Never Did Say Read online

“This is, to be quite honest with you, a one in a million chance.” The doctor pauses and thinks for a moment, her dark hair glossy beneath the fluorescent lights that shine from overhead. “Actually, it's about a one in thirty-thousand chance. Never, your child had a twin.”

  “A twin?” I echo, glancing over at Ty whose dark brows are raised in surprise. Figures. The man is fertile enough to impregnate with a mere glance. Of course there'd be twins. But I don't see how this is good news. If anything, it's even more tragic. Twins. Two dead babies. I cringe.

  “Mrs.,” the doctor trails off and decides it might be easier to continue using my first name. “Never, the second fetus is viable.”

  “And what the fuck does that mean, exactly?” Ty says, sitting up. One of his boots hits the floor with a loud slap.

  “It means,” the doctor says, smiling for the first time, “that you're having a baby.”

  4

  “Are you happy, Nev?” Ty asks, still lying on the hospital bed with me, brushing my hair back with ringed fingers. His breath is warm on my neck, a comfort I sorely need right now. I'm not ashamed to say that after Doctor Pradhan left, I cried until my face hurt. It's still the only part of my body I can really feel; even my heart has gone a little numb.

  I twist my fingers around his left hand, the one that's bare of jewelry but decorated all the same, colored with butterflies whose wings dance and flutter as he adjusts his arm to give me a better grip.

  “You asked me that before,” I whisper, my voice still not entirely my own. It's too rough, too broken, and I don't want to feel that way anymore. I look up, at the sterility of the room, at the flowers in the corner. Each bouquet's from a different sister – there's even one from my infant son. I smile because I know my family can't afford flowers like that, and I sure as shit know Little Noah didn't pick out a Christmas bouquet. Thank you, Noah Scott, I think as I try to figure out how to answer Ty's question. “Last time, I said I was scared.” Ty stays silent, but he doesn't stop stroking my hair, doesn't pull away. “This time … ” I trail off as the fingers on my right hand run across the white sheets, across my belly. I've just had a … a what the fuck was it called? A salpingectomy. It's a procedure where part of the fallopian tube – the part that Ty's baby, my baby, where she latched onto – is removed. Luckily (or not) for me, the surgeon was able to reconnect the remaining segments. This means that my chances of getting pregnant in the future are still good. Isn't that nice? “This time,” I repeat, because I'm still at a loss for words. “This time, you stomped into the hallway and told a frightened nurse to get your wife a fucking Jell-o cup.”

  I laugh a little, but the sensation's too weird with all of these drugs in me. It makes me wonder why I've complained all these years about the hurt, the pain. Without it, life is almost … well, it's almost like this hospital room. White, sterile, impersonal. Now, I'm not saying I like to hurt; nobody does. I just think a little pain is okay, that it builds character. At the very least, I hope that's true because then it means that Ty and me, we've got character in spades.

  Ty chuckles softly, but the sound is reserved, too reserved for him.

  “Don't you fucking do that,” I snap and he leans back just enough to cock his eyebrow at me. Our eyes meet and mine instantly fill with tears. Not sure why, but they do. Let's call it hormones, okay? “You don't get to mope around and be sad, and you really, really, really don't get to blame yourself, Tyson.” He cringes a little when I say his full name and pushes up into a sitting position, one leg dangling over the edge of the bed. He's since taken his boots off, revealing a very disturbing pair of reindeer socks that he says he got from Beth. Hmm.

  I run my hands over my tummy again and Ty helps me pull back the sheets to get a look, lifting up my hospital gown with a naughty grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's trying to be his normal self, but the terror that still lingers in his gaze is awe inspiring.

  “You mean, I can't blame myself or you'll stop letting me peep under your dress?” I give Ty a raised brow of my own, but as soon as he sees the scars on my belly, his entire demeanor changes, even the false humor he's been using as a shield drops by the wayside. I watch as a million emotions take over and release him, as he drags his hands down his face and crinkles up his brows. “Oh, baby.”

