Never Can Tell (6 page)

I'm cleaning out our closet, pulling my boxes of belly dancing costumes out and pausing to wipe a hand across my face. I still haven't danced for Ty yet. I've meant to, but I just haven't had the opportunity. Now that I'm pregnant again, I don't know if I'm going to be able to for awhile. Scratch that, going to want to for awhile. It's not like I
couldn't,
but I doubt that I will.

I kick the box aside and it jingles. Noah coos happily, and I can't hold back a smile. I'm pretty sure his reaction as more to do with his father than anything else. The jingling of the belly dance costumes mimic the ring of Ty's bracelets, and I think the reason he falls asleep so fast when Ty rocks him to sleep is because of that jewelry. The soft clatter of metal is actually pretty fucking comforting. Hey, it works for me and my black soul just fine.

I push my way into the closet and reach behind the row of old coats that Ty's mom left, back to a plastic garment bag that's hanging behind them. I manage to wrangle it out and notice that it's not covered in dust like the rest of the crap. It's as clear and clean as the belly dance boxes I put in there a few months ago.

“What the fuck is this, Mini McCabe?” I ask as I unzip it and reveal a dress. A white dress. A
wedding
dress. Holy shit. Holy shitting shitting shit. I fling the bag on the bed and scoot past the baby who's sitting on the floor in a car seat. The plastic spreads open and the dress comes out, draping over my hands like water, fluid and liquid, pure as freshly fallen snow. Angelic. Virginal. Until I turn it over and see that the lacing on the back is red, blood red. It's the most beautiful fucking thing I have ever seen (as far as inanimate objects go).

More tears come, and I have no choice but to blame them on the pregnancy, so I can keep my dignity and my tough as nails badass bitch persona.

When I hear Ty coming up the stairs, I stash the dress under the bed turn Noah so that he can watch me as I run into the bathroom and throw up. Apparently, I'm going to get blessed with morning sickness again. Nice. Anything that stirs up my nerves for any reason gets me to upchuck in the damn toilet. Jesus.

“You okay, baby?” he asks me, coming in and sweeping my hair back, smelling like the cigarettes we're
both
supposed to be giving up now. I nod, but say nothing. I'm afraid I speak, I'll blurt some Hallmark card bullshit, something that belongs in cursive pink text. “I was thinking, if you wanted, we could probably leave as soon as Friday.” Again, I nod. “We'll get some kennels for the animals and maybe toss your son in there to save on airfare. I don't think he'd mind riding down with the cargo, do you?” I nod. I'm not really listening, and Ty knows it. He flushes the toilet for me and helps me to my feet. When I make eye contact with him, he raises his brows.

“What?”

“You're not all there. What's wrong? You just told me it was chill to throw your son in a kennel with the dog.” I roll my eyes and push away from Ty, stepping back into the bedroom, watching the sunshine stream through the window and across our bed. Ty grabs me around the waist and leans down to whisper in my ear. “You're hiding something from me. What is it?” I shake my head. Whatever it is that Ty was going to do with that dress is important to me. I don't want to spoil the surprise.

“I'm just … curious. To see where we're going, where we'll end up.”

I move towards the window and look down, into the yard and across the street, at the copse of trees that block our view of the neighbor's house and yard. Ty follows me over and trails his fingers across the skin on my upper back, my neck.

“As soon as you have this baby, we've got to get you a tattoo, one that says
Property of Ty McCabe.
”

“Go to hell,” I tell him as he steps back and pauses. The way he freezes tells me right away that something's wrong. For a second, I think something's wrong with Noah, that he's just suffered from SIDS and is gone forever. Pain crashes over me, but when I spin around, I see that he's okay, that Ty isn't even looking at him. Nausea sweeps over me.

Ty bends down and grabs the bit of fabric that's poking out from under the bed. Shit. The white dress follows and then he's smiling, looking up at me, eyes half-lidded.

“Never.”

“I found it when I was cleaning,” I say.

“Never.”

I cross my arms over my chest, prepared to argue. I don't know why. Maybe it's just conditioned in me, put there by having too many sisters. Argument is a fact of life, a daily occurrence when you've got that many girls in one house.

“What is this, Ty?”

