“You make it seem so clinical.”
His jaw hardens a little. “I’m just trying to put you at ease.”
“Now I feel like I’m being graded.” I blow out a breath as my skin crawls. I fucking hate myself. He sinks back on his feet.
“Let’s just go to bed,” he says softly. “It’s still too soon.”
I practically bite my tongue off because of his assumption, but I don’t deserve his affection after what I’ve just done.
I begin making my way to our bed, my heart racing a little faster with each hesitant step.
I wrap myself in his arms, his minty breath filling the sliver of space between us. I can feel his erection digging into my back as I take his hand and slip it beneath my panties. He groans as he touches me, feels me wet, for him.
“God, I’ve missed you so much.”
Pushing all selfish thoughts away, I turn my lips back to meet his. He separates mine with his tongue, and in seconds we’re in a familiar rhythm. Minutes later I’m on my back, and he’s between my legs. It’s only us for the moment, and for that I’m thankful.
He threads his fingers through mine and presses my hands into the bed as his lips descend.
Blood rushes like a raging river, flooding all of my senses, my pulse pounding so loudly, it drowns out everything else. I go rigid in his arms.
“Hummingbird!” I scream into his mouth as he leaps off the bed and away from me. I’m right behind him on the other side.
“Fuck, Katy, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. I got carried away.”
But I’m nowhere near him.
Calloused hands grip my forearms, slamming me down on the hard ground. My head hits first, and I swear I hear my skull crack. The scent of body odor and gunpowder hangs thick in the air. My body writhes as I try to fight him off, but I’m too weak after weeks of being immobile and undernourished. I scream, and a hand clamps down over my mouth. I taste his filth and gag as my pants are forcibly removed. He’s yelling something, issuing orders in a language I can’t understand, and it only further frustrates me. The more I fight, the louder Briggs gets, his reaction a direct response to my own. If I continue to scream, he’ll fight till they kill him. So, I resign myself to let the inevitable happen. It’s not like I can stop them anyway…
“Katy! Katy! Baby, talk to me, please.”
When I come to, I’m drenched with sweat, my heart leaping out of my chest. My husband frantically calls my name, gently shaking me.
“Stop touching me, stop looking at me! I don’t want your fucking help!” Gavin pulls his hands away instantly, and I feel the snap of the thread between us. He does too.
“You didn’t mean that,” he says reasonably. “I fucked up, and I’m sorry.” He moves closer, and I inch away. I’m aware that I’m hurting him, and that breaks my heart, but I’m so angry, too angry to allow it to matter. I’m acting on instinct alone. Reason has no place in this game of survival. “Please,” I beg. “Just don’t touch me.”
“Goddamn it!” he roars as he knocks a lamp off the nightstand.
“You won’t talk to me, you won’t let me in, you don’t want my help, and now I can’t touch you?”
“That’s exactly right,” I retort snidely.
He nods. “Okay, that sounds fucking perfect.” He grabs a pillow, and I stop him in his tracks.
“It was my arms.” I’m apologizing the only way I know how, with so much anger inside. “It was when you pinned my arms.”
At the door of the bedroom, he turns to the side, and I see the tear that rolls down his face. “Come to me when you’re ready.”
“I don’t know when that will be.”
In all our years together, I’ve never seen him so angry. And I’m just not sure who with. But I think it’s safe to assume it’s me.
He hangs his head, with his back to me. “Trust me?”
The robot answers for me. “Always.”
He doesn’t bother to finish.
I lean over where he sleeps on the couch and press my lips to his. His reaction is instant. He keeps his hands at his sides, and I feel a real crack in my chest when he strains to keep my lips before I pull them away.
“You were awake?” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he whispers back.
“I love you, Gavin. I do. I’m so sorry.” I kiss him again, but it feels empty, so I pull away.
He lifts himself up to sit on the couch as I kneel at his feet.
Neither of us speaks. I can feel the frustration rolling off him. Filled with trepidation, he reaches out a hand to run his fingers through my curls.
I cover his hand with mine. “Please come back to bed.”
He rises to his feet, grabbing his pillow, and follows me quietly up the stairs. In bed, I rub my hands over his shoulders until I’m sure he’s asleep.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Katy
Sammy hands me the candles as I stick them one by one in the cake that has simple balloons on it.
“My husband thinks I’m an idiot.”
“He just knows you’re under a lot of pressure,” she says sympathetically. My sister is not undermining me; she’s really sad this cheaply made concoction in front of us is my kid’s seventh birthday cake.
“Red, yellow, and blue balloons? This cake is shit. It’s ghetto shit.”
Sammy throws her head back laughing.
“Stop laughing. There’s no theme. These decorations are crap. He wanted Minecraft, not balloons.”
“Okay, so Gavin’s clueless, but his heart’s in the right place.”
I shake my head in frustration. “He should have left it up to me. He just made this decision on his own.”
“He’s trying to make sure you don’t have more on your plate than you can handle.”
“I don’t do anything. I quit the army, and I’m a stay-at-home mom,” I sigh. “I don’t have enough on my plate to warrant this getting taken away from me.” Hurt. That’s all I feel these days. Gavin and I have moved into the comfortable position of being friends and roommates. But when he does things like plan my kid’s birthday party without telling me, those things turn us into fighting parents. I’ve been making a little progress with my therapist. I’ve finally opened up to her about Briggs. She’s encouraged me to write him letters in a journal, so I do. I talk to him. I tell him what I need, and I feel like, in a way, he’s there for me. Even if my words are sent out in the void, they’re out of my head, and it helps. I haven’t opened up about much else because I find it hard to believe that a woman so clueless about the perils of war could possibly help me. She specializes in PTSD, but that means shit to me. The only secret I’ve trusted her with is the one that constantly nags at me.
Secrets.
That’s the way I’m treating what happened to me, and between us. It’s all tucked inside safely where no one can examine it and take it away from me. I need my connection with him to function.
A motorcycle rumbles outside, drawing me to look out the window as Sammy leaves to tape up the last of the decorations—more balloons. The noise of the bike annoys me as I look up to stare at the driver. He’s wearing a dark helmet with purple flames.
“Sammy, I think your new boyfriend is here,” I snap. “And you can tell him to keep his thug ass away from my baby.”
“Almost ready?” Gavin says as he wraps his arms around me. I look back at him and smile sincerely. “And who’s a thug?”
“Sammy’s new boyfriend, I think. By the way, if you ever plan another birthday party for our son, I will divorce you.”
He cringes. “That bad?”
“I don’t want to argue, but I’m embarrassed.”
“Shit,” he puffs out. “I really thought it would take some pressure off of you.”
“Stop assuming and start asking. I’m not rocking in the yard anymore.”
He immediately pulls his arms away. “No, but you’re still freezing me out,” he snaps.
Frozen. Ice Princess.
Letting his comment go, I move toward our bedroom.