Written in the Scars (29 page)

ELIN

Forty-eight.

Forty-nine.

Fifty.

I watch as each minute ticks by, the clock primed to roll over to four a.m. My lids are heavy, my eyes burn, but they refuse to close.

It’s adrenaline, I’m sure. Ty didn’t call once he left the house, although I was sure he would. He’d usually send a text from the Bath House before they went down. But tonight, he didn’t.

I went to Lindsay’s earlier in the evening and she made nachos and we ate them in the nursery while we chose a paint color. I was surprised she is going to do a nursery with the way she’s been talking about Florida. But I needed the distraction so I didn’t ask questions. Jiggs has no opinion on decoration, only that the baby has a framed photo of his baseball hero, Lincoln Landry, on the wall somewhere in the room.

We chose a really pretty dove grey and a pale yellow that will be beautiful whether it’s a boy or a girl and easily accented with blue or pink, as required.

“I love this,” I say, holding the winning color sample against the wall. “It’s going to be perfect.”

“I love it too.” She brushes a strand of hair off her shoulder. “I know I’ve been a little crazy about moving and stuff.”

“Yeah, you have. Why, Linds?”

She shrugs, her lips dipping. “I just want what’s best for this baby. I don’t want to leave you . . .” Tears well in her eyes. “I don’t want to leave Blown or Ty or Cord. But I’m afraid we’ll stay here and not be able to put food on the table and we can’t afford to take risks like that. Not anymore.”

“Will you just think about it? For my brother?”

She smiles through the tears glittering down her cheeks. “I will. I just feel like this is what I have to do. You understand, don’t you?”

I smile back, but don’t answer because even though I get it, I don’t.

A smile touches my lips as I think of how Lindsay’s belly is beginning to round. She’s slathering on cocoa butter and praying for no stretch marks and I just laughed. But, in reality, I’d give anything for them.

I think to how Ty and I might’ve done our nursey and how big my belly would’ve been. I wonder what names we’d choose and if Ty would’ve rubbed my feet every night the way Jiggs does Lindsay’s, even when they’re fighting.

“Maybe someday,” I whisper, rolling onto my side and closing my eyes.

TY

“You don’t know half the shit you think you know,” I laugh, tipping my beer at Jiggs.

“Well, that’s half again more than you, fucker,” he jokes.

Cord shakes his head. “If either of you two knew anything, that truck would be fixed. How long y’all been working on it?”

“Too damn long,” Jiggs groans.

Cord and Jiggs get into the details of the truck in the barn out back. I bow out of the conversation and settle into the recliner in the middle of Jiggs’ living room.

Elin and Lindsay sit in the kitchen, hovered over a computer screen. A pile of brownies sit in front of them, the whole house smelling like baked goods.

This is how it should be. My friends giving each other shit about life, a game on the television, and my wife sitting at the table with her best friend, talking babies while she wears my shirt and her hair is still ruffled from the quick make-out session we had in the garage. Every once in a while she looks over her shoulder at me and catches me staring at her. We share a smile, one of those that half promises something more later, because fuck if she’s not the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen and half makes me feel like a teenager scoping out my crush.

Taking a sip of my beer, I hear my name spoken beside me and I glance over at Jiggs.

“Did ya hear any of that?” he asks me.

“Nope.”

“Cord wonders if there’s a fuse that’s bad.”

I glance at Cord. “Maybe. We didn’t check that yet.”

“Now ya got me wondering,” Jiggs says, standing up. I follow suit.

“I’m gonna take a piss,” Cord says, “then I’ll meet ya both out there.” He disappears down the hall. I grab my jacket off the back of the couch while Jiggs heads to the coat closet by the door.

Slipping on my coat, I head over to Elin. The computer is lit up with row after row of things I can’t imagine a baby would ever need. Ever.

“What in the hell is that thing?” I ask, gathering my wife’s hair back in one hand. The strands are silky in my palm.

“It’s a breastfeeding cushion,” Lindsay starts to say before her phone rings. She glances down at it. “That’s my mom. Do you mind if I answer?”

“Go,” Elin tells her before tipping her head back so she’s looking up at me. “You heading to the barn?”

“Yeah, just for a bit. You ready to go?”

