Written in the Scars(49)

Slowly, inch-by-inch, the corner of his mouth upturns. With every movement, every flinch, my heartbeat picks up.

“I quit pretending like I don’t know what we’re doing,” he says. “I’ve tried to ease back into this because I think that’s what you want. I’ve slept on that f*cking futon in Cord’s room with that stupid dog licking me in the face every morning long enough.” He smirks, cocking a brow. “Baby, I’m coming home. If you don’t like it, too damn bad.”

“Ty . . .”

“Don’t ‘Ty’ me,” he snickers, walking towards me. With each step, a flutter ripples through my belly. “All this shit will only make us stronger, like a scar that has healed over. That skin is stronger than the area around it. It’s been to war and won. That’s us.”

My heart skips a beat as he takes my hand.

“I won’t even bring this up five years from now and remind you how silly you were thinking you were going to divorce me. I’m yours, E. You’re mine. We are two people that get it right most of the time, but, on occasion, we f*ck up. I’ll take full responsibility for causing this, but I’m also taking responsibility for ending it. Honesty, transparency from here on out, but there is a here on out, Elin, because I’m done living without you.”

Tears wet my eyes and I blink them back as quickly as they form. This is it—do or die. I either accept this and tell him my secret or I push back. And I know if I choose the latter, that might really be it.

“It’s not that simple,” I sniffle, wiping my nose on the sleeve of my shirt.

“Yeah, it is.”

I shake my head, my hair swishing around my shoulders. Looking into his face, his devilishly handsome features and silky hair, the face I love, I don’t know if I can tell him.

My heart shatters. The force of it shaking my body, my shoulders slumping forward. My lungs fill and empty of air more quickly than I mean to, and I suddenly can’t get enough oxygen despite the rate of my breathing.

Ty is touching me in a half a second, brushing my hair off my face and examining me for what’s wrong. He’ll never see it. You can’t see the scars I bear.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice tender. “Elin, you gotta talk to me.”

Lifting my chin, my teeth nearly chattering for fear or anticipation or a mixture of both, I can barely open my mouth to speak.

My words are going to slice him, tear him apart. And me all over again.





TY


My gut is a twisted, tense knot as I watch Elin come to grips with telling me whatever it is that’s been on her mind. I knew there was something. I could see it in her eyes when she’d start to laugh at something I said or find herself warming up to me before remembering whatever this is and scurrying away again.

I figured it was that she took another job or broke something of mine when I left—something small and stupid she thinks I’d be mad about. Right now, watching her go through the hoops of actually telling me makes me think this isn’t a broken fishing rod or misplaced playbook.

“Talk to me.”

“I can’t,” she says, the tears flowing steadily down her cheeks. She looks at me through the liquid filling her eyes. The sadness and fear is palpable.

“Hey,” I say, trying to soothe her. “You can talk to me about anything.”

“Not this.”

“Especially this,” I promise. “If something is bothering you this much, this is the thing you need to tell me. Trust me.”

She doesn’t move, doesn’t open her mouth, doesn’t attempt to spill the secret she’s holding safe.

I rest my hands on her knees, peering at her. “Regardless of what it is, we can work it out.”

Tears pool again as her eyes widen. “Ty . . .” she whispers, choking back a sob.

Pulling her head against my chest, I try to tell her with my body that I’m here. That I’m not going anywhere, despite what she has to say.

“We have to trust each other, lean on each other, communicate with each other. We’re no different than a team. We are a team,” I say. “If we don’t talk, if we sit the bench and refuse to play, we can’t win. And, Elin, baby,” I say, squeezing her for good measure, “if I don’t have you, there’s nothing to play for.”

Her cries soften, her back not shaking as badly as before. I hold her as the moon becomes bright above and the fireflies begin to light up around us.

“The fireflies are out,” I say. “Do you remember the time Jiggs caught a bunch and took off the glow part and put it in his hair?” I ask. The memory makes me chuckle and it’s not long before I can feel her ease too. “The f*cker glowed all night. Your brother is such a weirdo.”

She pulls away and looks up at me in the way someone only can that knows you and your memories inside out.

“I believe you did that too,” she grins, drying her cheeks.

“I don’t remember that.”

“I’m sure you don’t, either from choice or from the whiskey,” she says, all out laughing now.

Stroking her cheek, I nearly beam at her turn-around. “There’s my girl.”

Her head rests against my palm and I place my other on the other side. Tilting her to look straight at me, I bend so we’re at eye-level. She tries to look away, but I won’t let her. Holding her head in place, I plant a gentle kiss to the middle of her lips. When I pull back, I see her wheels turning.