Written in the Scars (7 page)

“Have you talked to her at all?” Cord asks.

I start to respond but press my lips together instead. Whatever I say is going to make me sound like a pussy.

“Do you remember when my birth mother came looking for me a few years ago?” he presses. “Fuck, that was hard, Ty. I grew up hating even the idea of her. I was never the kid that wanted to know her. I was the boy in foster home after foster home, wondering why my own mother didn’t love me enough to keep me. Wondering why I had to live with the alcoholic in a rage downstairs or the foster mom that had me only for the check, not to actually feed me or take care of me. I mean, if my birth mom couldn’t love me, didn’t want me, no one would.”

He looks into the night, away from everyone, and I watch as a flurry of memories skirt across his face.

“You know, one night I remember lying in a bed with no blanket or pillow, and it was cold as hell,” he says to himself more than to me. “It must’ve been December or so because I remember seeing Christmas lights out the window. My stomach ached,” he cringes, “and I mean
ached
. I hadn’t eaten more than a half a sandwich in a couple of days and a handful of iced animal cookies I snuck out of the cabinet in the middle of the night.” His voice breaks and he pulls away from me, turns so I can’t see his face anymore. “I remember lying there and praying that my mother and father, wherever they were, were hungry and cold and miserable. I prayed they died.”

I watch his shoulders tense, his jaw clench, and I feel absolutely terrible for him. “Man, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

He faces me. “I hated my parents more than I ever thought one person could hate another. Their choices ruined my life. And then my mom showed up out of nowhere.”

“I remember that. She came into Thoroughbreds, right?”

“Yeah. And she asked me who I was, and I told her, and she started crying,” he says, the corner of his lips twitching. “I called her every name under the sun. I mean, I really ripped into her. But after I settled down some and the shock wore off, we went out to the lake and sat by the water and talked. It was . . . it was okay.”

He quiets, stares across the night. “She made me all of these promises, swore she wanted to be a part of my life. Not that I believed her, but she said them anyway. Then she disappeared again.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. I wonder how often he thinks about that and how it feels to be all alone. Because he is. Without Jiggs and I and Elin and Lindsay, Cord is by himself.

He turns to me, his eyes boring into mine. His gaze tells me this isn’t just a life story—he has a point. And if I thought hard enough about it, I’m fairly certain I could figure it out. But who wants to do that?

“You get what I’m saying, Ty?”

I take a drink and look for Elin.

“You need to attempt to fix this,” he insists. “Your choices might have fucked shit up—her choices too—but you need to make good ones now to repair the damage.”

Ignoring him, I take another swig.

“She may not forgive you for leaving her. She might not want any part of you.”

Swinging around, I shoot him a glare. He shrugs.

“She might not,” he repeats. “But I’m fairly certain her reaction right now is just an emotional overload. She’s trying to figure this all out, and you’re the one that caused the pain, so she’s lashing out at you.”

“Thanks,” I grimace.

“Well, you’re the one that left.”

“Shut up, McCurry.”

“Truth hurts, but I’m telling it to you anyway.” He leans forward. “Don’t you respect everything you’ve been through enough to at least go and talk to her?”

“And say what, Cord? That I’m a piece of shit that left when I should’ve fought, that took the easy road—”

“You didn’t take the easy road,” he says. “You did what you thought was best. You left so matters didn’t get worse.”

“I left because I was at the end of my goddamn rope.” I stand, shoving off the chair so hard it almost falls over. “I left because I didn’t know what to do to fix any of it. I left because I was a fucking pussy.”

“Ty, wait—”

“I need to piss.”

Heading for the house, I keep my eyes open for Elin but don’t find her. I need to at least get a visual on her, make sure she’s okay. The tears on her face when I walked in tonight stabbed me in the chest, and I think I’ve bled a little all night.

It’s not that I think she hasn’t cried. It’s just I can’t see it. I don’t think I can shake the image. Two to four in the morning, the hours my mind goes through every mistake I’ve ever made, will be fun tonight.

Cord is right. Of course he is. There’s a part of me that’s desperate to talk to her, craving some form of interaction with Elin. But I know I have to tread lightly because something’s different about her. Something’s happened. I just don’t know what or why it changed even more between us.

The kitchen is deserted when I walk in. I make my way down the narrow hallway to the little bathroom off the guest bedroom I’ve stayed in a number of times. My hand is reaching for the knob when it pulls open.

“Oh!” Elin yelps, her eyes going wide. She takes a big step back inside the bathroom.

Under the bright lights of the vanity, I can see the pink in her cheeks from the fire. I can smell her perfume mixed with the smoke from outside. It’s a vanilla scent I haven’t smelled since I went to the house the day after I left to get some of my clothes while she was at work.

My breath stills, my throat going dry. I’m unsteady on my feet and my hand reaches for the doorjamb for support.

She watches me like she’s being cornered. Her chest rises and falls like she just got finished walking the five miles around town that she does every evening.

I should walk away. I should turn and walk down the fucking hallway and to my truck and leave. I should. Before I do more damage.

“How are ya, Elin?” I ask instead because it’s her in front of me, and it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s how my world should be, she and I, close enough to touch . . . yet she shouldn’t have that look in her eye, and I shouldn’t feel like a miserable puke.

“Ty,” she breathes, her voice trembling as hard as her hands.

