Arrest (A Disarm Novel)

by June Gray

  It was Korea all over again. Only this time, I was around to bear witness as he crashed and burned.

  Somebody bumped into my shoulder and apologized; the little nudge spurred me back to action. Sidestepping around people, I followed Henry’s tall figure as he and his companion made their way to the back of the bar, where the woman entered through a door labeled PRIVATE.

  Henry stopped for a moment and ran a hand through his hair, staring at the open door.

  “Don’t do it, Henry,” I murmured under my breath. “Please.”

  But in the next moment, Henry squared his shoulders and disappeared through the entrance.

  I followed them inside a hallway, catching the door before it locked behind them. I waited until they were a safe distance down the hall before following, glad I was wearing my ballet flats so as not to make a lot of noise. Deep inside me, I still held on to the hope that my Henry—that same young man with the long curly hair and the braces—was still somewhere in there and that he’d do the right thing.

  I stood at the other end of the hall, watching in the shadows as the woman stopped in front of another door and asked, “You sure about this?”

  Henry must have indicated an affirmative because in the next instant, the door opened and the din from hundreds of shouting people filled the hallway.

  Not going to lie—my first reaction was of relief. If nothing else, Henry wasn’t here to sleep with a hooker.

  But then, as they entered, the terrifying uncertainty took hold of my heart. Whatever that was, whatever Henry wanted to do in that room so badly he had to pay for it, was not good.

  I waited a whole minute before finally wrapping my hand around that doorknob and, with breath held, turned it. The chaos in the room was overwhelming. People were everywhere, shouting and cheering, their attention on something in the center, something I was too short to see.

  I crept closer but couldn’t get through the wall of people.

  “Hey, Preggo Pops,” a voice drawled beside me.

  I looked up to find a man with long straw-colored hair leering at me.

  “You wanna watch the fight?” he asked and took a step backward, indicating a pocket of space in front of him.

  “The fight?” I asked and slipped in front without giving thought to what this man would even attempt. And though he did try to put his hands on my waist, I couldn’t think of anything past the sight of my husband shirtless in the center of the crowd. Across from him was another shirtless man with a bald head, a fierce look on his mustachioed face.

  Henry, on the other hand, wore the face of indifference. He didn’t look at all perturbed as he bent his head from side to side, the muscles rippling in his torso as he stretched his arms across his chest.

  “Who’s the new guy?” I heard a female voice asking to my side.

  “I don’t know,” said her friend. “But he is yummy.”

  “Wanna tag-team him later?” she asked.

  Her friend grinned, reminding me of a shark. “Hell yes.”

  Oh, hell no. I twisted around but before I could give them a piece of my mind, the fight was announced.

  “You all know our regular, Mr. Clean,” a guy’s voice boomed through the speakers. People cheered as the bald guy pumped the air with his wrapped fists.

  “We have a new contender,” the announcer said. “Apparently just named Mason.”

  The girls beside me jumped up and down and screamed while others booed.

  “Let’s do this!”

  And just like that, without a bell or any audio cue, Henry and Mr. Clean tapped gloves and began to circle each other. Even though Henry’s face was covered in padded headgear, I saw the impassive look in his eyes, as if he really didn’t care if he won or lost.

  Mr. Clean was the first to throw a punch, but Henry dodged out of the way. Henry tried a combo, but even I could tell it was a half-hearted attempt at fighting, and his opponent easily blocked it, punching him in the side in retaliation.

  I covered my mouth and tried to look away, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from the man who was throwing punches and the man who was absorbing them all.

  “Hit him back!” I cried, wishing Henry would pull his arms away from his face and just defend himself.

  Even the crowd was beginning to boo, insisting that Henry wasn’t even trying.

  “Fight back, you pussy!” I heard someone yell.

  “Finish this poser, Mr. Clean!”

  I couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t stand by and watch as someone hurt Henry. I pushed through the crowd, my small size finally coming in handy, and emerged in the fight area.

  “Henry!” I shouted. Without thought for my safety, I stomped over to him and blocked him from his opponent. “This ends here.”

  “What the hell? Get out of there!” someone said, the rest of the crowd calling out similar sentiments.

  “What are you doing here?” Henry mumbled through his mouth guard, grabbing me by the arms. He pulled me aside, waiting for an answer.

  “I’m taking you home,” I said, fighting the hysteria that was slowly creeping up my neck. If he’d been hit one more time, I was sure I’d have lost it completely. I grabbed his arm. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

  But he didn’t move. He just frowned down at me and shook his head. “I have to finish this fight.”

  “This isn’t you,” I said, throwing my arms wide. “Why are you doing this?”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” he said, wrenching his arm from my grip. “Just go home. I’ll be there in a few hours.”

  I was shaking when I said, “If you go back in there one more time, we’re done. Do you understand me? Done.”

  His expression was hard as he stared me down, no trace of affection or emotion in those cold, dead eyes. “I have to finish the fight.”

