Written in the Scars

“I have to say,” Lindsay says, “seeing you walk in here with him made my day. Did you get everything figured out?”


“Some things just have to be shelved and hope that time heals like it’s supposed to. I’m trying to let things go.”

“You will,” Lindsay says, standing up. “I gotta pee. I’m sorry. I’m drinking all this water because I literally crave water all day. All night. But then I have to pee constantly,” she laughs, hand on her belly, and makes a beeline for the restroom.

Turning to my right, Cord is watching me. He takes a long draw of his beer and settles back in his chair with a smirk.

“What?” I ask, taking my drink from the server. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” he says, the dimple in his cheek settling in.

I sip my cola and watch my friend make fun of me without making fun of me. His adorableness making me roll my eyes. “Oh, there’s a reason,” I say. “You’re just scared to tell me what it is.”

“Hell, yeah, I am. You’re not known as the pit bull for nothing.”

“Oh, shut up!” I laugh, tossing a napkin at him. “That nickname is so unwarranted.”

“Whatever. I’ve seen you in action, babe.” He leans forward and peers at me. “So, you took my advice, I see.”

“Yes, I took your advice,” I say. “It was good advice. What can I say?”

“You could say, ‘Wow, Cord, you’re a genius.’ Or tell me how handsome I am or how I just saved your life. Any of those would be sufficient.”

Laughing, I watch Ty’s ass in his jeans as he bends over the table to take a shot. “Cord, I love you. And you’re handsome and you might’ve saved my marriage. But you being a genius and saving my actual life are stretching it.”

“Fair enough,” he admits, shrugging his shoulders. “You know, maybe I should’ve been a psychiatrist. I could charge big money for this shit.”

“Don’t do that. Then you’ll be all expensive and book up for a year at a time and I won’t get free help.”

“Ah, I’d never charge you. Even if I become the next big thing, you’ll still have total access to me for no charge.”

“Good to know,” I laugh, placing my drink on a napkin and look at him. I toss him a grin and he blanches.

“That look on your face scares me,” he says, pointing his finger at me.

“Let’s talk about you,” I say sweetly, buttering him up.

He groans, rolling his eyes. “Let’s not.”

My excitement is all over my face. I know this because of Cord’s reaction, which makes me laugh. “We need to get you a girl.”

“Nah.”

“Come on, McCurry. It’s time you step out of this bachelor role and settle down.”

He leans back in his chair, his eyes darkening. His fingers lace together, planted on his lap. “I have no intentions of settling down.”

“And why not?”

“Pushy much?” he laughs.

“You know this about me,” I giggle. “We need you to get a girl and be happy.”

“Maybe I’m happy the way I am.”

“How could you be?” I sigh. “Everyone needs someone to love, someone to relax with and have fun with.”

“I have Yogi.”

“Cord . . .”

Leaning forward, his eyes peer into mine. “Look, Elin. I appreciate you trying to do what you think is best for me. I do. But not everyone is built the way you are.”

“Not everyone is built . . . awesome?”

“Try . . . built to settle down.” He releases a heavy breath. “I don’t have the capacity to love like you do, Elin.”

I blanch, my brows pulling together. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I don’t,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve never felt love like you have with Ty or like you had with your parents. It’s always just been . . . me.”

“You saying you don’t love me?” I tease.

“You know what I mean,” he chuckles. “I don’t know how to give that kind of love or feel it, even, I guess. It’s not something I know.”

He smiles, tries to play it off for me, but my heart cracks at the idea. How can this man, one of the sweetest men I know, feel this way?

“Cord, buddy, you love all of us. Think about it.” I bite my tongue, trying to choose my words carefully. I know this is all because his mother didn’t want him and I hate her for that. But I’m not sure saying that will help right now. “You just haven’t met the right girl yet, maybe.”

“Maybe. I’ll just keep the friends-with-benefits thing going awhile. But that motherfucker,” he says, looking over my shoulder, “isn’t one of my friends.”

I turn to see what he’s referring to. Pettis is approaching our table, his cousin, Sharp, by his side.

“Oh, shit,” I mutter, looking up at Ty. He’s leaned against the table, not missing a thing.

“How are you fine folks this evening?” Pettis asks, his grin that of a movie villain.

Before we can respond, Becca walks up beside Pettis. “Can I get you guys anything else?” She scans the group, picking up on the awkwardness, before her gaze lands on Cord.