The Good Husband

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The Good Husband Page 5

by Lucian Bane


  “Ben, I know a lot about you because it’s my job as liaison facilitator and major investor in NRRC—or Neurological Robotics Research Center. I have been diligent about pursuing possible leads that qualify for testing some of the ground-breaking technology that’s been developed.”

  “Who are the investors?” Ben wondered, feeling like that was important.

  “Mr. Fitzgerald and Mr. Wong. Now, Mr. Fitzgerald is a huge stakeholder in all things memory related. He funds Dr. Bart Cobbins’ research, a world-renowned memory expert. Which I knew, and which is why I strategically dropped in his ear what we were proposing should be done with the latest memory science. I followed with us simply needing to raise the money to do it and hoping we were able, while having this miraculous window of opportunity. He bit immediately. And Mr. Wong, well, he’s located in China where we’d want to conduct the procedure due to existing prohibitions in the US. However, Mr. Wong doesn’t just have the best facilities and money out the wazoo, he’s been working on head transplants for over ten years. His investment allows him to partake in the operation, with credits. I’ll allow you to inject a question or comment here, Ben, I’m sure you have a hundred.”

  He should have a hundred. But what Ben had was the opposite. He had nothing. He remembered his role as a father, a husband and protector. “What about my family?”

  “Glad you asked,” Dr. Vindel said, elated. “Mr. Wong has already secured one of his private facilities that comes with a private suite where your son and wife would stay, on location. That means the hospital, the home, the rehab, everything is in that facility. It’s remote and out of the public eye which is important to both investors.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, if I had to guess Ben, and really, I don’t, they wouldn’t want anybody encroaching on their baby. Which is you and this operation. Ben…” he said, sounding awed, his breaths heavy. “You understand that you will make history as the first human to undergo a complete head transplant using Gemini for the actual transplant and the MAD procedure for the memory wipe and re-insertion into the donor’s brain—aka—your new head.”

  “I’m speechless.” Ben eyed Cheryl who knelt next to him with forearms against her breast, fists at her nervous mouth, watching him. “Yes, please send me the information. What is the timeline for this?” he wondered.

  He gave a measured breath. “Ben, as I’ve said, as an investor and liaison of this miracle operation, I’ve made it my business to learn everything about you. I’m sure you know better than anybody now that your disease is no joke. I spoke to every specialist that had anything to do with your case and when I said this is a miracle, I meant it. The odds that we’d find a donor before this disease became fatal or reached areas that would affect the transplants success were simply astronomical. We’d want to begin procedures immediately.”

  “Immediately.” He eyed Cheryl’s wide eyes as she covered her mouth in joy, but Ben was a few worlds away from sharing her ecstasy.

  “It’s a pretty hefty process. Pre-surgery preparation will be as crucial as intra and post. The schedule would be ten days for pre-op and the operation itself around fourteen hours. Post operation will be six weeks of induced coma so that everything can heal up, then six months of therapy and rehab.” The man paused suddenly then let out a breath. “This isn’t going to be easy for any of you. You’re going to have an entirely different head which will require some fancy psychological footwork. For you, your wife, and especially your son.”

  Ben nodded, trying not to give in to the onslaught of dread his words brought. He’d thought about having another person’s head but hearing it out loud made it more real than he could stand in that second.

  “The information about your donor is included in the email. I just sent it. Figured you’d be interested in that.”

  Ben realized it was another one of those things he should’ve wondered about but hadn’t thought to. “Yeah. I’ll…call you in the morning and go over everything.” It was happening… quickly. There was supposed to be more time and yet now he couldn’t hang up fast enough to find that exact thing out. He was going to be wearing another man’s head. The bizarre oddity of such a thing hit him full force.

  “I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made the medical community, Ben. As soon as I hang up, I’ll be calling all my colleagues to give them the good news,” he said, bubbly ecstasy in his words. “Oh and thank your wife for all of us. Had she not thought to research the matter, we might’ve missed this opportunity altogether.”

  “I will. Thank you Dr. Vindel.”

