My husband.
Chapter 42
Trent
Magnus is crazy,and he shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a government computer. I’m going to have to do a better job of wrangling him if his panic mode leads to identity theft, government hacking, and marriage fraud. I’m not freaking out about suddenly being married. We’re ignoring the occasional rise in heart rate on the monitor.
I planned to marry him. That’s where we’ve been heading since I met him. It’s fine.
I’m not freaking out.
My breath catches in my throat when I glance at the man sleeping with his head on my bed at my hip. I love Magnus more than anyone on this planet; there’s no reason to freak out. We’re going to be fine. If I wanted him to, he could erase the record of our marriage. He would do it as soon as I asked, but probably not until after my hospital discharge.
The urge to pet his pretty blond curls makes me fist my hand, and instead I reach for my phone, opening up the latest of Magnus’s videos. I pause the video because I really don’t need to get turned on by my boyfr—husband. My husband.
That’s such a mind fuck.
I think I get why newlyweds call each other “wife” and “husband” a lot. It takes some getting used to, and most people have at least a few months of planning to get used to the idea.
Shaking away the potential freak out, I open the comments section. There are five thousand comments on the video. Damn. That’s the most interaction on a video we’ve had. For the most part, the top hundred comments are well wishes. There are a few comments about how they can’t believe Magnus could get off while I’m in the hospital, and a couple of people asking why he’s posting at all when I’m recovering. Mostly it’s well wishes.
PrettyPony1989: Wishing you a speedy recovery!
User0932478098: I hope everything’s ok!
JazzIsHorny: Thanks for keeping us updated!
HangMeDaddy—
My stomach lurches and I drop my phone, suddenly hearing a loud pop in my mind. Instantly I’m hanging in that barn again, my arms are shaking, and I’m going to die.He’s coming at me. He’s going to kill me! No no no! He’s sleeping. He’s just sleeping. I didn’t kill him. I couldn’t. Lifeless eyes, unnaturally still, pale. I killed him. Oh my god, I killed him! He’s dead!
“Hey, hey, I’m here. Trent, look at me. It’s Magnus. I’m here. Feel me. Look at me.”
I blink, focusing on Magnus’s face, six inches in front of mine. He’s holding my hands up to his face, his sleep warmed skin under my palms pulling me fully out of that waking nightmare. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“No. Don’t apologize. Flashbacks are a completely normal trauma response.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Completely normal.”
“Shitty, though,” I grumble, closing my eyes as he presses our foreheads together. I focus on him, on the heat of his breath on my face, the solidity of his forehead against mine, the supplesoftness of his cheeks in my hands, and the rough texture of his stubble.
“Yes. Recovery is often as traumatic in the moment as the initial event. You’re going through some shit, and I’m here for you, and we’re going to find the end of the tunnel together. My therapist recommended a colleague who specializes in trauma recovery. I’ve already booked an appointment with her next week. You don’t have to go, because I also booked an appointment the following week. Whenever you’re ready.”
I huff a laugh, pulling back from my husband. “You’re the most presumptuous man I’ve ever met.”
Magnus’s smile is the dawn, beautiful and full of hope. “I know who you are, Trent. I can conquer worlds with that kind of information. Making an appointment for therapy is the least impressive thing I’ve done in the last week.”
That’s true.
“You found me,” I remind myself. I’m not in that barn with Luis.
Magnus’s lips meet mine in a brief, chaste kiss. “Of course I did.”
“Is Luis ok?” I should have asked already.
No. Wait. I’ve been out of it. It’s ok that I worried about myself first. That is not selfish.
“Yes. He’s recovering at home. I also gave him the information for the therapist.”
“Lucky bastard,” I grumble. “I want to be in my own bed.”
