Darkness Before Dawn

she gets out of this damn hospital.
    "Hmm."
    "Hmm? What does that mean? Where is my wife?" I growl, no longer able to keep my feelings pacified.
    "With her husband," she replies with a raised eyebrow. "I'm assuming the two of you should probably have a little chat? Unless of course there is such a thing as brother husbands?"
    I grind my teeth together a couple of times. "Look..."
    "Ginger," she replies quickly, still looking at me with naked amusement.
    "Ginger, if there's another man playing the role of her husband, I'm going to advise that you start calling security right now. I am her husband. I'm the only husband she's ever had and ever will have, and I'll be damned if there's another man holding her hand in there right now instead of me."
    Ginger smiles. "She just got out of surgery, she didn't have her insurance card or any information when they brought her in. I'm assuming you would have that since you're her real husband?" The way she emphasizes the word real as if she doesn't believe me, makes me want to choke her. Thankfully, I have all of Blake's shit in my wallet, so I just give her a tight smile and hand over the stuff.
    "Where is she?" I ask again, more impatiently.
    "She's upstairs in room 4020, she's stable," she announces as she clicks through the computer.
    Apprehension hits my stomach. Hard. "Stable?" I ask quietly.
    "The doctor will speak to you about that, you can go up to see her after you fill out her paperwork," she says as she hands me a clipboard. I look at her with my mouth hanging open. She cannot be serious.
    "Can I take these with me and give them to the nurse in there? I need to see my wife!" I shout out.
    She rolls her eyes. "Fine."
    I run to the elevators and take them up to the fourth floor. When I get there, I have to check in with the security guard and go over who I am—again. When I round the corner and finally reach the hallway to her room, I see a doctor talking to a guy I don't know. The guy's clothes are covered in blood, he has a black eye that's closed shut and stitches above his eyebrow. He's a little shorter than me, less built than me and has a worried look on his face. For a minute I feel like we're feeling the same thing. That is, until his body turns toward room 4020 and any sympathy I might've felt is slapped away from me.
    "Who the fuck are you?" I demand, shoving his shoulder away from her door. His eyes snap to mine and he just stares, saying nothing. "Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?" I ask again.
    "Dean," he responds after clearing his throat.
    "Dean," I repeat, the name tastes like straight shit in my mouth. I turn my back to him and take a couple of deep breaths while I count to ten. I feel unshed, angry tears sting my eyes thinking about this asshole being with my girl every day for the past three and a half weeks. I decide not to waste energy thinking about that and turn back around to face him and the doctor.
    "How is she?" I ask the doctor, who looks at me with a confused expression on his face. "Get out of my way," I grit, pushing past them to find out for myself. Seeing her in the dim light of the room, surrounded by white walls, draped in teal hospital blankets makes it real. My girl, my beautiful girl came back to me. My chest heaves in suppressed sobs as I toss the clipboard full of papers by the sink. The closer I get to her, the clearer she becomes. I take in her messy hair, the bruises on her pale face, the gash on her temple, and the slow rise and fall of her chest. I take one more uneasy step toward her before the enormity of this moment crashes down on me and my legs give out. I fall to my knees, my chest rising and falling in heavy pants and my sobs begin to break free.
    "She's okay," Dean says quietly behind me, his voice barely registering over the pounding in my ears. "She's going to be okay. She's out now because of the meds, but she's fine."
    I shake my head because I don't want to hear his voice, I don't want to hear his words, I just...
    "I'm sorry," he says before I can respond. "I tried to get to her, I tried to-" his words fade into my strangled sobs and I can no longer hear them. When I'm able to compose myself again, taking a series of deep breaths, he clears his throat before continuing, "I got there too late, I failed her."
    I nod slowly and wipe my face not able to answer him or confirm that he did fail her. Even though I have a million questions and accusations to make toward him, I have no words right now. I pick myself up using the