Written in the Scars(85)

ELIN


His lashes are splayed against his cheeks, his skin cut and nicked from the ordeal. He’s clean now, lying in a hospital bed. I sit in the chair beside him and say a prayer of gratitude that it’s just for observation and a little hypothermia. That he’s going to be as good as new.

Jiggs is in the room next door, sleeping off his injuries too. Lindsay and I have switched rooms a couple of times over the past twenty-four hours, mostly because I didn’t want Ty alone and I wanted to get a visual on my brother.

Jiggs has been awake some and we’ve talked. He’s shared a little of what they went through, but I can tell it might be awhile, if ever, before he really wants to speak about it. The hospital said they’d send in grief counselors to help them talk it out, if they wanted.

Ty has slept almost constantly since we got here. The doctor said to let him rest, that it was the best way to heal. I’ve been able to sleep some, as long as I’m holding his hand. Even then, it’s a fitful sleep because he mutters Cord’s name and my tears fall again.

Like he feels me watching him now, he opens his eyes. It’s a slow, sleepy process, but one that makes me smile.

“Hey,” I say softly, bringing his knuckle to my mouth and kissing it. “How do you feel?”

“All right, I guess,” he says. “Better now that I see your face.”

“I’ve been here the whole time.”

He grins and I watch as it takes effort for him to manage the expression. The cut down his left cheek ripples, making him wince.

Even though he’s a little battered, a little bruised, I think his damage is internal. A broken heart. A scarred soul that may never be repaired. Like mine.

The loss of Cord still feels unreal. I expect his goofy smile, his warm voice to walk in the door at any minute and give me hell. I’d do anything to hear him call me a pit bull, to give Ty a hard time about playing pool, or Jiggs shit over the way he drives.

Nothing in our lives will ever be the same and I feel the loss of Cord McCurry constantly. We all do.

“How’s Jiggs?” Ty asks, struggling to get comfortable. I help him adjust in his bed before he tugs on my arm. “Will you lie with me?”

I laugh. “I don’t think the nurses would like that.”

“I don’t give a shit. I just spent . . . how long? . . . without you. I want you next to me.”

“How can I resist that?”

Slipping off my shoes, I climb in bed next to him. I rest my head on his shoulder, like I do every time we lie together, and drape an arm over his torso, careful to avoid the wires and bandages.

“Jiggs is okay,” I say finally, my words soft. “He has a few more dings than you and a broken rib, but he’s fine. Raising some hell over there.”

He laughs, his chest rising and falling, but I hear the hesitancy in it.

“How are you? Really?” I ask.

“I don’t know. You know, I’m physically okay. I don’t feel too bad. I just . . .” His voice trails and his body stills. “I don’t know that I’ll ever get Cord’s face out of my mind. Or what he did for me. For us.”

I squeeze him tight and blink back tears.

“He thought the world of you,” Ty says, sniffling, his voice breaking. “When we were going through our shit, he would be my voice of reason. He would tell me to keep at it, to not give up. That son of a bitch . . .”

We cry together, our hearts mourning the loss of one of the best people to ever walk the earth. To a sweet boy, a sweet soul, that maybe didn’t realize he knew how to love, but loved more than anyone I’ve ever met.

“I feel like we have to honor him,” I say, wiping my eyes with the bedsheet. “He gave his life for us to be together. We have to figure out how to give back to the world in his name.”

“We could never give back enough for what he just gave us,” Ty says. “It’s a hard gift to accept.”

I rise up and look him in the face. “But it’s one he gave knowing the consequences. For you to not just accept that takes away from what he did.”

He shrugs, not agreeing, not disagreeing. Instead, he changes the subject. “I want to take a vacation. Just me and you.”

“Where to?”

“The ocean. Cord always wanted to see the ocean and never made it. I want to do that. For him. Sound okay?”

“Sure,” I say, my heart racing. “But I might not be that much fun.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well,” I say, angling my body so I can see his face. “I can’t eat seafood.”

“Sure you can. I know you don’t like shrimp, but I think you’ll like lobster. And crab rolls.”

The corner of my lip twitches. “And my round belly might not look good in a bikini either . . .”

“What are you talking about?” he says, brushing my comment off. “You’re hot as f*ck and I want to see youuuu . . .”

He stills. His eyes go wide, head cocking to the side. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” I say, bending over him so that my lips hover over his, “that I’m having your baby.”

“Really?” His voice is full of hesitation, his eyes twinkling, yet guarded, like he thinks I’m kidding.