Found (Captive Heart #2) (2 page)

M
y palms are sweating
as the guards allow visitors to file into the industrial-gray room. It smells like antiseptic and body odor, and I can’t help but keep my eyes on shift mode, keeping an eye out for anything coming my way.

The other family members settle into the cold looking metal tables, and I snag one all the way in the back corner, hoping it will give us more privacy. An African American family sits at the table beside me. The wife, I’m assuming, has brought her two children, who both have to be under the age of ten. They’re setting up their coloring books and toys while we wait.

And I think to myself for the hundredth time that this is our life now. That could be us someday.

I fight to choke back the tears.

It’s only been a week since I was discharged from the hospital, but I had to come. No way was I missing my first chance to see Tucker. I don’t feel all the way there yet, my hand still goes numb from time to time and I’ve had nausea, but I drove myself the forty-five minutes it took to get here.

The door on the far side of the gray metal box swings open with a loud buzzing, and men in orange jumpsuits file in. I search each of their faces, looking for mine. My prisoner.

Tucker is the fourth in line, decked out in the standard orange clothing. I almost don’t believe my eyes. I want to look away so I can still keep lying to myself, but I know I can’t do that to him. He gets close to the table I’ve reserved and I stand, almost running to him.

But right before I can throw my arms around him, a voice halts me. “NO TOUCHING MA’AM!”

I stop short, my white sneakers skidding on the floor. No touching?

“I can’t touch you?” I whisper at Tucker as he comes to stand in front of me.

“I’m sorry, baby, no. Visitation rules.” He looks just as distraught as I feel, and I let the new harsh reality sink in.

My hands will never touch him again. At least not until we know how long he’ll be in here.

The wife at the table next to me whispers something about newbie’s as her husband smiles at their children.

Tucker nods to me, his smile the only gesture he can give me now. I want to scream bloody murder that I can’t be wrapped in his arms right now. I was counting on that, it was the only thing that got me through when they took him, booked him and transported him to a holding facility until his trial. I need his embrace, I needed to breathe him in and have him kiss my head and tell me everything was going to be all right.

And now I can’t even hold his hand while we sit here and talk for the two hours we will be able to see each other all week. Or maybe all month. My hands itch with eagerness as I fold them in my lap.

“How was the drive up? How are you feeling? You look so good.”

That famous Tucker smile shines in my direction and it feels like the sun is beaming over my face. It makes me feel marginally better about the no touching thing.

“It was fine. I got up extra early to make sure I’d be here on time. I read somewhere that sometimes if you get here less than half an hour before, they won’t let you in for visitation. So I just had to make sure I was early, and I put a full tank of gas in the car, and—”

“Babe?” Tucker cuts me off. “Relax, please.”

I smile sheepishly, because I realize I’m rambling. “I’m sorry. Gosh, I just … I couldn’t wait to see you. How has everything been?”

I wave my hand around the room as if prison is a summer camp instead of a government facility of corrections.

Tucker shrugs. “It hasn’t been easy. But it also hasn’t been incredibly hard. This is a minimum facility, non-violent offenders or people awaiting trial. It’s not as scary as I’ve heard some other facilities are. But I’m trying to keep to myself, help out where I can or am asked to.”

His face is paler than usual and I can make out the dark circles under his eyes. “Have you been sleeping?”

Tucker looks down at his hands. “I’ve been trying to, but … I feel so on-edge all the time. Like I need to be watching out for something.”

“That will fade with time,” I say, even though we both know it probably won’t.

“I love you.” His brown eyes hold all of the emotions we both wish we would let out on each other’s bodies.

“I love you, too. So much.” I hear my voice crack and have to blink away the tears. Tucker doesn’t need my tears to add to his baggage.

“So you feel better? Are you home now?”

“I feel okay, still a bit groggy and slow but a lot better than when you first checked me into the hospital. I never thanked you for that by the way … you sacrificed everything for me. You didn’t have to do that …”

Tucker’s hand snakes across the table, laying so close to my fingers that I can feel the warmth coming off of them. “Yes I did. You’re my world, Char, and I could never lose you.”

