“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 peacefu
l 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.
“Fuck off,” I tell her which maybe isn't the best thing to say, but it makes me feel better for a moment, clears my head a little.
“Hannah, let's cut the shit. You didn't come here to look at the house, did you?” Hannah tucks some hair behind her ear and looks over at me, judging me, trying to decide if I really am a threat or not. She has no fucking idea. I've dealt with a lot of shit in my life, and now I have something worth keeping, and nobody is going to screw that up for me. I'm already having to fight with myself, convince my heart that I deserve the husband and the kids and the white fucking picket fence if I want it. It was never in my plans, but now that I've got it, I'm keeping it. This bitch can step off.
“Why else would I come here?” she says, but her voice is so full of bullshit that it stinks. I keep one hand against the back of Noah's head and the other on his lower back, bouncing up and down gently, trying to get him to soothe. He just keeps screaming.
“Might be hungry, Nev,” Ty says as I come full circle and give him a look. Ty's staring at me, urging me to go inside, so he can deal with this.
“No,” I say. If he thinks I'm leaving him alone with Hannah the Child Fucker, he's gone completely and utterly insane.
“I've got you,” he tells me, but I'm afraid that that isn't true, that his demons will eventually drag him to hell if I'm not there for him. He's always been there for me. It's my turn again, and I've got to do a good job at it.
Sprinkles of icy rain begin to fall, slapping me on the cheeks and beading on my hair.
“Fuck.” I can't stand out here in the rain with a ten week old baby. I just can't and Ty knows it. I start to back away, keeping my gaze focused on the two of them. The realtor blends into the background, becomes just another inanimate object that I have to filter out, so I can see what's going on with the love of my life, my soul mate, my dark horse. When my ankles bump the steps of the front porch, I growl low in my throat and spin around, heading inside and into the kitchen as fast as I can. Noah won't stop crying. He has to be fed. God, but I want to keep my eyes on Ty so bad … Still, I can't make our son suffer for that, now can I? If I did, I'd be as bad as my mother.
So I make up a bottle and feed Noah, burp him, and put him to sleep in his crib. The whole time I'm doing this, I don't look out the window. I just do it and I try to enjoy doing it, even though I feel sick, even though I need to know what's going on. I kiss my son on the forehead and run down the stairs, hitting the screen door at the same moment Ty walks in.
He looks up at me, and the expression on his face isn't very pleasant. He's pale and sweaty, and his hands are shaking like crazy.
“What's wrong?” I ask because I know without knowing that something is upsetting Ty. And not just because he's sweating and not because of the glassy sheen in his eyes or the look on his face. I know because Ty and I are two halves of one broken fucking whole, and when we're together I feel complete, and I feel him, and I am him somehow because that's the way we were made, me and him. To tell you the truth, I don't think either of us would've survived much longer alone.
I take a step forward.
“She's stalking you?” I ask. Ty bites his lip and glances to the right, over at the vast expanse of living room that our meager furniture doesn't even begin to fill. The corners are dark, filled with shadows. But then, isn't that always the case?
“Something like that,” he says, dark hair plastered around the sides of his face, wet from the rain which has just switched from a light sprinkle to a torrential downpour. I rise on the balls of my feet and glance over Ty's muscular shoulder. Both cars are gone.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Ty shakes his head and runs his hands down his face, moving past me to the back door and opening it, so our two stupid pets can come traipsing in, mud trailing in their wake. “Ty?” I can see that he doesn't want to talk about it, not because he wants to keep anything from me necessarily, but because he wants to pretend it never happened. What did she say to him?
“Never, I … ” He looks around for a minute, looking panicked. “Where's Noah?”
“He's upstairs,” I say, gesturing at the roof with a wild hand. When Ty just stands there and doesn't respond, I move forward and touch my hands to his chest, tangling my fingers in the wet fabric of his red shirt. Whatever it is, we can handle it. I know we can. The one good thing about external tragedy and turmoil is that it prevents you from retreating in, from focusing on all of that internal self-doubt, that bubbling frenzy of tightly clenched pain and the fears and doubts that plague our thoughts like moths. I press a kiss to his wet lips, soft and gentle as a butterfly. His arms come around me fast and hard, squeezing me, smashing me into his chest. “What is it?” I ask, trying to get him to spill before I start imagining worst case scenarios. “What the fuck happened out there?”
