Finding Never (Never say Never)

by C. M. Stunich

  “You've got all the cards now,” Ty tells me, and I shiver because I was thinking the very same thing about him.

  4

  I fall asleep only because I'm exhausted. Ty and I didn't exactly get much sleep last night, and I'm so emotionally drained that I feel as if I've run a marathon. My hands are shaky again and my eyes can't seem to focus on anything. I lay with my head in Ty's lap, one tattooed hand in my hair and the other on my hip. Both feel good, warm, like they were meant to be there. At first, those two warm spots were what kept me awake, brought tears to my eyes and confused the hell out of me. As soon as I realized that Ty was not a dream, that he was not going to disintegrate, disappear, fade away while I was sleeping, I relaxed and drifted off.

  Now the bus is rattling, traveling across rough ground, and I can hear the sound of gravel pinging off the bottom. It reminds me of so much of my mother's station wagon, of traveling in the backseat as a little girl, head on my sister's lap, eyes heavy with fatigue, that I sit up and find that I can't sit still.

  “Nightmare?” Ty asks, eyes droopy but open. It's hard to sleep on this stupid bus, especially when I know we have a transfer coming up sometime soon. I don't remember where, but it's not too far off. I shake my head and my chip earring goes flying, smacking me in the cheek like it's punishing me for having sex with Ty. I clamp my hand over it and hold it against my skin.

  “I can't sleep,” I tell him as I yawn and and try to keep my eyes from lingering on his arms, on the sweeping curves of muscle, the swell of his powerful shoulders. “Talk to me.” Ty takes this seriously and turns to face me, pulling one of his booted feet up onto the bench between us. He leans over and takes my hands in his. I rub my fingers over his rings, feeling the smooth cut of the blue gem beneath my skin. It feels real, but I don't know anything about jewelry, so I can't be sure. It's too pretty to be plastic though, like the sea without the sun, just a deep, dark piece of earth, cut and polished until it shines. I swallow hard and speak before Ty does. If he starts talking, he'll say something serious, try to get us into a real conversation, try to pick me apart and find out who I am inside. I know he'll do that because he's been doing that from day fucking one. “Where did you get all of these?” I ask as I count them. There are twelve. There have always been twelve. The number hasn't changed, even if the rings have. It's been the same since I met Ty McCabe in a bar and called him a whore, since he told me I wasn't worth it. I'm guessing he's changed his mind now. The way he's looking at me tells me that much, at least, is true. Ty McCabe thinks I'm worth something. How much is yet to be seen, but to me, he's worth everything. I just don't know that yet.

  “These,” he says as he squeezes my hand tightly but gently. “Were my mother's.” I stare at the rings carefully, trying to memorize the pattern. I wonder if he ever takes them all off or if he leaves a set on always. I've never seen him without them, but then again, we haven't really spent all that much time together. It seems like a lot because every moment has been a mark on my soul, something to help bandage my bleeding wounds while it tears new ones and heals those, too. We certainly have a strange relationship. I've got to figure out exactly what it is, and if I'm going to keep it soon, just in case. I can't let Ty break me. If he does, then I'm done for. I will not survive.

  He wears two on each finger of his right hand except for his ring finger. On this, he wears four, three silver bands and one gold with a red ruby in the center. I don't ask about the bracelets on his wrist. He changes these frequently; they're nearly always different. I think he wears those for fun and not out of any sentimental reason. The rings though, the rings are different.

  “Were?” I ask, trying to fish for information. Ty has a past, just like I do, but unlike me, I don't think he's ready to face it. I hope I'm ready for this or if I'm being silly. I wonder briefly if, like Ty, I should keep a lid on all of this trouble. Still, if I do, I might boil over. I squeeze his hands back and try to find strength in them. Whatever he might think of himself, he has a lot of that. If he didn't, there's no way he could keep going the way he does. After all, he's the one that initiated change for us both. Not me.

  “Yep,” Ty says and then he closes up, just shuts down and pulls his hands away. He doesn't want to talk about it, and I can't force him. If I try, I'll drive a wedge between us that can never be removed. He sits back, slumps a little. He looks good like that, Ty does. He's got a perfect body, hard and solid, built for strength. I don't know how he got it or how he keeps it, but I like it. I swallow and look away.