We’re silent for a beat. “So … have you talked to your mother?”

I knew he would ask about her. “No. And I won’t ever again. What she did to you … to us …”

“I know. Believe me, I know. I just worry about you. With me in here … I just want to make sure you have a support system out there.”

“You’re my support system.” It’s the truth.

“Charlotte, I know … but, come on, I’m going to be in here for awhile and they could ask you to testify against me, and—”

“So marry me.” The words pop out of my mouth before I can even form the thought.

Tucker sits back, stunned. “What did you just say?”

And then I start to ramble again. “I was thinking about it on the ride here. They can’t ask me to testify against you if I’m your wife. I can’t be involved if we’re married. And how great would that look at trial. I don’t hate you. In fact, I love you and we got married to prove it. And Tucker, we’ve wasted so many years, too many years. You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted, the only family I’ll ever need.”

He still looks like I’ve told him I’m from the future and our children are aliens. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you this? And fuck, Char … proposing in a prison visitation room? You deserve better than this. No, we … we can’t get married right now.”

I don’t let his chivalry deter me. “Why not?! I’m with you through this, through whatever comes. And you love me, right?”

“You know I do.”

“Well then let’s make it official! I love you. I want you to be my husband and I’m done waiting.”

He stares at me for what feels like ten minutes. I know he was waging war with himself in that stubborn skull of his, but I just chewed on my lip, praying he would agree. I suddenly knew I’d never wanted anything more than I wanted this.

“Okay. Let’s get married.”

I let out a shocked little gasp and Tucker stood.

“This woman has just agreed to marry me!”

But we weren’t in a fancy restaurant with happy patrons. Hell, he hadn’t even presented me with a ring.

The inmates and their families only grumbled and shook their heads at us. The latest fools who believed they could beat the odds, and the system.

I
should have known then
how naïve and stupid we were. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You never know how unrealistic you’re being until you’re actually in the shit of it.

I wake alone, Tucker nowhere to be found and his side of the bed cold and lonely. He hadn’t even touched me last night. I smash my head back into my pillows and ruminate over that kiss.

It had been beautiful and warmed places in me that had gone dry and dark for three years. But then he’d pulled away. Like it pained him to be close to me. And when I’d snuggled up against him, the one thing I’d been yearning to do ever since he’d been taken to jail, he flinched.

I get it. It’s not necessarily about me, but still. I want him to be comfortable around me; to be the old Tucker that warmed my bed all those nights at Camp Marsh. But, as we knew it would be, it’s so different now.

He’s lying on the couch, his arm thrown over his eyes, when I get downstairs. My foot causes the loose floorboard in the last step to creak, and he’s flailing off the couch.

“Get away!” He holds up his fists, enraged in his sleepy daze.

“Tucker! It’s just me.” I go to him, running my hands over his closed palms.

He seems to register my face, and drops them immediately. He also steps back, away from me. “Jesus, I’m sorry. It’s a … habit now.”

I shrug, not knowing what else to do. “I get it.”

A beat of silence.

“Are you hungry?”

He looks around, and then down at me in my white satin robe. “Yeah.”

I could almost swear he isn’t talking about food, but I don’t push it and instead walk to the kitchen.

“I can make you eggs, French toast, bacon…we have cereal and I got English muffins, too. Anything you’d like!”

“Whatever you’re having is fine. I’m not picky.”

When I knew he was getting released, I went to the grocery store and basically emptied the shelves into my cart. At Camp Marsh, we’d only had the limited pantry and canteen snacks to get us through. In prison, I’m sure the food was awful. I wanted him to have his pick of anything when he came home. I wanted to treat him and feed him like a glutton for punishment. But he didn’t seem to want any special treatment.

“Okay, I’ll make the lot of it then.” I flash him a smile and get to removing pots, pans and cooking supplies from various places in the kitchen. “Do you want to take a hot shower or something? It’s going to be a little bit before everything is ready.”

