Written in the Scars(26)

Storms have always made me feel like a child. I hate the darkness, the unpredictability of the danger associated with them this time of year. I used to stay awake until Ty would come home from work if a storm was particularly bad. We would joke about what would happen when we had a baby and I had to be the grown up.

My heart sinks in my stomach.

Another clap of thunder rings through the air and I shudder. It lasts for a long few seconds and ends with the sound of the back door being rattled.

“Don’t even,” I mutter, swiping a tissue off the nightstand and dabbing it against my eyes. “Don’t mess with me tonight, Mother Nature.”

The rapping sound rolls through the house again in the midst of the tree limbs scratching at the window. Hearing it again, it sounds intentional. Deliberate.

I pull Jiggs’ number up on my phone and uncurl my legs from the blankets. Drawing in a quick breath, I drop my feet to the floor.

The windowsill shakes as the wind assaults it, rocking the old farmhouse to its roots.

The floor is cold against my bare feet as I slip through the room, my thumb hovering over the call button. My breathing echoes off the walls of the hallway, my senses on high alert. Listening closely, I try to hear the knocking sound again but all I can make out is the howling wind.

I round the corner and scream, dropping my phone.

“Elin! It’s me!”

My hand searches frantically for the light switch, and when I finally find it and flip it on, I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

Ty is standing in front of me. His grey t-shirt is soaked all the way through, his jeans pressed against his body from the rain. His hair is smashed to his head and water droplets trickle down his cheeks.

“What in the hell are you doing?” I gasp, my heart speeding out of control.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh really?” I eke out in between gasps, trying to regulate my breathing. “You think you can just walk in here in the middle of the night and I’m going to be expecting you?”

“I hope you’re not expecting another man to be walking in here in the middle of the night,” he says, a gravel to his voice that just incenses me.

Laughing in disbelief, I throw back my shoulders. “I don’t think you have a right to an opinion on who’s coming in here in the middle of the night.”

“My name is still on the mortgage.”

“We can have that fixed.”

We glare at each other, a standoff neither of us wants to lose. This is us, our new roles as combatants.

I bend down to pick up my phone. Standing as tall as my five foot four will allow, I stare at him. “You don’t live here anymore,” I spit, a break to my voice that is just enough that I know it is unmistakable.

He forces a swallow, unfazed by my attack. “Settle down, Elin.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to settle down!”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I know you hate storms.”

“Really, Ty?” I ask in pure disbelief, my jaw hanging wide. “You wanted to make sure the storms didn’t scare me? How considerate of you.”

“Come on, E,” he sighs.

“No, you come on, Ty. It’s a little ridiculous that after everything, you come waltzing in here acting like a fucking saint over a storm.”

“I was just checking on you.”

“Here I am,” I say, holding my arms out, almost touching either side of the hallway. My chest shakes right along with the quick breaths, but I hope he doesn’t notice. “See me? I’m still here. Doing just fine without you. Not that you probably give a fuck—”

“Are you serious?” he booms. “You think I don’t give a fuck?”

“Do I look serious?” I shout back.

“Of course I give a fuck! Damn it!” He tugs at his hair in frustration. “You have no idea just how much I do give a fuck, Elin. You have no idea.”

“No, I don’t know. And you know something else? I don’t care,” I seethe, lying through my teeth. Because I do care. So much. But I can’t care anymore.

He takes a deep breath and allows the air to settle in his lungs. He starts to speak a few times before catching himself and starting again. “I just wanted to make sure you’re all right. I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine, as you can see. Now you need to go.”

“You look good,” he says softly, ignoring my request.

I should have some sort of compassion for him because he’s obviously trying to play nice. But I don’t allow that soft spot for him because that weakens my strength. And what do I know–maybe he’s just still worried I am with someone else? Maybe he’s been with another woman and wants to come home?