Arrest (A Disarm Novel)

by June Gray

  Little did Kari know how close she was to the truth, but even though I wanted to talk to her about it, I couldn’t. Some things were best left between a wife and her husband.

  “No, the pregnancy’s actually progressing really well,” I said and added a dramatic exhale for her benefit. “I’m just really tired all the time though.”

  Kari let me bow out with that lame excuse and started in on her latest read about a hardass biker with a heart of gold. “I’m looking to date a tattooed guy with a motorcycle now,” she said with a wide grin. I smiled with her, sharing in her fantasy, content to forget my worries for those few precious moments.

  We looked up when we saw Conor walk down the hall and stop at my door. And even though we could see him, he was polite enough to knock before cracking it open. “You have a minute, Logan?”

  Kari flashed me a wink before leaving. Conor entered and stood in front of my desk, studying me quietly.

  I grew impatient under that silent gaze. “Can I help you?”

  Conor bit his lip, a dimple showing on his cheek. “I wanted to see where we’re at with the Lombart website.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “We’re just waiting on design approval,” I said. “Like I told you this morning.”

  He gave a nod. “Ah, now I remember,” he said unconvincingly.

  I narrowed my eyes. “What’s this really about?”

  “Okay, okay,” he said, holding his palms up. “I’m checking up on you.”

  I threw my hands up in the air. “Why is everyone treating me like some sort of mental case?”

  “Because you were in a shooting!” he said, his brogue becoming thicker. “And you’re trying very hard to appear normal, but nobody is buying it.”

  “I’m fine!”

  “You’ve just been looking—”

  “If you say stressed, I’ll kick you in the junk.”

  “Tired and grumpy,” he said, sounding the same himself. “It’s always been Shake’s policy to follow up with employees who have had a traumatic experience, to make sure everyone is in a healthy mental space.”

  “You sound like a brochure.”

  He pulled out a small envelope from his suit pocket. “Here. I wanted to give you this on behalf of everyone at the office.”

  I opened it to find two gift certificates for a spa package at the Veda Salon and Spa.

  Tears stung my eyes at the thoughtful gesture. “I’ll be right back. I have to pee,” I said and dashed out of the room before the tears could fall. In the bathroom, I took deep breaths and tried to gather myself. My hormones were out of control, magnifying every thought and emotion. It was expected that I’d be a little emotional during a normal pregnancy, but to add in the stress of Henry’s issues plus the anxiety of another possible miscarriage made it so that I was an exposed, raw nerve every single minute of every fucking day.

  “This is too much,” I said when I came back out, finding Conor still in my office. “I don’t even know if Henry would agree to come.”

  Conor waved me away when I tried to hand the envelope back. “Come on, it’s a gift from everyone here. Just send out a thank-you email and have a day of pampering. Invite Kari if you have to.”

  I shot him a grateful smile. “Thank you then.” I managed to hold off the tears until he left, until I sat down and tried to compose a warm and well-written company-wide email. Thankfully, my computer was large enough to block my face from view.

  —

  I woke up on the morning of our first wedding anniversary devoid of any excitement or even a feeling of triumph at having survived a year. I looked over to my right, only to stare at Henry’s empty side of the bed.

  I stayed under the covers for several long minutes, feeling utterly and unrepentantly sorry for myself. This was the anniversary of our wedding; it should be special. At the very least, we should have woken up together. Instead, I was alone and wondering on the whereabouts of my husband.

  I lifted my hand above my face and stared at my wedding ring, watching the sunlight catch on its facets. I thought back to our wedding, to that moment when we stood in front of the ocean and he promised to love me and keep me safe, to strive to become the man I deserved. It was only a year ago that we’d exchanged rings and danced under the stars on the beach in Monterey, but it felt more like a lifetime had gone by. The stars in those newlyweds’ eyes were gone now; Henry and I were no longer the same people. After everything we’d been through, I didn’t know how we could be.

  It was heartbreaking, to look back and realize just how much had changed in the space of a year.

  Henry burst into the bedroom, his face red, his shirt and hair soaked in sweat. “Morning,” he said and kissed me on the forehead before disappearing into the bathroom.

  I stared at the door in shock and disappointment. When the shower started running, I knew for certain that he hadn’t remembered. My husband, who’d promised to love me even after his death, had forgotten the anniversary of what had been our happiest day together. I’d heard from other married people that men had a tendency to forget important dates, but I hadn’t expected Henry to be one of them. Up until today, Henry had remembered every significant event in our lives.

  Deciding to end my pity party, I got up and went downstairs to make breakfast. If nothing else, maybe some decaf coffee and eggs would lift my spirits.

  In the kitchen, I found a huge bouquet of red roses sitting inside a square glass vase on the counter. I blinked a few times, making sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

  “You thought I forgot, didn’t you?”

  I spun around and found Henry standing in the hallway nearly naked save for the towel around his hips. His hair was slicked back and there were still droplets of water clinging to his skin.

  “I kind of did, yeah,” I admitted, touching a velvety red petal with my finger.

