Found (Captive Heart #2)

C
opyright
© 2016 by Carrie Aarons

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

F
or my husband
, for being the complete opposite of Tucker. Nice guys
do
finish first.

A
lot can change
in three minutes. The weather, a poker game.

A lot can change in three days. Milk can go bad in your fridge; the company you landed a job interview with may call you back.

A lot can change in three months. It marks a trimester in a pregnancy, almost a semester in college.

But three years.

Entire lives change. The world evolves. What was once cool and useful is now out-of-touch. Irrelevant. We elect new presidents, the housing market completely rises or tanks.

Three years is a lifetime. And when you’re dealing in lifetimes …

The person you were three years ago is usually nowhere to be found.

T
hey’re late
.

But then again, this is a government facility. So I shouldn’t be surprised that they’re not running according to schedule.

But I’m cold. And I took the day off of work to do this. I’ve been standing on this gravel driveway for more than twenty-five minutes, spooked and annoyed and just … waiting.

For three years I’ve been waiting. I’m like one of those sand timers, slowly funneling sand through in hopes that it will finally,
finally
fall completely to one side.

Those are such a tease; as is the Pennsylvania Department of Corrections.

You’d think that after three years of waiting, three years of sitting next to him, unable to touch, I’d be able to wait another twenty-five more measly minutes. But that’s precisely why I can’t.

I can’t wait any longer. There has been too much time lost. I want to start living again. And I can only do that with him.

Tucker Lynch. My husband.

The gates start to creak open, the electric metal fence clanging along as it drags against itself. The guards stand stoic, hands ready on their automatic weapons, as the exit to the State Correctional Institution at Mahoney opens. They’re ready to take down any person who shouldn’t be exiting this facility. Who isn’t being released.

God willing, today my husband
is
getting released.

Two other armed guards begin to walk down the path towards me.

And behind them … there he is.

The world stops turning for at least a minute. I can’t feel the wind across my cheeks. I don’t smell that distinct stench I’ve always associated with this prison. I don’t even see the men armed with guns.

There is only Tucker. Everything is Tucker.

Three years. Three years since I’ve seen him outside of those walls. Three years since he’s breathed anything but prison air.

Now, he sticks his nose in the air like a dog, sniffing at the unfiltered, inmate-free air. This moment must be … there isn’t even a word for what this moment must mean to him.

He’s feet away from me now, my husband. The man I haven’t touched for more than twenty seconds in three years.

Tucker is Tucker. My life, my air-supply. The force that keeps me functioning.

But Tucker is also foreign. His hair is cropped, almost buzzed on the sides. All of those delicious curls have been shorn off; just a simple wave ripples through the longer hair on top of his head. He’s always had a beautiful body, but prison has changed it. Where he used to be lean and wiry with a bit of muscle, he’s now all out brawn. My six-foot-four man used to be agile, like the wide receiver he once was. Now? He’s like a linebacker, firmly cut muscles that look like they were carved from stone. There are now veins in his arms, true signs of a weightlifter. His jaw seems wider, his mouth even more seductive than it was three years ago.

But it’s his eyes that are
really
foreign.

I’m not sure when it happened, the inability to read him. I used to be able to tell Tucker’s thoughts as if they were my own. But one day I showed up for visitation, and it was gone.

Just like now. I can’t read the expression he’s regarding me with. And that spooks me even more.

Finally, he’s right in front of me. On the other side of the gate.

He’s free.

“Hi.” I pick up my hand like I’m going to wave but then drop it, realizing he’s right here now. I can touch him. Freely.

Tucker hesitates for a second, but then moves toward me, into my space. Tentatively, he wraps his massive arms around me and I breathe him in.

But I don’t miss it when he winces as my arms squeeze around his middle. If I hadn’t been willing to acknowledge before that prison had changed him, I was now. The hug is awkward, we don’t recognize each other’s bodies anymore. He’s bigger than he used to be, or maybe I’m slimmer than I was. Lord knows I’ve had no appetite for the last three years.

“I’ve missed you so much.” I breathe into his neck.

Because I have. My soul has been broken, my heart dangling by a thread while he’s been gone.

Tucker only grunts in response before releasing me.

Well … okay.

“Mr. Lynch, Mrs. Lynch. Here are your personal affects that are being given back to you upon your release. You’ll need to report to your probation officer starting next week, where he will attempt to find you work. Get into the system, get a job, get a groove going. I don’t want to see you back in these walls.”

The guard nods to Tucker and Tucker smiles, an understanding passing between them. I suddenly feel like an intruder.

“You’re free to go.”

Tucker turns from him and nods to me, and starts walking.

He doesn’t hold my hand. We don’t talk.

When I finally bring him to my car, a black Jeep Cherokee, he looks up before he gets in the passenger side.

“Where is the Camry?”

Of course he doesn’t remember. “Impounded … remember? It was used for the investigation and then they kept it as evidence.”

Tucker’s expression of humiliation makes me wish I would have just kept my mouth shut. So I start talking again.

“I brought you a surprise!” I unlock the door and make him get in.

Once we’re both seated in the car, a safe distance away from the gates of the prison, I hope he’ll feel better. I reach behind my seat and pull out his surprise!

“I brought you Five Guys! A big ole burger and an Oreo milkshake! I remember how much you said you missed greasy food, and how the first thing you’d want to eat—”

“Thanks, Char.” He cuts me off and takes the food, rooting around in the bag but ultimately taking none of the yummy fast food out.

I start the car, thinking maybe it’s that we’re just still sitting here. “Is that not what you wanted? It’s an hour and a half home, I could always stop for something else if you’re craving like … Chinese or Mexican or something?”

