Found (Captive Heart #2) (6 page)

T
ucker doesn’t know
that I’ve been seeing a therapist. I don’t know what he would say if he knew, and if he knew why, it would only make him feel more guilty.

Even though I fell in love with, and trust implicitly, the man who kidnapped me … I was still kidnapped. There are still times I’ll freeze up in a bank or a restaurant or any kind of retail store when a large man walks in. I have to check around me, grip the can of mace in my purse and try to control the beast of anxiety that creeps up my spine.

My therapist says it’s because I was traumatized
during
my kidnapping, even if it wasn’t by Tucker.

“The winter cold, the coyote attack, and then Tucker going to prison. It isn’t so much that the man who took you hurt you, but how he took you. It led to you ending up in the hospital, and him in jail. You may love him, but you’re still traumatized by events that took place.”

I nod, picking at the whole in my jeans. Part of me doesn’t want to do this anymore, doesn’t think it’s working. But I can’t cower into the rack of clothing at LOFT anymore. I can’t up and leave a Panera because a tall, muscular man gets in line behind me. I can’t wake up in a pool of my sweat, the image of a gun between my eyes burned into my brain.

“I just feel like being here, addressing this … I feel like I’m cheating on Tucker somehow.”

The blonde doctor shakes her head. “You’re not. You’re getting healthy, getting ready for his release so you can be one hundred percent focused on getting your relationship back on track instead of working on getting past this. But, if you feel guilty, then tell him. I think it would be good to get this out in the open.”

I doubted that. “I don’t think I can tell him about this yet. I don’t want to freak him out.”

She frowns, crossing her slim leg over her other equally slim leg. While I know that therapy isn’t supposed to be easy, I’m not sure I’ve found the right shrink. I picked her because she’s on the outskirts of Lancaster, but she can be harsh at times. There are other times I feel looks of judgment from her, and that is the last thing I was coming here for. But I was a wishful person; each time I came I thought it might get better. So far, it hadn’t.

“Well then, you need to work harder to work through this then. How did this week go for you?”

I adjust the fringe on my pants and look up. She always likes it when I engage as I tell her what’s been going on.

“It hasn’t been bad. Work has been good, I am working on a new project for this hair care client. They’re an all natural brand, and I’ve been getting to test the products out. My hair is super smooth. And um, I’ve been hanging out with Jackie, my coworker, more lately, we’ve gotten close and she really understands my situation. She doesn’t judge, and like I’ve said before, that’s been hard with me and friends in the past. Since I was a child even.

She nods and scribbles. “Good. But I want to know more about how you’ve handled your anxiety this week.”

I cringe, because it hasn’t been a smooth week. And even though I don’t feel totally trusting of her, I know I’m here to open myself up.

“It’s been … all right. On Monday, I got home and a cabinet or two were open. I couldn’t remember if I’d left them open or not, so I had to sit down and take deep breathes for twenty minutes until I got the anxiety under control. And I talked myself through it, then remembered I had gotten an allergy pill and that’s why I left the cabinets open.”

She nods again. “Anything else?”

I was trying to keep this one under wraps, but it will probably feel better to talk about it. “I was in the grocery store, in the condiments aisle on Thursday, when a toddler was walking around with his mother. My back was turned, he must have knocked some pickle jars off the shelves … the noise was so loud, I shrieked and ran. I had to leave the store and sat in my car for forty minutes before I could drive home.”

“Did you practice the breathing and soothing words we talked about?”

“I did.”

“Well, I think we’ve made some good progress today. But our time is up.”

What? This is what I meant. I didn’t feel any better. Didn’t feel like I had worked through anything. The doctor starts to get up, and I know that I won’t be coming back. I’m going to face this on my own, get better so that I can fully be with Tucker once he gets out.

As I walk out of her office, disappointed in her but hopeful in myself, my phone starts to buzz in my coat pocket.

SCI Mahoney
flashes across the screen.

“Hello? Tucker?”

