throwing my hands up in frustration. âI donât know whatâs going on in that head of yours anymore.â Somewhere along the road, I had lost Henryâs frequency and hearing nothing but static was starting to drive me insane.
He sat on the arm of the couch and shook his head. âNothing. Iâm not saying anything,â he said. âIâm fine. Weâre fine.â
âYou are not fine. The Henry I knew never came back from Afghanistan.â
I shouldnât have said it. I wanted to take the words back immediately, even before they registered in his brain and hurt spilled out all over his face. He rose to his full height, his face red and jaw clenched but he said nothing. He merely stood there and glared at me.
Fear seeped into my muscles and forced me a step back. He was so angry, so alien to me in that moment that I felt like I was faced with a stranger. âDo you have PTSD?â I breathed.
His head snapped up. âHell no. Why would you even think that?â
âThen what the fuck is going on?â I asked, completely losing it, no longer caring if the neighbors heard. Henryâs anger had infected me, had seeped into my brain and turned everything red. Maybe if I yelled hard enough, Henry would come to his senses. âAre you done with us? Do you want to break up, is that it?â
âNo!â He grabbed me by the shoulders, an anguished look on his face. âWhy the hell would you even ask that?â
âThen what the hell is your damage?â
He released me and paced, all scowl and coiled muscle, a terrifying vision of a man at a loss. âI donât know, okay? I just . . . Iâm just so angry. Iâm just fucking furious. I want to kill that motherfucker that killed my best friend,â he said, piercing the air repeatedly with a finger. âAnd I want to put back together that asshole who blew up the gate and killed Jones and mangled up Hansonâs leg just so I can tear him apart limb from limb with my bare hands. And Iâm mad because you let Dave-fucking-Novak kiss you while Iâm off defending the country. And Iâm mad at my mom and dad for being such shitty parents that I had to grow up in someone elseâs house. And Iâm fucking pissed off with myself for punching a friend and potentially ruining my career.â
He held a fist up to his forehead, holding me in place with his gaze. âAnd Iâm furious with myself for treating you like shit. You deserve so much more, Elsie.â
My heart ached for him, for the uncertainty that clouded his features. âI deserve what I want. And I want you.â
His eyes searched my face. âWhy?â he asked in a broken voice.
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I stared at this roughly drawn replica of the man I once knew. This was not the proud, confident Henry I fell in love with; but what if this insecure man was all that was left?
I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around his body, holding him in place. He bowed his head and whispered his apologies into my hair. âI donât want to lose you too, Elsie.â
I squeezed him tighter, my tears soaking into his shirt. âI would go to hell and back for you, Henry. Youâre not going to lose me.â I craned my neck and grasped the sides of his face. âAnd I want you because you are good and honest. Youâre brave, smart, funny, and sexy. Iâm with you because loving you comes naturally to me, like breathing in air.â
He wound his fingers around my hair and fisted it at the nape of my neck. I looked up at him boldly, letting him know that I was not going to flinch at the first sign of trouble. I opened my mouth to speak but he crushed his lips to mine, kissing every thought out of my head.
Suddenly our hands were all over, unbuttoning and tugging and throwing articles of clothing across the room. With his hands under my butt, he lifted me up against the living room
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