I notice Tucker hasn’t even removed the clothes he came home in yet. If I were him, I would have taken a four-hour bath. But maybe he doesn’t feel at home …

Before he can answer, I’m walking across the kitchen to him. “Tuck, I know this is going to be hard. And I know we talked about maybe getting a new place eventually. But we’re here for now. And I want you to know that this is as much your home as it is mine. I want you to feel like you can do whatever you want here. There are no rules or areas off limits. Okay?”

He nods at me. “I get it, Char. I’m good for right now though.”

His brush off is the only thing he’s been able to do since we got home yesterday. I let it slide again though.

“Don’t you have to go to work or something?” Tucker sounds like he’d rather me be anywhere but here, with him.

I crack eggs into the skillet. “I took the rest of the week off. I’ve been saving up days, and I wanted to be here with you. I mean … I wish I could spend the next three years catching up on all that we’ve missed, but I’m due back Monday morning. But we have four glorious days to do whatever it is that you want together!”

When I catch his expression out of the corner of my eye, it’s like I’ve just told him I’ve drowned his cat. He looks miserable.

“You didn’t have to take off work for me. It’s important that you go. Didn’t you mention you might be promoted soon?”

I move to the baking sheet and begin laying bacon strips out. “That’s just a rumor, maybe. I don’t know. I’ve been working really hard, and it’s okay if I take a day or two. Jackie is going to call me if anything comes up.”

Jackie, my best friend. I’ve never had one before, so when I started at the marketing firm I’ve been at for two years now, it was weirdly incredible that we clicked like long lost soulmates. She’s the graphic designer to my account manager position, and together, we kick butt for our clients.

Professionally, I’ve never loved my life more.

“She’s really excited to meet you by the way. I thought maybe Sunday she could come over, along with anyone else you might want to invite. We could do a low key brunch, have a few drinks …”

Tucker picks at a hangnail. “Eh, there is no one I’d really want to invite. Plus, I don’t think I’m supposed to be drinking as part of my probation clauses, but I can check next week. I don’t mind if she comes over though.”

He couldn’t sound less enthused.

“Okay, well, we can play it by ear.”

I go back to stirring the scrambled eggs, and pop the bacon in the pre-heated oven. Now it’s time for French toast. I crack an egg in one bowl and then mix sugar and cinnamon together in another.

I cross the kitchen, looking for a hair-tie to pull back the mass of hair I’ve grown. I purposely haven’t cut it in over a year, knowing how much Tucker loves it. I roll up the sleeve of my white satin robe to try and avoid getting egg all over it.

His voice catches me. “Is that?”

He’s pointing to my wrist, the pulse point I’m now showing him as I tie up my hair and my arm’s been exposed due to my rolled up sleeve.

I forgot he’s never really seen this. It was an impulse decision about a year ago, something Jackie thought I should do to get some closure and symbolize the thing I’d lost. We’d lost.

Usually donning long sleeves when I visited, not wanting to draw attention, I realize that Tucker probably never even knew I got this.

I turn my wrist over, holding it out to him. Letting him inspect the small roman numerals tattooed across my pulse point.

“You got this for …” He seems like he can’t breathe.

I nod, emotion clogging my throat. “Yes. I got this for him.”

I
f I would have known
we would have this time to sit and think about the decision to get married, I probably wouldn’t have done it.

It’s taken about a month and two weeks to really get the whole process in order, and in that time, I’ve tormented myself to hell and back. First of all, Charlotte asked
me
to marry
her
. I couldn’t even summon the courage to do it, even though of course I want her to be my wife. Next, I didn’t get down on one knee. I didn’t have a big fat diamond to present her with. I couldn’t even afford one if I wanted to. And worst of all, I couldn’t celebrate with her. Not that I couldn’t celebrate with her, I couldn’t even touch her. I couldn’t hug her or kiss her, or take her to bed and do all of the dirty, dirty things I wanted to with my fiancée.

We parted with a simple smile and her blowing me a kiss, and then she went off to finalize plans to get us married. She’d had a hell of a time tracking down my paperwork to send in, had to go to city hall and through lawyers and so much shit that I almost wish we weren’t doing this. The only person we didn’t get a problem from was the chaplian, who thought it a good idea that I marry her and better my life.

