Tasting, Finding, Keeping: The Story of Never (45 page)

When people experience pain in their lives, they react to it one of two ways: internally or externally. Those of us who take it internally channel those feelings into our hearts, we bleed, we break, we spiral down, down, down until we find something to make it stop. For some people, it's the love of family or the desperate desire for self-preservation. For others it's booze or drugs. But for me, it's sex. That's my outlet. I can't say it doesn't hurt anyone – not even me – but it doesn't generally cause that bone splitting agony that breaks others. This girl, the one with the gun, she's taking her pain and laying it out there for all to see. To feel. To suffer from. So I get it. I feel sorry for her, I do, but this shit ain't gonna fly. No way, no how.

“Don't,” the girl says, but it doesn't appear that either of her friends gives a crap about what she has to say. “Just leave her alone and let's get out of here.”

“You said take whatever they've got, am I right?”

I close my eyes, squeeze them tight. I keep picturing Never in her red dress, thinking about that hurt in her eyes, hearing the quiver of rage in her voice when I said she wasn't worth it. That was a pretty fucked up thing to say, even for me. I can't let her die with that sour note in her chest.

“We don't have time for that, asshole,” the other guy replies, and I almost breathe a sigh of relief. “There's plenty of good ass in Memphis. Just grab some stuff, and let's get the fuck out of here.”

“Let's take her with us.”
Oh, fuck that.
I start to edge around the corner, slowly, oh so slowly. “Stand up.”

“You're pathetic.” That voice, like velvet and lace. That's Never. I like the strength I hear in those two simple words. She's a fighter, that one. I start to grin, but only for a second before it falls away. This shit is serious. I just appreciate seeing someone who still has fight left in them. It's refreshing.

“Take off your coat.”

“You must feel pretty fucking powerful. So in control of your life. Does hurting people make you feel good? Do you get off on it?”
Keep 'em distracted, Never,
I think as I wait for an opportunity to move. The girl with the gun seems pretty focused on the exchange now. Might be my chance to go for it. I start to ease out from behind a display of candy bars, worried that my reflection in the glass doors will give me away.
This is like that movie,
Jurassic Park,
or some shit.
Imagining these three douche bags as velociraptors actually makes me feel better believe it or not.

“Mm, mm, mm. What a hot, little piece of ass. Do you think she'd wake up if I started fucking her?” Crap. Crap. Crap. I don't like the sound of that. I keep crawling forward, slowly. So so slowly. I feel like if I make a run for it, I'll draw that girl's attention and end up with a bullet to the face.

“Mel, we don't have all Goddamn day. Get their wallets and let's go.”

“Come on,
Mel,
” Never teases, and I get the impression she's
trying
to draw attention towards her. Bless her fucking heart. “The master calls.”

“It'll only take me a minute,” the man replies, seemingly unfazed.

“Don't hurt me,” a soft voice whimpers. Definitely not Never that time. Must be her friend, Lacey. “I'll give you whatever you want, just please … don't.”

“They're coming for us,” the girl shouts suddenly, and I freeze, thinking she's spotted me. But nope. She's just fucking paranoid. Her hands are shaking and her eyes are darting between the scene in front of her and the bloody body of the clerk. “I don't want to go to jail. Let's just get out of here.”

I stand up, keeping my head ducked low, and start to move.

“Roll over,” one of the men commands and even though I don't know exactly what's going on, I can take a guess. I stand up completely straight and sprint those last few feet to the panicky girl with the gun. She notices me a second too late as I slam into her chest, knocking her arm off course. She doesn't manage to fire the gun, not even when I snatch her wrist in my right hand and use my left to pull back and hit her square in the face. I don't make a habit of hitting women, but in this situation, I feel like the force is justified.

Blood sprays from her nose and splatters my chest, but I can't take the time to worry about what I've done to her. I take another swing, hit her again. Her lip splits and even more blood leaks out, staining my T-shirt.

The girl staggers back and I manage to wrestle the gun from her fingers, using the butt of it to smack her upside the head again. When she slumps to the floor, I spin, cringing as a gun goes off near the front and shatters the glass windows. I take aim at the man who's fighting with Never, biting my tongue so hard it bleeds when I catch him mimicking the trick I used on the gun girl. He hits Never in the head with his pistol and she falls back, hitting the ground with her shoulder and rolling away. Now I've got a perfect shot.

