Arrest (A Disarm Novel)

by June Gray

  “Not mine. Henry’s.” It was official: The mood was back to awkward.

  “If ever a man deserved an ass-kicking, it would be me,” he said with a shake of the head. “I misread your motives last night. I’m sorry.”

  “This is on both of us. I should’ve stopped you before it was too late.”

  “You did.”

  “Did I?” I asked. Why the hell was I drowning in guilt then?

  “You did nothing.”

  “Exactly. I should have stopped you.” I held a hand up, tired of talking about it. “Let’s forget it. You’re not the person I should be talking to about this.”

  We were lost in our own thoughts as we made our way toward the short-term parking lot, sure to walk with several feet separating us. Even though I knew he wouldn’t be there, my eyes couldn’t help but search for Henry in every tall man with dark hair, in every person who turned the corner.

  When we reached my car, Conor said, “I hope this trip doesn’t affect our working relationship. I would really hate to lose a terrific designer over my error in judgment.”

  “I have no plans of quitting.” I unlocked the car door. “But you are giving me a raise based solely on my performance in that boardroom.”

  Conor smiled widely. “The paperwork was already submitted before we even left.” As he walked away, he said, “See you Monday?”

  I nodded, my insides suddenly trembling at the thought of being alone. “See you.”

  —

  I shouldn’t have been so relieved when I drove into the garage and found Henry’s Volvo gone. Still, it made getting out of the car easier, made entering our house a little less daunting.

  At least Law was there to give me a warm, slobbery reception as he licked my face and jumped into my arms.

  “Did you take good care of Henry?” I asked, scratching the backs of his ears.

  As I made my way to the bedroom, I looked around the house, trying to see if anything had changed. But nothing had moved. The used mugs were still in the kitchen sink, my book and blanket were still on the couch where I’d left them.

  Our bedroom, on the other hand, looked pristine. The carpet had recently been vacuumed, the bed made, but more curious was that the lamp on his side of the bed was missing.

  I unpacked, throwing my dirty clothes into the laundry basket, and placed my rolling luggage into the back of the closet. I changed into my pajamas, brushed my teeth, and washed my face. I was completely ready for bed, ready to collapse in an exhausted heap, when I finally noticed a familiar black tape recorder sitting on my pillow.

  My heart held still for a few beats as I tried to wrap my brain around the reemergence of that tape recorder, the very same one that Henry had used during his therapy sessions back in California. I sat on the bed, staring at it, trying to gather enough courage to reach out and press the Play button.

  Yes, I was chicken. I was afraid of what I’d hear; afraid that contained in the ribbon was the voice of my husband saying our marriage was over. I didn’t think I could ever be prepared for that.

  I lay down on Henry’s side of the bed and closed my eyes, smelling his scent on the pillow. Tears pooled behind my eyelids at the emotions it triggered: the surprise when he’d confessed that he loved me after we’d had sex for the first time, the overwhelming relief as he stepped off the bus on base, the euphoria when he’d dropped on one knee with a ring that rainy afternoon.

  My heart hurt at the thought that I might never make those kinds of memories with him again.

  I don’t know how long I lay there, clutching his pillow to my head and staring at the tape recorder, but eventually I took a deep breath and finally pressed Play.

  There was a moment of static silence, and just when I was beginning to think it was blank, that Henry was just messing with my head, I heard him clear his throat and finally speak.

  “Elsie,” he began in a low voice that raised goose bumps on my arms. It felt like years since I’d heard it. “I’m sure you’re wondering what the hell you’re about to listen to, but I can’t tell you because I don’t know what the hell I’m going to say.

  “I called you tonight, worried that something had happened, but you weren’t answering your room phone. I had this sick feeling at the pit of my stomach when I tried your cell phone again, this sixth sense warning me that I wouldn’t like what you’d tell me. And fuck if that voice wasn’t right.”

  His voice took on an angry edge as he continued. “I don’t know what the fuck you were doing in his room—I don’t even want to know—but the fact that you were in there at ten o’clock at night is fucked up, Elsie. You shouldn’t have been in there. Period.

  “You don’t even know what that information did to me. I wanted to punch something, wanted to destroy everything in this home we’ve built. I went to the gym to exhaust my body, but pounding the treadmill and the punching bag for hours couldn’t get rid of the mental image I have of you and Conor together. God, I want to punch that wife-stealing asshole in the face. The lamp unfortunately bore the brunt of my anger.”

  He took a deep breath. “That’s how I found this recorder again. I was vacuuming the glass from the floor when I found your box under the bed. I didn’t even know you had it, a box full of our history. The letters, our wedding invitations, pictures, the rock, that apology card I sent you in college; it was a time capsule of you and me. That box, and everything inside it, reminded me that there are some things in life worth fighting for.

  “So here I am, sitting in the living room, trying like hell to figure out how to fight for you. You tell me that I’ve stopped communicating with you, that I’m shutting down like before. I’ve denied it, but I know deep down that you’re right.

  “I know I’m not the best at expressing myself. Talking about my feelings for you, that’s easy because you’re the best part of me. Those are the parts that light me up inside. But to talk about my darkest thoughts? I have trouble with that because I don’t want you to know that I have that darkness in me. I don’t want you to think I’m anything but that goofy boy you grew up with.

