Written in the Scars(37)
“I did it, didn’t I?”
“That doesn’t mean you wanted to.”
My head in my hands, I feel a bone-crushing exhaustion settle in.
“I’m going to be honest,” Cord says, interrupting my thoughts. “You don’t look like a woman that just did something she believes in.”
“I did what I had to do, Cord.”
“Nah, I don’t think so.”
“What in the world do you know about my marriage? How do you know what I did or didn’t have to do?” I ask, annoyed.
“Because no one has a gun pointed to your head telling you to talk to an attorney or they’re pulling the trigger,” he says, completely unaffected by the look I’m shooting him. “You saw someone about a divorce. That’s no small thing.”
“No shit,” I mock, shaking my head.
Cord sighs and sits back in the chair. “I hate this.”
“Yeah, well, join the crowd.”
His brows shoot to the ceiling.
“Of course I hate this,” I whisper, flopping back against the cushions. “Do you think this was the way I saw my life going?”
“Then let’s hold up here and figure out a way around it.”
“There is no way around it, Cord,” I snip.
The corner of his lip turns up and he narrows his eyes. “Then you aren’t the lady I thought you were.”
“Excuse me?”
He shrugs. “I gave you way too much credit, Elin.”
“What?” I lean up, flabbergasted. “You gave me too much credit? Fuck you, Cord.”
He laughs and that only makes me madder.
“So I’m the bad guy in this?” I fire. “Somehow I’m the * because I want to know my options? Ty can take the liberty to do whatever the hell he wants while I’m here losing our b—”
I clamp my mouth shut right before spilling my secret. A storm rolls across his features as his eyes draw to my hands on my stomach and then back up to me.
“Don’t,” I war, my voice teetering as I await his response.
He exhales, the breath whistling between his teeth. “Things are starting to get a little clearer.”
“I’m happy for you. Now you can go and take all that extra credit you threw my way with you. And keep your mouth shut about . . . whatever it is you think you’ve figured out,” I warn as angrily as I can, shoving my hands in my pockets and away from my stomach.
He doesn’t move, just watches me. “I still think I gave you too much credit,” he says finally.
My arms fly in the air. “Cord, I’m about two seconds from punching you in the face.”
“Thank you,” he snickers. “You just proved my point.”
“And how’s that?”
“You are a fighter,” he says, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Always have been. Do you remember the time Gabrielle Donaldson got suspended for fighting back when that new girl jumped her in the hallway? And then three days later, the center for the basketball team got into a fight and didn’t get shit because it was Sectional week?”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “I went to the office and called bullshit. I about got myself suspended over that. Principal Mackey is an idiot. It’s why I give him hell now with the boys. Payback.”
“Exactly. You’ve always been the person to go to bat for someone when you feel something’s not right. You do it for the kids in the school, you went to Mackey this year when James got in trouble, remember that?”
I nod, not seeing where this is heading. “Cut to the chase.”
“Look, you fight for everyone and everything. Why aren’t you fighting for your marriage?”
“Don’t even come at me with that!” I shout, rising up off the couch.
“I’m coming at you with this because it’s what you need to hear, darlin’.”
“You have no idea what I need to hear!” My blood soars past my ears, my jaw clenching so hard it hurts. “You can’t come in here and tell me what I should do or how I should feel. You don’t know what I’ve been through!”
I can’t look him in the eye and see the pity. The weight of his stare is enough to let me know that he does know, or has a very good idea, of what I’ve been through.
Cord is standing in front of me, drawing me to his chest before I know it. His hug is simple, a platonic act that I need more than I even realized. When he pulls back and smiles at me, I’m a little steadier.
“I’m not judging you,” he says, his rich voice soft. “I’m just telling you that you should’ve trusted your gut.”
“How do you know what my gut says?”
“Will you stop answering me with questions?” he chuckles. “Elin . . .”
He walks in a circle before stopping by the entertainment center. He lifts a framed photograph of all of us—me, him, Ty, Jiggs, and Lindsay—a couple of weeks after graduation. We are at the lake, huge smiles and peace signs flipped up for the camera.
“I know how easy it is to get drawn into your head,” he says. “It’s easy as hell to sit around and think about everything that’s wrong and think of a way out because you’re desperate for the pain to end.”