An unfamiliar voice speaks from the other end. “Hello, Mrs. Lynch. This is Dr. Varger, I’m with the prison’s medical staff. Your husband had an incident today—“

“And incident!?” My blood level spikes as I cut him off. “What kind of incident?”

“Ma’am, unfortunately I can’t disclose the details, but I wanted to let you know of your husband’s condition. He has broken his hand and has a few broken ribs, but other than that he’s fine. He’ll take a little while to heal, but he will make a full recovery.”

Relief floods my system at the doctor’s words. “Thank you for letting me know. Can I talk to him?”

“No, I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t even be calling, but he insisted. He’ll be in the hospital ward for a couple of days, so I don’t know that he will be at visitation on Sunday. He says he loves you though. I have to go now.”

The line goes dead without me even being able to get another word in. Fear for Tucker, relief that he’s okay and sadness that I won’t be able to see him all conflict and war with each other inside my heart.

I wait for the anxiety to come, but it never does. I don’t even feel a trickle of an impending attack. Tucker’s robbery may have triggered this condition, but he would also be the antidote. Because I had to get better, for his sake. Had to be solid and together.

I got in my car and drove home, feeling stronger than I had in months.

M
onday’s are usually
terrible all around. They’re loud and overload your senses with their alarm clocks, traffic and schedules. Your body didn’t even really adjust to the lazy weekend routine, and now you’re throwing it back into the boxing ring of corporate America. It’s like trying to fit in a day’s worth of sightseeing on the worst day of jet lag.

For me, Monday’s were a mixed bag. I was usually tired from my drive out to SCI Mahoney, and sad about missing Tucker. Days after a visit were the worst kind of emotional hangovers. But I also loved my job. So, like I said, mixed bag.

Today was a good Monday. Mostly because I was on a Tucker high. I’d watched him receive his college diploma yesterday. Watched as the smile spread across his face and he looked renewed, a man who had accomplished the impossible. I was always proud of him, but yesterday the pride had suffused my body, as if I were swimming in a pool of Tucker’s self-esteem.

Each time I had a crisis at work today, I just pictured his face as they handed him the degree. Beaming and looking down at me, sitting in the small crowd, with such love on his face. We were going to get through this. We only had a couple months left to go.

I unlock my black Jeep and hear the honk of the locks as they click open. Four months ago, I would have walked with my key pointed out like a knife in my hand, scanned the parking lot for anything suspicious. Now? I am confident and commanding as I clack across the pavement in my heels.

I’ve been working with a new therapist, someone referred to me by a close colleague, and she’s incredible. She’s helped me loads more than the last one, and I haven’t had an attack in nearly two months. I’m going to be so mentally strong by the time Tucker comes home that I’ll be able to give Professor X a run for his money.

The short drive home to my condo is peaceful as I listen to James Taylor on the radio.

“I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain …” I sing along, humming the tune to myself as I pull up in front of the cobblestone curb.

“Hello, Charlotte Ann.”

The blood in my veins freezes as the hairs on my neck stand at attention. She wouldn’t.

Turning, my mother stands besides my door on the small stoop. I want to get back in my car and pretend she was never here. But she’s seen me already.

“Mother.”

She’s tried to reach out before in the last few years. Calling, texting, emailing. I had to change all of my modes of communication just to stop her from harassing me. It was always the same.

“We need to talk about that man. Although man is too nice of a word.”

She always wanted to discuss Tucker. How she could get me away from him, how we could ruin his life. It made me want to hurl the contents of my lunch onto the sidewalk. Or on her.

“I have nothing to say to you. Just like the last time you decided to show up. Or the three times before that. You’re parenting, right? Your definition of the word is so screwed up. It always has been.”

My mother wipes a non-existent speck of dirt from her white coat. “I’ve only ever wanted the best from you and for you, Charlotte Ann. I didn’t raise you to marry some low-down common criminal. Stop punishing yourself by trying to punish me. Be done with this charade already. File for divorce, testify against the monster so he never gets out of prison.”

