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Chapter Eleven
Hannah
“I’m so sorry,” I said after Brett had backed the car over the curb. His jaw was clenched as were his fingers on the wheel, but what scared me the most was that he only nodded. I knew he was furious, and understood, but it still hurt that he didn’t speak.
“I don’t blame you for being mad,” I said softly.
“Hannah, I’m not mad. I passed mad the moment I saw that bastard’s hand on you.”
I couldn’t help but shudder; the feel of that hand, the smell of his breath, the look in his eyes as he snarled that he’d show me what happened to cockteasers, washed over me.
“I-I didn’t want him to touch me,” I said.
He finally looked over. “I know.” And though he didn’t say another word, I understood that if I hadn’t gone in the first place, I wouldn’t have been mauled by a guy high on some drug. I wouldn’t have put my husband in a position to possibly be hurt or arrested for beating or possibly killing a man. Guilt flooded through me, but I had no idea how to make it up to him. We made the rest of the drive in silence.
Once we entered the house, I waited for him to order me to stand ‘at ease’, but he simply continued to lead me through the house with his hand on the small of my back. He didn’t stop until we were in the bathroom. After turning on the shower, he took the hem of my dress and pulled it over my head, tossing it not on the floor, but in the trash. Peeling down my panties, he threw them away as well. Stripping himself, he pulled me into the shower.
“What about—”
“I can’t think, can’t talk until I know that his touch is washed off you,” Brett cut in to say.
We’d shared baths and showers and they’d all involved intimate touches, slow drags of fingers over skin, caresses that meant to arouse as well as cleanse. This was not one of those. Brett poured body wash onto a cloth, and I could feel tears welling at the sight of his hand actually trembling as he reached toward my breast. I didn’t say a word as he scrubbed far harder than necessary. Hell, it wasn’t hard enough as far as I was concerned. He didn’t linger, moving the cloth to wash the rest of me before adding more soap to wash himself. I reached for the shampoo and scrubbed my hair, which I knew had to reek of smoke. Closing my eyes against the tears that threatened to spill and the water that sluiced over my head, I rinsed for a long time. When I opened them, it was to see that Brett was already out of the shower, pulling on a pair of sweats over a body that he hadn’t taken the time to dry.
I shut off the water and stepped out, reaching for a towel. Wrapping it around me, I took another and began to rub it against my hair.
“What… what do you want me to do?” I finally asked.
Shaking his head, he said, “All that matters is that you are okay.”
Okay?I wasn’t okay, not by a long shot. But it had nothing to do with the bar or the man I’d never seen before. It had everything to do with the fact that the few words we’d shared really meant nothing. It had to do with the fact that though we stood only inches apart, it felt like we were on opposite sides of the Grand Canyon. Before I could speak, he handed me my comb.
“Dry your hair and go to bed.”
“What about… I mean aren’t you going to—”
His head shook again. “I can’t. Not now.”
I’d never before heard him sound like he did right now. It was as if every word had cost him, and when I nodded and lifted the comb, he turned and left the bathroom. I heard the bedroom door close and knew he’d left the room. Was he leaving the house as well? Leaving me? Tears slid down my cheeks and then I angrily brushed them away. I didn’t deserve the release of tears. I’d been a fool. I’d gotten mad like some child and had basically thrown a tantrum. No, I hadn’t done anything to encourage that man, but I’d purposely dressed as sexily as I could, had applied more makeup than I usually did, sprayed myself with perfume, and had left my house knowing my husband had never once thought he’d return home to find me gone.
No, I deserved every stab of guilt, and no amount of tears, no amount of scrubbing with a cloth would ever erase the look in my husband’s eyes as he’d left. I dried my hair and picked up his t-shirt that I discarded earlier and then folded it and put it back in his drawer. I didn’t deserve to feel as if he was surrounding me. Putting away the other clothes I’d left scattered, I pulled on a nightgown and was at the edge of the bed when I paused. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was almost two in the morning. I still didn’t crawl into bed… I knew I couldn’t, not without Brett beside me.
Ripping off my gown and sliding off my panties, I pulled my hair into a ponytail and took a deep breath. Opening the door, I went to wait.
The sound of fists hitting a bag told me where he was as I passed the bedroom we’d turned into a workout room. My husband hadn’t left me… not really. He’d managed not to beat the man more than required to take him down, but from the sounds and his grunts, I knew he was beating the shit out of the heavy bag hanging from the ceiling in the other room.
Moving to the same spot I’d fought against standing in a week before, I put my arms behind my back, spread my feet apart, and lifted my eyes. I desperately needed to see the smile on Brett’s face in our wedding photo. I had no idea what would happen when Brett opened that door, but I was praying that when he saw me, he’d not turn away. I had been so grateful when my husband had saved me, but now… now I needed my daddy to forgive me.
I don’t know how long I stood there, but eventually I heard the door open, and still I didn’t move. A few minutes later, I heard his footsteps coming up the hall.
“Hannah? What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you.”
“It’s late. Come to bed.”
I shook my head.
Finally, he walked around to stand in front of me. “Hannah, it’s almost three o’clock. It’s Saturday.”
