Page 156 of Reverie

He’s right, of course. To redefine our relationship on new ground, we need to lay it all out on the table.

And there’s no time like the present.

Hunter tilts his head in the direction of our suite, and I follow him out of the bathroom.

I allow myself only a few moments to ogle the muscles as they flex in his back, and then I hurry to dress myself in a light jumper. Dusk has fallen since we entered the room, so I layer on a light sweater in case it’s chilly on the deck.

Once Hunter finishes pulling his shirt over his head and donning his cargo pants, an outrageously casual look for him, he turns to me.

He looks better. I wouldn’t say “back to normal,” because so much guilt marred his version of “normal.” But he looks better. Lighter than before.

I smile at him.

Grabbing my hand, Hunter says, “Can I please hold you?”

There’s so much vulnerability in the ask that I don’t even consider denying him. I crawl on top of the bedspread and pat the side next to me. He joins me a second later, pulling me into his chest. He sighs and I do the same.

I’m so happy to stay like this forever, with the waves rocking us up and down so gently from our spot in the sea, but Hunter wants to talk, so I want to do that too.

“Boundaries, huh?” I say, running my index finger along the seam of his collar. “The professional in me automatically agrees with you. The human side of me is grimacing a little bit at my behavior over the past few weeks.”

I sit up to look at him.

“I’m sorry, Hunter. I pushed you way beyond what you were ready for, and it wasn’t right.”

Hunter shrugs. “Maybe so. But it was what I needed. What we needed,” he says, lacing our fingers together.

I purse my lips, twisting them to the side as I contemplate his words.

“Staying away from you these last few weeks has been pure hell, Winter. I never, ever want to do that again. We’ve gone over my behavior before—when I get scared, I get controlling. And when I get controlling, I go cold.”

I make a face. “Yougetcontrolling?” I ask.

He gives me a light eyeroll. “Okay, so I getmorecontrolling. I guess.”

I fall back onto him, balancing my weight on my hip to avoid my stomach and placing my chin on my hands where I rest on his chest.

“So what’s the solution?” I ask.

He blows out a breath as he looks at the expensive ceiling tile. “I’m not a hundred percent sure. I’m figuring this all out as I go along,” he says. “But I think I need to figure out how to push through and let other people help.”

I make an affirming sound. “In Dialectical Behavior Therapy, there’s this tool called ‘Opposite Action.’ As you can probably guess, it’s basically when you do the opposite of whatever your big emotions tell you to do.”

His eyes crinkle in the corners as he looks at me, listening.

“So for example, if you feel like storming off and not talking to me for two weeks?—”

He grimaces. “I’m sorry, Sunbeam,” he interjects. I pop up to kiss his cheek.

“I won’t say it’s okay because it wasn’t, but I’ll say, I understand. Anyway, back to Opposite Action. If you feel like storming off and going ghost, instead you’ll make a conscious effort to do the opposite. Which, in this case, might be pulling your girlfriend into your bedroom and talking it out with her.”

“Wife,” he says.

“Huh?”

“You said girlfriend. You’re my wife. Get used to saying it, Sunbeam. Because I’m gonna tell everyone I see that I’m your husband.”

I smile wide this time. “Sorry. Your wife,” I say and bring my hand out to admire the ring.