  I look at the scars for the third time since the doctor left, at the three little puncture wounds. There's one on either side of my belly button and another below it. Apparently, this is called laparoscopy, and it's a fairly noninvasive procedure. Instead of gutting me from hip to hip, making a little smiling scar across my belly, I got these. Looking at them now, it's hard to believe that such a small thing almost killed me, that I almost bled to death from the inside.

  “God, Never,” Ty says, my heart breaking at the sound of anguish in his voice. He leans over, putting his head against my breasts, and lets me run my fingers through his hair. “I did this to you. Me. This was me.”

  “Ty,” I say, because I can't let him take this on his shoulders, can't stand to see the happiness that we've built so painstakingly get flushed down the toilet. “You heard the doctor: smoking greatly increases your risk of having an ectopic pregnancy. And come on, let's be honest, we both have a problem.”

  “But I … I should've been more responsible,” he says, his voice taking on this hard edge, one that scares the ever living shit out of me. Ty raises his face, and his expression is dark, the darkest I've seen since that day we got our test results back, when we both sweated and shook and stared at those pages like our fate was written in blood. And you know what? It was. It really was. But I saw then that I would live, and so live I will. But in order to do that, I need Ty to stay with me. “We both knew you didn't want another baby and Never, I'm good at that.”

  “At making babies?” I ask, trying to force a smile. Ty's having none of it. He stands up and puts his hands on his lower back, turning in a tight circle and taking deep breaths, like he's about to explode. His tight black T-shirt clings to his sweaty chest as he shakes his head at me.

  “I'm good at making sure I don't make babies. I've never gotten anyone pregnant before, not once. And when it counts? When I know you're already scared of Little Noah, I fail you. I put you through this shit.”

  I frown and try to stand up, to throw my stupid white hospital blankets back so I can get up in Ty's face. It's hard to argue with someone when your body is strapped to machines, confined to a stupid uncomfortable metal bed.

  Ty's there in an instant, holding me back with firm but gentle fingers, looking down at me with pursed lips and that look again, that one that says he's so scared he could probably shit his fucking pants.

  “Ty, we did this together. I was just as much a part of getting pregnant as you were.”

  “I'm supposed to protect you, Never.” He touches his ringed hand to his chest, bracelets jingling. “I'm supposed to take care of you. That's my reason for fucking living. It's my job as a man.”

  “Huh,” I snort, shaking my head and trying to pull my arms from his grip. “With all of your wise wizard shit, and your raging feminism, I would've thought you were smarter than that. We take care of each other, Ty. We protect each other.” Ty finally lets me go and I touch my fingers gently to my belly. It's still flat, but I know it won't be for long. He follows the motion and then locks eyes with me.

  “You never finished what you were going to say, if you were happy or not.”

  I nod and take a deep breath because I'm still in pieces and I'm still not entirely certain that I know how to feel, but one thing remains the same: Ty is my twisted, tortured, other half. We are two parts of one whole, and that will never change.

  “This time,” I repeat, “this time, I'm still scared, but I'm grateful to be alive, to be with you. I'm grateful there's an us that's capable of fucking up. Besides, you heard the doctor, we have a one in thirty thousand baby that's probably got copper hair and hazel eyes. When I passed out, I never thought I'd wake up. To be able to sit here, look at y
ou, know that I really will see my son and my sisters again, yes, I am happy.” I cross my arms over my chest. “And don't you dare fucking doubt it for a second.”

  5

  Ty and I don't really get a chance to finish our conversation because, like a flock of copper haired seagulls, my sisters descend on me, squawking and flapping their wings. Apparently, I've slept through Christmas. I ruined a holiday – like mother, like daughter. I brush that thought away because it's not helping and I know it's not true. I mean, maybe me being in the hospital did ruin Christmas, but it wasn't because of a malicious neglect and disregard for others. I hate you, Angelica. Instead of having my mother by my side, petting my hair and whispering that everything's going to be okay, I have Beth. And you know what? I'm glad, thrilled even. Beth is the mother I never knew I had, the glue that holds this family together. Without her, I'm sure my little sisters would be scattered across so many foster homes. Instead, they're all standing in my hospital room.

  Well, all except one.

