Written in the Scars(15)

“And say what, Cord? That I’m a piece of shit that left when I should’ve fought, that took the easy road—”

“You didn’t take the easy road,” he says. “You did what you thought was best. You left so matters didn’t get worse.”

“I left because I was at the end of my goddamn rope.” I stand, shoving off the chair so hard it almost falls over. “I left because I didn’t know what to do to fix any of it. I left because I was a fucking pussy.”

“Ty, wait—”

“I need to piss.”

Heading for the house, I keep my eyes open for Elin but don’t find her. I need to at least get a visual on her, make sure she’s okay. The tears on her face when I walked in tonight stabbed me in the chest, and I think I’ve bled a little all night.

It’s not that I think she hasn’t cried. It’s just I can’t see it. I don’t think I can shake the image. Two to four in the morning, the hours my mind goes through every mistake I’ve ever made, will be fun tonight.

Cord is right. Of course he is. There’s a part of me that’s desperate to talk to her, craving some form of interaction with Elin. But I know I have to tread lightly because something’s different about her. Something’s happened. I just don’t know what or why it changed even more between us.

The kitchen is deserted when I walk in. I make my way down the narrow hallway to the little bathroom off the guest bedroom I’ve stayed in a number of times. My hand is reaching for the knob when it pulls open.

“Oh!” Elin yelps, her eyes going wide. She takes a big step back inside the bathroom.

Under the bright lights of the vanity, I can see the pink in her cheeks from the fire. I can smell her perfume mixed with the smoke from outside. It’s a vanilla scent I haven’t smelled since I went to the house the day after I left to get some of my clothes while she was at work.

My breath stills, my throat going dry. I’m unsteady on my feet and my hand reaches for the doorjamb for support.

She watches me like she’s being cornered. Her chest rises and falls like she just got finished walking the five miles around town that she does every evening.

I should walk away. I should turn and walk down the fucking hallway and to my truck and leave. I should. Before I do more damage.

“How are ya, Elin?” I ask instead because it’s her in front of me, and it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s how my world should be, she and I, close enough to touch . . . yet she shouldn’t have that look in her eye, and I shouldn’t feel like a miserable puke.

“Ty,” she breathes, her voice trembling as hard as her hands.

Instinctively, I start towards her, but her stumble back halts me. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I should get out of her way and let her pass. But after not having been this close to her in so long, I can’t do that. I need every second she’ll give me. I wouldn’t have searched for her like this, but now that we’re here, I can’t break the moment. I won’t.

“Are you okay?” I ask, searching her face for the truth because I’m not sure she’ll give it to me. I’m not even completely sure I want to hear it.

“Sure.”

She fidgets and that’s enough to cause the air to escape my lungs, an invisible knife to slice the wall between us.

“Elin,” I start to plead, “I just . . .”

Tears flood her eyes, but her lips form a thin, hard line. “You just what, Ty?” she spits. The words come out, a sob mixed with a ferocity that knocks me back a few steps. “You just want to stand there and act like we’re friends from high school just running into each other randomly at a party?”

“No,” I snort, watching her body stiffen. “I want to see how you are.” Her posture softens just a bit, and I decide to push a little. “I was thinking maybe I could swing by the house. We could talk.”

A million expressions grace her features before her gaze steels. “You know what?” she says, her hands hitting me in the shoulders, “Fuck you.”

My back hits the doorframe as she presses through. Her touch, even as hateful as it is, still causes a zing through my body that I instantly crave to feel again.

I want to reach out and grab her, kiss her, make her talk to me. By the time I get my wits together, the door is slamming in the kitchen.





ELIN

The beer is bitter and ice cold and tastes kind of like what I think urine would taste like. I’ve never been a beer drinker, but I’ve also never been a pool player. I’ve also never felt as nervous about being at Thoroughbreds as I do tonight.