Never Could Stop, page 9
part #7 of Tasting Never Series
That's the most enthusiastic greeting I've gotten this whole trip.
“Hey.”
My voice cracks a little, too.
Fuck.
My cover is slipping again.
I toss some tangled copper hair over my shoulder and climb out of bed, realizing as I do that Foster is blocking any chance of a dramatic exit. I look at him and I think about all the awful things he did to keep his sister safe—and all the awful things he wouldn't do. He didn't touch any girls, didn't hurt anyone. By the grace of God he managed to fly under the radar until he managed to smuggle his sister out with bribes and favors. 'I just did all the shitty, menial tasks that nobody else wants to do. I cleaned up puke and blood, dug deep holes, made deliveries, that kind of stuff.'
Foster looks at me for a long moment and then steps aside, like he's just realized he's blocking my way.
“Thanks.” I skirt around him and pull on a hoodie with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in the front pocket. “I'm gonna take my phone down to the courtyard and call my sister.”
“Sure,” he says, and the air gets so thick and awkward that I actually breathe a sigh of relief once I get into the hallway. Foster holds the dorm door open and watches me until I get to the steps; then he watches me again from the window as I emerge into the sunny little courtyard and park my butt on a picnic table. It could feel creepy, having him watch me like that, but it doesn't. I know if I wanted to leave, he'd let me. But while I'm here, he's promised himself he'll keep me safe.
I light up a cigarette and dial Never before I can stop myself.
I know that one of the reasons I hate her so much is because I missed her so fiercely all those years. Why the fuck did you think your feelings were important than mine, that leaving to protect your own sanity was easier than staying to help me with mine?
I'm such a selfish brat.
“Jade.”
Just one word, clipped. Never sounds like Foster right then.
“How's Ty doing?”
“He's fine,” she says with this mild annoyance in her voice. There's something else there, too, but I can't figure it out. She almost sounds … a little smug? What the fuck is that for? “I'm assuming you're somewhere safe since you're calling me and not lying dead in a ditch somewhere.”
“I've been texting India to check in—every single goddamn day. That's a hell of a lot more than you ever did when you left.”
There's a really long, awkward string of silence that stretches taut between us.
“Where are you?” Again, that mild triumphant lilt in her voice that makes me feel crazy.
“I'm in Tennessee.”
“Where in Tennessee?”
“None of your damn business.” My voice cracks a little on that last word and she picks up on it. She's good at that, honing in on people's dark little monsters. I smoke my cigarette and pretend like I'm as broken as she is, as Ty is, as Foster is … but I'm not. I can't even win when it comes to grief or pain; I'm a wannabe all the way around. “Never, I met a guy,” I blurt because I can't hold it in. Some of that panic from last night comes bubbling up inside of me, making my chest feel tight.
“A guy?” she echoes, but I know that this, at least, she can help me with. “How? Where? When?”
“I caught a ride with him on day one and we've been traveling together ever since.”
“Oh.”
My cheeks heat which is so stupid because I've heard my sister's stories, how she fucked guys for places to sleep, for food, for comfort. Not in any official capacity like a prostitute or something, but just … because. This is nothing like that, but I can see where she thinks I'm going.
“It's not like that.”
“You only think it's not like that, Jade; it's always like that.”
“Is it? Is it like that with Ty?”
She goes quiet, and I think for a while she's not going to answer me.
“It was, at first.” She exhales and I can just imagine her, sitting like she's my twin, one leg crossed over the other, her nails painted and her chin lifted toward the sky. Since she's pregnant she won't be smoking, but I bet she wishes she was. “Did you give him your virginity?”
“I'm not a virgin,” I snap, a little too loudly maybe because everyone else standing in the courtyard glances over at me and either smiles or chuckles a little. I do a quick check to see if Foster's sitting on the roof. He is. Fuck. “I'm not.”
“You are,” Never says, and I realize there's this faint whirring sound in the background, like maybe she's sitting in a car or something. “Or you were when you left here.”
“So because you're a sex addict you can, like, sniff out the inexperienced or something? That's such a load of bullshit, Never, and you know it. You're not the expert on everything.”
I realize I'm spewing venom and hatred toward her when really, I called for advice.
I close my eyes and smoke my cigarette and act like I'm not hyperaware of Foster sitting on the roof and doing the exact same thing.
“No, I'm not, but if there is one thing I know, it's pain. Jade, you're lost but you're not broken. You have a chance to live a life without this dark fucking stain on your soul that Ty and I carry around with us. Don't go searching for it just because you're not sure what else to do with your life. You're my little sister, and I love you, and I don't want to see you get hurt.”
“I didn't fuck him,” I whisper, cupping my palm around my mouth to hopefully keep Foster from hearing me. “This whole time, we've never touched. And then last night, we … were just suddenly kissing and rubbing all over each other.” I pause for a moment, debating how much I want to tell her. But for someone I hate, I sure seem pretty eager to bare my soul. What the fuck is wrong with me? Can I not even hate someone properly? Am I incapable of doing even that? But maybe the stupid, obvious truth is that really, I just don't hate my sister at all. “I made him come in his sweats.”
I hear laughter in the background—male laughter.
“Give me the phone,” the voice says, and I know right away that it's Ty.
My cheeks flush neon, and I hang up the phone, making sure it's on silent before I jam it in my sweater pocket and head back upstairs.
Foster's waiting with the door open.
