Written in the Scars(18)

“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 f*cking tell me to settle down,” I warn, feeling my body shake. “What the f*ck were you thinking letting her get bombed like that? And what? You just sat there and watched Pettis try to f*ck 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 f*cking 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.”