by Avelyn Paige
His declaration of love seemed so genuine, but the issue of our marriage still lorded over me. He chose me, for better or for worse, and to share his name. My heart should have soared at the idea, but it didn’t. A part of me wanted to scream for joy while another sulked at the thought of this being just for the sake of Asher. He did this without either of us ever meeting him. It was about the principle of the idea, and the fact that it’s what I wanted. This was his way of throwing his support into my corner. I wish he’d have just asked me first. It’s really that simple. Just ask a girl for goodness sake.
I replay our conversation on repeat nearly every second of the day as I look for hidden answers in his words. Each time I think about his comparison of his life to Asher’s current situation, my heart drops. Ratchet has never been forthcoming with information about himself before the club saved him, but the revelation that he nearly lost his life on the streets is utterly heartbreaking.
Much like me, he spent most of his life on his own, scraping to get by, and to survive. To look at him now, you’d think he has it all, but deep down, the skeletons hiding in his closet must be darker than mine, considering his position within the club. Though he has never said it aloud or even alluded to his job, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist long to figure out he’s the one who makes problems go away. His brothers held him in high regard, and unbeknownst to him, I saw them usher him into a room for counsel. He was their rock in the wake of Jagger’s death. He filled the void and cut down their enemies at the same time.
The club whores were even afraid of him, which was a plus for me, but the darkness that shrouded him had always been well-protected until now. I was stunned as he gave me a glimpse of his life, before I knew him. Yet, there was something more to it. I watched him closely, and it was obvious that this was just a broad overview. He was holding something back, and a part of me wanted to hear more of his story. But I didn’t push. While he had been so patient with me during my recovery and detoxing process, I could give him the time he needed to tell me more should he wish to do so.
Being married, we had all the time in the world to talk. Well, a year at least, but that was all dependent on my feelings when that deadline came around. Had he given me the option to end it the day it started then my anger and frustration would have screamed yes, but I see his side of the story now. His backwards ass gesture of love gave me a better chance to get Asher, and it was something that I would never forget.
So much about him makes sense now. His overprotective nature, his drive to make me happy at any cost, and his surprisingly large want to get Asher out of the system. Not that I want him there either, but I wasn’t at the place I needed to be, before I dove head first into the potential of being his guardian. Days still went by when I second-guessed my decision to do this, and self-doubt weighed heavy on my mind.
Would I even be good at this?
My mother’s track record spoke for itself, and my father’s was non-existent. I just hoped that I was given the chance by the court system tomorrow. All I wanted was just a chance. A chance to meet him and maybe, even give him a life so much better than my own. Asher was innocent in all of this, and he deserved to be raised by someone better than my sperm donor. The fact that my father had custody of him was a shock to me, and I still cannot figure out his angle in all of this.
Why would he choose to be a parent now, when he shunned me from my birth? Could he be Asher’s father or was he the product of one of my mother’s numerous liaisons for drugs? If he was his biological father, why didn’t he claim that fact right off the bat and adopt him? The possibilities were endless, and if I kept thinking about them, I would probably go bonkers. It didn’t help the fact that Dr. Matthews was suddenly unavailable for our sessions. The voicemail that she left me a few days prior, about a sick relative and leaving town, was clearly a bold face lie from the sound of her voice, but what could I do? She was the only therapist within a hundred-mile radius. My hope had to lie in the fact that she would return or that she had at least sent her notes to my caseworker, before taking off. I needed her reports to help against the odds already stacked so high against me.
The sound of snapping fingers shakes me from my daydream. Missy, the other bartender at Willie’s, stares back at me with a look of concern.
“Sugar, you look like you’re a million miles away right now. You okay?” she questions.
Shaking the cobwebs from my mind, I try to re-focus on where I am. After a few weeks on day shift, it was messing with me that I was working tonight. I was already planning to be off tomorrow for my shift to attend the court case, but one of the night girls had called off. When Willie called, I couldn’t say no for a number of reasons. I needed money, and I needed a distraction. Ratchet was a little less enthusiastic about it, but it took a little convincing to make him go back to the house. With a little loving and a push for him to get my truck finished up, he reluctantly complied with my request. When he was here, I spent more time watching to make sure he didn’t get his ass into trouble or worrying that any guy who tried to flirt with me would have their asses handed to them.
“Sorry, Missy. It’s been a long week,” I offer as an excuse with a shrug of my shoulders. “I haven’t been sleeping much.”
Not the best excuse, but it’s all I could think of on short notice. Her lips crack into a knowing smile as she slips her card from her pocket and slides it into the register to close out a tab.
“If I was up screaming at three in the morning, I bet I would be as tuckered out as you are,” she smirks.
My mouth falls agape, and my face flushes as bright as a cherry tomato. This fucking town and the damn rumor mill strike again.
