RIP ME: A Dark Romance

by Naomi West

"Anything," Dupont agreed.

  "If I can't visit Archer - not at all - then how is my son or daughter - though I kind of feel like it’s a daughter - going to get to know his or her daddy?"

  I hoped that I looked less stupidly dumbfounded than Ben Dupont did, but that might have been too much to hope for. I could feel my mouth hanging slackly open and my eyes goggling wildly at... the mother of my child.

  I was going to be a father.

  It was a shock, and, yet, I also felt strangely as if I had already known, or ought to have. I had never really thought about being a dad. My own father had been so awful that it was not something to which I had ever aspired. If I had ever entertained the idea, then I had imagined that I would be everything as a father that my own dad had so pointedly failed to be. I would be great at it. Now, it seemed that I was becoming a Dad under the worst possible circumstances. My child was going to get to know me as that man behind the glass that he saw once a week and who everyone talked about in hushed tones. That was not the sort of father that anyone wanted to be.

  On the other hand, I was going to be a daddy. With Cassidy as the mommy. The circumstances might be several million miles from ideal, but the person with whom it was happening? This was the dream. Not a dream I had ever had, and, yet, as soon as I heard it, it felt like a dream fulfilled.

  "Are you happy?" Cassidy asked earnestly.

  "I shouldn't be, but I am!"

  She understood what I meant, and we were both on our feet and in each other's arms.

  "Dad?" Cassidy turned to Sheriff Dupont. The confidence with which she had delivered this bombshell had now evaporated to be replaced by nervousness.

  Ben Dupont had initially looked as knocked back off his feet as I had felt. His expression had now morphed slowly into something more set and determined, though what that might mean, I could not say.

  "Dad?" Cassidy tried again.

  Dupont turned that stony stare at us. "Right." That was all he said, but he said it in the same tones that Moses must have used when walking up to part the Red Sea.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Cassidy

  I remembered, when I was a little kid, seeing how people reacted when my dad walked into a room. You could spot the ones who were up to something, just from the looks on their faces. Nothing put the fear of God into criminals, like Ben Dupont coming for them. I thought I had seen him at his best, but, it turned out, I hadn't seen anything yet. When Sheriff Ben Dupont strode into the appeal hearing that he himself had set up for Archer, everyone turned to look at him, and, when he spoke, the walls came tumbling down. To see Ben Dupont in full flow, fighting passionately for something he believed in, made you wonder why he hadn't been a lawyer all his life, instead of a sheriff. It was a sight to see. There was no one in that room who could doubt that Archer Cyprian was a man who had fallen into crime following a troubled childhood, that the 'crime' into which he had fallen was petty, relatively harmless, and in some cases actually helpful to the community, that he had been reformed by the love of a woman, that he was done with that world, and that he wanted nothing more now than to be a father to his unborn child. Above all, there was no one in that room who would dare doubt that Archer had been brave above and beyond the call of sanity during the Frank Rassi case, that he had been willing to sacrifice his life to save an innocent woman, and that he had damn near done so.

  "Am I biased?" Sheriff Ben Dupont asked the question that everyone was asking. "Of course I am. He is the father of my grandchild and, without him, my daughter would be dead. Without him, Frank Rassi would still be on the street, and I don't know how many others might be dead. Without him, business owners in my town would have been threatened and cowed for years by mobsters and thugs. Am I biased? I am biased in favor of as brave a man as I have ever known, and I am suspicious of anyone who wouldn't be biased towards such an individual. He has misdirected so much of his potential through his life, and now that he has found direction, are we going to see him squander that potential languishing in jail? No, I say! We can use men like Archer Cyprian. We should use men like Archer Cyprian. We need men like Archer Cyprian."

  I watched proudly from the sidelines. I knew that my dad couldn't have delivered such an address if he didn't mean every word of it. There was just one last hurdle left to cross, one thing that Dad would have to do that was contrary to everything he believed. I held my breath as the chairman of the appeals committee spoke.

  "Sheriff Dupont, you've spoken eloquently in defense of the prisoner and provided a great deal of evidence backing up your words, as well as the testimonials of the SWAT team who took down Frank Rassi. But what about evidence against Mr. Cyprian? It is my understanding that there was a book detailing serious criminal activity, which can hardly go overlooked. What do you know about this little Black Book?"

  Dad never even blinked. "I've heard rumors about it, as one always hears rumors. But what sort of criminal keeps a record like that? I've never met anyone who has verifiably seen this book. It's my opinion that it doesn't even exist."

  My heart was fluttering in my chest as I sat outside the prison. It seemed unlikely that anything could go wrong now, but I didn't want to jinx anything by saying that, or even thinking it. A week ago, I would have said that such an outcome was impossible, but that was before I heard dad speak. A local sheriff's demands might not carry a great deal of weight with an independent appeals committee, but the right words delivered by the right man can accomplish almost anything.

