Tasting, Finding, Keeping: The Story of Never (46 page)

STORY #4: From the Mouth of Tyson Monroe McCabe, Keeping Never, before the epilogue

This piece follows shortly after Story #3, another blip in time before the epilogue closes out book three of our Never say Never series.

Ty McCabe

Never and I are standing on the busy sidewalk, people flowing around us, breaking apart for just a split second to give us room to breathe. Occasionally someone jostles us, but mostly they don't. I'm pleasantly surprised by that.

“Well?” I ask, enjoying the feeling of her hand wrapped in mine. I think I knew from the moment I arrived at that convenience store that I'd grow to love this woman. Those protective instincts I felt during the robbery, the need to save her, to scoop her up, to see her smile, those are a thousand times stronger now than they were back then.
Plus, she's pregnant.
I try not to grin like a maniac. I get to be overprotective for two people now. It kind of fucking rocks. I like knowing that Never's marked by me, that I've taken her in a way that no other man could or ever fucking will. I keep my smile calm and easy, lest she realize all of the alpha male babble that's running through my brain. “What's it going to be for breakfast this morning? Pizza or scones?” It's a weird fucking question, yes, but Noah Scott's been sending Never these little envelopes filled with gift cards. I think it's his way of giving us money without actually sending cash. It bothers me, sure. I mean, I should be able to provide for the love of my life, but I also know that life is a process. I'm getting there, working towards the place I want to be. Besides, Never doesn't know it yet, but I've got a nest egg, money saved up from my time as a whore. It's what I'm going to use to keep us afloat until we get things in order, get enrolled in school, find jobs, whatever.

But right now, this is our most pressing concern: the coffee shop on the left or the pizza joint on the right. Since Never's carrying my baby around, I'm letting her pick. It's the least I can do, considering. I hope she knows my love doesn't just extend this far, that it goes all the way, that I'd run through hot lava to save her, let my body melt away into nothing as I carried her to safety.

“Scones,” she says, matter-of-factly. I turn and catch sight of her beautiful face, those hazel eyes that sparkle with flecks of green and gold. I even like the in-between state of her hair, the copper roots up top and the black and red on the bottom. I know she hates it, but I think it's symbolic. Neither here nor fucking there, right?

I smile and pull her to me, feeling the heady warmth of her body tucked against mine. The wind is cold today, whipping past us and teasing us with the ends of strangers' scarves. When I hold her against me like this though, I feel complete. Perfect. No other girl – no other person
ever
– has been able to make me feel this way.

My mouth finds her hair, my breath stirring the strands around as I hover and wait to press a kiss to her scalp. She squirms while we stand there, uncomfortable with the hordes of people passing by. I say, fuck the fucking fuckers. This is my girl, the other half of my soul, and I will touch and kiss and hug and love the shit out of her whenever, wherever.

“Are you trying to make me cranky right now?” she asks, and I can feel the husky slide of her voice against my body, brushing against the bare skin on my hands, my throat, my face. I want to fuck her so bad right now, take her up against one of these street lights or the side of the coffee shop.
Holy hell in a hand basket.

“Why on earth would this,” I kiss her scalp again and then lift her chin up to look at me, “make you cranky?” My kiss lingers on her lips before I start working my way towards her ear, biting her lobe, sliding my tongue along the pulse in her throat. Never shoves me back and shakes herself out, blinking up at me with accusation burning in her eyes. “Because when you get horny, you get cranky?”

“Bite me,” Never says, and I only wish I could indulge her. Instead, I settle for following her inside the coffee shop. It's a place we've never been before, a chain, but a nice chain store, one that's trying really, really hard to look like a locally owned joint. The entire room is themed in blackbirds and sappy poetry quotes. Portraits of old people hang on the walls and although I know I should probably be aware of who these famous novelists and poets are, I'm not.

I find my attention drawn to Never's ass, cupped in a black skirt, her long legs covered in carefully ripped tights.
Damn. Damn. Double damn.
I look up just in time to intercept her as she turns to stare at me.

“What do you want?” she asks, gesturing at the chalk board behind the counter. The menu doesn't look drawn on though, but like it was printed that way. Hmm. I try not to laugh.

“You,” I say, and Never smiles at me, turning away and ordering two blueberry scones and some coffees, black. Just the way we like them. I'm not feeling particularly hungry, but I know I'm going to need the energy if I'm going to get this house cleaned up, turn it into a proper home for the most important person in my life. I really hope nothing gets in the way of that or I'm going to have to go ballistic. No more skating through life on a sea of shit. I can
do
this.

