Coda (Songs of Submission #9)(40)

Stop worrying. Just stop it.

I turned on my phone. I could call him. But what if he came home from his run, and I was just there in a total non-shocking kind of way? Then I could tell him. I ran alternate scenarios through my head. In bed, naked. In the kitchen, making eggs. I could write him a note and leave it on the banister. I could call first and tell him to wait somewhere in the house. I considered everything as the cab slid onto the 105 freeway toward home.

chapter 29.

JONATHAN

I’d gotten the baby to sleep without much trouble. He’d sucked on my finger while I sang him a few off-key verses of “Collared.” Thankfully Petra couldn’t hear me give her son evil ideas, and he couldn’t understand a word of it. They only spoke French to him anyway.

The plane started down the runway. I put my feet on the seat across from me and slipped out my phone. I wanted everything to be perfect when I landed. I needed to know where she was, who she’d be with, and how close she would be to the hotel.

“Quentin?” I said when he answered.

He was somewhere loud, a club or restaurant, and I couldn’t yell with a sleeping baby in my arms. I just hung up and texted him.

—Is Monica with you?—

—I have no idea where she’s off to—

—You were supposed to watch her—

—Sorry, man. Didn’t work out that way. Haven’t seen her since last night. The sessions broke down. Starting up again on Tuesday—

Damnit. I couldn’t hold Quentin responsible, and that was the problem. He owed me nothing, and now Monica was MIA. How did I know she wasn’t being attacked by that singer? Or dead in a ditch? Or getting roofied in some dirtshit club?

I should have hired someone to watch her. I should have sent drones or bugged her purse. I had been so busy proving what a nice, reasonable guy I was that I walked right into this. Fuck that. Never again. I was neither nice nor reasonable when it came to Monica. The next time she went anywhere without me, I was planting a locator chip under her scalp.

I called my wife. She wasn’t dead.

“Jonathan? Where are you?”

Would I blow the surprise? I had to think fast. “I’m on a plane. I’ll be back in a few days. Where are you?”

“No! Oh, Jonathan! I’m home. In the house.”

“No!” I immediately looked at the baby. He was sleeping like a doll. “Don’t move!” I hung up. “Petra!”

Calling to her from the seat wouldn’t work, and it would wake the baby. I reached for the intercom. Couldn’t get it. Shifted. The plane sped up. It was going to take off in seconds. I couldn’t reach, nor could I put the baby down. I hit the intercom button with my foot.

“Mister Drazen?” Petra asked. “We’re taking off—”

“No. Stop. No take off. I’m going home.”

“Oh, merde!”

I’d never heard her swear before. It was cute, and I braced myself for what was about to happen. The plane slowed down. I leaned my head back, and Claude rolled his eyes open then screamed. After the plane stopped, the cockpit door clicked open.

Petra peeked out. She was back to her normal level of professionalism. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, I just… don’t need to go anymore.” I found myself yelling over the baby. I stood and rocked him.

“You need help with Claude?”

“No, I got it. I owe you for stopping the plane.”

“My pleasure. I’d rather go home.”

“Me too.”

chapter 30.

MONICA

I ran to the door when I saw the Bentley across the drive. He got out with a bag, leaving Lil half out of the car when he said something to her with a wave. She got back in and drove off.

He turned to the door, jacket under his arm and bag over his shoulder. His hair was a little disheveled, and his cheeks were scrubby with two days of beard. His shirt was open to the second button, and his sleeves were rolled to the elbow, revealing his taut forearms and strong wrists. And his hands. Those hands. Like the marble statue of David, he was an altar to the aesthetics of perfect proportions.

“Hi,” I said as he strode to me.

“What’s this about?” He looked stern, but under it, he was pleased to see me.

“You were supposed to be home.”

“I was. But let’s cut the supposed to’s. If you came home to get laid, you shouldn’t be wearing clothes. So let’s fix that.”

He reached for me, just touching the red scarf around my neck, but I backed up.

“I want to try something different.”

“Really?” He stepped forward again. One more step, and we’d be in the house.

“I want you to do what I tell you,” I said.

He stepped forward again. I backed up, and we were inside.

“Like how?” He slammed the door shut.

“Like I’m in charge.”

He dropped his bag and jacket with a thud. “I told you I don’t bottom.” His arm shot out and grabbed me by the waist.

I pushed him away. “Today, I’m the boss.”

“You want to start a limits list? We won’t get laid for a month.”

“You have to just trust me.” I pushed him backward, and he fell into a chair.