Page 39 of Absolution

Pulling up to Willie’s, I can already tell that my goose is cooked. Her body language lets me know that my crazy idea has been spilled to her, and she is not happy about the development. Not that I blame her. It’s not every day that you wake up and find out that the man sharing your bed married you without your knowledge or consent. They say that Hell has no fury like a woman scorned, but I doubt they factored in the woman standing in front of me. If looks had a thousand words, I am betting this one is declaring a bounty for my body, dead or alive.

Anger radiates from her as she grits her teeth and clenches her fists at the sight of me. Every single thing about her screams that my death is imminent. For the first time in my life, I feel an ounce of the pain that I have doled out to others for the sake of my club. Does it make me remorseful of my past actions? Of course not because it was in the name of protecting those around me, but explaining this to Ricca isn’t going to be easy.

“We’re married!” she screams at me, charging toward me with her fists flying. “I am going to kill your motherfucking ass!”

She swings, and nearly connects her fist to my nose. The motion knocks her off balance, and she starts to tumble towards me. I reach out to grab her, while trying to maintain the balance of my bike. How I support them both without bringing us all to the ground is a miracle. Ricca regains her balance, and straightens herself upright. Without a second word, she rears back and slaps me hard across my face. She starts to repeat the motion, but I stop her hand mid-swing. She growls at me, but once was more than enough to get her point across. Breaking free of my grip, she moves away from me.

If that didn’t scream I’m fucked, than I don’t want know what else would. The couch and I may become very acquainted if she doesn’t understand my reasoning behind it. Not that I don’t deserve the bedroom banishment and no sex penalty.

“Get on the bike,” I demand. “This isn’t the place to be having this conversation. Do you want to be arrested for public disturbance?”

“I don’t give a flying fuck whose watching me,” she roars. “I am going to kill you for this.”

“Yes, I got that idea the first time you said it,” I stoically respond. “But this isn’t going to be solved in the parking lot of a fucking bar.” She huffs in response to me, but I tread forward, hoping she’ll see the logic of my relocation request. “Just get on the fucking bike, and I will explain when we get home.”

She starts to argue with me again, but I grab her and pull her onto the back of my bike. Ricca makes sure to let me know she’s still pissed when she digs her knees into the base of my spine, as if I couldn’t tell she was still mad. The entire ride she keeps her hands off of me and on the grips on the back of the bike. Yet another bad sign.

I consider taking the long way back to the trailer, but it’s only delaying the inevitable tongue lashing that I am about to be on the receiving end of. Pulling into the drive by the trailer, she’s off the bike, before I even get the kickstand down and stomps off towards the door, slamming it closed behind her.

Well this is going to be fun. I get my bike squared away, and for a brief second, I consider wearing my helmet into the trailer for fear that she is lying in wait with a cast iron skillet for my head. It’s not a bad idea, but it would send the wrong message. I need to remain calm, and try to talk myself out of this shit wreck I caused.

My hand slowly reaches for the door, and when I grasp the handle, I listen for signs of my impending doom via a cast iron induced skull fracture. No sound comes from inside. I take a deep breath and jerk open the door, stepping out of harm’s way. I slowly stick my head in and find that the front room is empty. One foot inches into the door, followed quickly by the next one, until I’m fully inside. A crash comes from the direction of the bedroom, and I bolt towards it.

“Ricca,” I call out, announcing my presence. “You okay?”

She doesn’t respond, and the crashes only continue. I kick open the bedroom door, and find her halfway underneath the bed with her ass in the air. The few belongings that I have here are piled up in the corner of the room.

“Planning to burn my shit while you’re at it?” I question.

She startles when I speak, and hits her head on the bedframe with an audible thud.

“Son of a bitch,” she yells, pulling herself from underneath the bed.

I walk over to her as she cradles the top of her head in her hands. Thankfully, I see no blood pouring down her face so I know it’s not anything serious, but I need to check her out for myself.

I try to remove one of her hands, but she throws a punch toward my crotch.

“Don’t touch me,” she seethes.

“I get it. You’re pissed as hell at me, but I am going to check that wound, whether you like it or not. Move your hand.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, and I’m a saint. Just let me look at it. Do I have to say please?”

She rolls her eyes, but begrudgingly complies with my request. As I suspected, there’s no laceration to her scalp. At least karma didn’t add on a head wound to the list of shit I have made happen today. If marrying her didn’t get me killed brain damage, while trying to apologize, just might.

“You’re fine,” I tell her, helping her off the floor.

“I tried to tell you that, but of course, you had to be the macho man in the situation and pretend to care,” she says mimicking my voice. “I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“Yes that I am very much aware of.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she questions with an arched eyebrow.

“Nothing,” I mutter under my breath. “Come on out to the kitchen. You need a bag of frozen peas and an explanation.”

She knows that I’m right, but fights against me out of principle.

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