  “Then I’m done!” I stalked off with my back straight, my head held high. But he couldn’t see my face, couldn’t see that I was crumpling under the revelation that my husband had chosen a fight over me.

  I began to sob in earnest in the dark hallway, no longer able to keep up the strong facade. Before too long I was out of the bar and walking across the street to my parked car. I stood on the sidewalk and let it out, crying like nobody could see. I honestly didn’t know if I had the strength to leave Henry, but I knew I had to. He was self-destructing right before me and I was catching shrapnel.

  “You alright?”

  I turned to find a guy in leather pants and a matching vest, standing beside a parked bike, staring at me.

  “You locked out of your car?” he asked, taking a step in my direction.

  I swiped at my face with my fingers. “No. I’m fine. Really.”

  “She said she’s fine,” Henry said as he jogged across the street. He walked right up to me and cupped my cheek, a possessive touch that seemed so out of place. “You alright, Els? Was he bothering you?”

  The guy lifted his hands and backed away. “Hey, just trying to help a chick out.”

  “Appreciate it, man,” Henry said. “I got it.”

  I touched the hand at my face. “Are you coming home with me?” I asked, holding my breath for the answer that could make or break us.

  When he averted his eyes, I knew. “I still have to finish the fight.”

  “Then why did you come out here?”

  “To make sure you made it to your car safely.”

  I smacked his hand away and unlocked the car. “I can’t do this anymore, Henry. I love you and I’ve tried my best to help you, but there’s no helping someone who doesn’t want to help himself.”

  He grabbed my elbow. “Elsie, I just need you to be a little bit more patient with me.”

  “I have no more!” I said, my voice echoing down the street. “I’m all out of patience and understanding and chances to give.”

  His
expression hardened. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying if you don’t come home with me right now, then don’t come home at all.”

  His nostrils flared and his jaw muscles ticked. “You can’t stop me from going to my own house.”

  “You’re right, I can’t. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be there when you come home.”

  His eyes burned into mine, a mixture of agony and anger but beneath all that was something that looked like relief, that I was confirming what he’d thought all along: He was a loser and I would one day figure it out and leave him. “So do it.”

  His words punched me in the gut, shoving me further away just like he’d intended.

  So I took a step back to avoid more damage.

  I didn’t know if casting him out would help or hurt him, but I needed him to know that the consequences were real. I needed him to feel what it was like to lose it all and maybe then he’d finally seek help. And even though it was the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life, I got in my car and drove away.

  PART SIX

  REVERSE

  1

  HENRY

  I shouldn’t have let Elsie go. I shouldn’t have gone back inside that bar and fought again, even if I did eventually win the bout. But victory is all in perspective, isn’t it? What did I gain by risking my marriage and getting the shit beat out of me? Absolutely nothing. Still, wasn’t that the thing I’d been searching for, those elusive few moments when my insides were numb and all that mattered was the pain on the surface?

  After the fight, I headed home even though Elsie didn’t want me there. I didn’t blame her for the ultimatum. If I could take a break from myself, I would.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised when the garage door lifted and Elsie’s car was not inside. She’d told me she was leaving; I just didn’t listen. I even goaded her, gave her further reason to leave.

  I hurried into the house, dialing her number on my cell phone as I ran upstairs, bypassing an excited Law on the way. But Elsie didn’t answer. I didn’t think she would.

  “Where the hell are you?” I said to her voice mail. “Are you all right? Answer your damn phone!”

  I came to a stop at our bedroom door. Everything looked as it should—the bed was made and everything was in its place—but the room seemed a little dimmer now that Elsie’s light was gone. It made me all the more determined to get her back. I might not deserve her, but I fucking needed her.

  Then I saw the folded piece of paper on the dresser and all the fight in me drained out.

  “Elsie, no,” I said under my breath as I reached for the letter. “Not a fucking Dear John letter. No . . .”

  Henry,

  I’ll be gone for a few days. Please don’t come looking for me. I need time away from you.

  Elsie

  I squeezed my eyes shut and crumpled the paper in my hand. Even back when I broke up with her, Elsie never truly lost hope. But now, with this good-bye letter in my hand, I had proof that something as strong as our love—our history—could be destroyed.

  I dialed her phone again and again, each time getting kicked back to her voice mail. After the seventeenth time, I finally gave up. Elsie was gone and there was nothing I could do about it.

  I had finally driven her away.

  I couldn’t sleep that night. I thrashed around in bed, unable to find a comfortable position. Eventually, I just rolled over to Elsie’s side with my face pressed into her pillow, closed my eyes, and counted the seconds as they ticked by.

  At around three in the morning, I got up and went downstairs to pound on the heavy bag with my bare hands. I imagined balling up every worry that I carried around in my head and channeled them through my hands. Over and over, I drove my fists into the vinyl surface of the bag until my breath burned in my lungs and my knuckles were raw and bleeding, all the while wishing the bag could fight back and impart some hurt of its own.

  In the bathroom, I stood in front of the mirror and studied the dark bruises that had bloomed on my torso and arms. The worst of the damage was along my sides where my opponent had targeted my ribs.

