Arrest (A Disarm Novel) (21 page)

My father always taught me never to back down from a fight, that if challenged, I lift my chin and face my aggressor. But what I’ve had to learn on my own is that, sometimes, when you find your back against the ropes, you have to fight dirty in order to survive.

And fight dirty I did. I wasn’t proud of it, but I was cornered. One night, while Henry was asleep, I took his cell phone and downloaded a tracking application onto it, hiding it in a mess of other icons so he wouldn’t notice.

It wasn’t my proudest moment, but I would do it again in a heartbeat rather than sit idly by and watch my husband slide away from me.

That was how I came to be sitting in my car on East Colfax on a Friday night, staring at a building painted a dark mauve that appeared almost black in the dark. The windows too were painted over but the light above the door and the people walking in and out of the front door indicated its busy nature. Above the door was a small sign that read
HITCHES & BOES
.

“Henry, what are you doing here?” I checked my phone again to make sure I had traced Henry to this exact location. There were many things I no longer knew about my husband, but he still never struck me as someone who would go to a biker bar.

I got out of the car, carefully eyed the dark street, and crossed the road. In the bar’s small parking lot were numerous motorcycles lined up in neat little rows. I tried to search for Henry’s, but it was impossible to find in this sea of leather and chrome.

Shivering from what I was about to do, I wrapped my leather jacket around my stomach—hoping my pregnant belly wasn’t too obvious—and walked up to the door. Without the presence of a bouncer, I was able to walk right in.

The smell was the first thing to assault my senses—the thick, pungent aroma of sweat mixed in with whiskey and smoke. The bar’s interior was exactly as one would imagine a biker bar to look: all dark wood with a long bar that spanned the room, a pool table, and even bras hanging from the ceiling. But the patrons were not all leather-vested and bearded, with chains hanging from their belts. In fact, almost half the room was made up of people dressed in nice shirts and slacks or even dresses, like in any bar in Colorado.

It took a few moments for me to gather the courage and make my way into the dark place. I felt so conspicuous, imagining that anyone who looked my way would be able to tell that I was out of my element, a pregnant woman in a seedy bar looking for her wayward husband. If I managed to look anyone in the eye, I’d bet I’d see pity in their faces.

I walked around the room in search of my elusive Henry, but couldn’t spot him. Convinced he wasn’t here, I was starting back toward the front door when I noticed a tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair sitting at a table by the far wall. He had his back to me and was seated with another person, a beautiful Asian woman with straight black hair and a delicate, exotic face. She was dressed in a halter-neck top and tight denim skirt and had her hands on his shoulder as she talked.

My stomach lurched at the sight, wishing the man with the strong jawline and olive skin was not the same one I was married to. But of course, wishes never come true. Not in places like this.

Henry was not shaking her hand off, but was in fact, leaning toward her in deep interest. I stood transfixed as he whispered something in her ear then reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed some cash to the woman, who counted it quickly then nodded. She stood up, took his hand and led him away, the crowd easily parting for her and her customer.

I stood there, watching them go, with my mouth agape. I honestly couldn’t tell you what was going on in my head at that moment, only that I was paralyzed. My body had gone completely numb—perhaps it was a coping mechanism because surely the pain would have been enough to end me.

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.

REVERSE

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.”

“I can’t do that.”

I wanted to tell her I loved her for trying. Instead I said, “This isn’t your battle, Elsie. It’s mine. And I’m sorry that you’re caught in it. You shouldn’t have to carry my burden on your shoulders.”

The corners of her mouth lifted but there was sadness, not joy, in that smile. “Don’t you know by now that I’m your battle buddy? Everything you’ve gone through, I’ve been at your back, watching your six.”

Tears stung my eyes. And here I thought I’d been fighting alone all this time.

“You’ve been so busy trying to protect me, you never saw that I was doing the same for you,” she said.

“I’m sorry I let you down.” I pressed my forehead against hers. “I promised I’d always keep you safe, but I’m the one that ended up hurting you.”

