Written in the Scars(59)
“You amaze me,” I whisper. “You are the strongest person I know.”
She laughs, a sweet, gentle giggle. “I don’t know about that. But I made it through losing you and losing a baby at the same time, so I’m pretty sure I can make it through anything.”
“You didn’t lose me,” I scoff.
“Well, it sure as hell felt like it.”
“I will never leave you again, regardless of why or how. I will always come back.”
“Promise me?”
“Absolutely.”
She presses her lips against mine before climbing off me. She lies beside me and waits for me to make a move.
I slip off my clothes, down to my boxers, and then unfold beside her. “I’m making an executive decision to sleep in my bed,” I say, pulling her against my side.
“I suppose I’ll go along with that.” Her hand drapes over my side and traces the scars on my back. “Even though you’re here, I don’t want you to think this means I want to jump back to where we left off. And I have questions for you still . . .”
“Fire away. Whenever you’re ready.”
She kisses the center of my chest and sighs. “I’ve missed this.”
“Not as much as me. I’ve been sleeping on couches for the past few months. My back is aching like a motherfucker.”
She laughs. “I’m glad you were miserable, and I’m not even sorry.”
“Sadist.”
“Realist.” Her leg wraps over mine like it does before she falls asleep. “Does this mean you are moving back in?”
“I think it’s time for the rest of me to come home,” I say, kissing the top of her head.
She yawns, her heartbeat evening out. “The rest of you?”
“My heart was always here,” I whisper.
Smiling as she pulls me tighter, her voice is full of sleep when she finally speaks. “I’m still mad at you.”
“I can live with that,” I whisper as we both fall asleep.
ELIN
The sun is too bright. My eyes fight to open against the assault blazing through the windows. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s almost noon and I struggle to determine that it is Saturday and I haven’t overslept.
My body feels deliciously rested, my brain cozy from getting hours of uninterrupted sleep. It’s confusing considering my lack of any real sleep lately . . . and then I look to the vertical pillow beside me and see Ty’s clothes on the floor.
Closing my eyes, I smile. He’s home both because he wants to be and I want him to be. Maybe he did always want to be?
The load off my shoulders is a giant relief as I remember telling him about the pregnancy.
My feet are cold against the floor, my body chilling because either the furnace is broken again or he’s turned down the thermostat. I don’t even care.
Aiming for the kitchen, I pad down the hall but stop when I notice the nursery door scooted open. My fingertips find the wooden edge and I press it forward slowly.
Ty is standing near the windows in his boxers, looking at the big oak tree outside. He glances over his shoulder, his morning hair all crazy in the most perfect way.
“Good morning,” I say, coming up behind him. I wrap my arms around his fit waist and lay my head on his back.
“Morning,” he says, his hands resting on my threaded ones at his front. “I tried to sneak out so I didn’t wake you.”
“You didn’t. I slept better than I have in months.”
“Me too.”
Our bodies sway, a comfortable lull that could put me to sleep again. I press a kiss in the center of his back and walk around to his side. “How are you today?” I ask. “Hungry?”
He keeps his vision trained on something out the window. “You know what you said last night about finding love in tough situations?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” He angles his head to the side and looks at me. “A lot of things happened, a lot of things I won’t forget. Like what it’s like to feel your body crunch beneath the weight of a timber trapping you underground. All the things your mind considers when you contemplate you might not make it to the surface before you die.
“I know what it’s like to crave a release from pain and I know what it’s like to suffer the humiliation of knowing you’ve let everyone around you down,” he says, swallowing hard. “But the one thing I don’t think I’ll be able to really make peace with is not being here for you.”
“I struggle with that too. Maybe it’s unfair—”
“No, it’s not,” he gruffs. “I’m the one that slammed my phone and broke it in pieces. I didn’t replace it. It was me that thought you would be fine with Jiggs, but I was wrong. It was my place, my role.”