Even now, with her jeans hanging loose on her too-thin frame and her glorious hair pulled back into a ponytail, her spine held its undeniable strength. He had the unwelcome thought that she was turning that strength against him. Perhaps it was only by living separately from him that she had found the sense of self-preservation to move on from the loss of their daughter.
“We have to talk,” he said, decided. “Come by the house tomorrow evening.”
Dread filled Dena as she pulled into Jeff’s driveway the next day at six thirty. Seeing him the night before had brought it all back: the pain, the grief, the guilt. And when those feelings overwhelmed her, she did the only thing she could—she took out her frustration on him. She loved him, but how could she live with that love when it broke her to pieces every time she saw him?
His expression was somber when he opened the door. “Dena.”
She flinched. His use of her name hinted at how the conversation was going to go. He no longer saw her as his angel. Her collar felt tight around her neck. She didn’t know how to address him, so she simply nodded.
Without speaking, he led her into the living room. She looked straight in front of her, afraid if she looked around the house, the memories of her loss would overtake her. How did he stand to live here?
He sat down on the couch, and she took the seat across from him. He looked hard and determined.
“It’s been weeks,” he said. “Are you planning on moving back here?”
Something about his tone rubbed her the wrong way. “I’m fine. How are you doing?”
“We’re long past pleasantries, and if you were fine, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
She sighed. She knew he was right; there was no point in playing games anymore. “I don’t know if I can ever move back. Being here, remembering.” She shook her head, unwilling to tell him how much it hurt to see him. To see his grief and hurt. “I’m not the same person I was six months ago. Losing her changed me.”
She wanted so badly to be her old self, to be the woman she used to be with him. It just didn’t seem possible.
“You’re not the same person, and you’re not moving back,” he said, almost to himself.
He slowly stood and walked toward her. She held her breath as he took a key from his pocket. His hands lifted her hair, and with a faint click, his collar fell from her neck.
“You’re free,” he said in a monotone voice.
“We’re not going to discuss it?” she asked in a whisper. Her throat tightened in panic at the loss of his collar. Just like that he was going to take it back? Without talking?
“What’s left to discuss? You said you aren’t moving back in, and we’ve barely talked in the last month. Maybe neither one of us is the same person we were before.”
She forced herself not to reach for her neck. Without his collar she felt naked.
Without his collar.
She balled her hands into fists. Jeff was breaking up with her. It felt too final, and she realized in that second, she didn’t want him to leave.
“Why?” she croaked out, but didn’t know what she was asking him to explain.
He sank into the couch, leaning forward with his head down, fingers clutching the black collar. “We’re taking our grief out on each other, and it’s not healthy. For either of us.” He looked up and met her gaze with a pained expression. “Trust me.”
“I’ve always trusted you. I wouldn’t have worn your collar if I didn’t trust you.”
“This is for the best. We’re better apart.”
“For a time?” She forced it out past the lump in her throat. One day she’d be able to look at him and not feel pain and guilt; she just had to get to that point. She only needed time.
“No.”
Hot tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks. This was happening. It was really happening. “One day …”
“Dena, don’t. We’re not good for each other.”
“You’re wrong.”
His voice held the will of iron she knew so well. “I’m not. One day you’ll see the truth.”
Her chin raised just a notch. “No,” she said, wanting to hurt him like he’d hurt her. “One day you’ll beg me to come back.”
Chapter Nine
Present day
Dena’s hands trembled with excitement as she undressed in the guest room. He’d surprised her by agreeing to flog her. She told herself it didn’t mean anything. More than likely, he needed some relief just as badly as she did. The events of the last few days had caught up with her, and if she was going to be worth anything at work tomorrow, she needed the release that came from turning her body over to someone who knew what to do with it.
Jeff was nowhere to been seen when she stepped into the hallway and made her way into the playroom. She purposely didn’t look around, but kept her head down. The last time she’d been in this room, they’d played for Julie, and after, Jeff had kissed her with so much passion. She didn’t want to deal with the emotions of being back in it. But she saw it in her mind’s eye: the exposed-beam ceiling, the handmade oak cabinets, the light tan paint on the walls.
The hardwood floor had a knot in the wood grain right near the middle of the room. She remembered that and allowed herself a small smile when she found it. She went to her knees beside it, trying to make her position as perfect as possible.
Instinctively, she fell into her yoga breathing and focused on the movement of air in and out of her body. She felt rather than heard when Jeff walked to stand before her. Complete silence and then, finally, he spoke.
“Dena.”
As always his voice soothed her as if he’d touched her. She sank deeper into herself. For now, for this moment, she would be his angel once more, even if he didn’t say it. She let out a breathy, “Sir.”
“Your posture today’s even better than last time.”
“I’m glad it pleases you, Sir.”
“I didn’t say it pleased me. I said it was an improvement.”
“Sorry for assuming, Sir.”
