Somehow, in his arms again, the what-ifs don't seem so problematic. If we weren't in the hospital, it would be just like any other night at home. He's alive, and no matter how mad I am for what he did, I suddenly believe that everything will be okay.
I don't even realize I fell asleep on him until I'm waking up to voices... yelling.
"Shh!" Katrina says. "You're going to wake her."
"Listen, I understand, but I'm not just going to let him get away with this. He needs to know that what he did was inexcusable. And if I wasn't so relieved he was alive, I'd fucking kill him myself."
A sudden movement shakes Cal's chest, and I jump, pulling away so that I can see the soft smile on his lips for me.
I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand to try and stifle the sob.
Reliefisn't the word for what I feel. There probably isn't a word for when your new husband ends up being alive after he tried to kill himself, but you're so pissed off at him for doing that to you that you also want to strangle him yourself.
He opens his arm, like he means for me to lay against him so he can hug me. But I'm not in the hugging sort of mood.
I slap his chest instead, so hard that my hand stings.
"You fucking asshole!" Isnap.
I'm about to hit him again when I think better of it. I don't want to risk hindering his recovery.
He doesn't exactly need his balls at the moment, though. I'm genuinely considering gifting him with a swift kick there before I realize I shouldn’t spike his blood pressure. I can't hurt him withouthurtinghim.
"Fuck you!" I yell because, apparently, it's all I can do. "How could you do this?"
His eyes are wide, bewildered. He didn't anticipate my rage.
That makes him an even bigger dumbass than I thought.
"You were just going to let me wake up and find out you weregone?"
He can't fight back, and it's infuriating. I need answers.
"Maybe we should give you some privacy." Katrina says quietly, but I can't tell if it's a question. I don't have any energy for her, as amazing as she's been.
All of my energy is going to holding back on physical violence.
"Not yet." Dex says, drawing up to the side of the bed. "He needs to hear this."
"What an absolute asshole he is for doing this to us? I agree!"
"You deserve your anger." He tells me calmly. "It's fair. All of your anger, it's justified."
I clench my fists, irritation surging through me. I don't like him trying to calm me down. I don'twantto be calmed down. I want to stew in my anger, to be mad at him, because I've learned firsthand that anger is easier to deal with than pain.
"But you need to stop."
"You're not recovering, Dex." I remind him quickly. "I can still hurtyou."
"I believe you could." Dex nods. "But it won't stop me from telling you this. Because Cal loves you, and I love him. Which means I love you, too, Amber."
I swallow my irritation but cross my arms over my chest.
"Your anger isn't healing you. It's keeping you from healing."
I stare at him in disbelief.
My anger isn’t healing me?