I wonder which of my neighbors sent out the mass message about the noises coming from my trailer. Jesus, did they have someone casing the place for new material to spread? This is like a small town of paparazzi. The next thing you know our escapades will end up on the front page of the Willow Brancher newspaper with a less than savory picture of us. Not that Ratchet would mind. I was a bit of a different story, when it came to romantic modesty. Not everyone needed to know our bedroom business while he would rather I shout my enjoyment from the rooftops. Believe me, he’s asked.
“Sugar, you better close that mouth of yours before something flies right in there,” Missy exclaims, still smiling. “You know how this town is. I think Vickie damn near fell over herself when that man of yours told her he was moving in with his wife.”
“He didn’t,” I hiss.
“Oh, he did. Why didn’t you tell me y’all were hitched? It would have saved you a lot more trouble with Vickie.”
“It was a recent development,” I mutter underneath my breath. A man steps up to the bar and barks his order at me. I slide past Missy and grab a glass from behind the bar, pouring his draft. The man tosses the money down on the bar and walks away.
“Fucker,” I hiss as I gather his money. Missy looks over to me as I show her the money in front of me. “No tip.”
“Sugar, you know these drunk country boys. They think the only time you should tip a woman is when she takes off her bra and shows them her tits. Don’t sweat it.”
I look over watching the man walk over to his table, and I get my second shock of the night. As he passes one of the far corner booths, I see a face that I thought would never step foot into this place. My father. This is the closest that I have been to him in my entire life. I have always kept my distance at the school for this very reason. I didn’t want him to spot me or know that I was back in town. Nothing good could come of his knowing that information.
His eyes are thankfully not on me, and I take the chance to duck around the corner, where we keep the top shelf liquor. I shift in the small space, and keep my eyes trained on him. His large form sits alone in the booth, eating a sandwich. He looks so out of place in this den of sin. Even the waitress that walks over to check on him doesn’t linger long. While most places wouldn’t care if their preacher was
in an establishment that sold booze, this town had a far mightier opinion of the man who was once responsible for their moral salvation. He was far out of his element, and that meant one thing. He was here for me.
Coils of anxiety begin to tightly wrap around my chest, when the realization hits. He has no other business here, but me. The daughter he never wanted and lost everything over. When my mother pointed the finger at him as being my father, the whole town, including his own family, turned their backs on him. He had broken his oath to service the lord, his community, and to stay faithful to his barren wife. My mother must have been one hell of a temptress to get him into her bed because men like him are supposed to be untouchable. I guess the old saying was right. The higher you are on the totem pole, the harder the fall back down to the bottom.
He sits quietly while he eats. No one stops by to speak to him or even acknowledges his presence. I continue to hide in my safe space out of his sight, but Willie notices me.
“Ricca darling, you like you’ve seen a damn ghost. Don’t tell me that no good Johnny Monroe has stepped back into my fine establishment?” he asks. His body readies for a fight, but I shake my head at him.
Willie moves closer to me, but the sense of my space being invaded makes me shove back farther into the cubby.
Recognition of me being uncomfortable registers in his mind, and he stumbles back away from.
“Shit. Sorry, sugar. Your man told me how you don’t like people in your space. I plum forgot.”
“It’s okay, Willie. No harm done.”
“You look like you need a stiff drink. Why don’t you head on home and take the rest of the night off? I appreciate you coming in, but it’s not busy enough to keep you and Missy both here.”
I look back around the corner, and find my father gone from his booth. If I stayed here, I was only giving him more of an opportunity to find me. Something I wanted to avoid at all costs, until after my court date tomorrow morning.
“I wouldn’t normally turn down a chance for some extra cash, but I think you’re right. It’s probably a good idea that I do go home.”
Willie smiles back, and tells me to have a good night, before heading back to the kitchen. Checking again, the coast is still clear. Missy is consumed with a few orders, but I whisper over her shoulder that Willie was sending me home. I grab my purse from under the bar, and shoot off a quick text to Ratchet to come get me. I glance around the room a third time, before heading out the side door to wait for him.
The cool, crisp May air wraps around me like a chilled blanket, and sends a shiver down my spine. I chide myself for not grabbing my jacket off the bike, when Ratchet dropped me off earlier, but that’s on me. Rubbing my hands over my arms, I try to warm myself up as I walk toward the front of the parking lot to wait. As I around the corner, a hand reaches out and grasps me tightly. I shriek, but another hand grabs my mouth, silencing me.
“Hello, Erica,” an unfamiliar male voice says against my ear.
I try to shove away from him, but he only jerks me tighter, before unleashing his hand from my mouth and spinning me around. My eyes peer up, and the sight of the man in front of me, seizes my chest mid-breath.
My father.
“If you touch me again, I will scream for help,” I threaten him, still testing his grasp on my arm.
“You do that girl, and I’ll make this a lot harder on you than it will be for me.”
His cold, emotionless voice scares me more than his presence. His dark eyes are pools of unmoving darkness with no life to them at all.
“Why are you here?” I ask him, stalling in hopes that Ratchet will arrive. I just need to stall him here.
