Chapter 4 #2
In the beginning I clamp my legs tight against the bike because I don’t want to fall off. But slowly I realize that’s not really necessary. As Patch snakes around the curves in the road, leaning into the curves, I realize he’s got this. I trust that he knows how to keep us safe on the road.
***
After an all too short ride, I see the courthouse up ahead.
Patch veers off into the parking lot and eases the bike into one of the parking spaces.
His foot comes down on the kickstand and then he gets off the bike.
When he helps me off, I get weak in the knees.
Whether it’s from his gentle touch or the vibration of the engine running up my legs during the ride, I don’t know.
As we pull off our helmets, he asks, “You okay, Beth?”
“Yeah. Being on a motorcycle is amazing.”
“Glad you enjoyed it.” He gives me a lopsided smile as he takes a cargo net out of his storage compartment, puts our helmets inside and locks it to his bike.
That’s when his parents pull into the parking space beside us. His mother jumps out and fast walks over to us, looking excited. Her husband follows along behind her. His expression is more reserved, almost wary. It makes me wonder if he has second thoughts about his son marrying me.
His mother rubs her hands together to warm them up. “It’s after eight. The county clerk’s office should be open now.”
Patch slips his hand into mine and boldly takes the lead.
This man is smart, incredibly nice and a real go-getter.
Not the kind of man to choose a mousy little church girl for a wife.
I know he said that I would make a good wife if I were older, but I honestly think he was just being nice.
Still, his big hand in mine makes me feel things, both emotional and physical.
Being close to him makes me want more than a fake marriage.
Since that’s going to happen, I just need to push through it.
Inside the big marble courthouse, I begin to grasp that we are starting something real and bound by law and I start to worry about the implications.
The county clerk’s window is one of many offices lining both sides of the lobby and there are still more offices and courtrooms upstairs.
Patch leads me into the office and up to a counter with ballistic glass in place.
I can tell because the glass is like an inch thick.
There are only a couple of employees milling about behind the long counter and one immediately comes over to speak with us.
“What can I do for you this morning?” she asks pleasantly.
Patch replies, “We’re here to get a marriage license.”
The clerk glances at me and smiles. “I’d be happy to take care of that for you. For starters, both applicants need to be eighteen or older.”
“You can check that box,” Patch says, nodding in my direction. “My fiancée is nineteen.”
The clerk reaches beneath the counter and shoves the application across the counter. “Next, we need valid, government-issued picture identification and a birth certificate for both of you. California only requires an ID, but the county requires a copy of the birth certificate.”
I reach into my bag and pull out my paperwork and hand it over.
Patch’s mother hands him a folder with his birth certificate and he adds his ID before placing them on the counter in front of the clerk.
She makes copies of the documents and brings back the originals as Patch and I work our way through the application.
We each sign in the appropriate place as she watches and then she notarizes the application, types on her computer for a minute and then slides an official-looking document back to us under the glass.
Patch puts his arm around my waist, pulling me close as we look it over. My hand comes up to run around the edge because it has a fancy, official-looking border.
Patch murmurs, “It’s a dual-use form. The bottom part is completed after we get married. That section says marriage certificate.”
The clerk responds, “That’s correct. Whoever officiates your wedding ceremony will complete that section and when you bring it back, we’ll register the marriage and add a raised seal.”
“Is there anything else we need to do today?” he asks.
“Nope. Just be sure to get married within ninety days or you’ll have to renew the license.”
“Thanks for walking us through the process,” he says smoothly.
When Patch hands the marriage license to me for safekeeping, an image of my mother’s face flashes through my mind, the way she smiled when she was happy.
She would’ve loved being here. I can’t help but feel like I’m being cheated out of the wedding she had always dreamed of for me.
But then I remind myself why I’m doing this. Maybe one day I’ll have a real wedding.
When we turn around, Patch’s mother is exuberant. “Congratulations,” she says, hugging me tight before I can react. “You’re going to be family now, Beth. Don’t forget we’ll always be here if you need us.”
My eyes sting. I nod into her shoulder, fighting tears. “Thank you, Mrs. Patchett.”
