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* * *
Fury: You awake?
Me: Yeah. I’ve been waiting for your text. Seriously, if you ever don’t send one, I’m gonna imagine the worst. How are you?
Fury: It was a long day.
Me: It’s been a long week.
Fury: Yeah.
Me: I miss you.
Fury: I miss you, too, princess. Have you spoken to King?
Me: Don’t even mention his name to me.
* * *
My phone rings and I smile when I see Fury’s name on the screen. He calls me every morning, but he’s usually too tired for a call at night so he texts me instead. I wait all fucking day for these texts. I live with fear daily again, this
time not for myself but for him.
“I’m not talking to him,” I say when I answer the phone. “I’m not ready.”
“Fuck, Zara, how long are you gonna drag this out for?” I’m not into this conversation, but I’m definitely into hearing his voice. Except for the exhaustion I hear in it. Fury’s been in Melbourne for a week now and every day he sounds a little more tired.
“I need to shift my anger with him before I go to him.”
“Baby, that’s not gonna happen. The only way you’re gonna shift that anger is to get it out, and he’s the one who needs to hear it.”
“I’ve got an appointment with my new shrink tomorrow. I’m hoping she’ll help me move through some of it.”
I hear the breath he releases. “That’s a good idea.”
“You should go to sleep.” It’s the last thing I want to say to him, but he needs rest to ensure he’s at his best to face whatever tomorrow brings, because God knows, if he comes home from Melbourne in a fucking coffin, King and I will never resolve our issues.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “I may not manage a call in the morning; we’re heading out early.”
“Don’t even think about me. You just do what you need to do.”
We end the call and I take a few deep breaths.
He’s going to be okay.
Me: My plant misses you.
Fury: Your plant doesn’t fucking know me.
Me: Still, she wishes you were here.
Fury: Fuck, I wish that too.
Me: How was your day?
Fury: Long. Fucked. Yours?
Me: Long. Fucked.
