Page 84 of Road to Absolution

I mumbled to myself, “A good distraction, she says—”

Buckling my jeans, I was stunned at how loose they were. Slowly, I peered up to see my wife staring with an expression that said she was my distraction, too.

Getting angry, I slowly shook my head. “Nope. I’m different. I’m the man who puts his toothbrush back in the canister, just how you like it. I’m the man who loves you and your neat freak ways.”

Her jaw ticked. “I’m not a neat freak.”

I grabbed the wet towel I had flung on a chair and held it in the air. A threat I knew would make my point.

“Don’t you dare,” growled the woman glaring at me.

I dropped it onto the carpet.

She gasped in horror.

I snatched a t-shirt from a hanger in the closet. “Maybe your friend will come and hang that up for you.”

Faking being unaffected, she claimed, “I’m fine.”

“Sure, you are. Just like I am.” I cringed. I am fine!

As if regretting our unusual argument, she kindly said, “Maverick, why don’t you put on the soft pants that are easier on your skin?”

These are my Big Boy pants! “Because jogging pants don’t scream ‘I’m a biker’. Is that okay with you?”

In the blink of an eye, she became my ‘pissed’ wife. “If you’re not man enough to wear ‘non-biker’ pants, then, by all means, wear the dumb jeans. Maybe my husband with balls is elsewhere.”

“Balls, huh? Maybe your friend has a pair?”

“Maybe.”

“Girl, I have balls like you’ve never seen.” To teach her a lesson, I stepped right out of my Big Boy pants and right into my soft pair of jogging ones—Oh, these feel so much better. “See? Balls. All. Day. Long.”

She grabbed the remote and pointed it to the TV on the wall in front of her. “Yawn. I bet you don’t have the ‘balls’ to wear sneakers instead of ridiculous biker boots.”

Even though she had a point—high ankle boots may rub and annoy some sensitive areas—I only saw a challenge.

Oh yeah? I grabbed a pair of socks and those comfy sneakers, sat in a chair, and put them on. “All. Motherfucking. Day. Kind of balls, little girl.” I tied my laces, too—because that’s what big boys do. “You have no idea who you’re playin’ with.”

“Clearly not.” She scrolled through Netflix, searching for a movie.

Putting on my cut, I asked, “Anything else you want to try me with?”

“Yeah, that tray of empty plates. Think your ‘balls’ can find their way to the kitchen?”

Who does she think she’s talkin’ to? Grabbing the tray, I said, “Not only can I handle this tray, and find the kitchen, but I may not come right back. How about that?”

Typing on her cell phone, she rolled her eyes. “Maybe what I was sucking on yesterday wasn’t a figment of my imagination, after all.”

The fuck you say? I marched toward that door. “Oh, it was real, sweetheart.” I opened that damn door. “Very fucking real.” I stepped into the hall and did my best to slam the door—doing my best not to topple over the tray and make a mess that would bother Lilah. The nerve she has to claim I’m ball-less—

Wait a fucking minute. The hallway was bare, quiet, and—

I faced the closed door, wanting to go back to her. Lilah…

As I reached for the doorknob, Tucker suddenly came running around the corner. “My man!”

Fuck! I pulled my hand back, trying to act casual. “What up, bro?”