  “I just . . . I find it so hard to tell you those things, Elsie. I can’t talk about the shit I see every day because I don’t want to take away your faith in mankind. You’re the kind of person who forgives easily, who thinks that people are ultimately good. How can I come home each day and tell you that you’re wrong? I don’t want to take that away from you because I think that’s one of the things that makes you glow: your sense of hope.

  “But I understand, I really do. You need to know these things in order to feel connected to me. So I’m here, holding a damn recorder up to my face, trying to figure out how to start talking again.”

  I pressed Stop to take a moment to breathe. The pillow beneath me was already wet from tears I didn’t even realize I was shedding. I took a deep breath, wiped my face with my sleeve, and continued listening.

  “First let me tell you about Korea. I was mugged, true, but something happened before that warranted the mugging. I didn’t tell you about it because I was ashamed. You have to remember that I was in a bad place. It wasn’t long after you came to the hotel room, when you made love to me then left, like I had done to you. It opened up my eyes. I lied to you, pretended that I didn’t want you anymore, but you saw right through it. I think sometimes you know me better than I know myself.

  “In Korea I became hopeless and reckless, which is a dangerous combination. I lost myself even more. I went out partying with the single guys almost every night, getting drunk with the juicy girls. I was desperate to find a way to move on from you. So one night, on a dare, I went to find a hooker. I’m not proud of this, Elsie. I don’t even want you to know that I was so fucked up, I was actually going to screw a prostitute just to get the feel of you off my skin.

  “But when it came down to the wire, I couldn’t do it. I backed out and tried to walk away. Th
e guys who worked at the club followed me home. They cornered me and jumped me, shouting that I owed them money. I was stabbed twice in the side, which earned me a stay at the hospital for a week. My commander told me that it was touch and go for a time, that they didn’t know if I would make it through because of the infection in the wounds. When he said that, I found myself wishing that I hadn’t survived. At the time, I felt like I didn’t deserve to survive.

  “It was so fucked up, but I was at a low point in my life. I had just lost you again—for good, I thought—and I had nothing else but my job. The only thing that kept me from completely self-destructing was Jason’s memory. He had died with honor to his name. And me? Did I really want to die in an alley with my pants around my ankles and puke all over my face? Because that’s where I was headed and I could either careen toward that future or forge a path of my own.

  “I hope you understand why I find it hard to talk about this, especially as I look at your face. I don’t want you to stop looking at me with love. I don’t want to see pity or disgust there. I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that I was actually considering sleeping with a hooker, or that I wanted to give up altogether.

  “So I didn’t tell you. How could I?

  “I can’t lose you again, Elsie. When I saw you in the hospital bed that night you had the miscarriage—it broke me apart to see you like that. You were lying there, looking so lifeless and pale. I panicked, because you reminded me of myself in Korea. I was scared shitless that you would give up like I did.

  “I hated myself for not being there for you. You don’t know how much that tears me up inside, knowing that you had to go through that alone. But you handled it, like the strong person that you are.

  “I wish you could see yourself how I see you. You are my beautiful, wonky rock, Elsie. You’re imperfect but resilient. It hurts me to see moments of sadness on your face. You think I don’t notice, but I see it. And it kills me that I can’t fix it.

  “Some days I just want us to run away. I want to take you somewhere we can both be happy again, but I don’t know where that would be. Some days I wonder if it’s me who’s making you unhappy, and I pull away to stop hurting you even more. I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do. Obviously not if we’re at this point in our lives, where you’re across the country, seeking solace in another man.

  “I do know one thing for sure and it’s this: I need you. It took me a long time to figure out what I wanted out of life, but I’m glad I managed to figure it out before it was too late. It’s you. You’re the only thing I want out of life.”

  The tape went silent for a few seconds then the recorder clicked off, signaling the end of the cassette. I opened up the recorder and flipped the tape over, hoping to hear more. Needing to hear more.

  “I woke up this morning to an empty bed and it was like another knife in my stomach,” Henry continued, his voice gritty from sleep. “Not having you here guts me. I don’t know how you did that back then, when I deployed and you were left to wake up without me for six months. I never want to put you through that again. It’s fucking miserable.

  “But I feel some hope. You’re coming home today. I’ve decided that I don’t give a shit what happened last night in that hotel room because—even though I have a crappy way of showing it—I trust you. Whatever you were doing in that hotel room, whatever it is, I know we can work through it.

  “Elsie, I don’t know if I can tell you everything but I’ll try. I’m not going to shut you out anymore. Even if I need to see a counselor to deal with the stress, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything because I’m in this for the long haul. I’m in this forever. I know I got caught up in it, in the stress of my job, that I lost sight of what is most important. I love you, Elsie. None of this matters if I don’t have you.

  “I’m pulling the midnight shift today, so I won’t be there when you get home tonight. But I will see you tomorrow. I can’t wait to climb naked into bed beside you and hold you in my arms again, to feel your skin on my lips. I miss you more than words can express. And I love you even more than that.”

