Written in the Scars (9 page)

Her breathing is even, peaceful, and I try to match mine to hers. If I closed my eyes, I could convince myself we are home in bed. But we aren’t, and my brain knows that, and it’s a complete internal fight not to pull the truck to the shoulder of the road and pull her into my arms.

The part of me that has been agitated for months is now soothed. Just being in the car with her is a balm to the wound that’s been seeping since before I walked out on her. She centers me, stills me, and I wonder how in the hell I let things get so out of control.

Elin mumbles something I can’t understand. Her face twists sourly as whatever she’s dreaming plays out in her mind and I wonder if she is realizing she’s with me.

As much as I hate that I’m with her because of
this
, I can’t think of another place I’d rather be. I push away the uncertainty of how to handle this situation once I get her home and instead revel in the feeling of being next to her . . . even if she was seconds away from being with Pettis tonight.

I can’t imagine another man touching her, feeling her, knowing her in a way that only I do. My skin crawls, my blood reaching a boiling point. My palm smacks off the steering wheel, making Elin jump.

“Ty?” she asks, trying to sit up. Her hand goes to her forehead, wincing. She looks at me with utter confusion, leaning away against the door.

“Just taking you home,” I say, trying to not alarm her. “Look.”

The house is dark as we pull in. The security light along the walkway to the back door is out, and I wonder how long that has needed fixed and how many nights she’s come home late and had to venture through the darkness.

She’s drifted back to sleep by the time I stop the truck. I climb out and make my way around it. The air is crisp, the glow of the fireflies blinking in the darkness making me think back to nights on the porch with her.

Pulling the door open, I catch her as she starts to slide out. A grin tugs at my lips as I feel her body soft against mine.

She doesn’t stir at the contact, so I gather her in my arms and lift her out. My heart nearly stops beating and goes wild at the same time.

I bury my face in her hair and breathe her in, fighting back the constriction in my chest. I glance at the house and know I have to take her in when I really just want to put her back in my truck and drive somewhere, anywhere, as long as we’re together.

I need her.

Damn it, I need her.

“Mmm . . .” she moans, wrapping her arms around my neck. Her head nestles into my shoulder like it’s done a thousand times.

I pick up my feet and walk towards the house. My head is already trying to convince my heart that I have to put her to bed and leave. Again.

I don’t know if I can do it.

I have to do it.

Sticking my key in the back door, I’m pleasantly surprised that it still works. The door squeaks as I push it open with my hip. At least some things are the same.

A motion light on the stove flickers on and illuminates the room. The kitchen looks like it did when I left, but there’s no note on the table like she used to leave for me when I got in late from work. No promises of what she would do to me when I climbed in bed, no directions on where to find the dinner she made, no lipstick kisses on a blank sheet of paper.

“Ty?” Elin whispers, her breath hot against my neck.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

I squeeze her closer to me. I’d rather be covered in her vomit than have to put her down. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m here.”

“Ty?” she whispers again, this time more sleepily.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Unable to respond, I just keep walking towards the room she and I used to share.

The floor moans with our weight as I go through the living room and down the hall. The door to the bedroom is open and our bed is lit up by the moonlight streaming in the window. I walk to the side of the bed, but I can’t lay her down. I just can’t make myself do it.

The picture from our honeymoon in Tennessee is still framed on the nightstand. My reflective vest from the mine is still hanging on the hook on the back of the closet door and I want to make her wake up and ask her why. I want to jostle her until she tells me she misses me and doesn’t hate me and still, somehow, loves me.

“Can you lay me down?” she asks roughly. “Please.”

I look at her beautiful face, her eyes still closed, and consider saying no. Instead, I yank back the comforter with the little yellow daisies we bought on a Saturday morning in Terre Haute and place her softly on my side of the bed. She never opens her eyes.

Fighting a myriad of emotions, ones that threaten to spill out in an ugly mess, I remove her shoes and pull the blankets up around her. I tuck them beneath her body, sealing her in both to hopefully comfort her and to put a physical reminder to me that I can’t climb in with her. I’m
this close
to doing just that. But I won’t take advantage of this situation. We need to work through things, not add reasons to fight.

“Will you lie with me?”

I furrow my brows, absolutely sure I misheard her until she asks again.

“Will you lie with me, please?”

I shake my head, trying to walk a fine line between what I should do and what I want to do.

“You don’t mean that. Just go to sleep. I’ll be right here.”

My soul rips apart to say those words, but the only thing that could make this situation any worse is for her to feel like I took advantage of her. And I won’t mess it up, not more than I already have. Even if that means denying myself the very air I’ve been craving for so long, I will.

“You’ve promised me that before.” Her voice is clearer than it has been, enough for me to know she’s keeping her eyes closed on purpose. She just doesn’t want to look at me. And that makes me want to die.

“Elin . . .

“You left.”

“Elin . . .”

“You didn’t come back.”

Her words are strangled, both a fact and a myth because whether she knows it or not, my mind was always here. I never left. Not really.

“You wouldn’t answer my calls,” she mumbles. “Lie with me. Show me you don’t hate me.”

Tears cloud my vision and I struggle to blink them back. What she’s asking is exactly what I want to do, what I
need
, but not like this. Not with her so drunk.