“Goddamn bitch,” the man snarls as he lifts the barrel and aims at Never's face. To her credit, she doesn't look scared. Just … regretful. I'm going to remember that look for the rest of my life. As the man struggles to his feet, I pull the trigger. The shot goes wide, breaking a second window, but it doesn't matter. I've managed to pull his attention away from Never. My eyes dart quickly to the left, looking for the first guy, but he's already gone. I have no idea when he left or how he managed to get out without my noticing, but good riddance to that son of a bitch. My friends follow in his footsteps, popping up like daisies in the aisles and making a break for it. Can't say I blame them.

I'm panting now, letting the adrenaline take hold of my body. Fight or flight, baby, and Never and me, we've chosen to fucking fight. I hope that says something good about us.

The man I'm shooting at turns, gun still clutched firmly in hand, and I wonder if we're about to have an old fashioned fire fight. Never surprises me though, kicking out hard and getting the man in the shin. He stumbles but still manages to fire off another shot. Lucky for me, it hits the glass windows to my left. Unlucky for Never, the barrel swings straight back towards her. I see her throw her body against him, connect her shoulder with his stomach, but he doesn't go down, and they start to struggle for control of the gun. If I thought I could hit him without shooting her, I'd try.

At the same time, I can't just stand here and do nothing.

Never throws herself into the struggle with all she's got, thrashing like a wild animal, smashing the man in the junk, pulling at his hair. It's not going to be enough though, and I know that.

I sprint towards her as fast as I can and smash the gun against the man's head, giving Never just enough of an opening that she's able to separate him from his own weapon. The pistol skids across the floor and disappears into the disarray around us. When he shoves Never back and sends her crashing into the sea of broken glass, I freak the fuck out.
Don't you fucking touch her, you Goddamn piece of shit.

A protective urge that I can't even begin to understand surges through me. Some primal instinct to protect this woman that I don't even know, that I didn't even really like.

I drop my own gun, spin the man around and pull back my right arm, well aware that I have fucking rings for days. They're not just for looks, folks. I can promise you that it hurts a fuck of a lot more to get punched with these babies than with a bare fist.

I hit the man as hard as I can, barely aware of the resounding pain ricocheting up my arm. I don't even care anymore. I'm all instinct and basic nightmare right now. My fingers tangle in his shirt and I grab a second hit, feeling warm flesh and hot blood, the firm resistance of bone and the subsequent crumble of cartilage in the asshole's nose.

When he collapses to the floor, I let him go, and shake out my hand, loosening my knuckles and forcing my fingers to uncurl. My gaze goes straight to Never as she gasps and winces, her fingers splayed out against the broken glass. That can't be good.

“Are you alright?” I ask, even though it's a stupid question. I can't stop myself from moving towards her, from reaching underneath her, wrapping my arms around that red dress and lifting her from the floor. Inside my chest, my heart pounds a strange rhythm. Even though I'm shaking with adrenaline, weary with relief, I can't stop my skin from heating up at her touch. Even my cock threatens to mutiny on me and attempts to voice his excitement at having this gorgeous girl pressed up close against my chest.

“Thanks,” Never says, and I smile, glancing around for somewhere to put her down. First thing's first, we've got to get that glass out of her skin. I end up deciding that there's nowhere practical or safe inside the store and head outside, the distinct sound of sirens blaring in the distance.
About time, motherfuckers.

I notice Never checking my shirt surreptitiously, examining the blood and searching for injuries. I almost laugh, but I'm afraid I'll freak her out and decide to hold it back. When she sighs in relief, my smile ratchets up a notch and makes my face hurt.
Who the hell is this chick? And what is she doing to me?

I decide to set Never down on the hood of the nearest car and take a step back.

“Thanks,” she says again, and my smile stretches even further across my face.

“No, thank you. If you hadn't attacked that guy, I wouldn't have been able to get the girl.”

Never shrugs.

“If you hadn't stuck around, I'd have been dead. You could've left through the back door, you know.”

“Never even crossed my mind,” I admit. I bite at my lip ring nervously, unsure where to take things from here. Not just with the scene in the convenience store, but with the strange urge I have towards this girl.
I really, really do want to take her dancing.
And not just to try and score afterwards. I kind of … I just kind of like her flair.

