Found (Captive Heart #2) (11 page)

O
ur happy bubble
bursts a week later.

Hunter Landon is having his annual summer cookout for his employees at his mansion on the outskirts of Lancaster. I’ve known about it for months, but was wary to bring it up to Tucker. It would be lots of new people, lots of alcohol, lots of noise. Not his favorite thing to do right now.

Thinking about it, it’s hilarious. He used to be the popular, every man’s man. And I was the nerdy shut-in. Life has a funny way of turning things completely on their heads.

It had taken me an arm and a leg to get him here, and I’d had to have Jackie come over beforehand for reinforcements. Between the two of us, we’d wrestled him into a button down and khakis, calmed his nerves and gotten him into the car.

“Everything is going to be fine. People are going to be so wasted on the free, expensive booze that they won’t even notice you.”

Jackie is not making Tucker feel better and I know it. She can’t see his face in the passenger seat of my Jeep, but I can. He’s anxious and terrified. He’d spilled his guts the night before.

He looks handsome and casual in his outfit, with his curls tousled around his head in a sexy, just-woke-up sort of way. I feel good in my yellow sundress, the one with the daisy buttons down the back, and my tan espadrilles. And Jackie looks like a knockout in a pink pastel romper that has neckline that might be too risqué for a barbecue. But she’s definitely pulling it off.

I make the turnoff for Hunter’s lane. Yes, he has his own lane. I’ve been here two times before. Once for last year’s barbecue and then just about six months ago for his annual Christmas party.

And still, I’m always astonished when I pull my Jeep through the lush forest of trees about a mile onto his property, and his house comes into view.

Actually, I shouldn’t call it a house. It’s more like a mansion. Actually, it’s more like a castle.

The Landon Estate, yes, it’s a freaking estate, is about forty acres complete with a twenty-nine thousand square foot mansion, an Olympic-size swimming pool, an indoor regulation-size basketball court, stables, a small racetrack and two guesthouses that are seven times the size of my condo.

I wonder why he ever even leaves the grounds. The estate is palatial, and it figures since Hunter Landon is probably one of the wealthiest men in Lancaster. Or Pennsylvania for that matter. The firm has expanded greatly, even in just the two years that I’ve been there, and we’re bringing in new clients and business all of the time. Hunter has developed some very high-powered connections over the years, and he is the go-to man for marketing on the East Coast, even with all of the New York firms. He does business and he does it well, delivering in full and then some for his clients. He hires the right people, treats them with respect, and everyone loves him for it.

It’s how he has become so successful. It’s how he bought and built this insane home.

“Holy fucking shit.” Tucker’s mouth drops open and there may be some drool on my glove compartment.

I forgot to warn him about Hunter’s house.

“Uh, yeah … sorry, I forgot to mention the size of it.”

“You think?” He turns to me, his eyes still wide with shock. “This isn’t a house. This is a fucking palace.”

He’s right about that. I pull my Jeep into the circular driveway, stopping in front of the marble steps up to the front entrance. The valet opens my door for me, as the other two attendants go to help Tucker and Jackie out of the car. This barbecue is bound to be like no barbecue Tucker has ever been to. I mean, who has a four-person valet crew at their summer party?

I hand the guy my keys and smooth my dress before moving around to the other side and coming to stand with Tucker and Jackie. We all stare up at the house like dumbstruck children, the beige stone and white shuttered mansion awing us into silence.

Tucker breaks first. “I mean, I’ve been to some nice houses, some kickass parties. I was NFL bound once, you know. But this? This is fucking unreal.”

Jackie smirks at him as I take his hand in mine and we all ascend the grand front steps. “Just wait until you see his racetrack.”

“There is a fucking racetrack?!” Tucker whispers in my ear as Jackie breaks off to say hi to someone.

We’re inside now, with hundreds and hundreds of people gathered around in the grand foyer. Everyone is talking, laughing, drinking and mingling. I feel Tucker’s grasp on my hand tighten as the circulation in my fingers begins to cut off.

“Baby, everything is going to be fine.” I turn to him and run my free hand through his curls.

Tucker is breathing through his nose, and I know he’s trying to calm his jittery nerves.

“Charlotte!” Someone calls my name and I turn.