She takes my hand, the offer of her small fingers in mine crushing me. She tries to pull me towards her, but she’s too cursed by the alcohol. Instead, I hold her hand, stroking her knuckles with my thumb like I would do while we watched a movie or drove down country roads. Her hand was always in mine . . . just like this.

Her features smooth and her breathing evens out. I bring her hand to my lips and press a long kiss to the middle of her palm.

“The baby . . .” I can’t make out the rest of the sentence, but it’s salt in an already gaping wound that she’s thinking of Jiggs and Lindsay’s baby when we should be in that situation too. Our lives shouldn’t have taken this turn.

“I love you,” I whisper, choking the words out. She doesn’t react, too asleep and out of it to hear. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

The urge strikes hard, much harder than before, to slip into bed beside her and pull her into me. Before I can do that, I turn away and head back down the hallway leaving my heart beside her.

Forcing air into my lungs, around the pain that’s nearly unbearable, I enter the kitchen and flip on the light. I need to get a grip. And I need to rip Jiggs’ ass for, yet again, putting me in a situation with Elin before either of us are ready.

I whip out my new prepaid phone and find his name and press call.

“Hey,” he answers. “You okay?”

“Fuck you, Jiggs,” I spit.

“Settle down.”

“Don’t fucking tell me to settle down,” I warn, feeling my body shake. “What the fuck were you thinking letting her get bombed like that? And what? You just sat there and watched Pettis try to fuck her right in the middle of Thoroughbreds?”

“Ty—”

“Fuck. You.” I lean against the wall and try not to see double. “I don’t know if you thought it was funny or—”

“How about,” Jiggs interrupts, “you shut the hell up and think about this for a minute?” His chuckle rings through the phone. “She’s my sister, Ty. Do you think I didn’t have that under control?”

“Well, considering I was two seconds from ripping Pettis apart and am now standing in the middle of my house while Elin sleeps—yeah. It looks like you didn’t have jack shit under control.”

“That’s where you’d be wrong.”

The relaxed tone of his voice tells me he’s right. I sink further against the wall.

“I knew you were on the patio, you fucking idiot. Cord sent me a text. So I let her do her thing, let her feel like she was being some kind of rebel . . . and let you see what can happen if you don’t get your shit straight. Maybe it’ll do you both some good.”

Huffing, I pace a circle around the table. “It’s not your place to do this, Jiggs.”

“The hell it isn’t. What am I supposed to do? Sit here and watch the two of you both be hard-headed and let your lives go down the drain?”

“They’re our lives, so yeah. That’s exactly what you should do.”

He laughs. “It hurts to feel that, doesn’t it? It hurts to face what you’ve done to her instead of running. Welcome to reality, Whitt.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Be the man I know you are. As much as you want to pretend you can’t fix things and she’s somehow not your responsibility anymore, you just proved tonight that’s a lie. Hell, you proved that at the bonfire.”

“Another time you shouldn’t have interfered! You’re just making it worse. You’re forcing us together when we don’t want to be.”

“I’m calling bullshit on that.”

A heavy sigh leaves my lips. Everything is so fucked up; I don’t even know what I feel right now. And I sure as shit don’t know what Elin thinks.

“Where’s she at?” Jiggs asks.

“Sleeping. I think she’s out for the count.”

“What are you doing tonight?” His voice is careful and it makes me hang my head.

“Staying here. I can’t leave her alone.” I look around the kitchen. It still feels like home. It’s enough to take a part of the weight off my chest that has been sitting there for a long time. “I’ve probably pushed my luck tonight. Why don’t you plan on coming by in the morning and checking on her? Let her replay all this with you, not me. Then, maybe, I can build on this.”

“Sounds good.”

I don’t miss the smile in his voice.

“I’m still pissed at you, Watson.”

“You’ll deal.”

“Talk to you tomorrow,” I say and end the call. My anger is diminishing and I don’t want him to know it.

Turning the light off, I make my way back to the living room. Slipping off my shoes and sweatshirt, I open the trunk against the wall. A pillow and blanket we use for movie night are tucked away like they should be.

Arranging a little nest on the sofa, I lay down and stretch out. The house is quiet, so quiet, that if I listen closely enough, I can hear Elin’s breathing in the other room.

The couch folds around me, welcoming me with its soft leather like it remembers me. Closing my eyes, I listen to Elin’s rise and fall and pretend I’m next to her.

On a couch in a house I’m not quite welcome in—it’s the happiest place I’ve been in a very long time.

ELIN

I’m going to be sick.

Squeezing my eyes shut from the onslaught of sun pouring through the open blinds, I lie completely still in hopes that the putrid bile that’s threatening to blast up my throat goes away.

My head pounds, my stomach gurgling away.

I place my hands on my belly and realize I’m in the same clothes I wore yesterday. As I run them down my stomach to my legs, I’m even in my jeans. I never wear jeans to bed. My mom used to tell me when I was a little girl that my skin would get stuck in the zipper while I slept. It terrified me from trying it. Still does.

Everything is foggy as I try to pick apart what I remember from last night. Jiggs and Lindsay picked me up and we went to Thoroughbreds for pizza.

Beer.

Gagging, I try not to upchuck the telltale bitterness of a bottle of brew.