Written in the Scars(17)

Her eyes pop open. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Try again.” I pick her up and toss her over my shoulder, kicking the door open with my boot. “Hey, Becca!” I call over Elin’s objections. She looks up from the table she’s serving and takes in the situation and laughs. “Put whatever she had on my tab, okay?”

She flashes me a thumbs up and I pause to look at Jiggs. The lines on his face are severe as he braces in anticipation of me going berserk.

“We will discuss this later, Watson,” I promise him through gritted teeth.

Elin pounds on my back as I carry her out the door.





TY


The truck rumbles as I steer it off the highway and onto the gravel road. The cab is completely still, the only light coming from the glow of the dash as we get further into the country.

There are no other cars on the road. That’s a good thing because I can’t keep my eyes off the passenger seat. Elin sits with her head resting on the window, her eyes closed.

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.