Captive (5 page)

She furrowed her brows and smiled. “I know he is. I feel him with me sometimes.”

“What would Henry want for you, Margo?”

Her smile got wider. “He’d want me to take the trips we were planning before he got sick. A train ride across Europe and an African safari. Oh, was he excited about that safari.”

“So why don’t you go?”

She opened her mouth, closed it again, and sighed. “I don’t think I’d enjoy it without him. I’d be thinking the entire time about how much he wanted to see those places, and how he never will.”

“But didn’t you just tell me you feel him with you?”

“I don’t want to be the crazy old lady who talks to her dead husband.” She shook her head and waved a bony hand.

“So bring your grandkids and talk to them. Just think about it, okay?”

“You’re a sweet girl,” she said, patting my knee. “You remind me of my granddaughter.”

“Thank you. Call me anytime, you’ve got the card I gave you.” I put my hand on top of hers and she nodded before getting up.

“See you next week,” she said, standing up.

“Consider the Tuesday night group, okay? There are several widows and widowers in it. And you don’t have to talk.”

I walked her out to the tiny lobby of the office I shared with Kirk and another counselor. When the door closed behind her, I walked into Kirk’s office and flopped into the beat-up blue chair I loved.

“How we doin’?” he asked, taking off his dark-rimmed glasses and turning away from his computer monitor.

“Same,” I said. I’d told Kirk about the miscarriage because he’d had to cover my appointments.

He cracked the window behind his desk and lit a cigarette.

“I’m like a drunk AA leader,” I muttered. “When clients tell me they feel like shit, I want to tell them I do, too.”

Kirk blew a mouthful of smoke through the screen. “Empathy makes us better counselors.”

“I have so much to be happy about. What the hell is wrong with me?”

“You’re too hard on yourself. That’s the main thing. You’re also overly cautious and indecisive.”

“I didn’t mean for you to answer that.” I glared at him across his faux-wood desk.

“You’re resilient,” he said, cracking his knuckles one at a time.

“I don’t want to be resilient. I don’t want to be that woman who can’t have children so she rescues animals and gives the best Halloween candy in the neighborhood.”

“What do you want to be?” Kirk asked, stubbing out the cigarette, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers counselor-style.

“A mother. I wanted to be the mother of my husband’s children.” It was the first time I’d said the words out loud, and the past-tense statement brought on a new wave of sadness.

“I’m sorry, Kate. Do you need some more time off?”

I shook my head and stared at my hands in my lap. “No. With Ryke gone, I’d just mope around the apartment. I guess … life goes on, right?”

Kirk nodded and offered a tiny smile. “It does. And you’ll go on, too, when you’re ready.”

I pulled the bed covers around my neck, enjoying the blissfully relaxing state of waking up slowly. Ryke stirred and hooked an arm around my waist, pulling my back against his warm chest.

It was Friday, and today was the first day we’d woken up together all week. He’d had a road trip and then a trip to L.A. for a two-day photo shoot for an endorsement ad campaign. I remembered him crawling into bed the night before, but we hadn’t seen each other face to face since last Sunday.

He nuzzled his nose in my hair. “Mmm, I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” I mumbled. “You feel so good. Hold me tighter.”

He wrapped his leg over mine and strengthened his hold on my chest. When his lips found my earlobe and toyed with it, I shivered at the sensation. Nearly a month had passed since the miscarriage, and he’d been keeping his distance in bed the whole time.

I wanted this – to enjoy the affection he reserved for me. To let him remind me that I was a woman, and that he could awaken my desire with just a few words or a well-placed kiss. But when I felt the thick rope of his erection against my ass, my body stiffened against my will. His lips trailed from my ear to my neck, and I let myself enjoy the scrape of his stubble against my skin for a few seconds before I stopped him.

“Baby, we can’t.”

He lightly groaned his disapproval. “Are you still … ?”

“No, I’m not bleeding anymore, but I’m not back on the pill yet.”

He ran one of his huge, warm hands up my bare thigh and his fingertips slipped under the seam of my panties. “We don’t have to have sex. I just miss the feel of you so bad.”

His warm breath on my neck brought my nipples to life. I squeezed my eyes shut, an argument taking place inside me. My head said I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want anything or anyone — even Ryke — near
that
part of me. It wasn’t sexual right now; instead it was the place our baby had bled out of me from.

But the rest of me said
Hell Yes
. Just Ryke’s hands and lips on me, after a month-long hiatus, were making me wet. I wanted to get out of my head, and remember what it was like to just feel the high that only he gave me. And God, I missed the intensity of his gaze when he was on top of me, bringing us both to the brink with every thrust of his powerful, magical hips. The way he said my name when he was about to come was enough to get me off on its own. His voice was deep, strained and full of emotion every time. It always reminded me that I was his, and he was mine.

I was motionless, telling myself to relax and let him coax away my lingering hurt and worry. But he stopped and pulled back.

“I’m sorry,” I said, shame flooding me. I had an incredible husband who wanted to please me, and I couldn’t get past my neurotic issues and enjoy it.

“It’s okay.” His tone was soft, but I heard a note of frustration in it. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

When he finished, he gave me a kiss on the forehead and left. He was off for another road trip, and I felt even more miserable for denying him when I remembered we wouldn’t wake up together again until Monday.