Tucker smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “No, I’m not really hungry. Just tired. You’ve already wasted enough time coming to pick me up today. Let’s just get home.”

Inside, I’m crushed. He hasn’t told me he loves me, hasn’t even kissed me. I’ve waited so long for this moment, to be out in the world. In the open. Free.

I’ve been fantasizing about this moment for three years. I’d stayed up the entire night before, replaying how I thought it would go over and over in my head.

This is nothing like I imagined it.

I
’ve been fantasizing
about this moment for three years. I’d stayed up the entire night before, replaying how I thought it would go over and over in my head.

This is nothing like I imagined it.

We’re nothing like I imagined we would be. Or maybe … I’m not.

Char is Char. She’s perfect and beautiful. She’s grown up in three years, looking even more gorgeous and adult than I could even imagine. She looks hot in her tight skinny jeans and cream-colored sweater. Her golden brown hair is impossibly long and she’s done something to it so that it’s curling in endless spirals. Her makeup accentuates her perfect eyes and cheeks. And those lips, they still drive me insane. She looks adult and put together.

And me? I just look like a fucking convict. Feel like a fucking convict.

We’re over an hour away from SCI Mahoney and I’m still waiting for someone with flashing lights to pull us over and tell me my release is all a joke. That I have to go back with them, that I’ll be living behind bars for the rest of my life.

I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve to be in the car, with Char, her bringing me one of my favorite meals.

I don’t deserve a
wife
.

My fucking wife. I couldn’t even afford to put a real diamond on her hand. Seeing that simple, knockoff white gold band around her fourth finger makes me want to punch out this glass window boxing me into her Jeep.

Some new-age pop shit blasts through the radio. “Can you turn that off?”

“Oh, you want me to find some sports or something? I think pre-season baseball might actually be on the radio—”

“No, Char. I just want some quiet.”

I stare out of the window and I can feel her gaze on me as she flicks off the sound system. I haven’t even kissed her, and I’ve been able to touch her freely for more than an hour. I just … I didn’t expect to feel like this.

“I’m sorry, Char.”

I look over at her, and I know she’s holding back tears.

I lay my hand on her’s as she grips the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. I just … I thought I would feel, well, free. But I don’t. I still feel on-edge, anxious all the time. And maybe that’s how it’s going to be for a little while. I know we wanted to pick up where we left off. And we will. It’s just going to take some … getting used to.”

She nods, taking those big brown eyes off the road momentarily. “I know it is. I just … I thought it would be exactly like it was three years ago. And that was stupid of me.”

“It wasn’t stupid … optimistic maybe. But not stupid, you could never be stupid.” I smooth the hair away from her face and tuck it behind her ear so I can see her profile.

“I love you, Tucker Lynch. So much.”

I feel a twinge in my heart … an organ I thought was long dead. But I know she’s expecting to hear it back. So I say it.

“I love you too, Charlotte Lynch.”

And then she gives me that mega-watt smile.

* * *

C
harlotte’s condo
is in a trendy part of Lancaster, close to downtown and the upscale shops that I’ve never even been inside of. And as she pulls into her private garage, I realize that my wife is taking me home.

But it’s not our home. And I also realize I’ve never seen where Charlotte lives. I’ve never even been to my wife’s house, one I can’t help her pay for.

From there, the waters of depression that threaten to drown me just get murkier. We walk into her living room, a beautiful oasis of neutrals and fluffy couches and throw blankets. And I just feel … dirty. I don’t belong in her world.

And on some level, I knew this would happen. Back at Camp Marsh, we were on equal footing. The rest of the world didn’t exist. We didn’t have to worry about levels of careers or social norms, didn’t have to deal with people talking about the good girl and the bad boy. But now it would all seep in, tainting and infecting our relationship, our fucking
marriage
, until she wanted to walk away from me.

“Do you want to just go up to bed?”

It’s only about six o’clock, but as soon as she says it, I realize I’m bone tired.

“Yeah, I would, baby.”

The endearment just pops out, but I know it’s the happiest I’ve made her in over a year when her eyes practically melt.

She takes the bag from my shoulder and plops it on the plush white area rug at our feet. Then Char takes my hand and leads me upstairs. She takes me past a guest room and a bathroom, pointing them out as we go.

And then we’re in her bedroom. A soothing color palette of mauves and purples, dominated by a big king bed in the center of the oak furniture.

Char pulls me towards the bed and moves into me, pressing up on her toes even though there is no way she can kiss me unless I bend down to her.

“Kiss me.” She half-pleads with me.

I never want to hear that tone again, so I do. I lock my mouth onto hers. It’s warm and welcoming, and my cock starts to swell. It’s not like I haven’t gotten boners in prison, but they just haven’t been from my warm, curvy wife. They’ve been for her, but I haven’t been able to touch her body in three years.

Char begins to wiggle out of her shirt, and suddenly I’m shaking. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t do this.

“Char,” I put a hand on her wrist and stop her from undressing. “I’m … really tired. Can we just lay down?”

I see the rejection sharp in her eyes, but she regroups quickly. “Of course, sorry.”

I toe out of my shoes and walk to the other side, sliding under her covers with my back to her.

I
swear
I try not to flinch when she comes up against my back and wraps her arm around my waist. But I do. I’ve been on guard for three years. Slept with one eye open.

It’s not something that I’ll easily break. If I ever do.

Char doesn’t say anything, but I know she wants to. I hear it in the way she’s breathing. And for some reason, even though I never could before, I can read every emotion coming off of her.

I pretend to close my eyes and even out my breathing so she can’t ask me anything.

But more than two hours later, as I hear her start to softly breathe, I’m still awake.

I leave my wife,
my wife
, in bed to go downstairs. And stand by the window, waiting and watching, until the first rays of morning light pour in.