  The battered man in the mirror should have felt disgust at the way he was treating his body, but what he should feel and what he did feel were two vastly different emotions.

  After a long, scalding shower, I tried calling Elsie’s phone again, to no avail. “Elsie, I’m getting tired of this bullshit,” I left in her voice mail.

  For the next few hours, I couldn’t figure out what to do with myself. I paced the house, going from room to room trying to find things that I could actually fix. I finally patched the holes in our bedroom walls that Elsie had hidden behind a large picture frame. I fixed the leaky faucet in the guest bathroom. I washed our windows and cleared out the gutters.

  But it all meant nothing because this house was not a home without Elsie.

  —

  That afternoon, I finally found the balls to dial Elsie’s parents’ house in California, hoping that it wasn’t the colonel who’d answer the phone.

  It was. Of course it was. “Henry! How’s the beat?”

  “Oh, it’s fine.”

  “So what can I help you with, son?”

  I winced at the title I didn’t deserve. “I was just . . .” I cleared my throat, hoping my gamble would pay off. “I wanted to speak with Elsie.”

  “Huh.” He paused for a long, nerve-racking minute. “She’s not here.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. Fuck. “Then I’m sorry to waste your time.”

  The colonel’s voice changed, took on a terse edge. “Please explain to me why you don’t know the whereabouts of your wife.”

  I let out all the air I’d been holding. Even as an adult, I found it nearly impossible to deceive the colonel. “I fucked up, sir.”

  “What did you do? And please don’t tell me it involved another woman.”

  “No, not that,” I said quickly. “Never that.”

  “Then what could possibly make Elsie leave you and not tell you where she’s going?”

  “It’s complicated,” I said. “But I think it’s an issue best left between a husband and wife.”

  “Fair enough.” He let out a disappointed gust of air. “How many more chances can she give you, Henry?”

  “I’ve asked myself the same thing, sir,” I said. “I’m hoping one more.”

  After hanging up, I was more determined than ever to find Elsie. I scrolled through my phone directory list until I came upon Julie’s number. Of course.

  “Henry,” Julie said after picking up. “What the heck is going on?”

  Bingo. “Can I speak to her?”

  “She’s with the doctor right now.”

  Ice water froze in my veins. All I could say was, “What?”

  “She’s fine now,” Julie said. “She just started feeling dizzy a few hours after she arrived and we went to the ER. Her blood pressure was too high, almost dangerously so for a pregnant woman.”

  “And?”

  “She was told it was stress-related. She needs to eliminate any and all stressors in her life.”

  “Tell her I’m coming to get her,” I said, taking long strides to the closet and pulling out a duffel bag.

  “She doesn’t want to see you, Henry.”

  “I don’t care. I’m coming to get her today.” Without another word, I hung up, threw some clothes into the bag, and marched out.

  I called the station while waiting for my flight, citing a family emergency and informing them I’d be taking a few days off. If this wasn’t an emergency, then I didn’t know what was.

  The flight itself only took two hours but it was nearly eleven at night by the time I made it to Julie’s door. Missing a connecting flight was a bitch.

  “Henry . . .” Julie said behind the partially opened door. After all I just went through,
she still looked as if she didn’t want to let me in.

  I fixed her with a weary glare.

  Finally, she stepped aside and let me in. “I told you not to come,” she said in a low voice.

  “I just need to see my wife. Please,” my voice broke on the last word, and it was all I could do not to fall apart in her foyer.

  Julie proved her alliance when she shook her head. “She’s already sleeping.”

  I fought to control my breathing, knowing that misery was quickly giving way to rage. “I just need to see her.”

  Julie studied me quietly for a few moments, her eyes softening. Finally she nodded. “Okay, but please don’t wake her. Or Will. He has school tomorrow.”

  I didn’t need to be told twice. I went upstairs to the guest bedroom, taking two steps at a time. With breath held, I twisted the doorknob and opened the door. I meant to only peek inside but the sight of my Elsie lying on her side, her back to me while she slept, made me lose sense of myself completely. I crept inside and drifted to the other side of the bed, sinking to my knees as I took in her sleeping face. In her hand was the baby-name book I’d given her many moons ago.

  God, I needed her and never more so than in that moment, when the mere sight of her allowed me to finally breathe. I bowed my head and tried not to lose my shit, taking deep breaths to calm my nerves.

  When next I looked up, Elsie opened her beautiful hazel eyes and, in that moment when she was still halfway in a dream world, she looked at me like she used to, like I was the most amazing person she’d ever known. Then awareness seeped in and the look of reverence dissolved. “Are you really here?” she asked in a hoarse voice, reaching out to touch a finger to my nose. “Am I dreaming?”

  “Maybe.” I grasped her wrist and brought her palm up to my lips. “If I were just a dream, what would you say to me?”

  “I’d tell you that I’m tired. I want to just lay everything down and rest.”

  “Then do it. Put your feet up and let me worry about me.”