21. “Stranded” - Plumb #2
“What did he do, Henry?” My voice is quiet, almost a whisper. “You know you can trust me.”
“I can’t tell you, C. It’s too nasty, too repulsive.” He squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just say he has a thing for little boys.”
Without meaning to, I recoil. Something drops into my stomach, and I realize it’s my heart. Henry doesn’t need to elaborate any further.
Who could do something like that? To an innocent child? I swallow to keep the vomit at bay. Our conversation after the wedding flashes through my mind, when I accused him of disappointing his father. God, I am such an unfeeling jerk.
I reach for one of his hands, intertwining our fingers. “You can tell me whatever you want or need to. I’m not going anywhere.”
His fingers tighten around mine, but he remains silent. After several long minutes, he says, “I’ve never told anyone.”
“Not even your mum?”
He shakes his head.
“How old were you?”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, probably trying to suppress the bile the memory stirred up. “The first time? I was five.”
Dear god, it happened more than once? Tears burn at the corners of my eyes. What kind of monster is he? My voice doesn’t sound like mine right now, but I manage to squeak out, “How long?”
Henry’s voice is cold as ice. “Six years. Until I was strong enough to fight him off. Or maybe he just lost interest, I don’t know.” My hand is still clenched in his and slowly turning numb from his tight grasp.
Despite my best attempts to hold them back, tears run down my cheeks. I bury my face in that space between his shoulder and neck, sharing in his pain, his trauma. All those years we were friends, spent countless hours together, and I never knew. Never even suspected.
Henry brings his hand up to cradle my head, gently caressing my hair as though I’m the one who needs comfort. He presses a kiss against my temple. I know it’s the thank-you he can’t voice.
Silently, he strokes my leg, the touch of his hand words enough. We remain that way for what seems like hours. I lose track of time.
When my body begins to tingle from staying locked in the same position for too long, I whisper, “Thank you for trusting me with this. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you back then.”
He stiffens beneath me. “You have nothing to apologize or be grateful for. I never should have told you.”
“You shouldn’t have to carry this alone, Henry.” My left hand is still clutched in his death grip, but I run the other along the collar of his T-shirt. A thrill shoots through me at the way it makes him swallow, having my fingers so close to his skin.
“I should go,” I say. It’s true even if I make no move to act on it. I’ve never felt so close to another person before, not even in the throes of intimacy with Beck.
“Yeah, you should,” Henry says. He slides his palm up my leg until he reaches my hip. Pauses. Waits. “But I don’t want you to.”
He begins rubbing circles on the back of the hand he’s still holding, his thumb tracing rings of fire. The touch is so faint it’s barely perceptible, except to my racing heart.
“Celia.”
The way his voice caresses that one husky word makes me quake until I’m jealous of my own name. He tilts his head until his lips are only a hairbreadth from mine, and then hesitates as though he’s waiting for permission.
My body doesn’t need another invitation.
I incline my head the millimeter needed, and our lips meet in a tumultuous reunion, hungry and passionate.
His fingers dig into the back of my head, losing themselves in my hair, my ponytail a distant memory.
I move my hands to that stupidly incredible jawline and pull him closer. He groans against my mouth.
Henry yanks me against him and begins to explore my body. Everywhere he touches explodes with crazy desire. I slide my hands over the chiseled planes of his chest, then slip them underneath his shirt. My sweater becomes putty in his hands: wadded, tugged, lifted, removed.
He breathes my name again as he gazes at me, and then I’m putty in his hands. The look on his face is a mixture of painful desire and awe, even though I know he’s seen plenty of women wearing much less than I am. He glides his hands around my waist and captures my mouth with his once again.
I can feel how much he wants me as I swing my leg over and straddle him. His lips are hot and possessive on mine, and I cannot believe that I am here, doing this, with him. I take back the curse I issued on past Celia from earlier in the park. She deserves praise instead.
I knew there had to be a reason for everything that happened back then.
I’ve been afraid to admit it, but there’s always been a part of me that wants to excuse him, wants to write him a “get out of jail free” card.
Because if he had a reason for what he did, it wouldn’t hurt so bad.
It would mean the Henry I’ve always known is still there. Everything else is just a facade.
I scoot as close to him as I can, suddenly unable to get close enough. He groans as I rub against him.
“Baby,” he says. His teeth gently bite my lower lip. “Are you sure?”
I growl at the loss of his mouth, and he chuckles, then slides nimble fingers up to the back of my bra. But before he can unclasp it, there’s a knock at the door. We both freeze.
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. My thoughts are reflected in his face: Maybe they’ll go away.
The knock sounds again, a steady rap, rap, rap. He sighs and shifts me off his lap. “I’ll be right back,” he says, before dropping me a quick kiss on the lips.
I hold my sweater against my chest while I wait for him to return. He opens the door just wide enough for his still-clothed frame to be visible. Muffled voices float over, but I can’t make out what’s being said.
After a few moments, Henry shuts the door and walks to the far side of the room, carrying a bottle of wine in an ice bucket.
He places it on the bar. Keeping his back to me, head bent, he runs his fingers through his hair.
His chest expands with what appears to be newfound resolve, then he walks over to me.
“What was that about?” I can’t control the tremors shuddering through my body.
He remains standing, his hands on his hips. “Nothing. Just a bottle of champagne.”
“Are we celebrating something?”
He doesn’t even look up. “I didn’t order it.”
“Okay.” I drag out the word. The humming just under my skin skids to a stop. “Who did?”
“My father.”
A fuse sparks inside my belly at the mention of him. “We don’t need to drink it. Just don’t freeze me out like this.”
“You should go.” Henry lifts his eyes from where they’ve been burning a hole in the rug under our feet.
“What?” My voice wobbles. A cold disquiet steals over me as I rise, my sweater still gripped in my hands. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I thought I could do this. I realized I can’t.”
Everything snaps into sharp focus. Henry standing there, hard and unrecognizable, not at all the person I once knew. The candles flickering, their glow turned eerie. My bare skin, chilled in a room that has lost its warmth.
I shiver. “You’re right. This was a terrible idea.” I slip my arms into the sleeves of my sweater and pull it over my head. It’s a poor cover for the humiliation crippling me. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking anyway. You and I could never work. This has always been your game.”
He doesn’t say anything.
“I knew you would hurt me, but I wanted to trust you so badly. You broke down all of my defenses, just so you could watch me bleed. Some things never change.”
I stalk out of the room and slam the door behind me. Bloody hell. Henry be damned. I never should have trusted him—the man feasts on destroying hearts.
But despite the monologue running through my mind, my heart is on a different wavelength. It knows the truth. The truth that I can’t ever seem to escape, no matter how hard I try.
I’m in love with Henry. I always have been. And like always, he doesn’t feel the same way.