“If this was a dream, you’d beg me to come home and I’d say yes, because it’s romantic,” she said. I opened my mouth to do just that when she silenced me with a finger. “But the reality is that I need a break from us. You need to take a step back and examine your life, and really think about these destructive feelings you’re holding on to. Are they worth losing your wife and child over?”

“I wish it were that simple. I’m not holding on to these issues because I want to. They’re just there, embedded in my skin,” I said. “I thought that punishing my body would help, that after so many bruises and wounds, I’d feel like I’d repented.”

She shook her head. “I can’t come home until you get better,” she said, confirming what I’d suspected. “The stress, the fighting; none of it is good for the baby. The doctor says if it continues—”

I pressed my lips to hers. I couldn’t bear to hear the what-ifs right now. “I’ll try harder. I promise.”

“I don’t want to live like that, worrying every day,” she said with a wavery voice. “I just want to be with you and have the boring, happy life we dreamed of.”

“I want that too, Els. More than anything.” I climbed on the bed, curling around her back and holding her close. It felt like I hadn’t held her like this in years. “We’ll get there. I’ll fix this.”

“And what if you can’t?”

“I have to. I can’t fail.” I buried my face in her hair, losing myself in her scent. “Living without you is not an option.”

—

I woke up a few hours later on the other side of the bed, but even if our bodies were separated, our hands were between us, still entwined. It goes to show that even while unconscious, I’m unable to let her go.

I watched her sleep for long minutes, my heart clenching at the thought that she’d had to go to the hospital, and once more, I hadn’t been there. I was sure by now she was asking herself if I would ever be there for her again.

When the thoughts in my head became nearly unbearable, I kissed her hand and rolled off the bed. I closed the door behind me and padded downstairs, in search for some alcohol but instead finding Julie and Will in the kitchen.

“Henry!” Will cried, jumping out of the chair and nearly spilling his cereal in order to hug me.

I picked him up, threw him in the air, then set him down soundly. “What’s up, buddy?” I asked, pasting on a happy face.

“What are you doing here?”

I glanced over at his mom, who just raised an eyebrow and shook her head.

I ruffled his hair. “Elsie and I just came for a visit.”

“Okay, Will, get back to your breakfast please. I’ll just finish getting ready. When I come down, I want you ready for school, okay?” Julie said, putting Will’s lunch box in his backpack.

“Yes, Mom.”

Julie turned to me. “There’s coffee in the pot and help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

After she left, I poured myself a cup of coffee and Will a glass of orange juice from the fridge. I sat down at the table and slid the glass over to him.

“We had to take Aunt Elsie to the hospital last night,” he said around a mouthful of colorful cereal.

“I heard,” I said, holding my palms against the hot surface of the mug. “What happened?”

“She was just talking with Mom, then she said she was really dizzy. We made her sit down on the couch. I went to the fridge and got her some water. But she was still dizzy and no shoes.”

“Nauseous?”

“Yeah. Mom was scared, so we went to the hospital and Aunt Elsie saw a doctor while we stayed in this big room with lots of chairs and other people who were coughing and sick.” He wrinkled his nose then brightened. “But she’s okay now.”

“Thank you for taking good care of her, buddy.” I decided right then that, whatever happened, I would never let this little guy down.

Will set aside his empty cereal bowl and took a drink, wiping off his orange juice mustache with the back of his hand. “No problemo,” he said with a proud smile.

He reminded me so much of Jason in that moment, with the same self-assured mannerisms and the same boyish smile, that I was instantly filled with longing for my best friend. If Jason were around, I knew for a fact I wouldn’t be in this predicament right now. If Jason were still alive, I wouldn’t be so unstable.

But then again, if Jason were around, I might never have found the courage to marry his sister.

It sucked to know I couldn’t have it all—the best friend; the love of my life; the happy, untroubled life—and hurt even more to know that I might very well lose the things I did have.

“What should I do?” I asked his son instead.

Will finished his drink and set the glass down. “Make sure Aunt Elsie doesn’t have to go to the hospital ever again. That place is yucky.”

I nodded. “You’re right. I have to do my best to make sure the rest of her pregnancy is stress-free.”