She yawns. “Yeah, I’m tired.”

“You just wanna go to bed with me,” I tease.

“Always.”

“Ready?” Jiggs yells from the entryway.

I kiss Elin on the forehead and make my way to the front of the house.

ELIN

I scroll through the website and add a few things to the favorites list for Lindsay to check out. Clicking one last baby bib that says, “My Aunt Rocks,” I smile as I shut the lid to the computer. Stretching my arms over my head, I yawn again.

“Hey,” a voice drawls out from behind me.

I jump at the intrusion and twist in my seat. “Cord! You scared me. I thought you went to the barn.”

“Sorry,” he laughs, shrugging on his jacket. He eyes me curiously. “What’s going on with you these days?”

“Um,” I say, lifting and dropping my shoulders, “nothing new. What about you?”

“Nothing new over here.”

“Ran into Becca lately?” I hint.

“No,” he chuckles. “I told you that wasn’t going to happen.” He pulls a chair out across from me and sits, shaking his head.

I watch him as he dazes off, his mind clearly somewhere else.

“Hey,” I say. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He drops his hands on the table, the sound making a thud. “I just . . . I feel . . . lost.”

His words spear me, and instinctively, I place my hand on top of his. A small smile graces his lips at the contact and I wish I could jump up and hug him, but I’m afraid it would break the moment.

“Why do you feel that way?”

“You know how you said you always knew you were going to be a teacher? And how Ty just falls into coaching like it’s what he was born to do? Or the way Lindsay smiles the whole time she’s cuttin’ your hair? Or the way Jiggs never stops trying to work on cars, even though we all know he can’t fix them for shit?”

“Yeah,” I laugh, watching the twinkle grow in his eyes.

“I don’t have that. Y’all have this passion for something, this . . .” He runs his hands through the air, like he’s trying to grab words. “Something you were born to do. Something that was in your blood the day you were brought to this world. You all have a toolbox for life. I don’t.”

“First of all,” I say, tucking a leg under me and settling in for the long haul with this conversation, “I believe you know how much of a mess my life has been. And I do believe it was you that set me straight. It was your tools I borrowed.”

“Life makes no sense to me.”

“Life doesn’t make sense to any of us, Cord.”

“No, I mean it really doesn’t make sense to me. Nothing I’ve ever done seems like the right thing. I’ve never felt like I fit in, except with you guys. I’ve never felt a connection with a girl that’s deeper than a fuck. No job or place feels like that’s what I should do. Does that make sense?”

Sighing, I reach my other hand across the table and place it over his. “Look, maybe you just haven’t found your path yet. But you have time to figure out what you were put on this Earth to do and who you’re supposed to love. You’ll get it.”

He narrows his eyes, a smirk on his lips. “Ya think?”

“I
know
,” I say, squeezing his hands before sitting back in my chair.

He studies me for a long minute, then two, before leaning against the table. The light hanging above us shines on his face and catches on the watch on his wrist.

“What else do you know?” he asks, raising his brow.

“As in?”

“Don’t use your teacher voice with me,” he laughs.

“Well, it’s what I use when I’m not understanding what you mean,” I giggle.

“As in, do you have any secrets or news you’d like to share with the class?”

Laughing, I yawn yet again. “No. Not that I know of. Why? Do you know something I should know?”

He peers at me through his long lashes. “Excuse me for asking, but since you’re so in my business, I’ll jump into yours. Are you pregnant?”

“What?” I gasp, sitting up straight. “No. Of course not. Why would you ask me that?”

“You’ve yawned all night.”

“I’m tired! I can’t sleep when Ty’s at work.”

“Your face is flushed.”

“It’s hot as hell in here.”

“And,” he says, “you didn’t touch your dinner tonight.”

“Because the hamburger was pink and I can’t eat it when it’s mooing at me,” I say with a huff, as I rise from the table.

I start to say something else. That I’d rather not discuss the topic of pregnancy with him. It dredges up things I’d rather not think about. But the more I think about it, the more a little bubble of uncertainty sits in the middle of my stomach.

I race through a calendar in my head, trying to figure out when to expect my period. It’s never exactly on time and with the stress of everything, I haven’t paid a lot of attention.