Written in the Scars(59)

My lungs pull in the crisp air as I walk down the sidewalk and to the sound of a hammer in front.

Rounding the corner, I see Ty nailing up a loose board on the garage. Wearing a pair of jeans with a hole in the knee, a long-sleeved white thermal shirt, and his Arrows cap, he looks edible.

He glances up at me. “What are you looking at?” he laughs.

“Just wondering if the sexy man working on my garage wants to go in for dinner?”

“Does he get you for dessert?”

“That could be arranged.”

He stands and puts his tools back in the bag and disappears to the side. As he puts his stuff away, I spy a basketball lying beneath the hoop. I pick it up and take a couple of shots, missing both.

I hear his laugh before I see him. “It’s hard to imagine you’re the wife of a basketball coach with a jump shot like that.”

“My husband doesn’t teach me how to shoot,” I pout.

“What a dick he must be,” Ty smirks. Extending his hands to the front, I toss him the ball. He shoots from where he’s standing, barely jumping or trying, and the ball swishes through the net. “That turns you on, doesn’t it?”

Rolling my eyes, I shoot again. And miss.

“That turns me on,” he says, retrieving my shot. “That’s why I haven’t taught you to shoot. I just like watching your boobs bounce like that when you miss.”

“You’re an *,” I tease, catching the ball.

He follows the ball and presses a kiss to my lips. “Play me a game.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

Tilting my head to the side, I sigh. “And how’s that?”

“If you win,” he says, “I’ll do dishes for a week. And if I win . . . I’ll eat your * every night for a week.”

Laughing, I shoot him a look. “That doesn’t seem like you win either way.”

“How do you figure? If I do dishes, you’ll be happy and that makes me happy. If I’m eating your *—and let’s face it, that’s gonna be the end result of this—we’re both happy.”

“Silly boy,” I say.

Throwing the ball towards the net, I’m shocked that it goes through. Ty rebounds and takes my place, easily swishing the ball through the net.

I shoot again and miss. He shoots and drains it from the edge of the driveway.

“Damn it,” I say, putting my feet where his were. “There’s no way I’ll make that.”

“Nope, there isn’t,” he laughs. “I’m all about watching your body. So, you know, go ahead and shoot.”

I do and it doesn’t come close.

“That’s an H,” he says, draining another one from the other side.

Before I can shoot, Jiggs’ truck rumbles down the road and into the driveway. I flinch as his headlights shine in my eyes until he flips them off.

The door to his truck whines as he opens it and climbs out. “What are you two doin’?” he asks, motioning for me to toss him the ball. I do and he shoots and makes it.

“Playing HORSE,” Ty informs him. “I just won.”

I start to object, to point out the game isn’t over, but he flashes me a look so sinful I nearly melt into the driveway.

“I made baked spaghetti,” I say instead. “Where’s Lindsay?”

“Home. She’s not feeling good.” His eyes settle on me and I read between the lines.

“Did you two fight all night?”

“More or less,” he sighs.

Before he can expound, Cord’s truck hits the gravel and comes to a stop next to Jiggs’. Yogi stands in the back, takes in the scene, before lying back down as Cord and Becca get out of the truck.

I wait for a smile, a grin, but they don’t come. Flashing Becca a questioning glance, she shrugs.

“Hey,” Ty greets them. “You guys hungry?”

“I hear you’re a great cook,” Becca says, pulling me into a quick hug. “Do you have a bathroom I can use?”

“Sure,” I say, taking in the worry lines around her eyes. “It’s through the door to the right. Want me to walk you in?”

“No, that’s okay,” she says and heads off. I get the distinct feeling she wants a few minutes alone, so I let her go.

The boys are in the midst of a conversation when I turn around. Jiggs looks at Ty, and I see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. He doesn’t look at me, and it’s clear he’s making a concerted effort not to.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, my eyes trained on my brother because I know he’ll break way before my husband.

Ty turns his back to me, his head twisting back and forth. “Damn it, Jiggs. You could’ve called me instead.”

“How was I supposed to know you hadn’t told her? This isn’t a bad thing, you know.”

“What in the world are you talking about?” I demand. Although I know the answer, I want to hear it from them.

I want to hear it from Ty.

I watch his back tense, his shoulders stiffen, his lungs drawing in a deep breath before he turns to face me. His eyes are dark, his jaw set firmly in place. “Blackwater called. The mine is reopening this week.”