this was. A glimpse of what he’d look like if the club got me killed.
“I don’t forgive you,” I said. “I understand why you’re doing this. Why you did what you did. I wish I didn’t. Wish I could blindly hate you for what you’ve done, throw you out of this house, giving you what you want. But I can’t. I won’t. So I’ll hate you with my eyes open. For as long as it takes for me to resolve you. I’ll stay right here, by your side, because I’ll always love you more than I could ever hate you.”
I stepped back. “But you’re sleeping in the guest room. Tonight for sure. Maybe when I’ve slept on it, I’ll figure out how to share a bed with this stranger you’ve turned yourself into.” I ran my eyes over the man that looked exactly like my husband.
Then my gaze went to our living room cloaked in shadow, always warm, full of love, laughter and safety.
It was cold and dangerous now.
“Maybe I’ll need a few nights, but I’m not leaving,” I said, voice soft. “I’m not raising our son without you teaching him how to be a man. Even though you’re not acting like one now, I know you have him inside.”
My voice cracked a little and I angrily swiped a tear from my cheek.
“I’m going to stay so you can show your daughter how all women should be treated. I hope what you’ve done haunts you with the thought of how she’d feel if some cowardly asshole did this to her. I’m staying for our kids. For you. Remember that.”
I turned on my heel and walked calmly to our bedroom, closing the door gently behind me. Didn’t slam it. Then I leaned my back against it, sank down until my butt hit the floor. And I sobbed. Soundlessly.
I didn’t want to stay.
I wanted to be strong enough—or was it weak enough—to pack up the kids, drain our savings and leave. Disappear into the night and start a new life. Tell my parents, of course, but not where.
It was so intoxicating, the thought of escaping from this dark and scary point in my life. In our marriage.
But I couldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
I’d made a vow.
‘Til death do us part.
I intended to keep that vow.
So did Ranger. I knew that. He wouldn’t leave me until the reaper took him.
And I found myself wondering how long that would be.
Five Years Later
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” I whispered, watching Ranger strap on his holster, checking the clip of his gun before sliding it in.
He turned to me. “Yeah, babe. You should have a bad feeling about this. It’s gonna be bad. Gonna be bloody.”
I scowled at him. “Way to make me feel better,” I snapped.
He shrugged his cut on and made his way over to me. As pissed as I was at my husband—and I was—there was no way I couldn’t appreciate him sauntering over to me in his cut. Even after all these years, after kids, losses, fights, cracks in our marriage, deaths... I still had the same reaction to him that I’d had when I was a teenager.
We’d worked hard on it. On this feeling. This love. After that horrible, terrible night when his lips had touched someone else’s, we’d worked harder than ever.
He treated us all with reverence. With adoration. Still carried his guilt around, but we’d worked through it. Worked through that and all the other obstacles we came across.
And I loved him more and more every day.
His hands clutched my neck, then he pulled me in so our foreheads touched. “I’m not gonna be able to make you feel better this time,” he said. “I’ve been married to you long enough to know that no matter what I say, it’s not going to stop you worrying anyway. Though you’ll hide it well in front of the rest of the women because that’s who you are. You don’t want them to worry, wanna take care of them. The kids. You’ll take it all on so nobody else has to.” He stroked my cheek. “One of the many things that infuriates me about you. I hate thinking of you in pain, clutched by that much worry. But I also love you for your damn heart. Soul.” His eyes searched mine. ”We both know that there is no way around this. No way outta this or around it. There’s only through. And, baby, we’ve been through a lot before. We’ll get through this too.”
“We’ve never been through this before,” I whispered.
We’d been through a lot. So much ugliness. Risk. But I couldn’t put my finger on why this felt different. It was as though there was a certainty hanging in the air, painted on the men’s faces, telling methat not all of them were coming out of this.
“Ah, but you forget, baby. I made you a promise,” Ranger mused, his gaze searching my face with his head cocked to the side. “I promised that I’d grow old with you. That I’d meet our grandkids. That I’d scare the absolute shit out of Lily’s first boyfriend. Walk her down the aisle. Throughout the years, I’ve done a lot of shit wrong, haven’t been the best husband, father, but one thing has always been true: I’m going to keep that promise.”