  He came over and wrapped his arms around me, pressing my face into the damp hair on his chest. “How could I ever forget the day you bound yourself to me forever?”

  I pulled away, wiping at my cheek, only to have him shake his wet hair at me. I laughed, feeling a ray of hope for the first time in days.

  We prepared breakfast like old times; he made coffee and toast while I cooked omelets. When we sat down to eat, I could almost pretend that everything was back to normal, but I noticed that, even as he smiled, the joy never quite reached his eyes.

  After breakfast we sat on the couch and watched an episode of Southland. “Did you have anything planned for our special day?” I asked, growing tired of the show.

  “Nope. The flowers were as far as I got.”

  “I have gift certificates to Veda for a day of spa-type pampering. We could do that.”

  He gave me a dubious look. “I’m not a spa type of guy.”

  “Come on, it’s a massage, facial, and lunch. It’ll be nice and relaxing. Just what we need.”

  He stretched his arms above his head then draped an arm around my shoulder. “I want to stay in with you. Just enjoy each other’s company. When was the last time we did that?”

  “Okay,” I said, fitting myself under his arm and trying to conceal my disappointment.

  He sighed as he leaned his head against mine; there was a sadness in the noise, one that I felt down to my bones.

  We watched another episode of the show, our problems set aside for a moment. It almost felt like old times.

  As my eyelids began to droop, Henry’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “Excuse me,” he said, getting up and answering his phone. “This is Logan.”

  I leaned my head against the couch and closed my eyes, letting his deep, gravelly voice wash over me. I thought back to our teen years, back to when he was only fourteen and his voice still held that young boy’s clarity and softness, often cracking at inopportune times. Then over one summer, my family and I vacationed in Virginia and when we ca
me back, Henry’s voice had deepened.

  I still remembered the first moment I heard his adult voice. I’d been in my bedroom when the doorbell rang and heard a deep voice from the entrance. I thought it had been an adult, one of Dad’s friends. Imagine my shock when I came out and discovered that Henry was the owner of that rough, masculine voice.

  During dinner that night, my mother said to him, “So your voice finally deepened.”

  Henry laughed then cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

  “You sound like a man,” my dad said, eliciting a bashful but nonetheless pleased grin from Henry.

  “Thanks.”

  I hadn’t said much during that dinner, content to just sit and listen in awe to this boy’s new voice. Admittedly, I was a little confused by the way it made me feel.

  And to this day, the timbre and rough quality in Henry’s voice still affected me in different ways, like a fingertip trailing down my spine or a thick down coat on a cold day.

  “I don’t know if I can come in today.”

  Henry’s words brought me back to the present. I opened my eyes and looked up at him; at the same time, his eyes flicked to mine then away.

  “It’s my anniversary. I’ll have to check with the missus.”

  I sat up and raised an eyebrow.

  He pressed the phone against his chest. “They’re asking if I can come in today.”

  I realized with a sinking heart that he wanted me to tell him to go. The anger in me flared. This was our day, damn it, and I wouldn’t give it up for nothing. “No. Hell no.”

  He nodded and talked on the phone, telling whomever it was that his wife had not given him a pass.

  I stalked off upstairs, angry that he’d even asked.

  “What? What did I do?” he asked a few minutes later.

  I tapped my feet, trying to control my breathing. “Nothing.”

  “No, Elsie, tell me,” he said by the bed. “I want to know what I’ve done wrong now.”

  I rounded on him. “I just hoped that on our anniversary of all days, you’d want to hang out with me instead of go to work.”

  “I told them no, didn’t I?” he asked, exasperated. It was the first genuine expression I’d seen from him that day.

  I sighed and let it out. “I don’t want to fight,” I said. “Not today.”

  It took him a few minutes to calm down, for his muscles to relax and the lines on his face to ease. “I don’t want that either.”

  We stared at each other for a long time. Finally, I said, “Come take a bubble bath with me.”

  “I’ve already taken a shower, remember?”

  I closed my eyes, feeling like nothing I did was good enough. “Fine.”

  I didn’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, we’d become strangers. Acting more like roommates than lovers.

  I took a bath by myself. I stayed in there with a book, soaking even long after the water had cooled. To be honest, I didn’t want to suffer even more awkward moments with my husband. Then again, I supposed it was why he’d been tempted to go to work.

  Unable to stand my hypocritical self any longer, I finally emerged from the bathroom to find Henry lying on the bed, his hands on his stomach, his eyes fixed on a point on the ceiling.

  “You were in there for a long time,” he said as he eyed me in my silk robe.

  “I was really dirty.” I turned to go to the closet when he reached a hand out to me. “Come lie with me.”

  I walked over and lay beside him, my body tense. We lay there for a long while, neither of us touching, waiting for the other to make the first contact.

  Finally, he slid his arm under my neck and rolled me onto my side, gathering me into his warm body. “You’re shivering,” he said, running his palms up and down the silky sleeve of my arm. “You okay?”

  When I looked up, I had tears in my eyes. “I’m scared, Henry.”