I step up beside Never and slide an arm around her waist, sparking interest between us, heat. Her nipples peak under her shirt, and I can feel the tense strain of her muscles as I drag her to me. The man behind the counter rolls his eyes and sets our plates and mugs on the counter.

“Every day with you is a good time,” I tell her and she laughs, reaching up to grab her food and tossing me a look over her shoulder.

“You have such lines, McCabe. Such lines. Have they always worked so well before?”

“Only on you, baby,” I say as we retreat to a corner table and sit side by side on the cushioned bench in the back. We're tucked behind an obnoxious statue, away from the doors to the bathrooms and the kitchen. It feels private back here, like we could fuck if we wanted and nobody would notice. I tap my fingers on the table and scope out the view. All I can see from here is a massive planter with a fake tree in it and the most miniscule of glimpses of the front counter. I don't even know how Never knew there was a spot back here.

“Eat your scone before I steal it,” she says, trying to take small bites of hers and failing. I smile and push the plate across the table with a single finger.

“Take it, baby,” I say, leaning into her for a moment before I sit back up and drag her onto my lap. My arms go around Never's waist as I rest my head against her shoulder. “Eat up.”

“What about you?” she asks, but like she can't resist. Growing little McCabe babies makes a lady hungry. I chuckle softly.

“I'm fine. I just make the seed. You're the dirt, Nev.”

“Charming.”

“I know, right?” I press my nose against her sweater, smell that unique scent that only she has, some mixture of shampoo and lilac soap.

“Ty, don't,” Never says and she sounds strangely close to tears. I whip my head up and find her fingers splayed out on the table top, head turned away from me. When she glances back, I can see there
are
tears in her eyes.

“What's the matter?” I keep my voice low, gentle. Whatever it is, we'll get through it.

“Just don't … do whatever it is you're doing, I'm … kind of feeling sensitive right now if you haven't noticed.” She shrugs and tries her best not to blush. Doesn't work. “I am pregnant, after all, and it's your fault.”

“You're also horny. Is that the real problem?”

“Would you stop saying that? It's driving me crazy.”

I put my hand on Never's hips and spin her until she's straddling me. Neither of us misses the hard bulge in my pants or the way it presses against the sweet, warm spot between her legs.

“Ty.” There's a warning in her voice, but it's not serious, more … desperate.

“Shh. If you stay quiet, nobody has to know. We can make it quick.”

My mouth closes on hers and my fingers find their way down, between her legs and to those pesky fucking tights she's wearing. Fortunately, one of Never's artful rips is on her upper thigh. I slide my finger through it, teasing her soft flesh for a moment before I rip up, opening up a spot for us to have our fun.

At first, Never resists me, pulling back as I unbutton my jeans and free my cock. I'm so hard right now, it hurts, and I can barely breathe. Sure, it might be because I'm a sex addict, but really, I think it's just because I'm in love with Never fucking Ross. Future wife. Future mother of our child. Half of my fucking soul.

“Ty, we're in a
coffee
shop,” she says, but her voice has dropped another octave and her eyes keep finding my lips and lingering there.

“Yes. In a coffee shop. In the back. On a booth with a wall between us and the rest of the patrons. There's only one way back here and it's hard to find. Be spontaneous with me. Take a risk.” Never swallows hard as I push her panties aside, brushing against molten liquid that makes me want to come right then and there. Fortunately for us both, I've had practice. I'm better than that.

A grin splits my face as Never opens her mouth to argue. My ringed hand comes up and covers her lips, silencing the groan that replaces her words in an instant as my hard cock slips easily into her wet pussy.

“Fuck.” I try to keep the word back, but it slithers loose on the tail end of a groan as I encourage Never to move against me. It only takes a second for her to give up fighting and relax, rocking her hips in a steady rhythm, grinding our bodies together. This might be the stupidest, most ridiculous place I have ever had sex.

But also the hottest.

The grinding of coffee beans covers up any noises we make as I curl my fingers around Never's hips and stare into her eyes. Her arms wrap around my neck and soon we're kissing like it's our first time, heavy and insistent, desperate. Good thing she's already pregnant because I have a feeling that if she wasn't, she'd be well on her way now.

I squeeze her tight, mimicking the feeling of her body clamped around mine, tasting her, reveling in the fact that this girl, she's mine. I'm hers. For the first time in either of our lives, we really belong to someone. It feels fucking perfect.

“Ty, I can't,” Never growls against my ear, dropping her face to my neck, breathing against my pulse and making me absolutely fucking crazy.

“Can't what?” My voice doesn't even sound like my own anymore, lost in the depths of passion, words burning away inside my throat as I slide my right hand up Never's side and massage her breasts through the sweater. I'd rather they were bare, but hey, we're in public, so I guess I can show a little decency.