“Malcolm, hi!” I drop Tucker’s hand and hug my colleague.

Malcolm is an account executive as well, a thirty-year-old California native with an Asian heritage. His ancestry gifted him with beautiful skin, and the darkest brown eyes, their almond shape is enticing. He is quite the ladies’ man in our office.

“Malcolm, this is my husband Tucker. Tucker, Malcolm is an account executive as well. He works on mostly the telecommunications clients.”

“Hey, nice to meet you, man.” Malcolm shoots his hand out and Tucker takes it, his gaze still a little hesitant.

“Did you guys just get here?” Malcolm asks us both, but his eyes fall to me.”

I look at Tucker before answering, giving him the opening to talk first. He doesn’t take it. “We did, took us about twenty five minutes to get here. You know how far it is out from the office.”

Malcolm chuckles. “Far? Gosh, you are so rural. Try driving anywhere in California traffic. You get about five inches in five hours in Los Angeles.”

Tucker snorts. “I remember going out there for road games in college, God those trips were the worst. The traffic, all of that smog. And the people, so much different than here.”

I’m stunned that he actually talked about college. He hates opening up about football.

“Hey, watch it,” Malcolm jokes. “I’m an LA boy myself. But seriously, I get it, it’s fucking terrible. You played in college right? I think Charlotte mentioned that once or twice.”

Tucker doesn’t hesitate to keep the conversation going, and a part of me is dancing inside. “I did, wide receiver. Played all through college at UConn. Well, until I got hurt.”

A bit of sadness tinges his face and I squeeze his hand in mine.

“Man, that sucks. But you seem to have come out just fine, yeah? With Charlotte, you’re one lucky guy. All right, listen, I need another drink, but I’ll catch up with you guys later!”

We all part with a wave, and I can’t help but hug Tucker in the middle of the party. “See! That wasn’t so bad. People will love you.”

He smiles down at me. “Actually, you’re right. That felt kind of good. I used to be really good at this. The people-pleasing, small talk thing.”

I elbow him good-naturedly. “Well, it looks like you never lost the skill, Mr. Popular.”

Tucker rolls his eyes at me until I drag him through the party. We spend the next hour mingling with people in the company, friends of the Landon’s, and anyone else in the state of Pennsylvania who seems to have come out for this barbecue. I nurse a glass of white wine and Tucker holds a ginger ale. It’s a party trick he learned apparently.

“Looks like there is alcohol in here. So you don’t have to discuss why you’re drinking water, but you’re staying away from booze.”

It seemed a genius idea to me.

I watched Tucker come alive. For an hour or two, he was the old Tucker Lynch. The boy I’d fallen in love with. So vibrant and in-tune with himself, people from other circles of conversation began coming over to listen to his stories. The one about the time he scored a touchdown with three seconds left in the game. Or the time when a famous NFL player asked to borrow his deodorant at a training camp, only to steal it and never return it.

He was vibrant and addicting, there was no way you couldn’t get sucked into his orbit. I remembered how it used to be with him, how everyone in Conestoga put him on a pedestal. And I’m so proud. My husband is the one that everyone at the party wants be around. My ego puffs its chest and struts around. While I love him for who he is and everything that encompasses him, I want to take this time to appreciate what it feels like to be Tucker Lynch’s wife. Just the way he is right now, at this party. It’s the happiest I’ve seen him in months.

The sky starts to turn purple and pink, summer shimmering with the setting sun. The air is warm and filled with the scents of smoked meats fresh from the industrial grills in Hunter’s backyard. People begin to get silly with alcohol, getting drunker by the hour as the bartenders pour with heavy hands.

“Charlotte Lynch! And this must be the famous Tucker I’ve been hearing such good things about.”

Hunter comes up and pats me on the shoulder, and sticks his hand out for Tucker to shake. His salt-and-pepper hair is slicked back today, and he’s tanner than he was just the day before. Hunter is the typical slick business man, with none of the attitude. He’s dressed down in a white polo-shirt and blue khaki slacks, and I would bet anything his shoes cost more than a month of my mortgage payment. But he’s such a genuine guy, you can’t even fault him. It’s what has made him so successful in business.

