Page 31 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight

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Everyone says healing takes time—but no one mentions how lonely it is to start over.

It’s quiet. No fireworks. Just slow, stubborn grind to the new normal.

“In the meantime,” I say, pushing the forlorn down deep as he remains silent. “I’m going to eat as much green Jell-O as they give me and yell at the TV about the failings of people to properly guess the categories of Family Feud and pretend that this is some sort of really shitty hotel.”

Finally, I stop talking.

My chest is heaving, my pulse pounding through my veins.

My muscles taut with the intensity of trying to keep it together.

But he’s still not speaking.

And…off I go again.

“So yeah, you’re off the hook, Gray. Thanks again for saving me.”

I nod to the door.

“You can go.”

He’s silent, staring at me, and this time I can’t look away.

Not because his face is completely blank but because—spoiler alert—he doesn’t listen to me and walk his ass out the door.

Instead…he stands up and crawls into bed beside me again.

Takes me into his arms.

And—

Fuck.

Because then I’m…crying again.

Eleven

Gray

I wait until her breathing evens out then slip carefully from the bed.

She looks tiny now that I’m not holding her in my arms, barely taking up much of the mattress, her slender body shrouded by the blankets.

Eyes closed, lashes splayed over the tops of her cheeks, bright pink lips parted as she breathes slow and easy and steady.

The relief that fills me at that sight…

Too much.

Too big.

But it’s natural for me to feel protective about the woman I saved from the fire, right?

Natural to have a soft spot for a woman who’s endured all she’s endured.

Natural to slip from the halls and want to punch something.

Then to keep punching and punching until the skin on my knuckles split open and the rage burning through my insides is abated.

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