  “I don't know where we're going to stay,” I admit, finally realizing that in my haste for emotional closure that I've forgotten all about practical concerns. I don't have any money; Ty doesn't have any money. But the thought of staying in my mother's house makes me shiver. If that … that thing is there then I won't even consider it. I wonder if Beth ever got a place of her own and decide there's no way. She probably still lives in our family home, the one my mother inherited from my grandmother, the big rambling, Colonial that used to be the prettiest house on the block. If I hadn't run away, would I still be living there, too? Or would I have run off with Noah Scott? Would he have swept me off my feet like a knight in shining armor?

  “We'll figure it out,” he tells me, like it's that easy. Ty smiles and brushes a bit of hair from my face. “Never,” he says quietly and I look up at him, wishing the fluorescent lights in the bus were off so that I could see the way his face looks in the moonlight. “Tell me about Noah Scott.” I try not to sigh. Ty isn't going to let this go. He can't stop thinking about it. I should be asking myself why. He's worried about Noah Scott, but how come? I'm too fucking dense to see it for myself. Ty is scared he's going to lose me.

  “What about him?” I say as I reach for a cigarette and then catch the eyes of the old lady across from us. She's glaring at me like I'm Satan himself. I put the cigarette between my lips and glare back at her. We're almost to our station, so I can wait, but I'm going to make her sweat along with me.

  “I know you're going to see him,” Ty tells me matter-of-factly, like he's accepted this but doesn't like it. “I know you need to see him, and I understand that. I just … I want to know what you know. Tell me, Never, do you still love him?” Ty looks me in the face, pulls my eyes off the bitchy old lady and locks them in place. I try to focus on his eyebrow ring instead, but he won't let me. His gaze follows mine and sticks there like glue. I sigh, but keep my cig where it is. It's like a damn pacifier or something.

  “I don't know,” I answer honestly. I want to say no, but I can't. I loved Noah when I left and nothing but time has been there to put any damper on my feelings. I'm not the same girl I was when I left, and I can only assume he's not the same boy – man, I guess. I won't know until I see him, until our eyes meet, until he smiles that good ol' boy smile at me. Ty closes his eyes for a moment, but he doesn't look pissed, just afraid, oh so fucking afraid.

  “What's he like? What's he do?” I shrug, but Ty isn't letting this go. He pokes me in the shoulder and his bracelets jingle. The old lady glares at his back, and I flip her off. She puffs out her chest indignantly and turns away.

  “I haven't seen or heard from him in five years, Ty,” I say, but he's already shaking his head.

  “Maybe not,” he tells me with a sad smile. “But you were stalking him online. I know you know. Tell me.” I look down at my lap and think about the pretty pictures that Noah posts, pictures of dreamy, Midwest sunsets and crystal clear lakes, artful representations of dilapidated barns and rusted cars. But not of girls. He never posts pictures of girls.

  “He's a student at the local college, a wannabe photographer and poet, and a blonde haired, blue eyed piece of Americana.” My words do not give Noah Scott credit, but I know that they'll make Ty feel better, if only a little bit. “He's single, and his family is independently wealthy.”

  “Ah,” Ty says softly. “My basic nightmare.” I laugh and the cigarette falls from my mouth. Ty catches it just before it hits the ground.<
br />
  The symbolism isn't lost on me.

  5

  Ty and I switch buses at the station, grabbing a quickie smoke next to the newspaper stands while the old lady files a formal complaint against me at the ticket counter. The representative gives her a five dollar credit, and she shuts up.

  Our new bus is as dingy and dirty and unpleasant as the last, but at least Ty and I manage to grab one of the seats in the back. This limits the number of assholes I have to put up with and gives me windows to my left and behind me. Ty sits in the aisle again with his knees poking out. He's too tall to fit comfortably back here, but he never complains and he doesn't say a thing about me taking the window seat. I have a feeling that Ty is the kind of guy who would quietly give me the window seat on a plane ride, even if he'd never been. He's just like that.