  He kissed my hair. “There’s nothing to be scared of. I’ll always protect you.”

  “I’m scared for us.”

  “Shh,” he said and pressed a kiss to my lips, making it impossible to talk about the end of our marriage when it’d really only begun. He pulled his arm out from under me and shifted up on his elbow. He pressed soft kisses down my face, tilting my head up with a finger so he could continue down to my neck. When he reached my chest, he slid a finger along the lapels of my robe and gently drew them away.

  My body reacted to his touch like an old generator humming back to life. It had been so long since we’d been intimate like this, it almost felt like a homecoming of sorts.

  When his lips reached my rounded belly, he stopped and pressed his ear against it. “Can you feel her kicking yet?” he asked, glancing up at me.

  “The other day. I think I felt it but I’m not sure. It could have been a gas bubble.”

  He nodded and whispered something to my stomach before moving back down and settling between my legs. His tongue flicked out and teased my bud with soft little laps. I moaned at the contact, so swollen and sensitive that every touch sent me reeling.

  I threaded my fingers through his hair, urging him on when his tongue slid to find my most sensitive spot and began to massage it. I groaned when he pulled away. “Where are you going?”

  He slid off the bed and disappeared into the closet, coming back with our wooden box of toys. He pulled out an old friend of mine—the Rabbit—from its silk bag and proceeded to lube it up.

  “I’d rather have you inside me,” I said, though I had to admit, it had been awhile since my old battery-operated buddy and I had had relations.

  Henry kneeled between my legs with the vibrator in his hand and a grin on his face. Without a word, he slipped the silicone head between my cleft, the whole thing sliding neatly inside.

  “Oh!” I was so swollen and tender, I could have come with that alone.

  “Do you want me to turn it on?”

  “I want you to turn me on,” I said. “I’d rather have you inside me.”

  “No, Elsie, I want to pleasure you,” he said and flipped the switch, sending rapid vibrations careening through me. I squealed when I felt the rabbit’s ears massaging somewhere else, the opposite end of where it was meant to be.

  Henry had a dark look on his face as he watched me squirm and moan. Then he dipped his head and continued what he’d started with his tongue.

  It was an all-out assault, every nerve bombarded with pleasure. I tried to focus on one thing but all three sensations melded together to become one immense pleasure bubble until I couldn’t hold back anymore and I was screaming as I exploded, feeling like I was letting go of everything that was holding me down.

  When I descended from the clouds and my insides finally stopped quaking, I opened my eyes to find Henry watching me.

  “Did that feel good?” he asked, running his palms along my thighs.

  “Yes, but I want you, Henry,” I said, hooking my ankles over his backside to bring him close.

  He resisted, even though his erection was clearly visible through his shorts. “No,” he said, bending over to kiss me softly. “I just want it to be about you right now.”

  “I want it to be about you too,” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I want to watch your face while you fuck me. I want to squeeze you tight as you come inside me.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, there was anguish in those blue depths. “No, not right now,” he said and went to the bathroom to retrieve a washcloth.

  I dozed on and off in Henry’s arms, waking up some time later to find the bed empty once again. I felt like I was stuck in Groundhog Day, forever doomed to keep waking up alone.

  With pressure on my bladder, I rushed to the bathroom but the sight that greeted me as I opened the door took me by surprise. Henry was standing at the bathroom counte
r completely nude, his back hunched, his hand wrapped around his swollen shaft. Through the mirror I could see his eyes were closed, his forehead wrinkled deep in ecstasy as he stroked himself.

  Was he . . . masturbating?

  After hearing my gasp, he stopped midstroke and met my eyes in the mirror, my look of shock offsetting his look of horror.

  “Shit,” he said and pulled a towel off the rack, quickly wrapping it around his waist.

  I gulped down the lump in my throat, my body at odds with the confusing feelings coursing through me. To see him pleasuring himself was a turn-on, yet knowing he’d denied me a few hours earlier was like a slap in the face. “What . . . what were you doing?”

  He blinked, refusing to meet my eyes. “I was just . . .” His hands fell to his sides as he let out a resigned breath. “You know what I was doing.”

  “Yes, but why couldn’t you do that with me?” I wanted to know if my weight gain had turned him off but couldn’t quite bring myself to ask. I shouldn’t care—there was good reason for my extra padding—but I couldn’t help but feel insecure regardless.

  He spread his palms on the counter and hung his head. “Because I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?” I choked out.

  “I just can’t.”

  “Damn it, Henry, you’d better give me a better reason!” I shouted. “If it’s because you’re no longer attracted to me, then say so. Don’t play these fucking games.”

  He spun around and grasped my arms. “There will never be a day that I won’t be attracted to you. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. You’re perfect,” he said in a growl. “And I don’t deserve you.”

  There it was, the truth laid out for me. “You think because you’re having some personal issues that you’re somehow beneath me?” I asked softly. “Because you couldn’t be more wrong.”

  To prove it, I tugged the towel away from his hips and dropped to my knees. He leaned back, his wide chest heaving as I wrapped my lips around his cock. “Els, no,” he pleaded.