  I don't see Jade anywhere, but I don't have time to focus on that because there are too many other faces, too many other voices. I watch as Ty takes our baby in his inked arms, holds him tight to his chest and breathes deep. His eyes close and his bracelets sing a soft soliloquy to an audience of one.

  “I'm sorry we weren't here when you woke up,” Beth says, getting all red-faced and puffy. She's still wearing pajamas and her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She didn't even wait to get dressed when she heard I was awake, didn't even waste a single second to put on a bra before she shoved everyone in the car and rushed over here. I put my knuckles in my mouth and bite down to keep from crying again. For five years, I missed my sisters like I was missing a piece of my heart. And now here we are together again. “We took shifts for the first two days, but I felt like the kids should have a Christmas, and Ty wanted some alone time with you … ”

  “You don't have to explain,” I say, glancing at the doorway, at Zella's tearstained face. She's got her hands wrapped around the doorway, half in and half out. I can see in her hazel eyes the need for forgiveness, but I don't feel like she should even have to ask. What happened on the driveway was a necessary evil, and I can only hope that she and Noah have worked things out. Based on their distance from one another, I don't think that's happened yet. He stands in the corner by the flowers, blonde hair like spun sunshine, all tangled up and mussy. Honestly, I have no idea what time it is, but based on the outfits in this room, it must be pretty damn early. “I'm just glad you're here.”

  Beth nods and then bites at her lower lip for a minute, pausing to toss the evil eye at the younger kids. The look itself is enough to effectively pin them in the corner with Noah until they're given permission to approach my bedside again.

  “I called Mom,” she says and we both cringe. I shake my head; I don't want to know. Apparently Beth doesn't get it and decides to tell me anyway. “She said she was sorry for your loss.” I snap my attention back to my sister, giving her a look that says I'm not buying what she's selling.

  “There's no way in hell that the egg donor said anything like that,” I snarl and Beth's eyes tear up again. I don't mean to get aggressive with her, and I know she's stretched thin, but I won't let her lie to me either. Even though I know my mom is like this, even though I've promised to cut her off, her slights still hurt. Maybe they always will? “What did she really say, Beth?”

  My sister fidgets for a moment and takes a deep breath, but in an instant, my anger washes away and I forget all about my mother. Ty is approaching with my son in his arms, and my heart starts to flutter like a trapped butterfly.

  I sit up suddenly, struggling to get into a good position to hold him. Beth helps me fluff my pillows as sweat pours down the sides of my face and my hands get all moist. The first thing I wanted to do when Beth carried him in here was hold him, but my sisters surrounded me and Mini McCabe ended up being handed off to Ty. And that was fine, good, great even, because I know Ty needs him, too, that Ty lost a child, too. That he almost lost me.

  My eyes lock onto my son.

  But now.

  Now.

  I take a deep breath as Ty pauses next to me, and my hands start to shake. I think he notices because he reaches down with his left hand and squeezes my arm softly, drawing my attention back to him. At least his face looks better now, calmer. I can only pray he's going to listen to the words I had to say.

  “Everything okay, baby?” he asks me as our gazes meet. Without having to ask aloud if I'm ready, Ty knows, and he very gingerly puts Mini McCabe in my arms. I pretend like the moment is no big deal, shoving back yet another fresh set of tears through sheer force of will.

  If losing the promise of a child isn't enough to make me appreciate what I have, then I'm no better than my mother. But I am. I know I am.

  I cuddle Mini McCabe like I've never done before, hold him tight to me and breathe deep. Did my mother ever hold me like this, care about me like this? It's hard to say. I look up at Ty and see a warmness there, almost a sense of relief. I want him to know that any negative thoughts that might be showing on my face right now having nothing to do with my son. I think he already knows that, but I say it anyway.

  “My mom,” I mutter, looking down at Ty's child, at the dark hair on his head, the hazel eyes, the goofy smile. This is just a stumble, not a fall, I tell myself, and I hope that somehow, my baby can feel my determination through our connection. I hold him close and sigh, beyond ready to hear whatever it is that my mother's done now.