  I've got my phone in my hand now, and I am seriously considering calling Beth and telling her that I'm on my way, but I can't force myself to dial the number, to hear her voice desperate and frantic. If I tell her I'm coming then she'll be waiting, and the rest of this drive will be spent with my stomach in a knot and my lunch in my throat. Ty watches me quietly for awhile and finally reaches over, takes my phone from my hand and slips it in his backpack.

  “Stop worrying,” he tells me as we rattle along down the interstate, rocketing away from the ocean and school and my newfound friendship with Lacey. I was finally starting to get used to all of that, to enjoy it, and now here I am getting ready to throw a wrench in the works on a whim. “Everything will be alright.” Ty scoots close to me and hugs me against his side, curling his fingers around my waist possessively as he eyes some rowdy guys in the front row with a look that says if he had the chance, he'd kick their smart mouthed little asses.

  “Thanks for coming,” I tell Ty because I can't imagine taking this trip without him. Honestly, if he hadn't caught up with me at the bus station, I might've turned around and gone right back, found him and thrown myself into his arms. I don't know what I was thinking, how I ever thought I could pull myself away from Ty McCabe. I glance out the window and notice the orange, rippling glow of the sun as it starts to burn away the night. Two more days, and I'll be home. Two more days and I'll be standing on the precipice of disaster, ready to topple over and fall to my death. Please don't let this end me. I haven't even begun yet. “But I can promise you this is going to be awkward.” Ty shrugs, loose and easy. He doesn't care about that kind of stuff, not really. This is the same guy that walked into a full lecture hall and didn't notice the stares, that wears bracelets made for girls and still looks like the world's most masculine fucking badass.

  “I wish I had something deep and inspirational to say to make you feel better, but … ” Ty winks at me and his eyebrow ring shimmers. “You're right. This is going to be awkward, and it's going to hurt like hell, and I'm sure you're going to wish a million times over that you never came, but Never,” Ty turns to face me fully and tucks some of my hair behind my ear. “If you don't do this, you will always fucking wonder what might've been or what could be. That's no way to live. Even if this trip rips your heart from your chest and shakes you, even if it's the biggest mistake you've ever made, at least you won't be left wondering, and then we can move on. Together.” Ty leans forward and kisses me. I part my lips and sigh at the heat of his mouth, the feel of his hand as it slides up my thigh, but all I can think about is that he said we. We. We. We. Ty McCabe and I are a 'we'? I wonder if maybe he's just being metaphorical and try not to read too deeply into it.

  When he pulls away, he's got a dirty smile on his face.

  “What?” I ask as he unzips his bag and pulls out a black sweatshirt. Ty shakes his head and his dark hair falls over his brow. I reach over and brush it away, trying my best not to get caught in his searing gaze. He licks his lips and my heart skips a beat.

  “Your lips are like morphine,” he tells me as I stare at him.

  “What?”

  “Haven't you ever heard that song by Kill Hannah?” he asks as he lays the sweatshirt across my lap. I wonder what he's doing because I'm sure as hell not cold. If possible, this bus is even hotter and more uncomfortable than the last. I try to push the fabric away but Ty doesn't let me. “Lips Like Morphine?” I haven't, but I get the gist of what he's trying to say and smile. “You could seriously kill somebody with those things.” I chuckle. After all, it's impossible to have a tortured hottie like Ty say my lips are intoxicating and not grin like an idiot back at him.

  “Thanks,” I tell him as he puts his hand under the sweater and glides his fingers up my thigh. I don't catch on to what he's doing until his fingers brush my sweet spot through the jeans. I gasp and try to pass off the noise as a hiccup when the couple in front of us turns to stare. “What are you doing?” I whisper thinking that this feels too damn good to be real. After all those weeks of celibacy, Ty's fingers are like the greatest thing in the world, kissing and teasing the place he wooed with his body just a day earlier, just a day before when the world's simplest act became the most complicated, when I truly, honestly, and utterly fell in love with Ty. I clamp down on my thoughts and push them away. It's hard for me to have any logical brain activity with his fingers dancing a dirty jig across the clit.

