by June Gray
Mom looked down at the miniature version of her son. “Well there’s lost time to make up for. That just means we’re going to have to spoil him extra rotten.”
Julie laughed. “As long as you don’t get him a flame-thrower, we’ll be fine.” When my mom cast her a confused look, Julie added, “Henry’s been giving Will toy weapons.”
All eyes swiveled around to Henry, who had been standing quietly at the edge of the crowd with his hands in his pockets. He met my parents’ eyes and I swear there was fear on that handsome face.
On the way back, I rode in the car with Julie and Will as my parents insisted on riding with Henry. When we arrived at the house, Henry emerged from the car looking more than a little shell-shocked, his face pale. I hadn’t told him that my parents already knew about his return from Korea and his objective to win me back.
Dad pulled me aside as we made our way towards the house. “We talked some sense into that boy,” he said.
I glanced at Henry, who was bringing in the luggage. “What did you tell him?”
“The gist of the talk was that if he really loved you, he would let you go and fulfill your dream for a while.”
“And?”
“He said that’s what he was trying to do,” Dad said.
“Anything else?”
Dad nodded. “I said if he ever hurt you like that again, I would castrate him.”
We spent the rest of the day at the house, catching up. My mom commented on how much she loved Julie’s decorating style and was especially drawn to the collection of birds. Julie showed her the glass eagle that I had guessed correctly as a gift from Jason.
“He knew how much I loved them,” Julie said softly. “Every time we said goodbye, he liked to tell me to fly on home, little bird.”
Mom took great care in placing the fragile figurine back onto the mantle. “You should come to Monterey soon. We can show you where he grew up.”
Julie nodded. “I’d like that.”
Will set up the Xbox and the men started a game of Lego Star Wars. Mom, Julie and I—content in playing out the gender stereotypes for one afternoon—went to the kitchen to start making an early dinner.
“I’m glad you’re giving Henry a second chance,” Mom said as she cut vegetables for the salad.
“You are?” I asked, tearing apart the lettuce leaves. “I thought you wanted to put a hit out on him.”
Julie coughed out a surprised laugh as she headed towards the pantry.
Mom grinned. “I know, but the boy seems genuinely contrite,” she said. “Still, I hope you’re making him grovel.”
“He’s suffering, that’s for sure,” I replied, thinking back to that morning.
Julie joined us at the counter with some fixings for the chicken. “You’re not mad at him?” she asked my mom.
Mom shrugged. “I am but I’m not. I just think that his actions were not as selfish as they first seem,” she said. She turned to me. “Before your dad retired, I met a lot of the airmen under his command. I noticed that when they returned from their deployment they felt alienated from the world, like they no longer fit in. And worse, their friends and family didn’t—or just couldn’t—understand them and what they were going through. It’s a pretty common problem for soldiers coming home from war and each person deals with it differently.”
I stared at her as I absorbed her words.
“Henry could have handled it better, but also had the added pressure of losing his best friend.” She touched my arm. “Of course the boy came unhinged. Did he act rashly? Yes. Was it understandable under the circumstances? Probably so. I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
A tear slid down my cheek and I quickly wiped it away. “Why didn’t you tell me before? It could have saved me so much heartache.”
“I didn’t want you to get your hopes up, sweetheart,” she said.
“But you told me in the car in Monterey, on the way to the airport, that the story wasn’t over yet.”
“It’s not,” she said, giving me a tender look. “I just didn’t want you to hold your breath while you waited for that next page to turn.”
Henry and I made our way back to Oklahoma at around six o’clock that night. Mom and Dad wanted to stay another day in Texas but I still had to finish my last week of work and needed to start packing.
“About last night,” I said somewhere between Ardmore and Paul’s Valley. “I really don’t mean to question everything you say.”
“If you never believe anything else I ever say, just please trust that the way I feel about you never changed,” he said. “Do you remember what I said on the tape, about the day you cut my hair in high school?”
“That you were sure I was going to be your happily ever after,” I said, remembering how he’d said the same thing the night he’d broken up with me.
“I’m still sure,” he said. “That fact has been the only constant in my life.”
My eyes were fixed firmly on the road when I nodded, letting him know that I was choosing to believe him.
The mood in the car lifted right after and we talked and joked with lighter spirits. A little over an hour later, Henry and I arrived back at my apartment and said our goodbyes at the parking lot.
“So about this morning,” he said, gathering me into his arms. “Does this mean…”
I looked up at him as I contemplated his question. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Then I’ll just keep trying until you tell me stop,” he said, pressing a kiss to my nose then a soft peck on the lips. He kissed me again with fervor and I opened up, kissing him back.
He gripped my hair and crushed me closer, deepening the kiss. I wanted to stay there forever, our mouths locked in an exchange of breaths. My mom’s words echoed in my head, weakening the walls around my heart, shedding new light on Henry and his actions.
He pulled away, breathing heavily. “I have to go take another cold shower,” he said in a strained voice.
I gave him a peck on the cheek. “Me too,” I whispered in his ear.