“Call me Caroline, dear,” she says as she gives me another hug.
Mr. Patchett doesn’t hug either of us, but he does squeeze Patch’s shoulder in a fatherly way.
I have to admit that he still looks worried.
“Watch your back. Mr. Jefferies called looking for Beth. I don’t think he knows she was with us.
It sounded like he was just panicking and checking everywhere she might be. ”
I ask, “Should I at least call him to let him know I’m okay?”
Patch’s head snaps around to look at me. “Absolutely not. I’ll contact that asshole myself and explain the situation to him.”
He stresses the word ‘explain’ and the tone of his voice scares me. I’ve never heard him sound so cold. There is also a threatening edge to his voice that I never would have suspected he was capable of. It worries me.
He softens his voice as he reaches out to take my hand again. “I will take care of it. I swear it’s going to be worlds easier for him to hear it man-to-man, rather than from the woman he hoped to victimize.”
I nod, because when he puts it like that it makes perfect sense. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that. He never did listen to a word I had to say.”
“It’s settled then,” he says with a decisive nod.
When we step back outside, the morning chill has eased.
The sun is still shining but I can see storm clouds moving in.
Soon it will be overcast. My emotions are all over the place because I’ve made a bunch of major life-altering decisions in a short period of time.
I bring my hand to rest against the front of my bag.
It now contains our marriage license, the thing that could prove to be the best or worst decision of my life.
It all depends upon the man intent on protecting me.
I glance up to find Patch’s expression unreadable.
His parents linger only long enough to say their goodbyes. I’m surprised that Caroline doesn’t mention the wedding ceremony that needs to take place within ninety days. Maybe she’s decided that she pushed her luck enough with her strong-willed son.
As they drive off, Patch lets out an audible sigh before turning to me. “Are you ready to get out of here and step into your new life?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You make it sound almost glamorous.”
He snorts a laugh as he unlocks our helmets. “There ain’t nothing glamorous about my life, darlin’. I patch people up for a living, so there’s lots of blood and other less savory byproducts of the human body when it malfunctions.”
My mouth falls open at his term of endearment. Then I realize it’s either biker speak or just selling the relationship to any stray ears that might be within earshot. “None of that bothers me. It probably should but it doesn’t.”
He grins and waggles his eyebrows. “You’re tempting me to put that to the test, wife.”
His sense of humor is so disarming that I forget all my troubles and tease him back. “Don’t jump the gun, fiancé. I’m not your wife yet. Not until the other half of our document gets filled in. Until then, we’re not technically married.”
His expression changes. I can’t really say he’s angry or even irritated. I realize it’s possessiveness when he reaches out and tugs me closer, strapping on my helmet.
My hands come up to grab the straps. “I can do it myself.”
He brushes my hands away. “Just for today, I get to take care of you.”
I gasp, realizing that he’s saying today is special to him.
Since he’s already said he doesn’t want me, I can’t begin to guess why it would be different from any other day in his mind.
But I don’t ask because that seems like asking for trouble.
Today has been stressful enough already.
Instead, I lean back against his bike and let him do as he likes.
He doesn’t comment further. In fact, I can see that his jaw is locked, like he may have just said something he regrets.
When he’s finished, I climb back onto his bike, and he takes his seat in front of me.
I settle down behind him, arms wrapping around his waist. Although I would never say I need to be close to him right now.
When I lay my cheek against his back, he abruptly starts the engine.
It’s not as loud as I remember from the ride to the courthouse.
Maybe I’m getting used to it. The vibrations are still strong.
Perhaps, in time, I’ll get used to that too.
Patch maneuvers out of the lot and onto the road.
Traffic is heavy because it’s the morning rush hour, when everyone is trying to get to work.
I press closer to him, holding on tighter than before.
Having other vehicles so close makes me anxious.
Soon, we’re on the interstate, and I ease my grip slightly.
When one of his hands comes up to rest over mine, I tear up for some reason.
I keep telling myself that I’ve got this, but every time I pull up my big girl panties and try to power through, something else pops up, like my stepdad calling the Patchetts looking for me, or all those cars in town spiking my anxiety.
When will it all end?