  “Call me John,” he said. “Have a good night. Talk to you in the morning,” he added as if reminding him he’d promised as much.

  Ben nodded, wincing at the slight movement. “Okay. Goodnight.”

  Cheryl took the phone from him and he closed his eyes. “What?”

  “Get the laptop.”

  She hurried off the bed and he didn’t protest when she put her robe on. He couldn’t stomach seeing her naked while going through this email. Already just having her in the room was making him nauseated with dread.

  “I’m not going to press you for answers; whenever you have a moment to process, let me know. But…just know I’m very eager to know every detail.”

  He pulled the laptop onto his lap as Cheryl climbed next to him.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Ben closed his eyes at the soft stroke of her fingers along his face. “Tired.”

  “Are you hurting?”

  He didn’t really like answering that. He was always hurting but he didn’t want her to know that. What was the point except to upset her? “Just a little. Small throbbing in my temples, low grade though.”

  He hated lying but that was as much of the truth as she needed. He opened the laptop and powered it up. “You ready to meet your new husband?”

  The joke hit his stomach like a lava boulder covered in acid.

  “It doesn’t matter what it looks like, I’ll love you. Always.”

  “It?” he asked, typing in his password.

  “I didn’t feel right calling it him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s not really going to be him, it’ll be you.”

  “Then…”

  “I didn’t say you because it’s not you yet, honey,” she scolded lightly while stroking the hair near his temple.

  “Do we really want to know?” he began to wonder.

  She paused her stroking. “You don’t?”

  Sounded like she was willing to not look if he didn’t want to. “I…” He wasn’t sure now, he hadn’t considered not looking.

  “We could just do it and love whatever it is. Like we did with Charlie’s gender.”

  “Oh God,” he barely muttered, closing his eyes.

  “What?” she cried, combing her nails through the hair on his arm.

  “Don’t defile that with this.”

  “Well, do you want to look or not? I think it should be your decision.”

  “Do you want to know?” he asked, wondering.

  “Well…I think I do? I’m guessing they’ll say we need to as part of the pre-operative preparation?”

  “Like Lamaze classes?”

  A half giggle burst from her and Ben logged onto Google. “Maybe we want popcorn for this.”

  “You think we should…wait for Charlie?”

  “Hell no,” Ben blurted disgusted, making her laugh again.

  “Why not?”

  “Because what if it’s so…whatever, that we can’t hide it? I wouldn’t want to hide it and I don’t want him to hide it.”

  “Then we don’t, we say the truth. If it’s an ugly fat head, then…we say so. You’ve had a beautiful head for nearly half your life. We can be thankful for that, can’t we?”

  “Oh yeah, sure,” he muttered hovering over the email button, nervous.

  “Are we waiting?” she wondered.

  “No. We’ll look and…get it out of our system, whatever that m
ay be before we show Charlie his new daddy.”

  “Stop,” she cooed, lightly tapping his arm.

  “Stop what? This is creepy as…God, there is nothing this creepy,” he blasted, wanting to swear. “We’re looking at some dude’s head that I’ll be owning soon. I don’t even get to pick. God, I hope to hell it’s not…” He shut the laptop shaking his head. “I can’t do this.”

  She stiffened and sat forward. “Do what?”

  All of it, he wanted to say. He held his jaw shut. “I need a moment.” A million moments.

  “Take your time. Do you need anything? Something to eat? Drink?”

  “Let’s look in the morning.”

  “Okay,” she said softly, leaning to his cheek and placing soft kisses. “Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

  “I am hungry,” he realized. Starving.

  “You want me to…”

  He turned his mouth to hers. A second after, he remembered he wanted to lead. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Her surprised breath and the soft, eager opening of her mouth lit all the new yearnings. Ben realized they weren’t new at all, they were old and timeless. Buried beneath five miles of fear. A deep fear of losing the one thing he loved more than anything, the most beautiful thing he’d ever owned, the single treasure that belonged only to him. His wife.

