“Fuck. You.” I lean against the wall and try not to see double. “I don’t know if you thought it was funny or—”
“How about,” Jiggs interrupts, “you shut the hell up and think about this for a minute?” His chuckle rings through the phone. “She’s my sister, Ty. Do you think I didn’t have that under control?”
“Well, considering I was two seconds from ripping Pettis apart and am now standing in the middle of my house while Elin sleeps—yeah. It looks like you didn’t have jack shit under control.”
“That’s where you’d be wrong.”
The relaxed tone of his voice tells me he’s right. I sink further against the wall.
“I knew you were on the patio, you fucking idiot. Cord sent me a text. So I let her do her thing, let her feel like she was being some kind of rebel . . . and let you see what can happen if you don’t get your shit straight. Maybe it’ll do you both some good.”
Huffing, I pace a circle around the table. “It’s not your place to do this, Jiggs.”
“The hell it isn’t. What am I supposed to do? Sit here and watch the two of you both be hard-headed and let your lives go down the drain?”
“They’re our lives, so yeah. That’s exactly what you should do.”
He laughs. “It hurts to feel that, doesn’t it? It hurts to face what you’ve done to her instead of running. Welcome to reality, Whitt.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Be the man I know you are. As much as you want to pretend you can’t fix things and she’s somehow not your responsibility anymore, you just proved tonight that’s a lie. Hell, you proved that at the bonfire.”
“Another time you shouldn’t have interfered! You’re just making it worse. You’re forcing us together when we don’t want to be.”
“I’m calling bullshit on that.”
A heavy sigh leaves my lips. Everything is so fucked up; I don’t even know what I feel right now. And I sure as shit don’t know what Elin thinks.
“Where’s she at?” Jiggs asks.
“Sleeping. I think she’s out for the count.”
“What are you doing tonight?” His voice is careful and it makes me hang my head.
“Staying here. I can’t leave her alone.” I look around the kitchen. It still feels like home. It’s enough to take a part of the weight off my chest that has been sitting there for a long time. “I’ve probably pushed my luck tonight. Why don’t you plan on coming by in the morning and checking on her? Let her replay all this with you, not me. Then, maybe, I can build on this.”
“Sounds good.”
I don’t miss the smile in his voice.
“I’m still pissed at you, Watson.”
“You’ll deal.”
“Talk to you tomorrow,” I say and end the call. My anger is diminishing and I don’t want him to know it.
Turning the light off, I make my way back to the living room. Slipping off my shoes and sweatshirt, I open the trunk against the wall. A pillow and blanket we use for movie night are tucked away like they should be.
Arranging a little nest on the sofa, I lay down and stretch out. The house is quiet, so quiet, that if I listen closely enough, I can hear Elin’s breathing in the other room.
The couch folds around me, welcoming me with its soft leather like it remembers me. Closing my eyes, I listen to Elin’s rise and fall and pretend I’m next to her.
On a couch in a house I’m not quite welcome in—it’s the happiest place I’ve been in a very long time.
ELIN
I’m going to be sick.
Squeezing my eyes shut from the onslaught of sun pouring through the open blinds, I lie completely still in hopes that the putrid bile that’s threatening to blast up my throat goes away.
My head pounds, my stomach gurgling away.
I place my hands on my belly and realize I’m in the same clothes I wore yesterday. As I run them down my stomach to my legs, I’m even in my jeans. I never wear jeans to bed. My mom used to tell me when I was a little girl that my skin would get stuck in the zipper while I slept. It terrified me from trying it. Still does.
Everything is foggy as I try to pick apart what I remember from last night. Jiggs and Lindsay picked me up and we went to Thoroughbreds for pizza.
Beer.
Gagging, I try not to upchuck the telltale bitterness of a bottle of brew.
I take a hefty breath, only to have it halt in my throat. A flurry of shadowy images whips through my memory, a muddy slideshow . . . except for Ty’s face.
He was with me.
Oh my God.
I try to remember something, anything, that tells me what happened. There’s a blur of memories, of voices, of familiarity, yet nothing concrete.
A nervous energy courses through my body, my skin tingling with the possibility that Ty might still be here.
Dear God, please don’t let him be here. Please don’t let me have done something stupid.