Never Can Tell

by C. M. Stunich

  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 th
e 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.

  “I don't know who the fuck Rick is,” Ty tells me. “But if I ever find out you kissed him like that, I'll have to search and destroy that son of a bitch.” I stare at Ty for awhile and he stares right back, meeting the intensity in my gaze with some of his own, matching me at every turn, complimenting but not overpowering. We could've gone wrong together since we're so similar, could've exploded and ripped out one another's hearts, left them to bleed out in the hot, hot sun. But we didn't. We got it just right. Just fucking right.

  “I want to dance for you,” I blurt because as I'm standing there, fingering the fabric of a voluminous black skirt, I get a memory. Oh Noah Scott. I think of myself dancing for him, wanting to please him, loving him with my body. But I don't want my head filled with Noah Scott. All I care about, all I can think about, all I want to think about is Ty.

  As soon as I say this, he gets really serious, sitting up and kicking off his boots before turning to face me. I can see sweat beading on his belly. Dancing has become this … thing between us. It has all of this meaning – the line he used on me when we first met, the stupid belly dancing video, the bar before we confronted Luis. Every time it gets brought up, something happens between us. And I want that for us, want our relationship to continue to change and grow, evolve so that it's always this passionate and fucked up and raunchy and sensual. I want to dream about his kisses every night and hold his hand every day. And I don't ever, ever want us to forget how good we've got it.

  “Are you sure?” he asks me, and I know he's thinking about Noah Scott. But he shouldn't be. This isn't about Noah Scott. This is about him. Ty. Ty fucking McCabe, the man who stole my heart without meaning to, that crept into my life when it was at its darkest, lit up like the moon and showed me the way.

  A light flush creeps into my cheeks which is so unlike me that I get pissed off.

  “I'm going to have a fucking balloon for a belly soon enough, and I won't get another chance. It's now or Never,” I tell Ty, crossing my arms over my breasts, wishing his hands were on them. He looks at me again, that tenderness filling his gaze, and I find myself paralyzed. The lust I can handle, but this … Goddamn it. He had to go there. He knows it screws with my head and he does it on purpose, bashing me over the head with that love until I get it, until I know I'm worth it. It'll be awhile, but I'll come around. I always do.

  “I'd be honored if you'd dance for me, baby,” he says and then his brown eyes start to sparkle, the love morphing into lust; desire creeping into the smirk on his lips. Even his dimples join along for the ride. “I was hoping you'd do this for me on our wedding night, but you know, there was the whole giving birth fiasco.” I flip him off and grab a handful of items from the box. If I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it right. I'm going to dress up for him the way I did for Noah, but this time, when morning rolls around, I'll still be here beside him, always and forever. I bet we even end up in the same level of hell, buried side by side in matching fucking coffins. Or better yet, the same coffin, bones tangled up, scrambled into piles of who's who and whatnot. It's a morbid thought but somehow comforting at the same time. With Ty and me, it's not till death do us part. It's forever, just forever.

  “I'm not promising I'll be any good though,” I warn him before I step into the bathroom and escape my cocoon, transform into a butterfly, and get ready to show Ty my wings.

  19

  Deep breath, Never.

  I touch the handle of the bathroom door, pausing for only a split second to check my appearance in the mirror. My dark hair, the mirror to my spirit, an inky well of blackness escaping my soul is coiffed atop my head, wrapped around with a purple scarf that hangs down, kisses the freckles on my shoulders. I've draped silver chains over the top, pinned bunches of silk flowers and crescent moons. I run my tongue over my lips, dyed a bright red, a pop of color in my pale face, like a strawberry, waiting to be plucked and kissed. My eyes are pulled and pinched back with the illusion of smoke, hazy and mesmerizing, truthfully deceptive, shaded just so, just enough to bring out the blue and green flecks in the hazel color without taking away from the stark beauty of the gray.

  My belly, still flat but full with Ty's growing baby, has a butterfly pendant pierced through it, danging low, teasing the hem of my black skirt which hangs heavy off my hips, tied up with a fringe belt. The white tassels hang low and aren't afraid to move, blowing around as I turn, catching an imaginary breeze and tak
ing off to the sound of silver bells, a string of which I've draped around my midsection and let hang down my side.

  My left hand is a match for Ty's right, covered in twelve rings that I've borrowed from his grandma and my arms tinkle with bracelets. I smile wickedly at myself, biting my lip and letting my eyes trail down, across the deep line of cleavage, the turquoise top and the black half-vest that goes over it.

  Ty is going to fucking flip.

  I take another breath, close my eyes and imagine that the music I hear from the bedroom is taking me far away, to a different place, pulling Ty and I away from the world, so we can focus on each other and nothing else. He's the raven to my crow, and I couldn't imagine haunting this heavy world without him by my side.

  I open the door and the thick, cloying smell of patchouli wraps around me.

  “I found it in the dresser drawer,” Ty tells me as I move forward, into the darkened room, lit up by two single candles on either side, framing the stage and the small area Ty's cleared of boxes for me. I know immediately when I fall into his line of sight, feel his eyes rake me and penetrate me, kiss and caress me.

  I center myself as best I can and turn away from him, my eyes falling onto our sleeping baby, his soft face, his rosy cheeks. I lift my chin high and raise one hand over my head, palm up towards the ceiling, the other out at my side. And then I wait.

  The room is so still, vibrating with electricity, even though I haven't moved, even though nothing's happened between us yet. The current song ends and the next begins. A deep hum buzzes through the speakers follow by the tabla. I let my lashes rest against my cheek and then I begin to move. I don't think about what I'm doing, I just do it.