  “I'm entertaining you,” he tells me as he leans closer and kisses my ear, my neck, my collarbone. The old lady from before is staring at us again, but I ignore her, convinced that she's jealous. How could she not be when she sees me with a guy as perfect as Mr. McCabe. Wow. Wow. And double fucking wow. McCabe knows how to kiss. Okay. I can handle this. “Did you know, in the olden days, that women who were having emotional problems could go to their doctors and have hysterical paroxysms. It was a cure all for their ills. That's what I'm going to give to you.”

  “A what?” I whisper, but my voice is barely a croak. Ty chuckles softly and scoots closer, one hand manipulating the core of me while the heat of his body draws me to him like a magnetic force. Ty has completely oozed into every crack of my psyche and sealed himself there. He's like a limb I can't live without, and I have no idea how I let him get that way. I'm supposed to keep people at arm's length, but with Ty, that isn't possible. It was never possible. As soon as I saw him in that bar, I was lost, gone, twisted up with his pain. Oh my fucking God, Ty McCabe is insane.

  “A hysterical paroxysm,” he repeats and the words, although unfamiliar, sound dirty coming from those wicked lips. “An orgasm.”

  I have to close my eyes to keep the noises back and pretend that nothing at all perverted is going on back here in the tail end of this bus. Old Lady is still glaring, and I hope she's not getting off to this or I'm going to kick her ass at the next station, gray hair or no.

  “Ty,” I say as calmly as I can which isn't all that calm because there's this tingle that's traveling from my clit up my spine and resting around my head like a halo. He ignores me and keeps nipping at the soft flesh between my neck and shoulder. I decide that he's not going to listen to words and push a bit of the sweater over his lap, so I can reach over and rub the bulge that's already appeared in his pants. This is a dangerous game that Ty and I are playing, but I have to say that at this moment, I'm thrilled to be one of the players.

  He stops nibbling, presumably because he's as paralyzed by pleasure as I am, and leans his head against mine. We both close our eyes and pretend to be asleep, all the while flying closer and closer to that precipice that will take us over the edge.

  When it's finally time to fall, I shudder in Ty's arms and he catches me, clutching my wrist and holding it still while I climax in the back of a bus full of strangers, drawn forward only by the gentle touch of his fingers through my jeans. When I stop shaking, Ty pulls my fingers to his lips and kisses them a hundred times over. He doesn't let me finish him which I find incredibly ballsy. When I try to ask why, he says one thing and one thing only.

  “I'm saving it all for you, baby.”

  6

  The next two days are like some kind of fucked up fairytale consist
ing of dirty rest stops and stolen kisses, groping hands and moments of hand holding that remind me of the days I spent by the lake at home with Noah fucking Scott. I don't like to compare Ty to him, but I have to. For both their sakes. It's like this strange dream that I don't understand and don't want to wake up from. I mean, I went from fucking frat boys and guys whose only concerns were strippers, motorcycles and chicks, to making love to a dude with a blue nose ring and a heart that's black but only because it's been burnt and purified to ash. I don't know what to do with him or how to process what's going on between us, so I just live. For two days, I just am. I exist, and there's nothing else to it. I think, therefore I am. Descartes' most overused phrase is the one that fits me perfectly right now. I can't tell you what's real or what's actually happening, only that I'm me. That's it. It might not make sense, but it's true. And it's great. It's great until the bus drops Ty and I off at a dirty, weather worn bench in a town that closes down at six P.M. It's great until Ty picks up our bags (refusing to let me carry my own for some strange, male sense of courtesy that's somehow been bred into him) and we walk the mile or so down the road towards the house I grew up in.

  I stand at the end of the driveway and my heart starts to pound like crazy. I'm glad Ty is holding my suitcase because my hands are shaking violently and my lungs are tight. I'm drowning. I'm drowning in memories and fear and anticipation. I turn around suddenly and stare Ty straight in the face. He looks nervous, too, but I don't know if it's because he feels bad for me or if it's just because he's in a new town, in a new state, with a bunch of people he doesn't know.