All I can do is laugh. She’s so delusional that even she has to realize the humor in this. “Give it up, Mother. Tucker,
my husband
, is getting out in a matter of months. He’s more of a man than anyone I’ve ever known. He’s bettered himself, learned from his mistakes and will be a better part of society than you ever could. No wonder Dad left you.”

My father has finally seen her vicious, evil ways after all of this time. About a year ago, he’d served her papers and moved to Vermont, buying a quaint home in the woods and still working as a freelance journalist. We’d been in touch, but only as much as we’d ever been. We’d never been close when I was younger, and he was a virtual stranger to me now. But it was nice to know I had an ally if I ever needed him.

My mother’s eyes are the color of her soul, black and sparking with hatred. “Your decisions haven’t just ruined your life, they ruined mine. My entire family are a bunch of failures, you and your father both. I sacrificed everything for you two, tried to get you to your fullest potential. And yet look how you both turned out. Lazy pieces of crap with nothing successful to show for yourselves.”

Her words stab my heart, because even though I hate her, there is always the little girl inside of me who seeks her mother’s approval. But it’s so small, so insignificant nowadays that I can shove it back down and let my true emotion for her shine through. Indifference.

“Stay out of my life. Leave my husband alone. I am happy and you can’t stand it. Because you’ll never be happy. You never have been. Or else you wouldn’t have tried to manipulate everyone around you and take pleasure in watching them fall instead of soar. Goodbye, Mother.”

I push past her and stick my key in the lock, eager to escape her.

“You’ll regret this. That thief will crush you, ruin your entire world. If you choose him, watch out.”

It’s the first time she’s threatened me in the last two and a half years. And she sounds serious.

I don’t give her the satisfaction of a response as I slam the door in her face. But her words echo in my head for weeks.

A
fter the week
I’ve had, I think I deserve a glass of wine.

Or maybe twenty tequila shots.

Which is why I’m glad Jackie dragged me out tonight. We typically do something every weekend, what with her living her single life and me having had a husband in jail. But tonight, one of the first Friday nights of Tucker being out of prison, I should be with him. Going on a date. Having wild monkey sex. Or maybe even just cuddling.

But no. Here I am, drunk as a skunk, perched on a barstool next to my best friend at our favorite bar downtown.

We’ve been coming to Hunger N Thirst so much in the past two years that everyone knows us. We have assigned barstools. And every single bartender knows our drink order. A glass of whatever dry white wine they’re pouring for me, and a Moscow Mule for Jackie.

But tonight. Tequila was needed.

“He blames me. Blames me for everything. The ash-hole.”

I recognize I’m slurring, but I really am not concerned. I need this. Plus, six tequila shots will send your worry complex right out the window.

“God, he sounds like a prick. And he hasn’t even met me yet! Who doesn’t want to meet their wife’s bombshell best friend?!”

We stick our heads together and giggle before taking large sips of our regular drinks.

“You ladies are really tying one on tonight, huh?” Chad, our regular bartender, places his hands in front of him and leans onto the bar.

Chad is cute, one of the bearded, man-bun types with plenty of charisma and the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s hot. I’ve tried to convince Jackie to go for him a time or two, but she’s always refused.

I point at him. “Chad, you’d sleep with me, right?”

Tequila makes some girls clothes fall off. For me, it unleashes every dirty thought I shut up inside my head.

Chad chuckles and eyes Jackie. I think he has a thing for her. “Is this some kind of invitation, Charlotte?”

I pat his hand and give him my best seductive smile. “You wish. But no, I’m a married woman after all. But … we’re just talking about how my husband doesn’t want to fuck me.”

Jackie spits her drink clear across the bar, and there are definitely about twenty other patrons now staring at us. I think I might be talking too loud.

“Whoops!” I giggle and lay my head on her shoulder.

“Someone just fuck this girl. PLEASE! So I don’t have to!” Jackie gives a mock huff, as if her job as a best friend is so hard.

It only makes me explode into giggles.

I’ve never been the drunk girl at the bar. In fact, I can count on three fingers the number of times I was even tipsy before I met Jackie. But she lets me be me, and she encourages me to be more. Which is why I feel like I can let loose around her.