I run my hand through my hair and try not to sigh. I don't want to give her the wrong idea.

When she starts to pick glass shards from her hand, that protective urge smashes into me like a truck, and I can't stop myself from reaching out and taking hold of her wrist.

“Need some help?” I ask, and Never's hazel eyes snap up to mine.
Are you fucking crazy
? She asks with that look, but I don't know what to say. Instead, I focus on removing the broken bits and ignoring the slight swell of blood from her palm.

I've got to ask this girl out. But not on a date. Sex is not on the menu.

If I only knew what a big step that was for me. Monstrous. Huge. Monumental.

For once in my life, my instincts are dead fucking on.

STORY #3: Disney Princes and Shit, Keeping Never Chapter 31.5

Our next short story falls between the last chapter and the epilogue in Keeping Never. Ty McCabe, would you please sing for me, next?

Never Ross

I'm sitting on the edge of a chair, fingers curled around the seat, eyes locked onto Ty McCabe's sweaty back as he shovels piles of newspapers and magazines into a garbage can. The massive horde isn't as bad upstairs as it is downstairs, but somehow it seems more ominous. Maybe it's because we've decided to stay here, to make this place our own, to try something new?

My stomach twists and turns, and I can't help but place a hand across my growing belly. It feels
huge
now, like I'm permanently wedged into the center of a tire, lugging the rubber around on my waist like a belt. Ty pauses, turning to glance at me over his shoulder. Somehow, it seems he can sense whenever I'm distressed, even if it's just a little thing. Last night, I took my shoes off to give my swollen feet a break and accidentally stepped on a tack. The way he ran down the stairs, scooped me up in his arms, you'd think I'd broken my leg.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, frowning at my reddened cheeks, the little beads of moisture clinging to my forehead, my shaking hands. If he only knew that
those
particular symptoms have everything to do with his shirtless-ness and not much at all to do with my pregnancy. He'd probably walk around like a gloating peacock, the bastard.

I force a smile and pretend I'm not so turned on I could jump his bones. It's hard to find a place to fuck in this house. It doesn't feel right yet. When it's cleaned out, maybe then. Right now, there are too many memories hiding amongst the trash piles. I still worry that Ty won't be able to handle living here full-time, but he seems okay. Happy, even. Anyway, we've both already informed the school that we won't be there next semester. That frightens me, truly, it does, but I know that Ty and I will be okay because we're together. At this point, I don't even care what happens, so long as I can hold his ringed hand in mine, find his lips pressing hot and insistent against my mouth, feel his cock filling me up at night.

“I'm fine,” I answer honestly. I rub my stomach, trying to push away the queasy feeling. I don't think I'm good at this whole pregnancy thing. Beth, the stupid bitch, keeps sending me pictures of herself, glowing like a sun goddess, whipping up organic meals she found on freaking Pinterest. She refuses to talk about Danny over the phone though, so I have no way of knowing if that fight Ty had with him made any difference in their relationship. I hope so. I hope Danny the Douche ran as far away as his legs could carry him. “Just a little tired is all.”
And horny.
That second part won't be a problem though. Ty and I are getting good at improvising when it comes to finding a nice, safe spot for a quickie. The bigger I get, though, the harder it becomes.
Ugh.
Who knew? Me, Never Nicholas Ross, pregnant. I'm still reeling from the very thought.

Ty puts down his shovel, runs an arm across his sweaty forehead and strips off his gloves, dumping them into the garbage can along with the rest of the trash. When he comes over to kneel down next to me, my entire body goes numb, and I find that I'm having trouble breathing. Even now, even after all we've been through, I still go weak at the knees when Ty takes me in his arms. I hope we stay like this forever.

“Do you want to go back to the hotel?” he asks, raising his pierced brow and then pressing a kiss to my bare knee. I find my fingers drawn to the dark swirl of hair on his head. It feels so good to play with it, know that I'm the only woman who's going to be touching him from this day forward. My grip tightens when I think of that bitch, Hannah. That pedophile freak stole Ty's virginity from him and then had the audacity to give him her phone number when we ran into her in that coffee shop. We've been back to the city a handful of times since then, but haven't seen her. I don't expect to. I mean, it is New York after all.