“Hi Hunter, thank you for having us. The party is lovely.” I smile at him.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Landon. Char has said nothing but great things about you. Thank you for having us.”

They end their handshake and Hunter chuckles at him. “None of that Mr. Landon shit. Makes me feel old and stuffy. Call me Hunter. And thanks for coming you two, I’ve been waiting to meet Charlotte’s husband. Anyone worthy of her is good people to me. She’s one of my best employees.”

He pats my shoulder in a fatherly way, and I blush. Hunter has been like a mentor to me, and he helped me out in a time where no one else seemed to want to. I owe him a lot.

“Well, thank you for hiring her. I know it wasn’t a great time …” Tuck reads my mind.

“Oh none of that, either. You’re a damn hard worker, Charlotte, and I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t on my team. Probably poach you from someone else!”

We all laugh at his joke.

“So, Tucker, tell me about what you’re doing now … Charlotte tells me construction?”

Tucker blanches a bit, waiting for the barb that he thinks will follow. But Hunter is just genuinely interested.

“I am,” he nods, “On a construction crew of about fifty men for a general contractor in Lancaster. I really like it. There is something really rewarding about working with your hands and seeing a project completed.”

Hunter nods back, but before he can get the next word off his tongue, someone behind us snickers.

“And it was likely the only job you could get. You know, being a fucking felon and all.”

Tucker and I bristle at exactly the same time. His back goes stiff as every vertebrate in my spine locks up. I turn, my peripheral vision catching Brian Lockwood.

Fucking Brian Lockwood.

“What did you just say?” Tucker growls under his breath.

Lockwood has had it out for me since the day I started. A brown noser who gets by on his suck-up talents rather than his work ethic, his habits include throwing people under the bus and stealing their work. Out of all of the people I should have kept Tucker away from at this party, he is at the top of the list. I grab Tucker’s hand and urge him to move from the spot before anything else can be said.

But Brian just won’t shut up.

“Oh you heard me!” He’s yelling loud enough now for everyone around us to hear. Including Hunter, whose expression is a mixture of shock and disgust.

Brian goes on. “You’re a fucking convict. You were in prison! I don’t know if everyone here knows, but he is the famous Tucker Lynch, and it’s not because of football.”

Brian twirls in a circle, addressing the crowd as his beer sloshes in his hand. “Oh no, he’s famous for kidnapping Charlotte Morsey. Or should I say our very own Charlotte Lynch, because she fucked and married the bastard who stole her at gunpoint! And as if that’s not bad enough, she’s probably fucking Hunter to get all of the clients she has on her roster!”

Tucker doesn’t have to react. Doesn’t have to punch him or shut him up. Because I do.

A resounding CRACK echoes off of the expensive marble of the Landon’s sun room as my palm connects hard with Brian’s face. The force of it causes his head to recoil back, as if he has whiplash from my slap.

The moment comes back to me, all of the noise and the sting in my hand becoming amplified.

“Holy shit!” Someone screams.

I stand over Brian, who is now crumpled on the floor holding his cheek. “You are a worthless piece of shit. Go crawl back into the hole you came out of.”

And with that, I turn on my heel and march out of Hunter Landon’s mansion.

I
don’t think
I’ve ever seen Charlotte that mad in my entire life. And there have been times where she’s been pissed at me. But this is different.

She is livid. The color of her skin, a raging red, matches her mood. The way she grit out her words through her teeth.

The fact that she just slapped the shit out of that asshole.

It only takes me a split second to decide to run after her instead of kicking this guy’s ass. It would only get me in trouble, and my wife is more important than these rich pricks anyway.

“Char!
Char
! Wait!” I run out onto the immaculately paved driveway as she’s thrusting her receipt at the valet.

“Baby, Jesus, what the fuck? That was … fucking hot. You didn’t have to do that.” I grab her by the shoulders and swing her to face me.

And see the trail of tears dripping from her eyes.

“He’s such a fucking asshole. Such a fucking asshole. Not just about you, but to say those things about me? In front of my coworkers?! It’s not my fault Hunter values me! I work fucking hard!”

She’s rambling, screaming anything that comes into her mind at my face. I pull her into my chest and rub her back.

