Never Can Tell (14 page)

“That man with the fucking laughable name made me suck his dick, Never. He raped my goddamn mouth, and he enjoyed it. I don't think it's all that fucking funny.” I stare into Ty's brown eyes, watch the gray smoke curl up and kiss his dark hair. I could tell him then that I don't mean it that way, that I'm sorry, and he'd probably forgive me, but I don't. I just stand there and watch the cherry crackle in the dark stillness of the house, the only figure right now who's glowing with anything akin to cheer. Ty lets it dangle from his lips and smashes the top down on the laptop, turning around and flicking off the kitchen light, throwing us into complete darkness. I watch the orange dot of fire as he spins around. “And it's not okay, and I'm not really over it, and I don't know if I'll ever be over it. Do you think I like kissing you with this filthy mouth? Do you think I like kissing our goddamn son?”

Again, perfect opportunity for me to say something like,
I happen to enjoy your filthy mouth.
But I don't. A part of me thinks that I want this fight, want my little monster to be proven right, want to be shown that perfection does not last, and Ty and I are not a fairytale couple.

He steps forward, but all I can see is the shadow of him, the silhouette. The rest of Ty McCabe is shrouded in darkness. The cigarette moves, lighting up the kitchen like a firefly as Ty pulls it from his lips. He blows smoke out and it kisses my forehead like a butterfly's wings, soft and so insignificant that it becomes significant, like it's the most important sensation in the world.

“I want to call the police, and I want to tell them my name, and I want to give them every detail I ever learned about anyone ever involved in that shit. I want to tell them about Hannah before she starts fucking stalking me, and I want to tell them about Dick and how he really screwed with my head, and I want to tell them about Marin Rice, the girl that torments my fucking soul. Maybe then I'll feel alright, like I'm a little cleaner, a pound lighter, and I'll feel like I deserve you.”

“Deserve me?” I ask and even the whisper that escapes my dry lips feel like a curse. Tears are rolling down my cheeks again, bleeding sorrow for Ty McCabe and his pain.
How can he even say that? I'm the one that doesn't deserve him, the one who fucked not to survive but to cope, who couldn't even handle her own feelings. This is the same girl that stands before him now, unsure how to respond to life like a normal person, screwing each thing up as she goes, bleeding darkness across a blue, blue sky.
“Ty McCabe, you deserve a woman twice as good as me.”

The cigarette flops, falls to the floor. I think it burns the linoleum, but neither of us is really paying attention to it.

“Never, that's a goddamn lie. There isn't a single, fucking woman on this earth that even holds a candle to the beauty I see in you.”

“I don't deserve you.” There. It's out. Ty stays silent for a moment.

“You don't,” he says, and I almost pass out, hit the floor and never wake up, a Sleeping Beauty with no prince, a Cinderella without a ball, a woman who turns back into a whore at the stroke of midnight. “You deserve far better than some crusty old cum dumpster.”

“Tyson Monroe McCabe,” I snap, using his full name for God only knows the fuck why. Is it a mom thing? I figure it must be. “Don't you ever fucking talk about yourself like that again, or I swear, I will kill you where you stand. You're
perfect.
Doting husband, nurturing father, spewing wise wizard shit wherever you go.”

“Wise wizard?” he asks, the hint of a laugh in his voice. “What the fuck does that mean?” I lean back against the sink and look up at the ceiling, buried in shadows above us. It seems to go on forever from where I stand, but I guess it's just more proof that the darkness has to end somewhere, that there's always a limit.

“It means you say shit that makes sense, only you do it by dropping the F-bomb every six seconds.” I lick my lips, taste the salty tears on my cheeks. “I never say anything worth repeating, Ty. I'm just a broken girl with a shitty mother who's afraid of her own baby.” Ty takes a step forward, but I keep talking, letting the tornado of self-doubt bullshit I have inside of me out. That doesn't mean it's gone or that I'm cured, but it'll help, and at least I can feel better knowing that Ty knows it's there, that he knows the awful truth about me.

“You're afraid of the baby?” he asks, and his voice is much softer now. “Why?”

“Everything I touch turns to shit,” I tell him. “And I'm afraid. I'm afraid I'll ruin him, that I'll turn into Angelica somehow.” Ty moves forward, and I scoot away, around the table, so he can't touch me. “And it's worse than that even. I don't … I don't know how to hold him or how to feel about him or … ” I lick my lips. “I don't feel like a mom. I don't even feel like a woman. I don't deserve you or Noah or,” I flick my finger against my stomach. “Whoever this is.”

