Written in the Scars(53)

“Thank God for small favors.” I toss the envelope from her attorney on the counter. “You can have that.”

Turning to head to the basement door, I hear her pick up the envelope.

“No, that’s your copy to read,” she says from behind me.

“Already told you,” I say, opening the door, “I’m not participating in this madness.”

I leave her, jaw hanging wide, as I barrel down the rickety stairs and work my magic on the furnace. In less than three minutes, it’s up and running. Elin cheers from the kitchen.

Bounding back up the steps, her smiling face is waiting on me.

“Thank you,” she says earnestly. “I know you didn’t have to come over here and do that.”

“Of course I did.”

She frowns, but doesn’t argue. Progress.

“You know,” I say, trying to figure out how to delay my inevitable departure, “it’s warmer outside than it is in here.”

“Hopefully it doesn’t take long to heat up.”

“Let’s go outside,” I say, trying to hide the fact that I’m scheming ways to stay with her.

“For what?”

“To not freeze to death,” I say like she’s silly, and wrap my arm around the small of her back. She lets me guide her outside. She feels so good against my arm that I have half a notion to keep walking and walking until we are at the sea.

The sky is a ripple of pinks and purples and oranges as it begins its drop over the horizon and I tuck her into my side as we watch the colors bleed together.

“Thank you for helping me,” she whispers, not taking her eyes off the sunset. “I was scared to call you.”

“Why would you be scared to call me?”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t answer.”

When she looks at me, her eyes are full of some unnamed emotion. It sparks a desire in me to fight whatever demon has put that look there. I lift her chin. Her skin is so soft under my touch. My thumb strokes her cheek as I gaze into her eyes.

“Never be scared to call me. Don’t hesitate to ask me for what you need, what you want. I know I walked out,” I say, gulping, “but it wasn’t walking out on you. And I will never do that to you again. I swear to God.”

“I know you won’t.”

“What?” I say in disbelief. “I mean, you’re right, I won’t, but you know that? You believe me?”

She nods, turning her head to kiss my palm. Her lips tremble against the rough skin on my hand, her hand shaking ever-so-slightly as she holds it.

“I do believe you,” she says softly. “But that doesn’t fix everything.”

I pull her into me, trying to put her, me, our life back together with my embrace. Her arms find my waist, and I hold her in the middle of the driveway, swaying back and forth in a moment I’ll never, ever forget. The feeling of my world careening back into focus, into the places it should be, nearly drops me to my knees with my girl in my arms.

“I should go in,” she says, looking up at me.

“It’s cold in there.”

She shrugs and I see her start to slip away from me again. Frantic, I struggle to find a way to stop it.

“Let’s go for a drive,” I suggest.

She looks at me warily.

“It’s just a drive,” I promise. “The house can warm up and then I’ll drop you back off, if that’s what you want. What can it hurt?”

“You won’t try to make out with me or anything, right?” she teases. “Because I know that look in your eye, Tyler Whitt.”

“Only if you ask,” I wink, opening the door to my truck and watching her climb in. Before I shut it, I lean in and whisper into her ear. “Hey, E.”

“Yeah?”

“Please ask.”





ELIN

It’s like your favorite sweater on a crisp winter day or the smell of your grandmother’s apple pie at Sunday dinner. It’s walking into your childhood bedroom, even though you haven’t been in there for ten years, and knowing exactly where your possessions are because that’s your space. That’s your room. That’s home.

Being in Ty’s truck as we drive out of town and hit a back road, dust flying off the tires as the asphalt turns into gravel, is the same thing. My heart finds a rhythm that’s eluded me, my body releasing the rigidity that’s stretched over my shoulders. I can breathe, here, with him, in this old truck.

I glance over my shoulder. He has one hand on the steering wheel, the other on his thigh. His hair is a mussed up mess, the dark locks sticking up everywhere. It’s reminiscent of how it looks in the morning when he rolls out of bed, and I have a hard time keeping my hands to myself. Watching him get dressed and undressed used to be the best part of my day.