So here we are. April 24. Our wedding day. Me sitting in a goddamn cell in a little more modest jumpsuit of brown instead of orange.

And Char. She’s probably standing in the visitation lobby, waiting in her tasteful white dress she’s been telling me all about. No big puffy princess wedding gown, no centerpieces, no flowers, no dad walking her down the aisle.

I was a prick to do this to her. And yet, I still would. Because despite everything … I was still so fucking selfish. The minute she’d called me her husband, that I could be that important to her … that I could have her as my wife? I knew I had to do it.

She was the best thing that had ever happened to me in my life. And I wasn’t giving that up.

I’m in a holding cell with the five other prisoners getting married today. Because apparently, they only schedule the chaplian one Sunday every month in this prison. So not only does the love of my life not get a big fairytale wedding, she doesn’t even get her own wedding day. I’m a fucking asshole.

“Time to go bite the bullet, grooms.” A guard comes to get us, and we’re led down the hallway to the tiny room that will serve as the chapel today.

I see families waiting outside, children and grandmothers clucking over the brides to be. I mentally punch myself in the face, for the hundredth time that no one is here with Charlotte. Our families have basically disowned us both. No one wanted to be a part of this.

Then there she is. My beautiful, blushing bride in her simple white dress, holding a bouquet of what I suspect are real white roses. Char would want one extravagant thing today. If you can even call them extravagant.

It seems that if you’re getting married, you’re allowed to touch your spouse to be. At least everyone else is. So I relish the chance to touch Char as long as I can.

I march right up to her and don’t even bother saying hello. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I fuse my lips to hers.

She tastes like cinnamon and mint, and our lips slide due to her pretty maroon lipstick. I can’t get enough and I would take her up against this wall if no one else were watching. My cock is hardening by the millisecond, and I’m going to have to calm down before it’s our turn to say I do.

Char breaks off the kiss once I start to thoroughly mess up her appearance. “Well, hello to you too.”

She nibbles at my neck, and I have to put a couple of inches of space between her anatomy and mine.

“You look gorgeous. Beautiful. Perfect.” I caress her cheek with the back of my hand.

And she does. Her chestnut hair falls over her shoulders in loose curls, and she has more makeup on than I’ve seen her with in awhile. But it makes her face look radiant. And her big brown eyes, they’re almost glowing.

“We’re getting married today!” Despite the thugs and guards around us, she sounds so insanely excited.

“I know.” I pause. “You’re sure you want to do this now?”

She smacks my arm. “What are you, getting cold feet on me? Of course I want to do this. I love you. In a matter of minutes, you’re going to be my husband.”

My heart breaks a little at that. A husband who can’t provide for her, or even touch her. Great. Just another thing in life I’m already failing at.

We’re the fourth couple to say our vows, and Char cries through practically the whole thing. The “chapel” is a nicer room than any of the others in the jail … but it’s still a complete shithole. It’s just a white cinderblock room with white tiles floors, something you’d see at your local YMCA or some crap. There is a little plastic arch with fake plastic flowers that we stand under, and the chaplian reads through the ceremony.

It’s the same as the other couples, who I can hear take the plunge from outside in the hallway as we wait. There is nothing special about it.

Except when we get up there and stand facing each other, her hands in mine. Only then is it special. Only then does that magical thing happen where the rest of the world falls away and it’s just Char and I. We promise to look out for each other, to love each other until our last breath. And even though the vows are typical and overused, they mean so much as she pledges them to me. And I start to cry as I promise to be her world.

I get to kiss my wife for all of thirty seconds before our wedding day is over. The state of Pennsylvania doesn’t grant conjugal visits, so there is no such thing as consummating our marriage.

“I love you, husband.” Char touches her lips as I’m led away with the rest of the inmates at the end of all of the ceremonies.

“I love you, my wife.”

I spend our wedding night in my cell, alone, thinking about the other person in my marriage and what she must be going through right now.