Page 14 of Petty's Crime

If I was meeting her for the first time, would I be attracted to her?Grimacing to myself, I really don’t know how to answer. What I know now, I hadn’t known then, and that’s what would sway me from taking the same decision. Attracted, maybe. Would I marry her again? I shudder.

“Clark?” she prompts when I’ve been lost in my thoughts.

There’s so much I need to tell her. Hopefully, she might not want to be with me once I’ve told her what I’ve been doing all these years. I swallow a mouthful of my beverage, then start to fill in the gaps in her knowledge.

“I served a couple of tours after you…” I pause, wondering whether I should try to phrase it delicately or state the blatant truth. I settle for, “After you went away.” She smirks as if she recognises my difficulty. I continue, “Didn’t re-enlist after that. Had enough of dancing to other people’s tunes. There was this guy, Roller, I met him when I joined his team. We became solid buddies. Turned out we were going to get out at the same time. He knew this guy…” I stop, that part’s not important. “We jumped ship together and joined the Satan’s Devils MC as prospects. Served our time and got patched in.” I indicate my cut. “That’s what I am now, a member of the MC.”

“A motorcycle gang.” She says it without any inflection.

“Club,” I correct her. “But yeah.”

She lets that soak in for a moment, then the corners of her mouth draw down as she realises the implications. Her cheeks glow as she spits out, “You’re a fuckin’ down and out. Not a solid member of society.” She leans forward, a tick in her jaw, glancing around as though hoping no one else hears her. “Clark, you’re a fucking criminal. If my parole officer finds out, I’ll be straight back inside.”

My skin heats at her criticism. “Hold up.” I raise my hand. “First, I’m no fuckin’ criminal. The club earns its money legitimately. Hell, Brit, we part own a casino and have our own security business. And,” thanks to Keys and some of the preparations I put in place yesterday such as getting all the paperwork submitted legally, “I’m a gainfully employed employee of SD Security Services if your parole officer checks up on me.”

Again I pause, thinking of all the things I’ve put in place for her. Everything I’ve done since getting that phone call yesterday, busting my ass to cover all bases. I wish I could say that she’s worth it, and I’ve not done it all from a sense of obligation, but I can’t. I can’t keep the sadness from my voice as I tell her, “I’ve moved out of the clubhouse, rented an apartment for us.”

“Well that’s good I suppose,” she sneers. “At least I won’t be living in a club full of rowdy bikers.”

I bite my tongue. Fucking good? Does she not realise how my life’s been upended? Before I say something I may later regret, I turn the tables on her. “You came to me, Brit. You’re hardly in a position to complain. I’ve not heard from you in seven fuckin’ years. You refused to see me, didn’t respond to my letters. You led me to believe I didn’t have a fuckin’ wife.”

Shrugging, she sips her coffee again, a wide-eyed expression of innocence on her face. “But I am still your wife. I didn’t sign the divorce papers.”

And that’s probably because she’d been keeping her options open so she had somewhere to go when she was finally free, only to use me if she had no better opportunities. I don’t bother asking for confirmation. She’d probably lie. Brit would say anything if it suited her purpose.

My view’s corroborated when she smiles at me and emphasises, “You are still my husband.”

I tense. “What if I’d moved on, Brit? What if I have another woman? What if I have a family?”

Her eyes narrow and for a moment, she looks uncertain. “You don’t, do you?” She does that huff again. “And you couldn’t have made it legal. You’re married to me.”

Despite that I could get some kind of pleasure stringing her along, I put her out of her misery. “I’ve no permanent woman in my life.”

Her hand moves across the table and rests on mine. Although I feel like a hot iron is burning into my skin, I force myself to leave my fingers under hers. “You’ve been waiting for me.” She flutters her eyelids. “Just like I was waiting for you.”

Grimacing, I wonder whether I should disillusion her, but here’s not the place to make a scene.

Her turning up out of the blue has my mind all over the place. I never expected to see her again. While I’ve told myself it was because of her I’ve never wanted to make a commitment to another woman, my mind wonders could it really be, that deep down, I was waiting for her to come back to me?

Fuck it. If someone asked me whether the sky was blue, at the moment, I wouldn’t have an answer. Britney’s always had that way of confusing me.

My head’s whirling with memories of the past, visions of a possible future, worries about how she’ll fit into my life. Although people quite rightly think I’m an asshole and would have predicted that instead of pandering to her, I’d have told her to get lost, I can’t turn her away. I’d made a promise when I said my vows. It’s impossible anyway because it’sher.

“What do you want, Britney?” I ask her straight. “Are you just using me because being married made getting parole easier?”

Her face loses its harshness as she deigns not to answer that. “I want to pick up where we left off.” Even her tone has gentled. “I still love you, Clark. I always have.”

Her words shock me. I sit back and examine her. She’s still the woman I was originally attracted to. She’s still the woman I cared enough about to put a ring on her finger. She might say she still loves me, but I have no such feelings for her. But now she’s sitting here in front of me, I realise it looks like she truly wants to pick up where we left off, wipe away the past seven years and act as a married couple again.

I can’t believe that’s her desire. It’s far from mine. But maybe I’d accepted that was my future when I’d moved into the apartment. Had I stayed at the club, there’s no way her parole officer would have allowed her to come back. But I’d pandered to her, jumped to accede to her request. Just like I’d done so often in the past. Whatever else, that hasn’t changed in our relationship.

I press her. “That’s really how you see us? Playing happy families once more?”

She gives another soft smile. “We were happy once, Clark.” She waggles that fucking ring on her finger, making me realise I have no idea where mine is. Lost somewhere in the past, just as I’d thought our relationship was. “You married me for better or worse. We’ve had the worse, now let’s make our better.”

Poetic words, but better for who?

But she’s here, and I’ve made the adjustments that means we can give it a shot. What choice have I got? It seems Britney and I are going to try to make a go of it.

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