Instinctively, I start towards her, but her stumble back halts me. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I should get out of her way and let her pass. But after not having been this close to her in so long, I can’t do that. I need every second she’ll give me. I wouldn’t have searched for her like
this
, but now that we’re here, I can’t break the moment. I won’t.

“Are you okay?” I ask, searching her face for the truth because I’m not sure she’ll give it to me. I’m not even completely sure I want to hear it.

“Sure.”

She fidgets and that’s enough to cause the air to escape my lungs, an invisible knife to slice the wall between us.

“Elin,” I start to plead, “I just . . .”

Tears flood her eyes, but her lips form a thin, hard line. “You just
what
, Ty?” she spits. The words come out, a sob mixed with a ferocity that knocks me back a few steps. “You just want to stand there and act like we’re friends from high school just running into each other randomly at a party?”

“No,” I snort, watching her body stiffen. “I want to see how you are.” Her posture softens just a bit, and I decide to push a little. “I was thinking maybe I could swing by the house. We could talk.”

A million expressions grace her features before her gaze steels. “You know what?” she says, her hands hitting me in the shoulders, “Fuck you.”

My back hits the doorframe as she presses through. Her touch, even as hateful as it is, still causes a zing through my body that I instantly crave to feel again.

I want to reach out and grab her, kiss her, make her talk to me. By the time I get my wits together, the door is slamming in the kitchen.

ELIN

The beer is bitter and ice cold and tastes kind of like what I think urine would taste like. I’ve never been a beer drinker, but I’ve also never been a pool player. I’ve also never felt as nervous about being at Thoroughbreds as I do tonight.

“Wanna play again?” Jiggs asks, racking the balls. “I’ll take it easier on you this time.”

“No, you won’t,” I laugh. Setting the bottle on the table next to Lindsay, I look at my brother. “But, yeah, rack ’em. Let’s play.”

Lindsay picks the pepperoni off a slice of pizza. “I’m all for you getting out of the house, Elin, but you drinking beer and playing pool has me worried. I don’t even know you right now.”

“Yeah, well, me either.” I pick up the beer and down it and motion for Becca to bring me another. “I figure this is better than sitting at home and drinking alone. That’s what they say, right? Don’t drink alone.”

“So the point tonight is to drink?”

“No. The point of tonight is to get out of the house, but I can’t do that without some liquid courage.”

Lindsay sighs and exchanges a glance with her husband. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Jiggs laughs, his eyes heavy with trouble. “I think it’s a brilliant idea. Elin wants to have some fun. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“But Ty . . .” Lindsay starts and then looks at me. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home and watch chick flicks? Jiggs can go get us junk food and we can just veg out.”

“No,” I insist, my hand flying to my hip. “Like I told you when I called you earlier tonight, I need to stop sitting at home and wallowing. I need to have fun. God knows Ty has been out gallivanting over the fucking country.”

“That’s not true,” Jiggs says, but shuts up when I shoot him a look.

“Whose side you on, brother?”

“Yours,” he sighs, shaking his head.

I spin around to take the new drink from Becca and sway a bit. Grinning, I realize my head is feeling foggy. I like it. It’s quiet. Kind of numb. Why didn’t I do this before?

“Thanks, Becca,” I say brightly, yet even I know my enthusiasm is put on. Still, it sounds better. It sounds like what I want to sound like, so I roll with it. “How you liking your new job?”

“It’s okay,” she quips. “I’ve waited tables all my life, so I knew what I was getting into. The drunk jerks in the front are making my life a little hellish tonight, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“Who is it?” Jiggs asks.

She shrugs. “It’s really not a big deal. His name is Shane or something, I think, but don’t worry about it. I need to check on some tables in the back. Find me if you need anything.”

Disappearing in the back, I envy the ease with which she drops into new situations. It’s what I’m trying to do.

This is the first night of the new me. Or the first night on the journey to being the new me, I suppose. This is me getting out there, having fun, doing things on a Saturday night.

This is me trying to do it without having an anxiety attack. I take another swallow.

“You all right, Elin?” Jiggs asks, handing me a pool stick.

“Yup.”

“How many are you going to let her drink, Jiggs?” Lindsay asks from behind us. “She’s on number four.”

“Oh, hush, Linds,” I say, realizing there’s more of a slur to my words than I imagined there would be. “It’s beer. I’m well overage. And while you’re gonna be a mother, you’re not mine. Remember that.”

Jiggs laughs and cracks the cue ball against the others, the sound ricocheting through the little pub. It’s the local hangout, the place everyone lands on the weekends. Everyone from teenagers wanting to play arcade games in the back to fifty-something couples wanting a sandwich or a slice of pizza to the seventy-year-old men rehashing every sporting event of Jackson in the last century—they’re here.

He takes another shot before looking at his wife. “She’s a big girl, and I’m driving her home. Let her get wasted.”

“She’ll be sick tomorrow,” Lindsay objects.

“First of all,” I say, feeling myself sway a little as I try to line up a shot. “I’m right here.” I drag the stick through my fingers and miss the cue ball altogether. “And you have no idea how good this feels.”

“I’ve been drunk before,” Lindsay says. “It’s not going to feel so good in the morning.”

I stand quickly, teetering a little. “Well, here’s the thing. I wasn’t going to be feeling so good tomorrow anyway.”

Lindsay’s face twists in pity and I hate it.