Authors: C. M. Stunich
Never Can Tell (16 page)
So, Ty wants me to tell my family about the new baby, okay. I'll do it. But I'm still Never Fontaine Regali-Ross-McCabe, and I'm a little bit of a bitch and ornery as fuck.
“What are you up to?” I ask him, eyes narrowed as he shifts his sweatshirt from one arm to the other. There's obviously something else wrapped up in there, and it's just a matter of time until I figure out what it is. “Is this about the doctor again?” Ty pauses and runs his tongue over his sexy lower lip. He won't stop on the whole doctor thing, but I haven't passed out again, and the spotting is minimal. I looked it up on my phone and it seems pretty common, so I'm not worried about it, but Ty is. It bothers him a lot, I think.
“No, but would you please reconsider going? This is really stressing me out, Nev, and remember, it's not just your body anymore – it's mine now, too.” He tries to make this sound sexy, but there's this thread of fear woven into his words, this horrible nightmare of a thought that his love, his seed, his baby could somehow be responsible for something horrible, for threatening my life, for separating us when it should be bringing us together. I understand, but I still don't want to go.
“After Christmas?” I ask. He gives me a look and then sighs, nibbling at his lip ring and shaking his head. I've noticed that he's taken to wearing one of my bracelets at all times. My heart flutters in my chest, but I don't let him see it, maintaining my facade of stubborn unruliness. I can't let him know he makes me giddy and lightheaded or I'll never win another argument.
“You're so fucking stubborn,” he says, but we both know that he is, too. Neither of us is going to get our way here, so compromises have to be made. The fact that we're coming to this conclusion together and without strife, is just further proof that we're meant to be. “If something happened to you, my soul would shatter.”
How the fuck am I supposed to say no to that?
“But I guess there's no time, so … you have to swear on my dick that you'll go as soon as we get back.” I raise an eyebrow.
“Your dick?” Ty grins.
“I just picked the thing you love most in the world is all.” I throw a pretzel at him and wish that it was a Marlboro. I'm kind of getting to the point where I wish and hope and pray that everything becomes a cigarette, just so I can stare at it and smell it. Addictions suck and mine is freshly revived, denied during Noah's pregnancy, rekindled in that brief period between, and laid dormant again. It's the worst fucking torture I've ever experienced. Fortunately, my other vice, my sexual addiction, gets to be fed full and often. Very, very often.
I'm going to end up with thirty fucking kids, aren't I? Aren't I?
When you're making constant, wild love to a fucking stallion like Ty McCabe, you sort of forget the basics. He's goddamn intoxicating, poisoning me with his presence, and I'm loving every damn minute of it.
“As fucking stupid as that is, fine. I swear on your big, hairy cock that I will go to the doctor after Christmas and have a strange man with latex gloves stick his hand up my vagina. Happy?” Ty grins and digs into his front pocket, pulling out a long, thin white piece of heaven, sliding it between his lips and lighting up with a merry jingle of bracelets.
India pops her head into the kitchen for a moment.
“First of all, you two are disgusting. Second of all, Beth says if she catches Never smoking, in the house especially, she's going to go ballistic.” Ty laughs and scoots his way out the back door, abandoning me in my quest to 'quit'. At least for now. Once whoever this is comes out, I'll probably be right back at it again. I could ask Ty to stop with me for real, to give up smoking altogether, but I'm kind of living vicariously through the scent on his clothes and the ripe burst of flavor I get when I kiss his lips. Plus, I'm old school as fuck. Ty with a cigarette in his mouth turns me on. Sorry, antismoking ads. It probably shouldn't, but it does.
He only stays outside for a moment before coming back in and dropping his sweater to the table. As I'd suspected, there's something folded up underneath.
“Here,” he tells me, smiling wickedly, pushing the black square of fabric towards me. “I got you a fucking present. I was going to wait until later to give it to you, but screw it. I want to see it on.” I take the fabric in my hands and unfold it, finding myself face to face with the world's most fucking amazing T-shirt. My hormones try to get the better of me, filling my eyes with tears, but by sheer force of will, I push them back.
On the front of the shirt is a spinal cord and a ribcage with a tiny heart in the center, and down below, a baby skeleton curled up in the womb. It's so perfect, so Ty, so me. I clutch it to my chest.
“You know me too well,” I whisper, voice so quiet it's almost impossible to hear. Ty steps forward and leans across the table, brushing my hair away from my forehead. He can hear me no matter how softly I speak or how loud I scream, and he will always be there. I know that now without a doubt. Somewhere deep, down inside of me, my heart continues to heal.
“No, I don't think so. I think we've got it just fucking right,” he tells me, kissing me, promising me that all of these changes are good ones, that we're making the right decisions, that our life can only get better from this point forward. My phone rings and I glance at the screen.
“It's Zella,” I say, slightly disappointed that the moment is over, but unable to hold back a smile when Ty presses his hot lips to my forehead. There will be more moments, more slices of tenderness and pleasure and passion. That's the beauty of being in love. I answer it. “You on your way?” I ask her, squeezing my shirt in my left hand, determined that after this call I'm going to go upstairs and slip it on. Ty watches me through half-lidded eyes and smiles.
I hear the worry in her breathing, know that something's wrong before she even speaks.
Just when you think everything else is under control, that you've got your shit together and your life in check, something else has to go wrong. Fortunately, it hasn't nothing to do with me this time.
“Never,” Zella says, voice low and full of shame. “I think I'm in trouble.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
Never too Late #2: Never Let Go
Zella's Story
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Real Ugly (Hard Rock Roots, Book 1)
Books by C.M. Stunich
The House of Hands and Hearts and Hair
The House of Sticks and Bones
Houses Novels
The Hunt
The Throne
The Huntswomen Trilogy
Indigo & The Colonel
Indigo & Lynx
Indigo Lewis Novels
Never Can Tell
Never say Never Trilogy & Never too Late Series
Loving Me, Trusting You
Triple M Series
Get Bent
Hard Rock Roots
Stand Alone Novels
About the Author
C.M. Stunich was raised under a cover of fog in the area known simply as Eureka, CA. A mysterious place, this strange, arboreal land nursed Caitlin's (yes, that's her name!) desire to write strange fiction novels about wicked monsters, magical trains, and Nemean Lions (Google it!). She currently enjoys drag queens, having too many cats, and tribal bellydance.
She can be reached at [email protected], and loves to hear from her readers. Ms. Stunich also wrote this biography and has no idea why she decided to refer to herself in the third person.
Happy reading and carpe diem!
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