Page 42 of Absolution

It took me nearly a week to come to terms with the fact that I was married to Ratchet.

Married. To. Ratchet. Not dating. Not fucking. M.A.R.R.I.E.D.

An institution that I never thought would include my name in its ranks. He was the type of man I would have never picked to be the marrying kind, but he did it without a single thread of hesitation or a lick of sense. Typical fucking alpha male bullshit. The fact that he never even asked and just assumed was a decision he’s paid for since I found out. It was almost pleasurable to watch him stalk to the couch every single night. Not that he didn’t try like hell to convince me to let him back into the bedroom. I wanted him to know just how much he’d fucked up at his attempt at solving a problem.

What woman wants to wake up and find that the man in your life and his cocksucker of a brother took you from a miss to a missus? Had we been in Vegas it might make more sense. The absurdity of my life was becoming to be a bit much. I have to laugh just thinking about it. How in the hell had someone not tried to buy the rights to tell my life story on Lifetime or HBO? It might not have flying dragons or vampires in it, but I bet that HBO could make a killing on it.

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.

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