I poured a cup of coffee and stirred in cream and sugar, staring out at the lake while I drank it. I was a grief counselor who couldn’t figure out how to deal with her own grief. The wife of a hot pro athlete who rejected his advances after a month-long dry spell.

“Good morning,” Mimi said, emerging from the bathroom she’d been cleaning.

“Morning,” I said, still staring out the window.

“You okay? You don’t look so good.”

“No, I don’t feel so great, actually. I think I’ll go back to bed.”

It was the only place I didn’t feel like a failure. My bed always accepted me, no questions asked. I pulled the covers over myself and returned to the warm comfort that only it could provide.

Mind over matter, I reminded myself as I made my way to my seat in the arena next to Dawn. Sometimes moving forward was as simple as that. Forcing yourself to put one foot in front of the other until eventually you started wanting to do it.

I hated that I’d missed a month of hockey. Being at Ryke’s games was one of my favorite things. I loved watching him at work; seeing his passion for the game.

Dawn was chatting with another one of the wives, but the seat next to her was open. I’d texted her to save me one.

“Hey,” she said, smiling when she saw me. “Got you some nachos.”

When I sat down, she passed me the chips and continued talking to Ellie Caldwell. This was what I loved about Dawn. She wouldn’t question me about my month-long absence or try to pry details out of me.

Anita, the girlfriend of one of the newer players, saw me and waved. I waved back and relaxed against my seat. It was good to be back among friends.

Ellie leaned over to see me around Dawn. “Hey, I’m sorry,” she said, squeezing my knee. “I’m here if you need anything, okay?”

My heart pounded, but I kept my face calm. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“Did you see my husband’s lucky stache?” Dawn asked, changing the subject swiftly. “He thinks it’s the reason we’ve won four in a row and he refuses to shave it.”

“Nice,” I said lightly. “With handlebars, like last time?”

“Ugh, yes. And he waxes them into these upward curls before games.”

“Sexy.”

“Yeah.” She glared at me. “I told him I needed a bikini wax when they started winning, so maybe my bush is a good luck charm, too. He’s less than thrilled.”

My laughter helped ease the sick pitching in my stomach over what Ellie said. Though she was trying to be nice, finding out she knew about my miscarriage was a surprise.

The roar of the announcer’s booming voice let us know the game was starting. When our team took the ice, gliding in a long, fast row next to the wall, I jumped up and cheered, finding the jersey with my last name on it. I’d missed this.

“Does everyone know?” I asked Dawn in a low tone as we both applauded on our feet.

She hesitated for just a second. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I should’ve told everyone to keep their mouths shut.”

“No, I’m glad I know,” I said. We sat back down and I focused on the game. But every time someone looked at me and smiled or offered a wave, I saw pity. I shouldn’t have been surprised; it wasn’t like I could disappear for a month after going to every game and not have people wonder where I’d been. And even though Ryke and I hadn’t discussed it, I assumed he hadn’t told everyone about the miscarriage. Now everyone knew I’d failed him.

I cheered in all the right places and my heart skipped a beat when Ryke looked at me and grinned while his team was celebrating a goal. But for the first time ever, I was relieved when the game ended. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

I’d taken a cab to the game so Ryke and I could leave together and go out with the team. I wanted to text him that I was cabbing it home and he could go out without me. But he’d wonder what was wrong. I decided to wait for him.

The indoor walkway the players took out to the parking lot was nearly empty when I got there, but when I saw Ellie and two other players’ wives walking my way, I pushed through the double doors and went outside.

Fans were milling around, programs in hand, waiting to catch the players for autographs. Two college-aged women stood next to the bench I sat down on.

“You think I can get Luke Hudson to sign my boob?” one asked the other. They both squealed and I rolled my eyes.

“We need to find out where they’re going tonight,” one of them said in a low tone. “And then hang out with them. I need to see what Jason Ryker’s hot hockey ass looks like without those pants on.”

I bristled at her words. Sure, I knew women lusted after my husband, but this wasn’t a great time to be reminded of it. I wasn’t giving him what he wanted, and these two were all too eager to make up for it.

I was trying to ignore the college girls when a message from Ryke appeared on my phone.

Where u at?

I wrote back –
Outside
, glad he was on his way. He strolled out just a few seconds later, grinning widely when our eyes met.

Fans encircled him immediately, but he brushed past. “I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll get everyone’s stuff signed, I just need to see my wife for a sec.”

He was freshly showered, wearing a dark brown suit and a long wool overcoat that brushed my cheek when he pulled me against him.

“Great game,” I said, gazing up at his dark, unshaven jaw line.

“It was great because you were here,” he said. “Are you cold?”

I’d only worn my team sweatshirt, and there was a wintery chill in the air. “I’m okay. I think I’m gonna head home instead of going out, actually. I can get a cab.”

His face fell. “You’re not taking a cab. We’ll go home together.”

“No, don’t skip going out just because of me.”

“I don’t wanna go out without you. Just give me a couple minutes and we can go, okay? We’ll get some carryout. You want my coat?”

He moved to take it off and I shook my head. “No, it’s okay.”

The waiting fans had moved right next to us, and now the equally-popular Luke was attracting a crowd of his own. I watched from the corner of my eye to see if he’d sign Blondie’s boob. Had Ryke ever signed boobs? In his single days, he’d done a lot more than sign them. I decided not to think about it.