“I'm sorry, Never,” he says, and he doesn't sound like Ty at all anymore. He sounds like Tyson, the boy who suffered too much, wasn't loved enough. His breathing gets harsh and his whisper tears straight through me. “I'm sorry I fucked up long before I met you, sorry I did things that I regret, that haunt me, that are trying their fucking damnedest to fuck us up.” Ty releases me abruptly and turns away, raking his fingers through his hair, closing his eye. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“That's a lot of fucks, even for you McCabe.” I put my hands on my hips and try not to panic because that's the first thing I want to do. I want to freak out and start screaming, cussing, shaking him and demanding that he tell me what's going on. But I don't. I hold it all in because he can't, because I'm the other half to to his broken heart, and it's my job to keep this black, bloody thing beating.
He's pacing back and forth, biting at his lip ring, spinning it back and forth with his tongue. That means he's thinking hard about something. But what? What? What? I move forward and grab Ty around the arm, wrapping my hand around his solid bicep, his swarm of butterflies. He pauses then and looks down at me, eyes lost and faraway. I do my best to bring him back, reaching up and grabbing his nose ring, pulling his face down and kissing him again. It seems to work, clears his head just enough that he's able to speak. Demons still dance behind his eyes, but they have no hold over his lips.
“Remember,” Ty begins and then has to swallow, run his tongue over his lips. “Remember the story I told? The one about the girl?” I try to smile, but inside, I'm freaking the fuck out.
“I remember all your stories, and I seem to remember there being a lot of girls.” I try not to sound jealous when I say this, but I can't help myself. Ty is mine; he's always been mine, even if I didn't know it at the time. I take my eyes from his face and focus on my rings, the red and gold, the silver and blue. Both from Ty, both precious. I lean forward and press my forehead against his skin. “Why?”
“The girl … the kidnapped one.” Ty swallows. His pulse picks up. I can feel it thumping thrumming through his veins. “You remember her, right?”
“How could I ever forget?” That bit of darkness, that horrible sliver of pain is still stuck in Ty's soul, and I don't know how I'm ever going to get it out. I'm going to do my best though, or die trying. Ty swallows and steps back, untangling my hand from his arm, putting his palms on either side of my face. He looks me right in the eyes and lets me see the horror in his gaze.
“Well,” he begins, stops, pauses. I have to wonder where this is going, how we got from one house of horrors to the next. This is not about Hannah, not exactly. “People are asking questions, lots of them.”
“Pe
ople?” I ask, trying to puzzle out what's going on. Ty doesn't respond to my question and keeps going.
“And they're starting to get answers. Somehow, someway, these answers are all leading straight to me.”
10
Ty is like a rubber ball – he bounces back real quick, even when the odds are stacked against him, even when a lesser man would crumble. Balls to the wall doesn't even begin to describe this man. He's the perfect walking example of perseverance. I wonder absently where he'd be if we hadn't met. Probably in a better place than me. Most likely, I'd still be back at the U, fucking random frat boys and dudes with substance abuse problems. I put a cigarette in my mouth, but don't smoke it, watching as Ty loads up our rental car and tries to figure out how to get the dog crate into the backseat. I figure he'd have been okay. After all, he was the one getting his shit together long before I came into the picture. And it was his idea that we get tested, that we go to SOG. I owe him my fucking soul.
“Holy fuck,” he says, stepping back and examining the big plastic rectangle. Angelica watches from a safe distance behind my ankles. As soon as we walked out of the airport, she started to whimper and Ty, softie that he fucking is, let her out. She has no leash. Doesn't need one, I guess. I hold Noah against my chest, tucked safely into his baby carrier, and try to pretend that we didn't get frisked by the TSA for this sole reason, that these delicate bullet drawings played no part. Shit, I'm sure the piercings and the tats had nothing to do with our 'random selection' either.
Ty circles the carrier with his hands on his hips and tries to pretend that he's all cool, super tough shit, that we weren't clutching hands in fearful silence as the plane descended onto the tarmac. God, I hate fucking flying. He, like me, has a cig clenched tight between his lips, but it's not lit either. He's promised me that as long as I'm not smoking, neither is he.
“Well, shit,” he says, glancing in the backseat of the sedan we've rented and making eyes at the hissing face of Chuck Norris. “We don't really need this damn thing, do we?” I shrug, wondering what it is he's getting at and then watch as he curb stomps the poor kennel with his boots, rendering it to plastic shards right there in the parking lot. Ty grins.
Never Can Tell Page 5