“Can we get a strawberry shake on the way there?” I ask, putting my fingers under his chin and lifting his face for a kiss. When our mouths meet, I get goose bumps.
I knew the second you two walked in that damn door,
Vanessa, our Sexual Obsession Group counselor, told me over the phone last week.
That you were going to succeed, but that you weren't gonna last.
Her laughter echoes around inside my head as Ty pulls away and tugs on my earring.

“We can get fifty strawberry shakes if that's what you want.” He grins. “With pickles in them.” I wrinkle my nose and stick out my tongue. Pregnant or not, I still hate fucking pickles. “Or I could just give you my pickle and we can call it even.”

I snort and find my fingers splayed against his sweaty chest.

“You're a pervert,” I tell him matter-of-factly as he sits back on his haunches and grins. When he sees my eyes firmly focused on the swell of his muscular arms, he lifts his arm and squeezes his bicep.

“But a sexy one, right?” I roll my eyes.

“You're all sorts of things, Tyson Monroe McCabe.”

“Like what?” he stands up and reaches out for my fingers, pulling me to my feet with a groan.

“You said you fancy yourself a Disney Prince, but you've never sung for me. I guess that makes you a liar.”

“Oh, whoa,” Ty says, letting go of my hands and placing them on my belly. I glance away and he reaches out, touching my chin to get me to look at him. He knows how weird this pregnancy thing is for me, how hard all of these changes are going to be. But he'll keep us on track, I know he will. Besides, there is no way in hell I cleaned up my act and suffered through three years of school to stop now. “You have a good memory there, Mrs. McCabe.” I give him a look. “Okay, okay, the
future
Mrs. McCabe.”

“Huh.”

“But if you want me to sing for you, I can make that happen.” I try to pull away, but Ty doesn't let me go, spinning me around so he can press his chest against my back. “I am warning you in advance though. I think I'm fucking tone deaf.”

“You don't have to sing for me,” I say, but the words come out in a whisper, and I find myself closing my eyes against the heat of his body. Some people might say that Ty and are I making a terrible decision, coming here, staying here, having this baby, but I don't care. What they don't get, and what they couldn't possibly understand is that Ty McCabe is the other half of my soul. To me, he's the light that drives out the darkness, and that's all that matters. Everything else, it'll fall into place, come together. I'm not worried about that.

“But I want to,” he says and then hums low under his breath. “Mmm. What song do I song? Decisions, decisions.”

“
Hush, Little Baby,
” I say randomly. I have some vague memories of my father singing it to us girls, but it was so long ago, and those moments so obscured with worse ones that I'm not sure if that's true or just a product of my imagination.

Ty, bless his fucking bloody, black, beating heart, clears his throat.

“Hush, little baby, don't say a word, McCabe's gonna buy you a fuckin' mockingbird. If that mockingbird won't sing,
McCabe's gonna buy you a diamond ring.” Ty touches his fingers to my hand, to the two rings he gave me that used to belong to his grandmother. Yes, I'll admit, his singing won't be winning any Grammy Awards – and I'm pretty sure our child's first word is going to be
fuck –
but I like it anyway. I like him, and the way he doesn't give a shit if the world is looking, if what he does seems silly, if other people stare.

I laugh at him, but he won't stop. Now that I've gotten him started, he's enjoying making me squirm.

“And
if that diamond ring turns brass, McCabe's gonna fuck you right in the ass.”

I snort with laughter and elbow him in the stomach, cutting our lovely little Disney inspired lullaby short.

“That is not what the prince said to Sleeping Beauty when he found her in the forest.” Ty raises both eyebrows this time and puts his hands on his hips.

“No, it's what he
wanted
to say to her. He was trying to be gentlemanly. Me, I already woke my princess up with a hell of a lot more than a kiss, and besides, we both know I'll never be the gentlemanly type, not like Noah Scott or some shit.” Ty gives me a look even though we both know Noah is completely and utterly out of the picture for me at this point. He just likes to tease, I think.

“Gentleman or not,” I tell him, and I mean each word that escapes my lips, sitting heavy on the air with the beat of my heart and the heat of my breath, “I love you, Ty McCabe, and I wouldn't change you for the world.”