Written in the Scars(20)

God knows what he was doing all day yesterday, or last week, or the month before.

My purse sits on the table. I go to it and rummage around until I find my phone. My finger hovers over Lindsay’s name when I hear tires hitting gravel.

With a lump in my throat, I look out the window. Jiggs waves as he makes his way to the front door. Dropping my phone back in my purse, I head to the front and let my brother in.

“You look like shit,” he laughs, ruffling my hair as he walks inside. “Feel like it too?”

“Pretty much,” I mumble, following him into the living room. He picks up the pillow and blanket, and I automatically open my mouth to object, but shut it quickly. I don’t know what he knows, and I don’t want to muddy the waters.

Jiggs gets comfortable, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and watches me smugly.

“What?” I ask. I plop down in the recliner, my stomach roiling.

He shrugs. “Anything you wanna tell me?”

“No, but I know you know what happened last night, and I’d love to know too.”

“You don’t know?”

He seems surprised, uncrossing him arms. He peers at me through his thick lashes, a gift from our grandma.

“Jiggs,” I ask, my voice unnaturally even, “Did he stay?”

“Yeah. He brought you home from Thoroughbreds.”

My world spins in a mad dose of uncertainty. “Why? Why did he do that?”

Jiggs laughs. “Well, it was him bring you home or let you go home with Pettis.”

“Pettis? I’d never go home with that son of a bitch.”

“You almost did last night,” he cracks.

“Oh my God.” I cover my eyes with my hands, unable to look at him. Unable to look at myself. That’s not like me. If I would’ve been willing to go home with Pettis . . . what else was I capable of doing? Or saying?

My cheeks flush, my stomach rolling again, sloshing with the alcohol that caused this big mess.

No, I caused this big mess. This one is on me. I chose to go to Thoroughbreds with the explicit purpose of getting wasted.

“It worked out well,” my brother says. “Ty walked in and saw it and flipped his lid.”

My chest swells, and I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. “He did?”

There’s no denying that this little tidbit of information feels good. That I was able to get under his skin, even if I didn’t mean to. Score one for the alcohol because I never would’ve attempted such a thing sober.

“He actually carried you out of the pub. I was going to bring you home, but he didn’t really leave it open for debate.”

My gaze falls on the pillow at the other end of the sofa.

“He left around five this morning. He called me when you went to sleep, and I talked to him again this morning. I know you’re thinking a million things, but nothing happened last night. He just put you to bed and slept on the couch.”

Giving that a second to soak in, I imagine what last night must’ve looked like from his perspective—me, drunk, stumbling, and altogether foolish. And he comes in like some kind of savior and brings me home, watches me in my inebriated state.

So not the image I want him to have of me, and Jiggs knows that.

“Damn it, Jiggs.”

“Listen to me. He—”

“No,” I cut him off. “I can’t think about this right now.” I rise off the chair, my stomach all acidy again. “He can’t just waltz back in here and bring me home and see me like that. It’s not okay. And to hell with you for letting him! I’m your sister, James!”

“And he’s your husband.”

I whip around to face him. “Is he? Or did he just see something last night that contested his manhood? Did him seeing me get hit on by Pettis make him go all alpha? Like I was some kind of fire hydrant in a pissing match?”

“Don’t do this.”

“Why? Because he should be allowed to just come and go in my life when he feels like it? Because that’s not happening.”

He sinks back into the sofa and sighs.

My eyes narrow. “You have no idea what he’s put me through.” I’m sure it’s the alcohol that’s still pumping through my body that makes those words sound choppier than I’d like. He doesn’t know I was pregnant. Only Lindsay does, and I swore her to secrecy. The coupling of losing my husband and our baby in the matter of a few short days was just too much humiliation to admit to. I wanted no pity, no casseroles, no cards. I just wanted to be sad. Then bitter. All of it alone if it wasn’t with Ty. I deserved that reprieve and it’s the only secret I’ve kept from my brother.

“I know he’s broken your heart. I get it.”

“No, you don’t,” I laugh angrily. “You don’t have any clue how deep my scars go.”

Jiggs scans my face, trying to see what I mean. He quirks a brow. “I’ll listen if you want to tell me.”

“I don’t.”

Rolling his eyes, his jaw pulls tight. “The two of you are going to be the death of me.”

My heart breaks, but I say the words anyway. “I’m not sure there is a ‘two of us’ anymore.”

We watch each other, a sadness in the room that’s almost as thick as it was the day our parents passed away.