“I'm going to scream,” she warns me as her wetness coats my cock, making my heartbeat speed up, my breath come heavy and ragged. “I'm seriously going to fucking scream.” I use my left hand to grab her hair, drag her head back and press my mouth to hers. I taste that scream riding on the back of her tongue, flick it expertly away with a kiss and absorb the groans from her throat. Just when I think I'm about to lose it before she does, Never's mouth goes slack and her head drops back. Her thigh muscles squeeze tight, mimicking the clamping sensation around my cock as she comes, shuddering in my arms, more beautiful than anything I could've ever imagined.

A soft sigh breaks from her throat at the same moment I let myself go, spilling my seed inside of her, leaning forward and biting at her shoulder to keep the groans back. Never's fingers tangle in my hair as I finish, and then we just sit for a moment in shocked silence.

“First time in a coffee shop,” she admits, and I smile, face still tucked against her sweater.

“Same here.”

“That was stupid, wasn't it?”

“Very,” I reply.

Never waits a few heartbeats before responding.

“Want to do it again?”

STORY #5: Noah and Never

Five years before the story of Tasting Never begins, there's a sixteen year old girl named Never Regali who's in love with a boy named Noah Scott. If things hadn't happened the way they did, if somebody had made a different choice, said a different phrase, smiled a different smile, I wonder where that girl would be now?

Never Ross

Five Years Earlier...

“I'm home!” I call out, but only because I find the words amusing. Nobody else is home – or at least nobody who gives a shit is. My mom's station wagon is sitting in the driveway, but that doesn't mean anything. She's, like, super into reducing her carbon footprint, so she pretty much walks everywhere. Or has her current boyfriend pick her up. Eh. Who gives a shit anyway?

I toss my backpack onto the floor near the stairs and do a preliminary scouting mission to see what sisters of mine are home at the moment. I mean, I have six of them, so there's usually
somebody
around. I both love and hate that fact. I mean, it's nice that there's always somebody around to talk to – if I were so inclined – but it also makes finding some privacy a bitch. I
could
always go up to Noah's place. I mean, it's basically a mansion, but there's something sterile about the marble floors and the dust free surfaces that bothers me. Weird, right? Nobody but me would find the massive dust bunnies floating around the entryway floor comforting.

I sigh as I shake my head and check the downstairs rooms first. The living room I only glance into. It's hard for me to be in there. I pause for a moment with my fingers resting on the wood trim around the doorway.
Daddy died in that room.
A shiver traces up and down my spine, teasing wicked memories from the base of my skull that I'd rather not get into. Poor Daddy Dearest has been reduced to a single thought inside my head, a single moment in time that I know I'll never forget.
He was killed.
I swallow hard and clench the wood tight, fingernails scraping across the smooth surface. Strangled, actually, is a more accurate term. Strangled by my mother's ex, the biological father of my sister, Jade.

“Dear God, please strike my mother down and let her burn in the fires of hell.” I smile as I say my daily prayer, sarcastically, of course. Nobody responds. No scoldings from Beth, no sounds of screaming or fighting from either of my youngest sisters. I'm alone.

Perfect.

I try not to giggle in maniacal joy as I tromp up the stairs, double checking the bedrooms for stragglers. Tonight
might
be the night. I mean, I'm not like an innocent virgin or anything. Okay, so I am a
virgin,
I'm just not innocent. My mom actually likes to refer to me as Satan's spawn when she thinks I'm not in hearing distance. I concur with that statement because if anyone was willing and able to fuck the Devil, it would be that bitch. As you can see, we don't have a very healthy relationship. I mean, I love her and everything, but she's so selfish that it makes me sick. My sisters and I basically raised ourselves and now we're raising her youngest daughters, too. Mom spends too much time belly dancing and smoking pot and not enough time loving her own children.

I double and triple check her room to make sure she's not here. You'd think a woman with such loose morals wouldn't mind my boyfriend coming over – especially since he's rich and cute and perfect and downright freaking amazing – but she does. Maybe she's jealous? Noah might only be sixteen, but I wouldn't be surprised if my mom was already scoping him out. A few months ago, she brought home a twenty year old and tried to introduce him to the family.
Yuck.

I pull out my phone.
Okay. Coast is clear.

I sit down on the top of the stairs and put my elbows on my knees while I wait for Noah to respond to my text. My heart's already thumping wildly, and I can feel sweat beading on my lower back. I think I'm in love with Noah. The only reason I say
I think
instead of
I am
is because everybody and their grandma likes to bitch about how teenagers can't fall in love, that we don't know what we're talking about. Must just be the hormones then, right? I don't particularly give two fucks. I feel like I love Noah. When he's around, when his blue eyes stare into mine, when his lips burn hot against my throat, I'm damn sure of it. Good enough for me.