“Mrs. McCabe,” Ty says, and I can tell he's trying to get me to lighten up. “Come here.”

“No.” I move around to the other side of the table and look defiantly at the darkness where his face should be. I drum my fingers on the table. Silence descends. And then, tricky little fuck that he is, Ty is vaulting over the tabletop and landing next to me, grabbing me by the shoulders and kissing the shit out of me, pushing me back, slamming us into the wall. “Ty, stop,” I say, but I don't struggle very hard. Why should? Even if I don't feel like I deserve him, I want him. Filthy mouth or no. There is nothing in the whole of creation that could change how I feel about Ty. “I'm mad at you.”

“Let's be mad at each other and then we can have make up sex.”

“This isn't a joke, Ty,” I say, shifting just a bit so that a shaft of moonlight from outside highlights his beautiful face.

“No,” he admits. “It sure as shit ain't.” He pauses. “So what do we do?” I glance away, and he leans in, pressing his cheek against my own. It feels extra wet now, like maybe he's crying, too, but I have no way of knowing how much of it is mine and how much is his, and I guess it doesn't fucking matter because we're both just a half, one wing on either side of a butterfly, unable to fly without the other.

“You promise never to call yourself a whore again.” I sniffle a bit and sigh softly. “Only I'm allowed to call you that.” I want to keep being mad. Why, I'm not sure. I guess I'm just not used to being happy. I wonder if I'll ever be. But it isn't possible to stay angry, isn't possible to drown in sorrow when there's a man that loves you pressing his face to yours, needing you as much as you need him. “And I don't care about what you did the past, not in the sense you think, so stop trying to clean yourself up for me. If I'd wanted a nice, clean boy, I'd have picked Noah Scott.” I'm afraid this is going to piss Ty off, but he just chuckles. “And if you ever call yourself a cum dumpster again, I'll fucking cut off your balls. If anybody fits that description, it's me.” Ty's muscles get stiff.

“Don't you even fucking dare,” he growls, putting his hand around my waist, pulling me to him. “You're the mother of my fucking children and the queen to the kingdom of my goddamn heart. I will defend you to the death, even against the enemy of your self-fucking-doubt.”

“So you won't call?” I ask, hoping he can hear the fear in my voice. It might be an irrational fear, but it might not be. I don't want to test it. I really, really don't.

“I won't call,” he says reluctantly. “But you have to promise to tell me next time you get scared of the baby. He's a part of you, too, Nev. Just like me. Don't be afraid of him.”

“I'm more afraid
for
him,” I say.

“Don't be,” Ty says, kissing the tears from my cheeks. I reach up and grab his nose ring, using it to guide his face, focus his eyes on mine. “Your heart to heart chat didn't help?”

“It did,” I say. “But I'm too broken to fix that easily. It's going to take a while.”

“Let me help you.”

“Why not the other way around?” I glare at him defiantly, sneak a cigarette out of his back pocket and put it between my lips. When my hand tries to steal his lighter next, he stops me.

“We'll get through it together. It's worked for us so far.”

“Is this where you'd thought you'd be at the age of twenty-three?” I ask him randomly, just to see, just to delve a little deeper and see how he really feels. When he looks me square in the eyes and smiles, I know we're okay.

“I didn't even think I'd make it to twenty-three, so as far as I'm concerned, this is a success story.” I don't hold back the next rush of tears that fall. Neither does Ty and his face looks stark raving beautiful with them decorating his cheeks.

“I heart the fuck out of you,” I tell him simply. It seems like the only logical thing there is to say. He kisses me softly and pulls back.

“I heart the fuck out of you, too.”

18

A few days after what Ty calls our
obligatory couple's brawl,
I'm sorting through boxes in our bedroom, trying to make the tight space work while simultaneously seeking out some of the curiously odd Christmas decorations that Ty and I salvaged from the New York house. Which, by the way, already has a pending offer on it. Just in time for the fucking holidays.

I kick aside the box I was working on and move to the next, looking for the reindeer with the cigarette in his mouth and the snow man who's in the process of giving the middle finger. Ty says these unique treasures were passed down by his grandma, that no Christmas would be complete without them. So I keep searching, hoping I can find them before we start packing to head up to the cabin.