  # # #

  The gate swung open. Dad came out, and, a step behind him, Archer. I held my breath, as if at any second an arm might reach out from the gate and drag him back in. But no arm came.

  I couldn't wait any longer. I sprang out of the car and ran to meet Archer, hurling myself into his arms.

  "Well, that can't be good for the baby," Dad said, laughing to himself.

  "Quiet, Grandpa," I said, my face buried in Archer's neck.

  Dad shook his head. "That one's going to take some getting used to."

  We headed back to where I had parked, and Dad and Archer shook hands.

  "Thank you, Sheriff."

  Dad smiled. "I think maybe you can stop calling me that."

  "Call him, dad," I suggested.

  "I'd rather not," Archer said, honestly. "Bad associations, you know."

  "Ben will do fine," said Dad.

  Archer looked uncertain. "I sort of feel like I should call you 'sir'. Ben is very..."

  "Familiar?" Dad suggested.

  "I was going to say 'equal’."

  Dad shrugged. "That seems about right, son."

  "Thank you," Archer said fervently.

  Archer and I got into the car.

  "You need a lift?" I asked Dad.

  "No. You two could probably use some time alone, and I don't want to intrude. I really don't." He leaned in through the window by Archer. "You'll take good care of her?" It wasn't said sternly. He was really asking.

  "I will.”

  "I can take care of myself," I pointed out.

  Dad shot a look at Archer, who said again, "I will."

  Dad nodded. "And for the love of God, son, try to keep her out of trouble."

  Archer threw up his hands. "Damn it, Ben, I'm only one man. And you know what happens when you try to keep Cassidy out of trouble."

  "Hey!"

  Dad ignored me and nodded. "Yes, I do. But, sometimes, it all works itself out for the best. Eventually. By the way, what are you planning on doing now?"

  Archer shrugged. "Hadn't really had much of a chance to think about it. I didn't like to make plans before everything was..."

  "Sure," Dad nodded, thoughtfully. "You and I need to sit down and talk sometime. Not today, but sometime."

  He nodded a goodbye to us both and strode off. Archer turned to look at me. "Where to?"

  "How about home?"

  He shook his head. "'Home.’ I don't know when I'll get used to that word, but I'm looking forward to trying."

&nb
sp; The drive back to Fran's passed in a whirl of conversation and plan-making, none of which either of us would be able to recall afterwards, but which seemed very important at the time. At the side door to the bar, which led up to my - I should say our - apartment, Archer stopped me.

  "Aren't I supposed to carry you over the threshold?"

  "I think that's just married couples."

  "Does it have to be?"

  "I can't imagine why."

  Archer swept me up off my feet, into his arms. I reached down to unlock the door, and we headed in and up the narrow staircase. In all honesty, that narrow staircase did diminish the romance somewhat, as I clonked my head twice, and Archer had to go very carefully. But I don't think either of us cared as we made it through the next door and kissed. It was a kiss that kept on going, neither of us ever wanting it to end and not seeing any real reason that it should. Except one...

  "Let me show you the bedroom," I gasped, as we finally broke.

  "You took the words right out of my mouth," Archer said.

  I pointed at the bedroom door, and Archer, still carrying me, hurried on, kicking off shoes as he went. Once in, we fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, groping at each other, fingers urgently seeking out buttons.

  "Do you know what's directly underneath this bedroom?" I asked, as Archer kissed his way down my neck and towards my chest.

  "To be honest," Archer said, slightly muffled. "I don't much care. I have got things on my mind other than a tour of the building."

  "It's Fran's storage closet," I said.

  Archer stopped what he was doing and looked down at me. "Fran's storage closet?"

  "Yep."

  "The one where you and I....?"

  "Yep."

  "Where we, for the first time..."

  "Yep."

  "And where you lost your..."

  "Right downstairs."

  Archer took a brief moment to consider the cyclical nature of life before saying, "If only we'd known that there was a bed right above us."

  "Tell me about it."

  Clothes vanished in short order, and we dived beneath the covers. I delighted in having Archer's naked body close to me again. There had been times when I had thought that this might never happen. But here we were, together again and in our home. The first time we had made love in our own home. The first of many. And, as that thought struck me, it was followed quickly by another one: this was a first time. The nature of our relationship had meant so many last times. Every time had been a last time. This was the first, first time, since that first time that had taken place ten feet below us.

  It felt like a first time. Neither of us had the self-control to wait for anything as time-consuming as foreplay. We were both achingly ready. As soon as Archer thrust into me, I felt a first orgasm burst through me. I had been waiting so long for this moment, for this perfection, and that was the only possible reaction.