His eyes widened as he pulled away. He retrieved the car keys from his jacket and slung his backpack onto his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow after work.”
I nodded and grabbed the lapels of his jacket, pulling him down for one last, lingering kiss. “Goodnight, Henry.”
“Night, Els,” he said as he walked away with a smile on his face. “I love you.”
It wasn’t until after he had driven away that I whispered, “I love you, too.”
The week went by in a blur. Henry came over every night but we did more talking or horsing around than packing. Henry had a story for nearly everything, reminiscing about each object before packing it in the box. Those he hadn’t seen, he asked about. Needless to say, the packing part was slow going.
The relocation package from Shake Design allowed for a moving company, but I opted to keep the money for an apartment deposit instead and move everything to Colorado myself. Mostly it was just a thinly veiled excuse to have Henry come with me. He had agreed to drive the truck while I followed in my Prius, and I’d purchased a walkie-talkie so we could talk nonstop during the drive.
On Thursday, I picked up the moving truck and invited friends over for a moving party. They brought beer, pizza, paper plates and their muscles. Everyone helped load boxes and furniture into the truck and afterwards, we all went back inside the empty apartment and said our goodbyes.
I stayed at Henry’s house that night, slept in the same bed nestled in his arms. He didn’t try anything sexual, didn’t even want to talk before we fell asleep. He simply kissed me, told me he loved me, and fell right to sleep.
The next morning he was gone from the bed by the time I woke up. After I showered and dressed, I found him at the kitchen counter with breakfast already made. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he said, not meeting my eyes as he sipped his coffee.
Swallowing down my disappointment, I sat with him and ate quietly, stealing glances at his face. He loo
ked weary, with dark circles under his eyes, but he forced a tight smile when he caught me looking.
“We don’t have to say goodbye yet, Henry,” I said. “We still have the long drive together.”
“I’m not saying goodbye yet,” he said with a frown.
“Then why does it feel like you are?”
His blue eyes bore into mine. “My heart is breaking here, Elsie,” he said softly. “I’m doing everything I can to keep from begging you to stay.”
I looked down at my plate, hiding the tears.
“Helping you pack and letting you go is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I mean it when I said I wanted you to fulfill your dream.” He motioned to himself. “This, what I’m doing, is just my way of internalizing everything so you won’t have more sadness to bear.”
I jumped to my feet and stumbled to him, burying my face in his neck and wetting the collar of his shirt with my tears. “I love you, Henry.”
His arms were like bands of steel as they came around me, holding me tight.
“You won the challenge,” I said. “You won me over.”
He grasped the sides of my face and planted kisses all over my face before stopping at my mouth. “Thank you,” he said against my lips, “for trusting me again.”
I followed the moving truck out of my neighborhood and onto the interstate with my heart lodged firmly in my throat. As we passed by landmarks, I silently said my goodbyes. I had experienced so much heartbreak while living here, yet Oklahoma was the place I had grown the most and become my own person. This place would always have a place in my heart.
On the way out of the state, Henry’s voice suddenly crackled over the walkie-talkie. “There’s a rest stop coming up. Pull over,” he said in an urgent tone.
“Why? Is something wrong with the truck?”
“Quick, just pull over!”
I followed him into the rest area with a pounding heart and parked my car beside the truck. He jumped out and rushed to the car. When I got out, he grabbed the sides of my head and kissed me so thoroughly it literally took the breath from my lungs. He pressed me against the car, the kiss going on and on.
Five blissful minutes elapsed before he finally pulled away, my face still cradled in his hands. “No emergency,” he said, biting his lower lip as he smiled. “I just needed to do that,” he added before going back to the truck.
According to Google Maps, the drive up to Denver was supposed to take nine hours and thirty-five minutes but we stopped at nearly every rest stop to make out, which added an extra two hours to the trip. Still, it was well worth it. It reminded me of the beginning of our relationship, when we couldn’t get enough of each other, knowing that our time together had an expiration date.
We arrived at the Holiday Inn Hotel in Denver at close to ten o’clock that night. We were so exhausted from the day that we just fell into bed, skipping dinner altogether. I meant to seduce him, to finally make love to him again like I’d been daydreaming the entire day, but the moment my head hit the pillow, I was out.
I awoke the next morning to my cell phone ringing and buzzing on the nightstand. “Hello?” I croaked.
“Miss Sherman?” said a male voice. “It’s Ian Lang, the manager at Lakeview Apartments. I believe we had an appointment at nine o’clock?”
I sat up with a start, seeing that it was already nine-fifteen. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” I cried, jumping out of bed. “We overslept.”
“No problem, Miss Sherman,” he said. “If you can make it here by ten, I can still fit you in.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” I said, slipping into my jeans. I dropped the phone and looked at Henry, who was still quietly snoring. I didn’t have the heart to wake him so I just finished getting ready, grabbed my purse, and ran out the door.
The apartment was modern and overpriced but it was close to work and was on the first floor, which meant Henry and I wouldn’t have too much trouble getting my furniture inside. With a pounding heart, I signed on that dotted line, placing another obstacle in the way of my happy ever after with Henry.