“All right, ladies, I’m officially cutting you off.” Chad swipes our drinks and goes to close out our tabs.

We boo and heckle him from our seats like an umpire who’s just made a terrible call.

“Yeah, yeah,” he lays our checks down. “Go home and sleep it off.”

We drunkenly sign our tabs and hop down as gracefully as we can from our stools. Which ends up with both of us almost face planting on the floor. Jackie and I giggle the entire walk home, where she drops me on the doorstep of my condo.

“You sure you’ll be okay walking the rest of the way?” I say into Jackie’s shoulder as I hug her close.

“You mean the three minutes it takes to walk to my apartment? Yes, I’ll be fucking fine,
Mom
.” She teases me and pinches my butt.

“Now go get laid. Just rip your clothes off and attack you husband!”

I may just take her advice.

When I unlock the door to the condo, the entire place is pitch black. I’m about ten feet in when I trip over my work bag in the hallway.

“Oh, shit,” I go down swinging and turn myself so I land flat on my back.

And then I start to laugh.

Halfway through my giggle fit, someone starts flicking on the lights until the hallway bulb is burning bright in my eyes.

“Char, what the hell?”

Tucker stands over me, his hair mussed and his shirt non-existent. All he has on are a pair of sweatpants, which ride low on his hips. And I get to see the expanse of his new body for the first time. Ripple after ripple of hard muscle moving under his smooth olive skin. My mouth starts to water.

“Are you hurt?”

I realize I must have been staring at him in silence for too long.

And that makes me laugh. “Where did all of your clothes go?”

Tucker shakes his head, confused. “Where have you been? You smell like the floor of a bar.”

I nod enthusiastically. “I might have been there!”

And he turns up his nose. “Get yourself upstairs. And maybe shower. I can’t be around you like this.”

I pull myself up into a sitting position and remove my uncomfortable work flats. “You can’t be around me ever.”

He turns around from where he’s stopped at the end of the hallway. “What did you say?”

I stand up, whipping off the casual maroon cardigan I wore to the office today, leaving me in only my jeans, white tank top and bare feet.

I’m apparently feeling bold. “You heard me. You can’t even come up and sleep in the same bed as your
wife
! You won’t even look at me. Let alone kiss me.”

I laugh, whipping my tank top over my head and feeling the air bud my nipples inside my bra.

“What does a girl gotta do to get fucked around here?”

Tucker walks to me, picking my sweater up off the floor and holding it up against my body, as if to shield me from his eyes.

“All right. I think you’ve definitely had one too many. Let’s get you upstairs.”

Before he can take my elbow to guide me, I swat at his sweater barrier and knock it to the floor.

And then I start to unzip my jeans. “Come on, Tucker. What’s so wrong with me that you don’t want to see your wife naked? You’ve been home almost a month and you can barely look at me.”

He turns his head as I slide my jeans down and off. I’m standing in my plain white underwear and tan bra.

“Look. At. Me.” I bite out the words, the alcohol swimming in my system fueling me to anger.

I’m so tired of him sidestepping me. Of receiving no affection or love. Finally, after a few beats of silence and his back to me, Tucker turns around. His eyes drift down my body and he sucks in a breath. My ego puffs with pride. At least I know I still have some effect on him.

“I’m standing here … as your wife. Asking you, no not asking,
telling
you to have sex with me. I’m tired of this tiptoeing. I miss you. I’m horny. Make love to me. Please.”

He starts to harden in his sweatpants, and I see the large indentation of his cock. God, how I’ve missed his cock. After three years of being apart, all I want to do is have it inside of me.

“Char, we can’t …”

“Why the hell not?! We’re married, we’re not breaking any rules! And we’re human, Tucker! Please …”

The last word comes out on a choked sob. If he rejects me right now, I’m not sure how we get past this. I push my boldness and luck even further when I go to him, reaching out to stroke both his naked abs and his growing erection.

“Have sex with me.”