We're spending the whole week up there, us Regalis, along with our tagalongs McCabe and Scott. Should be exciting, especially since Zella will be there. God help me, but I want to play matchmaker between her and Noah. I sigh as I think about all the drama that will no doubt unfold within those log walls. It's going to be a real fuck fest.

I lean over the box and lick the tip of one of my fingers, dipping it into the bag of powdered sugar I stole from the kitchen. When Ty sees me eating this shit raw, he gets the chills and has to leave the room. Me, I could mix it with some water and drink the paste. Can't get enough of this shit. I watch my lick down with some strawberry smoothie from the nightstand.

“Find them?” Ty asks, moving into the room with Noah in his beautiful arms, wrapped tight in muscles and ink, the world's most beautiful sight. If I ever need a reminder that Ty belongs to me, that he's completely and wholly mine, all I have to do is see him holding our baby, and I
know.
Some primal instinct inside of me just won't shut the fuck up.
Ty McCabe is mine. That is our baby. I am the only woman who has the privilege of his seed.
It's a bunch of weird, prehistoric bullshit, but it's there and I accept it. I'll never tell Ty though, not unless he asks.

“Nope,” I say as I watch him step over boxes and pause next to Noah's crib, pressing a metal studded kiss to his son's forehead before laying him down. “And it's pissing me the fuck off.” I wipe a hand across my sweaty forehead. “Goddamn, I want a whiskey sour,” I groan and Ty chuckles, nice and deep, low, suggestive. “Close the door,” I command him when India moves past, brows raised and eyes averted. My sisters know not to bother us when we're in the bedroom.

“Your wish is my fucking command,” he says, leaning over and shutting the door, turning the lock. He looks back at me with a sly smile.

“Unless you're made of bourbon, don't even bother to come over here right now. I'm operating with sugar not but no nicotine, no booze. Remember when I was pregnant with Noah?”

“Yeah, you were horny as shit,” Ty says, and I roll my eyes, bending down and digging into the next box in line.
Aha. Found you, you stupid fucks.
I pull out one of my hip scarves that I've used to wrap up the fragile ornaments. It's not my taste – burnt orange and taupe, more my mother's style than my own, but I remember the day she got it for me. She went through these moods where she was the mother I thought I wanted, leading me on with false promises and smiles, only to watch me crash down even harder the next time she fucked up.
Fucking cruel ass bitch.
I pull the ornament out and see that it's neither of my favorites, but still nice – a big, fat ceramic dick hung from the balls with a blue ribbon.

“I miss your grandma, and I never even met her,” I tell Ty. He grins and strips off his shirt, flashing me that perfect chest, his rock hard abs, the dark trail of hair leading into his pants. I try not to salivate and glance away, tossing the hip scarf onto the bed, so I can continue my search. The penis ornament gets thrown up along with it. Ty decides it's a cute idea to take it and hang it off our son's crib, so he can gaze at it with his fragile little being. “Thanks for scarring my baby for life,” I tell him as he scoots over and falls onto the bed, looking up at me, black hair yellowed from the light on the nightstand. I have to really fight to keep my hormones in check, especially when he brings his ringed knuckles up to his stomach and runs them across the grooves of his belly like it's a fucking washboard.

“You actually remind me of her,” he tells me, using his left hand to tug the hip scarf out from behind his head. The white fringe falls across his belly and already, I can feel my nipples hardening to points, my thighs moistening, my lips parting. I glance away.

“I remind you of your grandma? Do you know how fucked that sounds?”

“That you make me think of a strong, intelligent woman capable of changing the world by sheer force of will? Sounds pretty awesome to me.”

“I love you,” I blurt, and he grins. I stare at him staring back at me, and I fall more in love. Every time I think I've fallen too far, there's always somewhere else to go, and I know without a doubt that I am never getting out of this, would never want to get out of this, and am damned blessed for the opportunity to be here. “I'm glad you're not Rick,” I say to which Ty gives me a really confused sort of look. But I don't know how to explain it to him, don't know how to tell him that he's exactly the sort of man I was looking for but the kind I was desperate to avoid. I don't know how to tell him that his corrupted soul saved my own, two negatives multiplying together to create a positive. So I just lean over and kiss him so hard neither of us can breathe, lock my lips to his so tight that by the time I pull away we're both gasping for air.