Page 145 of Preacher Man

Preacher had had his suspicions for hours now. It was all too convenient, Ruby receives a text from her sister giving up the kid, only to turn up dead an hour later. What are the odds on that being a coincidence?

He wasn’t even thinking suicide. But he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to upset Ruby further, but all became clear when the cop in charge, one Detective Kane, met them at the hospital outside of the kid’s room. Not much of a fan for the law but the first mistake Kane made not allowing Ruby to go in to see the boy. Preacher held his tongue to let the guy talk.

He went on to explain the fire was contained to the bedroom and a lot of drug paraphernalia was found by the body. Preacher cupped the back of Ruby’s nape, his old lady was shaking barely keeping it together. It was only as the cop went on to tell her how the neighbors had kicked in the door and found Sebastian outside the mom’s bedroom door that Ruby grabbed onto his shirt front, she swayed and made a muffled distressed noise he’d remember forever. Wrapping his arm around her Preacher took over asking the questions after that while she cried into his chest.

Foul play.

That’s what the cop said. The fire had started sometime around three AM.

“That can’t be.” Ruby gasped. “She texted me at four AM.” Sure enough she showed the cop her phone.

Preacher got that gut feeling again as he watched the cop’s eyes. Oh yeah, that fucker was thinking the same damn thing he was.

And the boyfriend was nowhere to be found. Join the dots.

They had the happy trip to the morgue next to formally identify Rita’s body, but before that Ruby needed to see the kid. The cop left them.

Preacher turned fully towards her, cupped her cheeks, her eyes were red and puffy, watching her put herself together before they went into his room.

“How are you holding up, beautiful?”

“I just want to see him.” Taking a long breath, his lady put on her mask. So, strong, his ribs ached for her. “It’s like a nightmare, Preacher. I’m waiting to wake up. You can go to the motel if you want.”

Tipping up her chin with his thumbs he leaned down and rubbed his nose on hers. “Not leaving you, baby. Let’s go see the kid.”

******

Asher Priest age: 20.

"Come on, old man, keep up." Teased Asher, running ahead of his brother. Legs pumping as hard as he could, he was sweating, his T-shirt sticking to his honed body, he chanced looking behind him and saw Shane coming up on his right side. Cursing, Asher took off. When they both eventually stopped, they were panting, Asher bent over at the waist resting his hands on his thighs, thinking about puking right here, sweat pouring out of him.

He'd never been fitter.

And he felt like he was about to die.

Pushing himself just to keep up with Shane was a full-time job. His older brother excelled at everything, including the drill course at the Fort Carson army base in Colorado where the brothers were stationed.

But today, fuck yeah, he'd outrun and out-did that crazy bastard. Asher might be a minute away from puking to death but he'd fucking won for once.

Death was worth it. He fell to his knees heaving in air. Shane joined him, a smile on his face.

"Less of the old, dickhead. I only have a few years on you."

When they could rise from the dry dusty ground Shane helped to haul Asher up, they pounded each other's back in celebratory victory and flung arms around their shoulders strolling off to grab something to eat from the canteen.

Asher had been jittery for days, the excuse to burn off energy today by taking the course with a maniac's determination. They were being shipped out this week for their first tour. He didn't mind admitting he was shitting bricks over it. It would be the first time he was out of the country and so far away from his family. His mom had never stopped crying and he felt guilty over that, if not for him she'd still have Shane at home, but captain-hair needed to tag along to make sure Asher didn't get into trouble. Like they thought he was gonna go ballistic with a gun in his hand.

He stole one dirt bike when he was twelve and now he was smeared for life. Go figure.

Asher had grown up privileged, as in he had a good family that wasn't perfect by any normal standard but they loved each other, he learned a solid work ethic from the man walking at his side and he learned how to do every household chore from his batty mom, she was a pistol in an apron and he was going to miss going home most weekends for her famous Sunday macaroni and biscuits, carb-overload for sure. He wondered briefly what food they'd get over there, would the heat knock him out? Was it as dangerous as he read about? He felt prepared and scared shitless at the same time.

All he could do was his best.

He wanted a career, he was shit with school work, all of it jumbled up on the page until he got so frustrated he wanted to punch textbooks into a bonfire, yet put something practical in front of him and Asher got it done.

"You scared, bro?" He asked casting a side glance at his brother who was drying himself off with a towel. They both had the same color hair and eyes, but Shane was somewhat taller, slightly wider on the shoulders. Asher had been going to the gym on base more often, he wanted to bulk up, to get leaner and fitter.

"Sure am." That's what he loved about Shane, he never bullshitted. Asher grinned and slapped him on the back.