Page 29 of Anchor

“Right, go wash up before the pizzas are finished,” Heaven says with a laugh to our son, who grins and does as he’s told, high-fiving me on the way past, and getting flour all over me, making me laugh.

Fuck, I love that kid, and yes, I feel fucking guilty for being jealous that he took his mother's attention from me when, in reality, he never did, just like she said today at therapy. She was always there for me, not just to wash my clothes, clean our house, or cook my food while heavily pregnant, but also to look after a newborn when I was busy.

She’d always lean into me on the couch while she fed Micha, cuddle me all night long, ask me about my day, question how the brothers were doing.

She was perfect, and I was a blind, immature fucker.

Clearing my throat to dislodge the lump forming, I move into the kitchen and grab the wet wipes, helping my wife clean up our son’s mess.

She sides-eyes me but doesn’t say anything, not that I can blame her, so I speak up first.

“Ginger has been placed on household chores only. She fucks someone, she’ll be banned from the club, and the brother will be demoted to prospect.”

Heaven whips her head my way in shock, and I shrug. “Whether you believe it or not, in the eyes of Steal, Acid, Piston, and my dad, you are an old lady. Yes, the brothers are not aware of your existence, and yes, Art believes we broke up, but that was because I was a prospect at the time, Angel.”

She frowns, and finally, I see the curiosity, something she hasn’t allowed herself to feel about me in a very long time. Hope builds as she asks, “What do you mean?”

I throw the wipes in the trash and walk over to her, gently wiping the flour off her cheek. She doesn’t flinch away from my touch; instead, she leans into it, making everything ease for me.

I explain, “The club had traitors at the time, something none of my generation knew about. My dad suggested I lie to Art and keep you a secret for your safety. I listened to him, mainly because I knew I couldn’t give you an old lady patch until after my prospecting phase, meaning you wouldn’t be protected by the club, just like I listened to him to continue with school after we had found out about Micha, something I regret every day, by the way.”

Her eyes tear up, and I sigh before gently kissing her forehead. I whisper, “I had planned to tell the brothers when I got my cut, but then we argued because I was an insensitive prick, not thinking of you and how you felt leaving our son for the first time, or the fact that we were supposed to be celebrating a whole fucking year of marriage, and now, because of me and my stupidity, we’ve missed out on celebrating nine more.”

Heaven removes herself from my hold when we hear our son's loud as fuck footsteps, and she huffs, “He did not get that from me.”

I grin, not arguing with her because, let’s face it, he totally got it from me as he shouts, “Dad, come play a game with me!”

I turn and look at him to see him setting up a soccer videogame. “I’ll be there in a minute, bud,” before I look at my wife who seems to be in her own world.

“Talk to me, Angel,” I demand softly, and she looks my way, and the look in her eyes fucking guts me.

She’s confused, hurt, indecisive, angry, sad….

She’s struggling with her emotions, and I know I’m to blame.

“You messed with my birth control pills again, didn’t you?” she confirms, and I shrug, not denying it.

“I need you, Heaven; I’ve told you that repeatedly,” I answer.

She shakes her head. “But what does bringing another child into the world have to do with it, Travis?”

I walk over to her, cup her cheek, and admit, “Because the more kids you have, the greater the chance you’ll take me back.”

Her tears fall. “And what about my career, Travis? I’ve put my life on hold for you once; why on earth should I again when you you hurt me?”

“Angel,” I rasp with pain.

She sniffles. “I don’t know how, even with therapy, I can get over what you did. It’s been ten years, and all I see is the look of pleasure on your face, and yet you are trying to trap me….”

“Dad?” I hear shouted, and Heaven moves out of my space, wiping her cheeks. She goes to the stove and says, “You should go to him.”

I nod, even though she’s not looking at me, and decide to do as she asks, knowing she needs a minute, something she hasn’t had since before the therapist's office. I walk into the living area, taking a seat next to my son, scared shitless there’s no winning my girl ‘round.

Maybe I should have tried harder straight away instead of giving her fucking space after I fucked up.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” Micha says as he passes me a controller, "Mom hasn’t had another date since some guy spilled hot pasta sauce all over the last one.”

I give my son a grin, hoping my worry and fear don’t show in my eyes, and I state, “That is good to know, bud. Now, let’s see if you can kick my butt.”

---