The front door opens, and I bite back a growl of frustration.
Well, there goes our afternoon.
But it's not one of my sisters on their way inside. It's Noah.

I feel a smile explode across my face, making my face ache as it stabs into my cheeks. The expression lights me up from head to toe and I find myself rising to my feet and moving down the stairs before I realize what I'm doing.

“How'd you get here so fast?” I ask. When I left him at the school and took the bus home, he was in the process of organizing some function or other for the poetry club. I get that it sounds lame, but if you'd heard Noah's poetry, you wouldn't think that. He's a master of words.

“Apparently I'm one of only three people in the club who are ready for a live reading. Nobody else wanted to commit and we decided it wasn't worth the effort to host one if most of the members weren't going to participate.” He shrugs, but I can see that his mind isn't on the poetry club; it's on me.

I stop a few feet back as the door swings closed and I'm suddenly nervous, standing here with my first and only boyfriend smiling back at me. He has soft pink lips and beautiful blonde hair. With the amount of money his parents bring in, his good lucks, his perfect grades, there's every reason in the world for Noah Scott to be a slutty little asshole. Only he isn't and I don't know why. This makes me like him even more.

“Or maybe you're just stalking me?” I ask as I raise an eyebrow and tuck some copper hair behind my ear. I look at him from under the heavy fall of faux eyelashes. I know what I look like when I do that, and I know that Noah goes crazy for it. We make a strange pair, me and him. He always dresses so nicely – straight leg jeans, clean Converse, tight fitting T-shirts. Me, I'm always cutting at my clothes with scissors and digging through boxes of dusty crap I find in the attic. Everything I own is stabbed full of safety pins and splattered with paint, ripped to shit and worth less than the pair of socks Noah has on his feet. Doesn't matter to me. I'm not
trying
to be an angst riddled teenager, a “goth”, or an “emo” kid. I'm just me. Just Never Fontaine Regali.

“Could be,” Noah teases, taking a step closer, putting his hands on my upper arms. I'm cloaked in a massive black hoodie that used to belong to Beth.
She
went through a goth phase, lying up in her room day in and day out writing poems that should never rightfully be allowed to see the light of day. Underneath it I've got a way too short skirt that I'm dying for Noah to grab hold of, push up, for his fingers to grab my ass, lift me up … I swallow hard. For a virgin I have a pretty active imagination. “Or maybe I'm just in love with you?”

I roll my eyes and step back, spinning on the heel of my boot and heading towards the kitchen. Noah follows after. I clasp my hands behind me and act like I don't give a shit that he's here, that his touch doesn't do funny things to my knees, that his smile doesn't make my chest feel tight and my lungs starved for oxygen. Oh, no. I am Never fucking Regali, and I am totally cool with this. Besides, Noah always says lovey-dovey things. This isn't the first time.
But tonight could be,
I think. I've been trying to plan this for awhile, figure out a time and place where we could be alone together without any of my sisters or any of our friends around. Even Noah's place, as massive as it is, has a freaking
staff.
So maybe we'd be alone in his room, but who knows how many sets of eyes would track our progress in and out of it.

“I'm really excited for the show on Sunday,” he says to me, pausing in the doorway to the kitchen area. Noah smiles softly as I yank open the fridge and shove aside old Tupperware containers filled with leftovers we'll never eat. It's like a sea of tinfoil in this fucking fridge. Beth tries her best to cook, but I don't think she has any talent for it. Plus, our family food budget is freakishly low. Even with the eight hundred bucks a month my mom gets in food stamps, it's hard to feed a family this size. Or maybe we just throw away too many leftovers. Whatever. Not my problem. Should be my mother's, but I guess it's actually Beth's. My eighteen year old sister may as well be the mother of us kids.

“Want a Coke?” I ask, reaching into the fridge and grabbing two cold cans. I don't even wait for Noah to answer and toss one his way. He catches it, no problem, and then stares down at the lid for a second like he's looking for an answer to a difficult question. That's Noah Scott for you. Always fun, always kind, always contemplative.

“Thanks,” he says before glancing back up at me. I slam the fridge door and ignore the flutter of photos that fall to the floor. Happens all the time. It's almost impossible to tell what color the fridge actually is underneath all of the crap we have pinned to it. The rule is, whatever falls off goes, and then new stuff can be put in its place. It's usually me that collects all the discarded items and puts them in a box that's stuffed into a hall closet. But right now, I have other things on my mind.