  I turned off the recorder, my lips trembling, my eyes swollen with tears. Filled with a renewed sense of hope, I leapt out of bed and ripped off my pajamas. I ran to the closet, grabbing a pair of jeans and a sweater. It was nearly midnight, but I didn’t care. The need for him burned inside me and made me jittery. I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see him.

  I needed Henry now.

  3

  I called Henry’s phone but it went directly to voice mail. I jumped in the car and drove around without aim, hoping that somehow the universe would lead me to my husband. But life doesn’t work like that. I didn’t find my husband just because I wanted him so badly my fingers were actually shaking. My need wasn’t a beacon that would lead me to him in this dark Colorado night.

  After an hour of driving around, I finally headed home. With an aching heart, I parked and locked up the house, disappointment settling deep into my bones.

  I took a long, hot shower to calm my nerves, hoping that maybe Henry would choose that moment to come home and join me. I imagined him undressing and pushing aside the shower curtain, stepping into the tub, and crowding me with his large, muscular body.

  I closed my eyes and ran my hand down my wet stomach, sliding my fingers through my folds. I groaned, imagining Henry’s cock—its impressive length and veiny girth, its perfectly shaped head—which could only be described as magnificent.

  I slipped two fingers inside me, pretending it was Henry filling me instead, but there was no pleasure to be had by myself. Not when my body craved the real thing.

  Unsatisfied, I finished showering and dried off. I slipped into a black-and-white silk bathrobe and went downstairs to make a cup of tea. I filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove, washing the dishes as I waited for the water to boil.

  After turning off the kettle, I was grabbing a tea bag in the pantry when I heard Law emit a short, excited bark.

  “Hey, buddy,” a deep male voice said.

  I stepped out of the pantry and my heart fluttered. Henry stood across the kitchen, already changed into a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt folded at the sleeves, looking more breathtakingly beautiful than any man had a right to be. Our gazes locked for a long, tense second, then my body propelled itself forward, toward the object of its desire. Henry crossed the room with large, purposeful steps and met me halfway. We stopped short of touching.

  He grabbed the back of my head and leaned his forehead to mine. “Hi,” he said with a low, husky voice.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, touching the tip of my nose to his. “Nothing happened.”

  He gave a nod and clutched a handful of my hair, tilting my head to the side as he slanted his mouth over mine. I opened up, inviting him to sink into me, and he accepted, making love to me with his tongue. His other hand traced the curve of my waist and hip, then slid inside the robe and around to my ass. His fingers dug into my flesh as he gripped me closer, holding me against his arousal.

  He backed me up a few steps then lifted me by the hips, setting me onto the counter. He pulled away, breathing hard. “I missed you,” he said, fitting his fingers under the robe’s collar and slipping it off my shoulders, uncovering my chest.

  “Henry,” I said, finding it hard to breathe when his fingers skimmed around the edges of my breasts, circling under and finally cupping them in his palms. “We need to talk.”

  He bent down and touched his lips to my collarbone. “No talking. Not tonight,” he said. “Right now I want to prove without a shadow of a doubt that no man can ever love you like I do.”

  His kisses trailed softly along my skin, along the valley between my breasts. His tongue flicked out and licked at a hardened nipple, sucked at the tender underside before moving lower down my body.

  He bent down until his mouth was hovering above my mound. “I dreamed abo
ut you last night,” he said with a grin, his breath warm on my quivering skin.

  I moaned, leaning back on my hands as he ran the tip of his tongue along the sensitive spot between my folds. Drawing circles, he teased me mercilessly. He stood up, rubbing his palms along the insides of my thighs, flashing me a smile as he pushed two fingers inside me. “Always ready for me.”

  I closed my eyes and enjoyed the pleasure he was giving me, feeling myself drawing closer to the edge of climax. Then his fingers were gone and something else took its place, nudging at my entrance.

  I opened my eyes and the sight of Henry completely naked with his rigid cock ready to impale me took my breath away. “Do you love me, Henry?” I asked, needing to hear it from his lips in that moment.

  “With every atom in my body,” he said, his eyes feverish with emotion.

  I clamped my feet around his ass and urged him closer. “Then love me.”

  He slid into me slowly, savoring every inch as he stretched me out, groaning when he filled me completely. He grabbed the back of my head and held our foreheads together once more as he began a slow, deliberate stroke. “I do,” he said in a low timbre that I felt down to my core. “Every damn second of every day.”

  Our lips touched and we exchanged breaths. In that moment, with our eyes, lips, and bodies locked together, I felt connected to him in a way I’d never felt before, as if it was truly possible to split a soul in two and have them find each other so they feel whole again. I never believed in soul mates until that moment, until something in me fused itself to him.

  Henry had been right all along: We belonged to each other, as naturally as the waves belonged to the shore.

  I wrapped my arms around his back and pulled him against my chest, holding him tight with every muscle in my body. “I’m yours, Henry,” I said against his lips.

  His eyes flickered with emotion and he continued the steady pace, his long strokes increasing in speed until we were on an almost desperate edge. He held me by the hips and thrust into me, his breathing becoming more ragged as we raced closer to climax.