Written in the Scars(36)

She’s all over the place tonight, both physically and mentally, and I can’t figure out what’s causing all of this vacillating. One minute she’s in my arms and the next she’s telling me she wants me to leave and never come back.

What the f*ck?

A sick feeling crawls through my veins. “I think there’s more to this than you’re letting on.”

She gulps and turns her back on me, walking into the kitchen. I follow.

“Elin?”

“You need to go,” she says, her voice steady.

“I need to find out what in the hell happened while I was gone.”

She pops open the back door and leans against it. She looks at me with no feeling, void of any sadness, anger . . . or love. “Doesn’t matter, Ty.”

“That’s bullshit,” I scoff at her blatant lie. Her eyes go wide as I stand tall in front of her, the next words out of my mouth ones I don’t want to say, yet I have to. “You weren’t with someone else were you?”

“God, no!” she says, shocked. It’s obvious the idea is new to her, and that has me sighing in relief.

“Thank f*ck.”

“Go, please, before I call Jiggs.”

“What’s he gonna do?” I chuckle.

She doesn’t flinch. “Go, Ty.”

My blood starts to boil, my fists curling at my sides. If she thinks this is over just like that, she’s out of her damn mind.

Her gaze is fire, her sadness turned to fury. I feel the fight begin, the switch we are all too familiar with.

“This isn’t over, you know that, right?” I say, heading to the door. “I’m just leaving so we don’t get into some huge argument and say things we can’t take back.”

She watches me hit the threshold, and I pause, waiting for her to change her mind. She doesn’t.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say, watching her eyes widen.

“Don’t,” she whispers. “I’ll file papers when I get the—”

My laugh cuts her off. Bending down so we’re eye to eye, I make things crystal clear. “I won’t be signing any f*cking papers, Elin. Ever.”

She sucks in a hasty breath, and I give her time to process my words.

“You are mine. You will always be mine,” I tell her. “Get that through your beautiful f*cking head.”

“Leave,” she says, on the cusp of crying.

“I’m leaving, but get one thing straight,” I warn. “I’m leaving this house because you asked me to and because whatever comes out of my mouth from here on out isn’t going to do either of us any good.” I clear my throat, trying to get the rest of the words out over the lump lodged there. “I’m leaving the house, E. I’m not leaving you. And I will be back.”





ELIN


The door groans as my husband walks out. I hold my breath, half hoping he bursts back in, half hoping I hear his truck start.

In a few moments, the latter happens and I exhale. It’s shaky, wobbly, and I try to stay as quiet as possible as I listen to him back down the driveway and take off down the street.

Glancing around the room, his energy is still here. Although I told him to go, although he needed to go because him staying here would only make things harder in the long run, I miss him immediately.

My skin still sings from his touch. His cologne lingers on my shirt, the air kissed by his presence. This is going to be much, much harder than I even thought.

My phone chirps beside me and I pick it up.

“Hey,” I say, clearing my throat.

“Hey, Elin. It’s Cord.”

I smile at the sound of my friend’s voice. “What’s up?”

“I was with Ty when he heard what Pettis had to say. I figured I’d drive by and see if he was there. You know, make sure he’s not going to get arrested tonight or anything,” he says as lightly as he can. “I saw him just pull out of your driveway but he won’t answer his cell.”

Gulping back a sob, I don’t know what to say. “Ty’s fine.”

“How are you?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

“I’m in front of your house. Do you want me to stop?”

His headlights shine through the living room window and instant relief washes over me. “Yeah, why don’t you?”

The call ends and within a few seconds, he raps on the front door. I venture to the living room and let him in.

Cord steps inside, wearing a pair of dark denim jeans, a white t-shirt, and a brown fleece jacket. He looks like the requisite boy-next-door with his clean cut good looks and simple, easy nature. “How are you?” he asks, shrugging off his flannel jacket. “Damn, it’s hot in here.”

“I keep it warm,” I say, glancing at the thermostat. “Ty always kept it cooler . . .”

My eyes wet at the sound of his name. I remember all the arguments we’d have over the thermostat, how one of us would change it and the other would change it right back. It was really one of the only things we just couldn’t agree on.

Cord watches me carefully. “Did you really file for divorce today?”

I slump on the sofa. “No. I just went to see how to do it.”

“That’s pretty big,” he comments, sitting in the chair across the room. “Did you mean it?”