Written in the Scars(27)

Squaring my shoulders, I lace my arms across my chest. “I am good. No thanks to you.”

His shoulders slump and his eyes hit the floor. “E . . .”

“Don’t. You have no fucking idea what you’ve done to me.” I see the door to what would’ve been the nursery out of the corner of my eye, and I choke back the lump in my throat. “But let me tell you this,” I say, walking close enough to him to poke him in the chest, letting my pain drive me, “I. Am. Still. Here. And all you’ve done is proven that I can live without you.”

His eyes draw slowly to mine. “I’ve proven I can’t live without you.”

“Don’t even say that to me,” I gruff, tears tickling the corners of my eyes. His words, coupled with the look on his face, would break me if I let them. “You don’t have the right to say those things to me! This was a marriage—” I yell, as he cuts me off.

“It is a marriage—”

My hand shakes as I glare at him, pointing my finger at his face. “No, it was a marriage, Ty, and you walked out.”

“You told me to!”

“Yes, I did,” I say, biting back the memories flooding my mind. “But I didn’t mean it. I just said it in the heat of the moment and you took full advantage.”

His eyes narrow, his jaw ticking, but he doesn’t respond. He just stands there looking at me like he doesn’t know where to start.

“A marriage isn’t something you can just come and go from as you please. You ruined this. Not me.” My voice is steadier than I anticipated and it gives me some courage.

“You’re right,” he says carefully, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I ruined it and I will fix it.”

“That would mean I want it fixed.”

The hallway closes in on us, the air between us hot and thick. We just stare at each other, feeling each other out.

“You have no idea—”

“No!” I yell, my hand going back into the center of his chest. It’s wet and hard and feels so familiar. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me. To us!”

His hand wraps around my wrist and my breath escapes in a smooth gasp. The contact, skin-to-skin, is not something I’m prepared for.

It’s not fair.

Bending down so his face is inches from mine, he says, “To us. Because it’s still us, E.”

I snort, trying to ignore the feeling of his touch. The corner of his lip curls, his gaze darkening. The look is ferocious and as he takes a step towards me, I take one back.

“Don’t act like I don’t know what us means, Elin,” he snaps, taking yet another step forward. “Everything I do in my life is for you.”

“So walking out on me was for my own good? You did that for me?” The cockiness in my tone is to hide the anticipation of reaching the boiling point. We are almost there. I feel it, the temperature rising and ready to topple over. I just don’t know which way it’s going to fall. “Gee, thanks, Ty. That makes this so much easier.”

Thunder cracks outside just as my back hits the wall. My chest rises and falls, touching his with every intake of breath. He peers down at me, his eyes boring into mine.

“There hasn’t been a damn thing easy about this,” he says, his breath hot against my skin.

“That was your choice.”

I try desperately to hold on to the anger that’s being replaced quickly with my need, my desire, my craving for this man. The only man I’ve ever loved. The man that is my other half—whether it’s fucked up or not. Being this close to him puts me at a disadvantage, but there’s no denying the little balm of peace that’s washed over some of my wounds by his presence. By his touch. By the way he’s looking at me.

“It sure as hell didn’t feel like my choice,” he gruffs.

“Maybe that’s the problem,” I say, the words full of hesitation. “Maybe we aren’t the same people anymore. Maybe we’ve changed. I know you’re not the Ty I once knew.”

“No, you’re right,” he says with an arrogant shrug of his muscled shoulders. “I love you more than I ever have.”

“Fuck you,” I say, a slip to my voice that he hears.

His eyes glimmer, distracting me, and I don’t see the kiss coming. But the feeling of his lips against mine sends a zip of energy screaming through my veins.

“Ty!” I object half-heartedly, pressing him away with only a portion of the gumption I could put behind it if I wanted to. He doesn’t care. He just kisses me harder, his lips soft and smooth like I remember.

My knees go weak, like it’s some kind of first kiss, my breathing ragged like the first time he kissed me under the steps at the high school.