  “What the fuck does that bitch want?” Ty says, putting a cigarette between his lips out of habit. He realizes what he's doing right away and clutches it between two fingers, giving it a longing gaze before chucking it into the trash near his feet. A moment later, the entire pack is gone, lying in a sterile stainless steel coffin. We both exchange a meaningful look.

  “Apparently not her own daughter,” Beth says, giving Zella a look. She tries to motion my sister forward, but instead, Zella turns and disappears into the hallway. “She … ” Beth looks so uncomfortable that I almost tell her to forget it. “She's at a folk music concert right now.” I snort. Of course she is, probably working real hard at getting pregnant again. The sad part is, she knows that no matter how many kids she manages to squeeze out, that my sister will always take care of them. There are no repercussions for that bitch's actions. “She says she's sorry you lost your baby, but maybe this'll teach you a lesson.”

  Ty growls low in his throat and I feel my fingers tightening around my son's ugly little floral one-piece. Poor guy. I take back what I said: Mini McCabe really does look best when his father dresses him, zombie, pirate, and Sasquatch costumes aside.

  “It's okay,” I say, before Beth can start crying or Ty decides to go rogue and search Angelica out. “It's fine. I cut her off a long time ago. She doesn't matter anymore.” I look around at my husband and my sisters, at the ex I never really wanted to leave behind, and then down at my baby. A big breath fills my lungs as I struggle to find the courage to look up into my sister's face again. “Beth, my baby had a twin,” I say and she wrinkles her eyebrows in confusion. “She had a twin who found out exactly where she was supposed to be.” May we all be so lucky. “So … I'm still pregnant. I'm still having a baby. And this,” I sweep my hand out to indicate the room and the people in it. “This is all that matters.”

  6

  “No sex for six weeks,” Ty McCabe repeats as we snuggle in the back of my sister's minivan. My belly hurts, despite the painkillers, but I don't care. I'm so happy to be out of that hospital that I'd do anything, suffer anything. I stroke my hand up the inner leg of Ty's jeans, and he reaches out to capture my fingers, bringing them to his lips for a kiss. I shudder at the touch and lean even further into him. “Six weeks, sweets,” he says firmly, resting his chin atop my head.

  A strange sense of déjà vu washes over me then, a memory of sitting beside Ty on a bus as we made our way from California to the midd
le of Butt Fuck Nowhere, Mississippi. It may very well have been the best decision I ever made. Well, other than deciding to marry Ty McCabe.

  “What ever will we do?” I ask, loving that my lack of sex means he's also abstaining. It's not just my sex life anymore, or his, it's ours. I am the only woman Ty McCabe is ever going to sleep with again. The thought both thrills and terrifies me. I snuggle closer. “Two wanton sex addicts, two chain smokers, denied both their earthly pleasures.” Ty groans and the sound excites me much more than it should considering the circumstances. I guess for me, love is an aphrodisiac.

  “It's gonna be tough, won't lie,” Ty says as I watch the car seats in the center row rock slightly with the rumble of the van. Beth is driving; India's in the passenger seat. We have the two babies with us while Zella and Noah (in separate cars unfortunately) drive everyone else back to the cabin. Not only is it closer than our house, but let's be honest: it's a hell of a lot bigger and nicer than our place. We all agreed that I'd have a better chance at a smooth recovery there. Besides, I've been told that we get to have a second Christmas, another round of Beth's fabulous cooking (I'm already preparing for the nausea), and way too many presents.

  I got Ty some sex toys, but I guess we'll have to wait to use them. They're wrapped up and shoved underneath our bed, so he's probably already found them and peeled back the tape to peep. Ty can be kind of an ass like that.

  “But trust me, babe, we don't need sex or cigs to have a good time.” Ty reaches over and gingerly turns my face to look at him. The tenderness in his eyes is enough to melt me into a puddle on the seat, spill me over the edge in a sea of red. “I can write you poems and you can laugh at them. Hell, I'll even buy you some of those trashy, filthy mouthed romance novels you like so much, and you can read them to me. What's that one called where the girl stabs her foster parents with scissors?”

  “Real Ugly?” I ask with a smile and Ty nods, snapping his fingers.