  There were instincts with these desires that had him stroking the side of her face as he explored kissing her. As if enjoying the very same, she allowed him as much as he wanted. The hot blasts of her breath and hints of moans fed his appetite, driving him to feel more, deeper, faster. Soon both hands held her face, pressing into the softness, feeling the dizzying dance with everything he was.

  She finally pulled away, far enough for him to really see her. She stared at him, winded, her lips parted and full, dark eyes smoldering with things he’d never seen before and never wanted to stop seeing. He’d put that fire there. Now, he wanted to know how high he could get it to burn. And what she would look like then.

  “I want to touch you,” he said.

  She seemed to wilt at the words, her breaths increasing. Her gaze lowered a little to the right then roamed back to him as she removed her robe off her shoulders. “Where?” she whispered, letting it fall to the bed.

  “I can’t…decide.” But his eyes were locked on her nipples. “You decide.”

  She suddenly moved so that she straddled his lap. “I don’t want to cause you pain,” she whispered, bringing her breast exactly before his face. “Please, I beg you. Stop if you start hurting.”

  He reached up and traced the shape of her, gliding his fingers over the soft swell of her mounds, his eyes locked on his plump target. What was it about that part of her? It was as though his brain was racing to catch up over the years of not doing what it new it wanted but never got. Without thought, his hand closed around the mound, squeezing. The gasp she gave controlled him. He opened and grabbed more, squeezing. Her nipple pushed toward him, called him. He raised his other hand and rubbed the thick nub. Cheryl gave a half cry and moan, dropping her head back and holding on to his wrist with both hands.

  “Ben,” she barely said, bringing her head down with another gasp as he measured the thickness between his fingers. “Do you want to kiss it?” she offered, sounding worried.

  Something inside broke in Ben or fixed. He squeezed harder, tugging her nipple to his mouth, kissing along the full, hard flesh. He moved his lips back and forth against it, his grunts thick and strange in his ears.

  “Oh Ben,” she gasped. “Please.”

  She pushed it into his mouth and Ben opened wide for it. Sucking it with such a hunger, he gave groans of astonishment while she held his head and scraped his scalp with her nails. Then he smelled her. He pushed her back a little, looking down to see her fingers between her legs.

  “Cheryl.” Her name blasted from his winded lungs and he pushed her, so she sat on his lap, her knees open. He could see everything. Where he fingers were, how they moved.

  “Touch me,” she begged with a tiny moan, undulating her hips. “Finger me.”

  Finger her. His brain knew instinctively what that meant. More buried information. He reached between her legs and stroked his fingers along her open folds.

  “Oh Ben, yes. Do it.”

  “Cheryl,” he shuddered, sliding his finger along her open silk. “You were always wet and hot.” He slowly worked his middle finger inside her, raising his gaze to her face. She watched him with pinched brows, her mouth a perfect oval of ecstasy.

  “Oh…” she gasped, flicking her lips faster, reaching behind her and grabbing hold of his shin. The position stretched her upper body taut and gave him a better angle. “Please,” she shot out, her hips meeting the deep drive of his finger. “Ben, don’t stop.”

  Ben growled with her desperate hunger, shoving harder, faster. The wet sounds were driving him crazy.

  “Oh Ben, yes! Yes!” Her cries were sharper, on the edge, nothing like he’d ever heard her make before. “Make me come, make me come!”

  Ben reached up and grazed the top of her nipple and she sucked in a sharp breath and held it, right as the hot silk walls around his finger began to convulse. “Oh fuck,” he whispered, watching in rapt wonder as she came apart. Her whole body was gripped in that full body tremor like before and Ben pinched her nipple, discovering more, marveling at the sharp cry she gave and added shudders that followed. God, he wanted to kiss her while she did that. That’s what she’d said she wanted. For him to kiss her while she did that.

  The warning in Ben’s body had grown. Quit now or regret it.

  He pulled his finger from her, fighting to breathe. Damn, you, Gorham bastard.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, winded.

  He wished he could see how she looked while sounding like that, but the pain had reached a jagged screaming in his skull.

  “Oh no. No, no,” she whispered, hurrying off him.