He didn’t say anything, but simply snapped his fingers. Yes. At his signal, she dropped to her elbows and slid forward. Part of her had wondered if he’d have her do this and she was secretly thrilled he had. Her lips lightly brushed the top of his right foot.
“We have to talk,” he said, decided. “Come by the house tomorrow evening.”
Dread filled Dena as she pulled into Jeff’s driveway the next day at six thirty. Seeing him the night before had brought it all back: the pain, the grief, the guilt. And when those feelings overwhelmed her, she did the only thing she could—she took out her frustration on him. She loved him, but how could she live with that love when it broke her to pieces every time she saw him?
His expression was somber when he opened the door. “Dena.”
She flinched. His use of her name hinted at how the conversation was going to go. He no longer saw her as his angel. Her collar felt tight around her neck. She didn’t know how to address him, so she simply nodded.
Without speaking, he led her into the living room. She looked straight in front of her, afraid if she looked around the house, the memories of her loss would overtake her. How did he stand to live here?
He sat down on the couch, and she took the seat across from him. He looked hard and determined.
“It’s been weeks,” he said. “Are you planning on moving back here?”
Something about his tone rubbed her the wrong way. “I’m fine. How are you doing?”
“We’re long past pleasantries, and if you were fine, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
She sighed. She knew he was right; there was no point in playing games anymore. “I don’t know if I can ever move back. Being here, remembering.” She shook her head, unwilling to tell him how much it hurt to see him. To see his grief and hurt. “I’m not the same person I was six months ago. Losing her changed me.”
She wanted so badly to be her old self, to be the woman she used to be with him. It just didn’t seem possible.
“You’re not the same person, and you’re not moving back,” he said, almost to himself.
He slowly stood and walked toward her. She held her breath as he took a key from his pocket. His hands lifted her hair, and with a faint click, his collar fell from her neck.
“You’re free,” he said in a monotone voice.
“We’re not going to discuss it?” she asked in a whisper. Her throat tightened in panic at the loss of his collar. Just like that he was going to take it back? Without talking?
“What’s left to discuss? You said you aren’t moving back in, and we’ve barely talked in the last month. Maybe neither one of us is the same person we were before.”
She forced herself not to reach for her neck. Without his collar she felt naked.
Without his collar.
She balled her hands into fists. Jeff was breaking up with her. It felt too final, and she realized in that second, she didn’t want him to leave.
“Why?” she croaked out, but didn’t know what she was asking him to explain.
He sank into the couch, leaning forward with his head down, fingers clutching the black collar. “We’re taking our grief out on each other, and it’s not healthy. For either of us.” He looked up and met her gaze with a pained expression. “Trust me.”
“I’ve always trusted you. I wouldn’t have worn your collar if I didn’t trust you.”
“This is for the best. We’re better apart.”
“For a time?” She forced it out past the lump in her throat. One day she’d be able to look at him and not feel pain and guilt; she just had to get to that point. She only needed time.
“No.”
Hot tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks. This was happening. It was really happening. “One day …”
“Dena, don’t. We’re not good for each other.”
“You’re wrong.”
His voice held the will of iron she knew so well. “I’m not. One day you’ll see the truth.”
Her chin raised just a notch. “No,” she said, wanting to hurt him like he’d hurt her. “One day you’ll beg me to come back.”
Chapter Nine
Present day
Dena’s hands trembled with excitement as she undressed in the guest room. He’d surprised her by agreeing to flog her. She told herself it didn’t mean anything. More than likely, he needed some relief just as badly as she did. The events of the last few days had caught up with her, and if she was going to be worth anything at work tomorrow, she needed the release that came from turning her body over to someone who knew what to do with it.
Jeff was nowhere to been seen when she stepped into the hallway and made her way into the playroom. She purposely didn’t look around, but kept her head down. The last time she’d been in this room, they’d played for Julie, and after, Jeff had kissed her with so much passion. She didn’t want to deal with the emotions of being back in it. But she saw it in her mind’s eye: the exposed-beam ceiling, the handmade oak cabinets, the light tan paint on the walls.
The hardwood floor had a knot in the wood grain right near the middle of the room. She remembered that and allowed herself a small smile when she found it. She went to her knees beside it, trying to make her position as perfect as possible.
Instinctively, she fell into her yoga breathing and focused on the movement of air in and out of her body. She felt rather than heard when Jeff walked to stand before her. Complete silence and then, finally, he spoke.
“Dena.”
As always his voice soothed her as if he’d touched her. She sank deeper into herself. For now, for this moment, she would be his angel once more, even if he didn’t say it. She let out a breathy, “Sir.”
“Your posture today’s even better than last time.”
“I’m glad it pleases you, Sir.”
“I didn’t say it pleased me. I said it was an improvement.”
“Sorry for assuming, Sir.”
He didn’t say anything, but simply snapped his fingers. Yes. At his signal, she dropped to her elbows and slid forward. Part of her had wondered if he’d have her do this and she was secretly thrilled he had. Her lips lightly brushed the top of his right foot.
