Written in the Scars(15)

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

“Hey,” Jiggs says, handing me his stick. His head turns towards a commotion in the front. “Becca mentioned Shane Pettis is up there. I’m going to go check on her. Be right back.” He gives Lindsay a quick kiss on the cheek, his hand resting protectively on her stomach, and walks towards the noise.

“You,” I say, focusing my eyes on Lindsay as warmth starts to build over my skin, “are having a baby.”

She giggles, her eyes lighting up. “I am. I can’t wait to see if it’s a boy or a girl.”

“When are you telling everyone?”

“I want to get out of the first trimester first. We’ve just told you . . . and Ty,” she gulps. “And Cord found out,” she continues in a rush. “But that’s it. We haven’t even told my parents yet.”

“Your mom will be so happy,” I grin. “She won’t be able to stand not having you close to her once you have a baby. I bet she moves back up here from Florida.”

My mind starts to flirt with the idea of what my parents would’ve thought, but I push it out. Not tonight. I’m not doing the what-if’s and what-could-have-been’s.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Lindsay says, her finger drawing a line around the rim of her glass. “If Jiggs can’t get a job here, you know, maybe we’d be better off down there with my mom.”

“What?” I yelp, my hand slamming on the table in front of me way too loud. We both flinch. “You can’t leave me here. Jiggs is the only family I have. Well, and you. And the baby.”

“Shh,” she says, her finger going to her lip.

“You aren’t serious, are you?”

A hand touches my shoulder and I jump, nearly falling over. I’m steadied on my feet by Shane Pettis.

“Who’s not serious?” he asks.

Pulling away from his touch, my lip curls in disgust. “What do you want, Shane?”

He grins in his smarmy way. “How are you, Mrs. Whitt? Or have you taken back the name Watson yet?”

“Go to hell, Shane,” Lindsay fires at him.

He tosses his head back and laughs, his floppy blond hair falling over his forehead. “Easy there, spitfire,” he says to Lindsay. “I was just asking a question. Everyone knows they’re on the outs.”

“Well, that’s none of your business,” I slur.

He studies me closely, but his gaze is too much, too strange, and I close my eyes. Ty’s face tries to squeeze into my mind, but the alcohol helps block it out.

“You’re right. It’s not.” He places a hand on his chest and looks at me sadly. “I wish I knew nothing about your split. It’s just hard to look at you and know what a good girl you are and know, too, that your husband is a drug addict.”

The words, the accusation, is the only thing I hear clear as a bell. My fist clenches around the pool stick until my knuckles turn white.

“He’s not a drug addict, you dick.”

His hands fly in the air in a defensive move. “Hey, I only know what I heard.”

“You heard wrong,” I spit, staring him down as best as I can with my head wobbling back and forth.

“Why are you defending him? You can do so much better, Elin, than a guy that’s all gimpy and buying pills off my cousin. I heard he was staying across the river with some needle junkie.”

“Shut the hell up, Shane,” I say. The room starts to spin a heavy, slow turn and I reach for the table to steady myself, but can’t find it. I can barely make out Lindsay’s muffled voice to my right.

Shane takes my hand. I’d normally fight against it, but I need the stability. He leads me the few steps to the pool table and I go along, knowing Lindsay and Jiggs are here. His hand finds the curve of my hip, and I push it away in an awkward attempt at keeping him back.

“Leave her alone, Shane,” Lindsay objects from somewhere behind me. “Jiggs will be out here in a minute and will kill you.”

I trip and fall against the table, my hands finding the side and catching me.

“Careful,” he whispers against my ear.

“I got this,” I say. And I’m pretty sure I do. That is, until I look up to the doorway of the patio and see Ty standing there, watching me.





TY


“Well, shit,” Cord mutters beside me.

My blood boils as soon as I see Shane’s face. I can’t stand him. Never could. But seeing him with his hand on her hip—hell, seeing him within breathing distance of Elin is enough to make my head explode.

My eyes lock with my wife’s and I know something’s wrong. She barely reacts to seeing me, just looks at me like she thinks I’m going to disappear if she looks at me long enough.

“She’s drunk,” I say, shaking my head. The movement makes her look away.

“What the hell is she doing?” Cord asks, his hand on my shoulder. I’m sure it’s so he can yank me back if I leap to rearrange Pettis’ face.

“I have no f*cking clue.”

Shane Pettis is the * that exhibits your typical f*ckboy behavior. He’s the guy that will tell your girl you just got your cock sucked by some random chick so your girl might sleep with him in her moment of agony . . . even though your dick has been under lockdown the entire time. It’s rumored that he slips shit into girls’ drinks when they aren’t looking and once had a minor accuse him of trying to f*ck her. He, naturally, denied it and there was no proof, so he got off the hook. He’s a *, a one hundred percent pathetic excuse for a human being.