  He couldn’t move, he couldn’t comfort her. He had to just survive it.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Stop. Stop being sorry. Stop being fucking sorry. Leave. Just leave.

  “Tell me what to do. Ben, I’m scared, what do I do? You’re shaking.”

  There was nothing to do and he couldn’t tell her.

  “Is it going to pass?” she asked, sounding terrified. “I’m not ready for this, I have no idea what to do for you, I need to know what to do.”

  Stop talking. Stop. Stop. Stop. Breathe, breathe through it.

  Ben unlocked his muscles from the jaws of pain, knowing it was required for the pain to leave. It was like submitting to death, every part of him fought it.

  He lost track of time up until the first wave. Waves of pain was an indication it was going to subside. God. God this hurt. Please help me. Please. Help my wife. The second wallop hit ten seconds later, and Ben’s breaths shuddered out loud and labored as he forced himself to continue relaxing more. The faster he did it the quicker it stopped. Quicker meaning not lasting forever.

  “It’s going away,” he barely heard her say. He wanted to nod but he dared not move. The brief absence of pain between waves allowed him to relax a little more. “Thank God, thank God,” she whispered.

  Knowing she prayed helped him let go of his muscles more. God suffered for me. I can do this. I can suffer for Him. I can make it. His breaths slowed even more.

  “No more sex stuff,” she wept, making his heart lurch and need to comfort her.

  He was finally able to move and held his right arm toward her. She hurried onto his lap, and he petted her head and stroked her wet face.

  “I’d rather live without sex forever than see you hurt. I hate this Ben. I’m ready to leave tonight to get this transplant done than see you hurt another day.”

  His eyes gradually opened, his breathing near normal. “I would if I could.”

  She suddenly sat up and looked him in the eyes. “We can ask if we can…cut out some of the pre-operation stuff. We don’t need ten days of therapy, th
at’s silly.”

  “I have no idea.” He eyed her perfect mouth and realized she’d put her robe back on. “I think I’m ready to look.”

  She turned on the bed and got the laptop, placing the laptop on his lap. “Do you want anything first?”

  “A drink would be nice.”

  “I’ll get your water,” she said, scrambling off the bed and heading to the door. “I’ll check on Charlie too while I’m at it,” she whispered.

  “Kiss him for me,” Ben said.

  She paused at the door. “You’re waiting for me? You don’t have to,” she said quickly. “If you want to look first, I get it. I do. And I’m okay with that.”

  He carefully turned his head to look at her. He realized or remembered then. She’d always been intuitive to the things going on in his head. “Thank you.”

  She gave him a small smile, mostly love, with a hint of seductive promise.

  The second she walked out, he opened the laptop and hurried to the email. He needed this operation to work. He needed to not die. And he needed to spend the rest of his life loving his beautiful wife.

  Ben found the email immediately and hesitated before clicking it before he chickened out. His breath froze at seeing the thumbnail of the man’s face at the bottom of the screen. He listened for Cheryl then clicked it.

  “Holy shit,” he whispered, immediately trapped in the dark stare of the man on the screen. He should be thanking God that he wasn’t bad looking. At all. Ben finally named the strange feeling he had as jealousy. And it was hard telling himself this would soon be him when his brain kept thinking his wife would soon be with him.

  Those eyes. Dark as mocha, reminded him of his wife’s but even darker. Could have been the picture. She’d probably not like that because she loved his blue eyes. That made Ben feel better. But where was his bio? He finally found it. “Frank James Ward,” he muttered, scanning the skimpy info. Electrician. Finished high school. Trade school welder. From Havana Arkansas. Only living relative is a mother and one older sister. No wife, no kids.

  Ben looked for anything indicating he was getting a better head than the one he currently had but found nothing impressive. He was a couple inches taller than Ben but pretty much the same build. Which was…miraculous, Ben was sure. There were a million kinds of heads he could be looking at in his situation. This guy could’ve easily been bald and short or even some other nationality. Maybe they had to have a close match. Which made it more miraculous to Ben.

 

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