“What do you think it is?” he asks me, setting the dress down, glancing at Noah. The baby is now fast asleep. He moves forward and grabs the hem of my shirt. I clamp my hands down on his wrists, right over his bracelets and glare.

“But why do you have this?” I ask. Ty's smile becomes a grin and then the shirt is just coming up and over my head. Before I can protest, he's got the dress back in his hands, lifting it up, looking coy as hell.

“Try it on?” he asks. “For me.”

“That's cheap.”

“Talk's cheap. I thought you loved me?”

“Haha,” I say, shaking my hand, raising my hands up with a sigh. The dress comes down and kisses my skin, fucks me softly, teases my flesh. “Happy? Now explain.” Ty takes my face in his hands and kisses me.

“I was going to build an archway, cover it in black roses, and marry the shit out of your ass in the yard. But since we're moving, I guess I'm going to have to settle for fucking the shit out of you in it instead.”

“You owe me a suit.” Ty snaps his fingers and starts to undress. I watch him and follow suit, dropping my jeans to the floor beneath the dress. When he goes to the dresser buck naked, and throws a tie around his neck, I almost swoon. Almost. But Never Ross doesn't swoon. She has a mean glare though. “This is not a suit.”

“It's better than a suit,” he says, coming to me, kissing me, caressing. It's a suit that gives you easy access to my dick.”

“Romantic.”

“Always.”

“So now what?”

“Now,” he asks, crooking an eyebrow, glancing down at his son to make sure he's sleeping soundly enough to get through Mommy and Daddy's debauchery. “Now we play a little game called
Here Cums the Bride.
”

9

The next morning, Ty and I get dressed and put Noah in his baby carrier, getting ready to leave, so the realtor can show the house. He's promised me a strawberry smoothie if I cooperate, so I go along willingly, trying not to smile when I think of the crumpled white dress I've hung back up in the closet. Might have some stains on it now, too. I guess it isn't so virginal and perfect anymore. I grin.

We're running late and only make it about halfway down the block when we see her car. Ty waves; I don't. A minute later, a second car comes by. My eyes catch on the face of the woman inside and something about her seems familiar. I can't place her though and figure we've probably brushed elbows in the grocery store or something. I think this until I turn and see the expression on my young husband's face. He's white as a fucking ghost, and he's not walking anymore. He's standing there clutching his son with one hand, turning in a slow half circle and following the back of the car with wide eyes.

“The fuck?” he asks. I watch Ty bite his lip hard. The name that escapes his lips next sends chills down my spine. “Hannah.”

“Hannah?” my voice comes out in a squeak, and I'm so fucking glad that Ty's the one holding our baby. “Hannah, the pedophile?” I ask, referring to the woman that took Ty's virginity, who paid him for sex when he was a thirteen year old runaway. I see red. “What in the goddamn fucking shit is that
whore
doing driving to my house?” My voice rises an octave with each word, and my heart pounds out a sharp, slicing bolero to the gods of war. Noah senses something is wrong and starts to cry.

“I don't … I have no fucking clue,” Ty says. He sounds baffled, but not angry. Not yet. Or maybe that's because this time, it's my job. I start to run. “Never!” Ty shouts, but he's helpless to come after. Can't exactly take off at a pounding job with a newborn strapped to your chest. I pummel back down the sidewalk and into the yard just in time see Hannah climbing out of her car. It's a nice car, admittedly, far too nice for someone like her.

I come up and hit her hard, just after the realtor calls out a cheerful hello to me. Hannah falls back and slams into the shiny red paint of her sedan.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I growl, squeezing her biceps with my nails, digging them into her pale flesh. Her pale lips are parted and her blue eyes are wide. “What is your fucking deal?”

“My deal?” she asks as the realtor stumbles over and looks between us, trying to decide if she should get involved or not. I slash a glare her way and she steps back. “I'm just here to look at the house. Who are you?” So she's playing dumb. Fine. Maybe this will wake her up. My fist comes back, but strong fingers grasp me around the wrist and keep me from making a stupid mistake, one that could end up with me sitting pregnant in prison.

“Mrs. McCabe,” Ty says, and I think he chooses his words purposely. “Don't do something you'll regret.” I want to tell him that I could never regret decking this bitch, that she deserves a good beat down, that I could
kill
her and not feel bad about it. I try to think of Ty and my kid and my sisters instead, turning away and rubbing my hands down my face.

