Page 85 of The Marriage Policy

Two big men walk over to Malcolm and pull him to his feet. “Fuck you, Anthony! You were always my least favorite, the slut of the group, whose own family doesn’t even want him.”

Anthony freezes, then without another word, walks away. Security drags a screaming Malcolm out, and then the music is back on.

Donovan turns his head, and I know he’s looking after Anthony.

“Go. Talk to him. He needs his friends,” I tell Donovan.

The war inside Donovan is obvious—part of him wanting to go be with his friend, the other not wanting to leave me.

“I’m fine, baby. Go.”

“You guys head to the doctor. That eye might need stitches. I’ll go check on Anthony,” Mads tells us, then goes the way Anthony had.

It’s then I realize blood is running down the side of my face.

“Jesus,” Donovan says, just noticing it himself. “It was probably his ring. That’s really deep. You definitely need stitches.”

“I’ll call a car to get you guys to the ER,” Rylan says as Ana hands over a stack of napkins.

Everything goes quickly after that. Donovan’s hold on me is tight as he leads me out of the bar. Hayes, Rylan, and Ana follow along, and by the time we get outside, Rylan points us to a waiting car.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Ana asks.

“No. We’re good. Can you guys make sure she gets home okay?” I ask Rylan and Hayes. I can’t help but notice how quiet Donovan is.

“I can get home by myself, ya know. I’m not helpless.” Ana crosses her arms. “But it’s very sweet of you anyway.”

I kiss her cheek, then climb into the back seat with Donovan.

“Too bad this didn’t happen when the urgent cares were still open,” I say, trying to make him laugh.

He doesn’t, instead turning my way and holding the napkins to my split-open eyebrow. My vision is blurry due to the swelling.

I sigh, leaning against him, letting Donovan take care of me. When we arrive, he doesn’t let go of my hand, pulling me into the emergency department of the hospital where he works.

“Donovan. What are you doing here?” the triage nurse asks.

“My husband, Eric. He got hit and needs stiches.”

I smile.

“Why are you smiling?” Donovan asks.

“I like hearing you call me your husband.”

His cheeks flush.

“We’re not too busy, and there’s nothing emergent. Come on. I’ll take you guys straight back,” the nurse says.

I sit on the bed in a room, while Donovan tells them all the information and passes over our insurance card. The nurse does her assessment before slipping out of the room and leaving us alone.

“Funny that we’re here. This whole marriage started because of insurance, and now—”

“You shouldn’t have fought him. Not for me.”

I frown. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re my husband. My best friend. What’s worth it other than you?”

“Why?” he asks, and I hate to admit, I’m totally confused. Where is this question coming from?

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