When I made it back to the hotel, Henry was already showered and dressed, drinking coffee and watching something on television. “Hey,” he said with some relief. “How did it go?”
“It went. I signed.”
“I thought we were going together.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you,” I said. “Besides, you didn’t really need to be there. It wasn’t a big deal.”
He nodded, his jaw muscles working. “So when do you move in?”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
He set his mug down and got to his feet. “Then let’s get going. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”
5 | RETURNING HOME
Unloading my furniture was not nearly as tough as I’d feared, since my furniture was lightweight and fairly easy to lift. Only the large bookcase and bedroom dresser gave us trouble, but with the help of a hand truck we were able to maneuver them inside the apartment with only a few scratches and dings. We placed the furniture in their permanent place, set up the bed, stacked boxes against the wall, and called it a day.
“I’m beat,” Henry said, collapsing on the couch. He lay on his side, resting his head on his folded arm, and closed his eyes.
I lay in front of him, burying my face in his neck, molding myself into the hollow spaces of his muscular frame. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and focused on the thudding of his heart, and soon the steady beat lulled me to sleep.
I woke up a little while later with my legs and feet cold. I tried to wriggle out of Henry’s arms, but they tightened around me. “Stay,” he murmured into my hair.
If only he knew how close I was to asking him the very same thing. “I need to take a shower,” I said instead.
“Mmm, good idea,” he said, letting me go and stretching. “I could use a good soaping down.”
I chuckled as I stood up and found the box labeled bath stuff, grabbing everything we’d need for a shower. I was in high spirits until I entered the bathroom. Finding Henry in there, taking up more than his fair share of the space, gave me a sudden case of the butterflies. It had been over a year since we’d had sex; what if it wasn’t as good? Or worse, if it was mind-changingly fantastic?
Able to read the hesitation on my face, Henry said, “We don’t have to do anything.” He took off his shirt, revealing his muscular torso. “I just thought we could shower together to conserve water.”
I had to laugh to hide the fact that my fingers were shaking. I set the towels on the counter and made a big production of putting the toiletries in the bathtub. Henry was beginning to unzip his jeans when I cried out, “Oh, we don’t have the shower curtain up!”
He grinned, reached behind the door and produced a rod with the rings and curtains already in place. “Taken care of,” he said, stretching the tension rod to fit above the tub.
I watched him twisting the rod, the muscles in his back jumping with each movement, until I could no longer help myself. I leaned forward and touched my lips to the center of his back.
He froze. I felt a shiver travel across his skin. He went back to the task at hand, twisting the rod with more urgency. I ran my nails down his back to get another reaction. “Oh, you are asking for it,” he growled through his teeth.
My anxiety melted into playfulness; I pulled down his jeans and pinched his ass through his boxer briefs.
“Why is this rod so hard to put in place?” he muttered.
I reached around and ran my hand along the hard length of him. “Yes, the rod certainly is hard; as for putting it in place...”
He moved faster and faster then with a final cry of triumph, he twisted around to face me, catching me with his arms before I could escape. “Gotcha.”
He bent his head and tickled my neck with his stubble, his fingers dancing along my sensitive sides. I laughed and tried to pull away. The laughter died in my throat when I felt the wet heat of his tongue on my neck, tracing a li
ne up to my jaw, to my lips. Then he kissed me and all of the clowning around turned into serious business. I pulled away long enough to undress, his eyes following my every move with that familiar dark look on his face.
When I stood before him completely naked, he ran a finger from my collarbone down to my chest and around one breast before pinching the nipple. He looked at me with a question on his face.
I grasped his wrist and brought his finger up to my lips and sucked it deep into my mouth as I nodded.
“You sure?” Even as he asked, he was slipping his boxer shorts down his thighs.
I nodded again as my eyes followed the trail of hair on his stomach down to his crotch, where his cock was standing at attention. I bent down to take him in my mouth, but he stopped me. “No, I want you to have the first one,” he said and lifted me onto the laminate counter. He pulled my thighs apart and was dipping his head down when I grabbed his hair.
“Stop,” I said. “I haven’t taken a shower since yesterday.”
He actually laughed, the infuriating man. “Okay,” he said and reached behind me for the faucet. He came back with a handful of water and swiped it all over my mound and through my folds. He repeated the process, this time rubbing me a little slower, a little more deliberately. “Are you satisfied?” he asked, one finger playing with my clit.
“Almost,” I said and leaned back on my hands, opening myself up for him.
He gripped my thighs and, with our eyes locked, slowly made his way down. He touched the tip of his tongue to my clit a few times, and just when I was about to cry out in frustration, he dove in and worked me in earnest. His tongue was at once rough and gentle, thick and thin, swirling and lapping. There was no finesse or tact in his movements; he was like an eager contestant at a pie-eating contest.
I watched him, finding the visual of his tongue dipping into me even more of a turn-on. Then his mouth covered my mound and he looked up at me with a raised eyebrow as he continued the assault.