  It goes without saying that the sex was great. Archer and I always worked together in every way. It goes without saying that it was more than great sex, that there was the same meeting of souls that made our love-making something beyond the physical pleasure. But, as always with Archer and I, there was also so much more, so much we could say with our bodies that went unspoken. There was an optimism, a hope for the future, and, above all, there was passion. We made love like we never wanted to stop, each desperate to express how much they had missed the other and how they would never let the other go again. At one point, as the headboard knocked a hole in the wall, someone in the room below started banging on the ceiling. Fran might be glad that we were back together, but she had a business to run.

  Afterward, when we lay in each other's arms, slicked in sweat and deliciously exhausted, Archer took in the room.

  "You know, you did a real nice job with this place."

  "Riley and Joe helped."

  "Joe Henry?"

  "Yeah."

  Archer shook his head. "A biker with a flair for interior decoration. Who'd have thought? I guess everyone has their hidden side."

  "The parts that they play."

  Archer nodded. "I'm glad you gave him the opportunity to be himself." He fell silent for a bit.

  "Everything okay?" I asked.

  "Yeah, just thinking." He wriggled round on the bed to look at me. "Actually, I've been doing a lot of thinking recently. Not much else to do, you know? And I realized that I wasted ten years of my life, maybe more."

  "Not wasted..."

  "Let me finish. I wasted that part of my life on being someone I didn't really want to be. Then, in a matter of a few days, you turned me all around and made me realize the man I should have been all along. And, even though I ended up in jail, I was still happier for it. Happier than I've ever been in fact. I guess my point is, if that's what you can do for me in a few days, how much happier could you make me in a week? A month? Or the rest of my life?" He reached off the bed for his pants and fumbled in the pocket. "The thing is, I could wait an acceptable length of time, but why bother when I already know what I want? Why wait for the rest of my life to start, when it could start right now?"

  Before my gaping eyes, he brought out a wooden ring from his pocket.

  "It's not much. Obviously, there are not jewelers in prison, but I made this in the woodshop. So, Cassidy Dupont, I know you prefer to say the opposite of whatever gets suggested to you, but, in this case, I hope you won't. Will you marry me?"

  Chapter Thirty

  One Year Later

  I looked in the mirror and was quietly surprised, though not wholly displeased, by the man staring back at me. I used to automatically distrust men in suits, and now I was one. I'm not wholly displeased with that either.

  "You won't get any more handsome, the longer you stare," Cassidy said, bustling in efficiently, wiping paint from her hands.

  "You don't know that," I replied.

  "Sure, I do. You know why?"

  "Because you know everything?"

  "Because you couldn't possibly be any more handsome than you are." She kissed my cheek.

  I kissed her back. "I couldn't be any happier than I am, either."

  "Really?"

  "Well, maybe if you let me..."

  "You're not getting a bike."

  "You get to carry on with your hobby."

  Cassidy leveled a look at me. "That better be a slip of the tongue, because the painting currently drying in our living room was a one-thousand-dollar commission, buddy boy."

  "It's nice when you can make a hobby pay." Sometimes it was still fun to push Cassidy's buttons.

  "Because this is your day, I'll let you off," Cassidy said, heading for the door. "But you watch yourself with the 'H' word."

  Painting was not a hobby. It was Cassidy's profession, and one at which she was doing increasingly well.

  I took one last look at the mirror. A lot could happen in a year, and there were trade-offs that we made. Trading in the bike for an SUV was one I was pleased to make because of the development that had necessitated it.

  "AJ!" I called. "Are you ready to go?"

  "Tell Daddy you're ready to go," Cassidy instructed our son as she held him in her arms. "Tell Daddy you're ready to go."

  "Daa!" yelled AJ excitedly.

  "I'm calling that a win," I said. "He's only one syllable away from Daddy."

  "I'll get him in the car."

  The only thing that I could remember Cassidy being wrong about (or at least admitting that she was wrong about) since we had been married was the gender of our child. 'I must have been thinking of our next one,' had been Cassidy's comment. I'd never been sure what sort of a father I would be. I still wasn't really sure what sort of father I was, but I was enjoying it far more than I had expected. There was a sharp turnaround between a life of fighting, drinking, and going to jail, and a life of early morning feeds and diaper rash, but I think the stresses of my former life were actually a good training for the stresses of fatherhood.

  Cassidy strapped AJ into hi
s car seat as I started the car. I did miss the bike, and, when our household finances allowed it, I was getting another one, which I would then get rid of before AJ was old enough to start begging to be allowed to ride it. No son of mine was getting on a motorbike. They were nasty dangerous things, and, pretty soon, you end up in a gang of some sort.

  "Good luck!" Joe yelled from the doorway of Fran's. I was not sure exactly when it had happened, but he seemed to have moved in there. Fran insisted he was just a live-in bouncer, and that anything there was between her and the man who was twenty-two years her junior was purely sexual, but that excuse was fast wearing thin. I wasn't sure about wedding bells ringing, but it had ‘relationship’ written all over it. Every now and then, Fran and I would get a drink and wonder at how two confirmed singles like us had ended up like this. We all have to go sometime.