“I’m here for you,” he sneers. “Don’t you go getting any ideas about your man. He won’t make it in time to save you from this, daughter. The deputy is running sobriety checks tonight, and I may have called in an anonymous tip to have him detained a bit longer.”
My stomach drops, knowing that he planned this. The first time meeting my father in person, and he’s holding me like a hostage with no hope for escape.
“It’s time you and I have a little father daughter discussion about how we don’t touch things that don’t belong to us.”
Asher. This is about Asher, and my court date tomorrow.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie as I attempt to pull away from him again.
“You know damn well what this is about. The boy. He is none of your concern,” he barks at me. Spit from his mouth splatters against my face. I move to wipe it away, but my father digs his fingers into my flesh deeper.
“He’s my brother, and that makes him my concern.” I growl. “He doesn’t deserve to be with you.”
“And you think you’re any better? You’re a whore just like your mother. I’ve heard all about your tramping around town with that biker in tow. You may have everyone else fooled, but I can see right through this farce. He’s your pimp.”
I laugh back at his absurdity. Hurry up, Ratchet. Hurry the fuck up.
“My pimp? That man is my husband, and a member of one of the largest motorcycle clubs in this country. If you try to hurt a single hair on my head, he and the entire force of that club will be beating down your door,” I threaten him back. I hate having to bring the club into this, but it might be the only way I am getting out of this without Ratchet’s presence.
My father flinches, but doesn’t release me.
“Oh, I know all about his club,” he retorts. “I could have him put away right now if I wanted to do it.”
The sound of a motorcycle roars into the parking lot, and my father’s eyes fill with dread.
“That would be him,” I chide. “Want to meet him?”
My father shows a brief flash of panic, as the roar of his motorcycle grows closer. His eyes tell me that he’s conflicted, but they harden when he notices me watching him. He growls knowing his time is running short.
“If you show up at that court date tomorrow, I will make you pay for meddling with the boy. He doesn’t belong to you, and I will make for damn sure that you don’t get him.”
“We’ll see about that,” I throw back at him.
Ratchet’s bike pulls up just a few feet away from us. My father’s eyes switch from me to Ratchet, and back again as he dismounts his bike waiting on me.
“This isn’t over, Erica,” my father sneers as he releases his grip. I watch him run from me, and head towards the back, around the corner of the bar.
I breathe again for the first time, and take stock in what just occurred. My father not only knows about me, but also my intent to take Asher from him. His threats were clear on that fact. In that moment, as I reel from my encounter with him, I make a promise to myself. That no threat from my father or anyone else is ever going to deter me from this course. My father has a purpose for Asher, what that is I don’t know, but I am not about to let that come to fruition.
Straightening my clothes and taking another deep breath, I walk around the corner of the bar, and greet my man. As I slide onto his bike, I kiss him, and don’t mention a word of what transpired today. My father is my problem, and I am going to solve it on my own because Ratchet’s solution would be more permanent and a bit harder to explain.
My father deserves to die, but at the right moment. And I am the one to determine when the ribbon of his life is to be cut.
From the moment that I saw her round the corner of Willie’s, I knew something was wrong. She tried to play it off as exhaustion or nerves about tomorrow, but her eyes told a different story. The light that I had grown accustomed to seeing over the last few weeks was all but gone. They were lifeless. No flicker. No flash. Just empty glassy pools. I tried to talk to her about it after we got home, but she made excuse after excuse again. I’ve seen her exhausted. I’ve seen her at the highest point of her anxiety. This was none of those things. Every inch of me is on alert, as she remains silent.
I hate silence, and I hate that
she won’t open up to me. Her shutting me out will do nothing to alleviate her distress, and it only stresses me out more. Ricca has never been a quiet woman, and the awkward silence between us is deafening.
“You sure you’re okay,” I plea as she slips into bed beside me.”
She slowly brushes her long hair before tying it up into a loose bun, completely ignoring my concern.
“Okay then,” I mutter. “Good talk.”
Ricca clicks off the bedside light, pulling the blanket up her nearly naked legs. The darkness of the room feels like a noose around my neck, and the woman next to me feels like a stranger. Is this how she felt when I carried her into the clubhouse and into my room? She shifts over and over again, before huffing an exasperated sigh and throws her hands over the top of the blankets.
“I’m scared,” she whispers into the darkness. I shift to my side, and stroke her arm in a soothing motion.
“You don’t have to be scared, Siren. I’m right here, and I will protect you and Asher, until the end of the Earth.”
The gleam of a tear streaking down her face reflects in the moonlight, peeking through the bedroom window. A second one falls from her other eye, before a full stream of them begin to cascade down her face.
Reaching over her body, I pull her into my chest. Her face nestles against my breastbone as she sobs uncontrollably.
“Shh,” I whisper, against the top of her head, before I plant a chaste kiss to the top of her. She pops her chin up, and gazes up at me.
“What if he doesn’t like me? Us? What do we do then?”
I chuckle at her, and she stares back in confusion.
“Is that what you are worried about?”
She mutters a soft yes, before burying her head back against my chest.