“Hello there,” Hannah says and the sound of her voice almost takes me over the edge, sends me into a wild rage. I bite my lip so hard it bleeds, trying to contain myself. From the backyard, Angelica starts to bark. “This is quite a coincidence.”

“Oh, I'm sure,” Ty says and his voice holds venom, thick and pungent. I turn around and watch their interaction. Inside of me, our new baby stirs. Or at least I imagine it does. In all reality, it's probably the size of a pea. I put a hand over my stomach and hold my ground. “Hannah, I don't think I need to tell you how weird this is.” Hannah brushes her honeyed curls back. She looks the picture of innocence standing there in a green and yellow sundress, hair fluttering softly in the wind. Perfect facade for a child fucker.

“I'm looking to buy a house, Tyson.” She smiles; my red rage turns violet. “How was I supposed to know this one was yours?”

“Sorry, bitch, we don't sell to pedophiles. Take your freak show on the road.”

“Excuse me,” the realtor says, trying to interject herself between Hannah and me. When I flash my gaze over to her though, she shrinks back a bit. She's weak. I consider telling her to grow a backbone, but I know I'm just being mean. I focus my rage back on Hannah.

“I don't really appreciate you speaking to me like that,” she says, voice so soft it's nearly ripped away by the wind. I see her eyes fall on Mini McCabe and I come
this
close to strangling her. I step forward, Ty steps to the side and puts his hand over my chest. When he tosses a glance back at me, he's smiling. No dimples and it doesn't reach his eyes, but it's there.

“Hey you.”

I don't know how to respond to that, so I just stare at him, locking my hazel eyes with his brown ones, telling him it's not okay. It will never be okay with me. I blame this woman for a lot. It was her; she stole the last of Ty's innocence, practically sold him into the sex trade, and left him with a man whose clients included perverts, kidnappers, and murderers. Frankly, I just want to fucking kill her, or at the very least, beat the ever living crap out of her. I should've kicked her ass in that coffee shop way back when.

“Hey you, what?” I snap when Ty doesn't elaborate.

“I love the shit out of you, okay?”

“Okay?”

“Do me a favor?” He lifts his hands up in a chiming of rainbow bracelets and starts to undo the clasps on the sides of the baby carrier. I watch him, the corner of my lip curling, knowing that Hannah is watching, too.
I want to smash her face in.
“Take Noah for me?” he asks.

“Noah,” Hannah says, not like she's asking a question, but in a creepy way, like she's trying to memorize the information or something. My blood goes cold, even as Ty hands me our son's small, warm, body and looks back over at Hannah from under a loose bit of black hair. He tried to gel it up this morning, but we were in a hurry, so it looks kind of mussy, like he just woke up. I do not like the way that bitch's eyes take this in.

Ty's hands go on his hips and he sucks in a deep breath, running his tongue over his lips and looking devilishly beautiful standing there in scuffed up combat boots and an undone baby carrier, Sharpie bullets stark under the gray light of the morning.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask him, noticing that the realtor is creeping back to her. I hope she doesn't call the police. That's the last thing I want to deal with right now.

“Did I ever tell you that I think it's hot as shit when you try to protect me?”

“Did I ever tell you that I don't like being left in the dark? What are you doing?”

“Putting a lid on my past,” Ty says, completely ignoring Hannah. To me, she's a threat. To him, she's a piece of his dark, dirty history, a relic best left forgotten. But, obviously, for whatever reason she does not want him to forget her. I can see it written all over her face. I don't know what her deal is, but she still wants Ty for something. Why else would she have written her number on his hand when we saw her in the city? Why else would she have the fucking balls to show up here right now?

Nausea clenches my belly muscles tight, and I think Noah senses my unease because he starts to scream. In the background, Angelica continues to bark, loud shrill yaps that pierce the peaceful silence of the neighborhood.

“I'm sorry,” the realtor says, drawing my attention over to her pinched face, her tiny, round eyes and her mauve lips. “But you'll have to remove the dog before I can show the house.” She tries to smile at me, but I can tell she's nervous. She should be. There's violence brewing in the air right now, ready to spew blood across the cracked walls of our collective psyches. One of them is coming down and it isn't going to be mine, and it isn't going to be Ty's. I'll give you one guess.