“I know you do, baby. Whoever that guy is, he’s fucking jealous.”

The valet pulls up with our car and I half-carry Char to the passenger seat. There is no way she can drive like this.

“Do I need to call Jackie?” I try to hold her hand but she just looks out the window and cries harder.

“No! I just want to get out of here! I’m so embarrassed!”

I sit there a moment, not starting the car.

“JUST GO!” Char is a wreck, inconsolable and irrational.

I slam the car into drive and peel out of there, worried that she might get out of the car and start running if I stayed any longer.

“Honey, it wasn’t that bad. The thing he was saying …”

I remember what he said about her. About her with me. My heart burns with shame and I suddenly feel like I might puke my guts out. I was hesitant about coming tonight for that very reason. But it had all gone so smoothly. I’d finally felt good about myself, worthy of being in Char’s world again. I should have fucking known the other shoe was bound to drop.

And what he’d said was true. I was a convict. A felon. I had kidnapped my wife.

“Hunter probably thinks we’re such trash. God, I can’t believe that happened. Everyone is going to think I’m a piece of shit.”

She’s blubbering to herself, and I reach over and squeeze her thigh. Her skin distracts me, the warmth of it seeping into my palm where her yellow dress has ridden up. I hate to see her cry. My beautiful, strong woman … I want to rip out that guy, Brian’s, throat. I have to fight the urge to turn the car around and swallow my rage. This is about Charlotte.

“Baby, no one thinks that. You reacted to a heinous moment. You’re human. Everyone makes mistakes, but your actions were totally justified.”

She runs her hands through her long brown hair and slams her skull back against the headrest. “I’m going to get fired.”

“No you won’t!”

She turns to me, her voice raising a couple octaves. “Yes I will! I just assaulted another employee of my company, in the presence of all of my colleagues. In front of my boss! At a company function at his house! I’m fucking toast!”

Her words sink into my skin like ice water, and I know for the first time tonight that she’s right.

But she’s wrong about one thing. This isn’t her fault at all. It’s mine.

Squarely and unequivocally mine.

Because she wouldn’t have even been in that conversation with Hunter if it hadn’t been for me. Wouldn’t have even touched on that topic. There would be no snotty coworkers or tension around her if it weren’t for me. No one would have singled her out, if it hadn’t been for the fact that her husband is a convicted felon. That I’ve been to prison.

And this is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for. Where my dirty past and actions sully her future. Where being associated with me ruins her world, shames her. Where the mere connection we have crushes her perfect, content life.

I drive the rest of the way back to our condo in silence while Char silently weeps in the passenger seat. By the time we make it home, she’s cried herself to sleep.

I lift her from the car, and she nuzzles into my neck. Even like this, I can feel my poisonous ties wrapping around her, and I can’t wait to get her out of my arms. She’s exhausted, her sleeping almost coma-like. Undressing her, I put her to bed, making sure to tuck her in tight.

And then I set to packing a bag. Because I can’t stay here. I won’t continue to hurt her, to jeopardize her life and success and happiness by tying her to my sinking ship. And this was just the first incident. Sure, her mother is an ice queen, but I’m also the reason no one in her entire family speaks to her anymore.

So I guess this was the second incident. And there’s only going to be more. What happens when we have children? What will the nurses and doctors say when they see our names? What will the parents of our children’s classmates say when I go to pick our kids up from school? Will Char be okay when I can’t go on vacations with her for the next five years? With my parole, she’s stuck in Pennsylvania.

This will happen over and over and over again. And I’m not going to stick around and bring her life crumbling down around her. She’ll hate me for leaving her, but maybe that’s good. It will fuel her to move on.

My small duffel is packed; I’ll only need the essentials where I’m going. And now it’s time to go.

Char is breathing softly through her mouth, the moonlight sending streaks through her chestnut hair fanned out all over the pillow. She looks like an angel, all of that porcelain skin glowing just for me. It’s shredding my heart to leave her, to hurt her. I feel like there’s an anchor in my chest, trying to weigh me down and stay right here with her. But I can’t. Not for her sake.

I bend down and lay a feather light kiss on her lips, letting my mouth linger there for just a minute.

And then I walk out of our house. Her house now.

Out of her life.