“I don't know why you're excited,” I respond finally, referencing Noah's previous statement as I pop the top on the can. “It's just another stupid performance, so my mom can pretend she actually cares about us.”

“You're a beautiful dancer, Never,” Noah tells me seriously, opening up the tab on his own drink. The hiss of the can releasing pressure fills the silent space between us, accented by the soft fall of sunshine from out the window and the distant chatter of birds. I actually love this place, really, I do. Yes, it's a ridiculously small town and sure, there are bad memories here, but no town or city is perfect, and this one has a lot of good things going for it.

“I guess,” I whisper when what I really mean is
thank you.
“I try.” Noah chuckles softly and takes a sip of his drink, setting the can down on the table as he takes a step closer to me.

“You're the best dancer in the troupe, seriously. And if I get to see a bit of bare belly when you're onstage then, all the better.” Noah and I both pretend he doesn't blush softly when he says this. I set my own can down and reach forward to take his hands. Maybe now's the time I should lead him up to my bedroom for … some kissing, at the very least. I spend half my day fantasizing about Noah's mouth on mine, on his hands touching my bare skin, his eyes darkening with desire.

“I've got these butterflies,” I start to tell him, conveniently leaving out the fact that at least half of them are because of his soft smile and blue eyes, his firm chest and belly, the gentle touch of his hands. I cough softly to clear my throat. “About Sunday, I mean. My mom … and Beth, they've both been acting a little weird.” I roll my eyes. “I think my mom's going to reveal some stupid secret to the family after the performance.” I lower my voice and narrow my eyes, dropping my gaze to the floor. I couldn't glare at Noah; he's too fucking nice for that. “This is what she always does when she's pregnant. I bet you anything that's it.”

Noah laughs and slides his arms from my fingers, repositioning them on my waist. I snap my gaze back to his face and we stand there for a quiet moment, sharing breath. I know I'm only sixteen, but I could see myself being with Noah, staying with Noah, forever.

“Well,” he tells me, and I can feel the word against my lips like it's written in ink, “I'll be there for you, so no matter what happens, you'll be able to get through it.” I grin and then feel my eyelids go heavy, my mouth part, my heels rise off the floor. It only takes a second for our mouths to join, tongues to tangle together in frenzied heat. Noah's hands clench on my sides and then pull me forward, bumping us together and drawing my arms up and around his neck. I can taste him, feel him, savor him. He smells like fresh cut grass and jasmine. Maybe his detergent? I don't know. Doesn't matter.
Take his hand, Never,
I tell myself.
Take him upstairs and lock your bedroom door.
I want this so bad it's ridiculous. Could be because I love him. Could be those ridiculous teenage hormones, I don't know. Or maybe I just like feeling needed? Wanted? I know Noah likes me, loves me even, but I want more.

“Noah,” I whisper, and just as I'm about to invite him upstairs, in barges the fucking cavalry. He stops kissing me, relaxes his hands, but neither of us steps away from the other. I don't even know if I could if I wanted to.

“Lettie, Lorri, upstairs. India, get set up at the table and start your math homework. I'm not going through the same fiasco as last night. Get it done early and
then
you can play computer games.” I hear my sisters whining and screaming before they even come into sight of the kitchen.

“Eww! Oh my God. Beth. Beth!” It's Jade, my fifteen year old sister who's so close in age to me that we might as well be twins. That's my mother for you, testing the scientific waters and doing her best to see how close together she can actually birth children. “Beth, Never's practically having sex with Noah in the kitchen again.”

“If we were
actually
having sex right now, maybe I wouldn't be in such a pissy mode?” I step away from Noah and grab Jade's book bag, yanking it from her fingers and letting the joint she has stuck in the side pocket fall to the floor. What kind of idiot keeps contraband like that in an open side pocket? Seriously. My sister is a moron. She drops to her knees and scrambles to pick it up before Beth appears, eighteen years old in body, fifty years old in soul. She glares at the two of us and then shakes her head before smiling up at Noah. She likes Noah, everyone does. It's impossible to hate the guy.

“Do you want to go to the lake for a little while?” he asks me, sensing my irritation. His hands come around my waist and pull me back a step as Jade gazes up at us with angry eyes. She's always angry, I swear to God. Zella appears a moment later, smiling at the two of us with a big grin and a thumbs-up.

“Lookin' good, Mr. and Mrs. Scott,” she says with a chuckle, stealing Noah's Coke and downing half of it before I even get a chance to snap at her for it. I want to say she's immature because she's so young, but she's fourteen, the next sister in the Regali line and not quite a year younger than Jade. My mother is such a slut. “When's the wedding?”