“Thanks,” I say as I edge past him and try not to breathe in that sweet, warm scent of his.
“Jade,” he says as I pretend not to notice him standing shirtless three feet away from me. “I want to touch you again.”
Fuck.
I bite my lower lip and continue to dig through my backpack, ignoring him until I can figure out what to say.
“But if you don't want me to, just tell me. You can still move in with me and Hadley; we can be roommates. That's okay, too.” There's a pause and I think he's finished talking, but he surprises me by moving so close I can feel his body heat, reaching forward to pull some strands of orange-brown hair away from my face. “Although I can't stop thinking about the way you taste. I couldn't even sleep last night.”
“This is moving a little fast, Foster,” I tell him, but my body doesn't seem to care about that. The longing in his voice, that's echoed in the rapid thump and beat of my heart. What's the big deal? I thought New Jade was going to go out and pick some guy at random anyway. Why not this one? You don't have to marry or even date the man.
“Shit, you're right,” he says, and then he does that thing where he takes a step back.
I spin to face him, just so I can catch the crestfallen look on his face.
Azure eyes lock onto my hazel ones, and then we're both leaning forward like we're about to kiss.
His phone rings and the moment splinters and fractures into shards.
“Hello?” he says, answering the call, voice back to being rough and unpolished. “It is.” Another pause. “That's great.” He listens again for a few moments, making these low growling sounds of acquiescence that I'm not sure he's conscious of. Normal people make sounds like mm and huh and yeah under their breath. Each one of his is like, in your face and very, very clear.
“Who was that?” I ask when he hangs up and we hear Hadley's light, breezy knock on the door.
“You guys aren't doing it right now like you were last night when you thought I was asleep, are you?” she shouts, purposely letting her voice echo down the hall.
Foster narrows his eyes and yanks the door wide to let her in.
“Thank you, brother dearest,” Hadley quips, a pink towel wrapped around her dark hair as she moves into the dorm room and tosses me a nasty look. Is that how I come across, that petulant and petty and annoying?
There's a chance that Hadley Wallace and Old Jade have a lot more in common than I care to admit.
“That was one of the homeowners we left an application with. She wants us to meet her at the house with our IDs to sign some papers.”
It takes both me and Hadley a second to realize what Foster's trying to say.
We got the fucking house.
16
Three days before I start work at the coffee shop—it's called CY Coffee and Pastries, after the neighborhood's name, Cooper-Young—and four days after Foster and I almost have sex, I'm standing in the sparsely furnished living room of our new rental place marveling at how fast things are progressing. We've only been in town for a week and already, I have a job and a place to live. Of course, I had to hawk over most of the cash I brought with me to chip in on the security deposit and first month's rent, but it's worth it.
I've never lived anywhere but the Regali farmhouse that my mom inherited from her mom.
Now, I have my own place.
It's a nine hundred square foot, two bedroom, one bath shithole but it was vacant and available and somehow New Jade managed to charm the pants off the homeowner by laughing and swinging her hair around and making up lies about how excited she was to be a newlywed.
“This place is gross, Foster,” Hadley says, flopping down on the dusty threadbare couch with a sigh. “I changed my mind; I don't want to live here anymore.”
“Maybe you should've thought of that before I spent the rest of my money to rent it? We're stuck here now, Had. Get used to it.”
“Screw you, Foster,” she snaps at him, dark braid flying as she throws herself off the couch and storms into one of the bedrooms, slamming the door behind her.
The two of us stand there in silence for a moment, my eyes studying the long-sleeved blue shirt he's wearing and trying not to compare the color to his eyes. For days, we've been tiptoeing around each other, spending our time getting to know the city and passing out Foster's (slightly inflated) résumés to local businesses. I think with his hair and his earring and his skeleton tattoos, he's going to have a hell of a lot harder time charming his way into a job than I did.
“If this works for you, Hadley can take the room with the single bed and you can have the one with the double. I'd rather she didn't have a room with a door to the backyard.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say with a shrug, dipping my fingers into the pockets of the tight black skinny jeans I'm wearing, wondering if Foster's noticed the way they cup my ass. “Where are you gonna sleep?”
“I'll store my clothes in Had's room and sleep on the couch.”
There's something about that statement that's kind of … sad. Invite him into your room, New Jade whispers. At least for a while. Explore this sexual tension blooming between you. I open my mouth, but no words come out. I just stand there with my red painted lips parted stupidly and Foster's sapphire eyes searching my face.
“I'm gonna go check my room out,” I say instead and move down the short hall into a room with pale pink walls, gray carpet, and way too many tack holes. There's a white door with a big glass window and drawn shades that leads to an unfenced yard with yellowing grass, a small tree, and a flower bed filled with dry, brown winter-dead things. Currently, it's sitting open, but the screen door is closed, letting in a frigid breeze to swirl around the bare mattress and box spring sitting on the plain metal frame.
The air pressure from the open door makes the one behind me slam closed, and I jump a little, moving across the carpet to close it.
That's when I see him through the netting of the screen, leaning against the base of the lonely tree and smoking a cigarette.
It's Ty McCabe.
“What the hell—” I start to say when a warm hand slides over my mouth and pulls me back into an embrace that smells like cloves, tobacco and that unmistakable but very distinct flavor of home.
“Got you.”
I scream, even though I realize in about half a second that it's my sister, Never.
She lets go and I spin around to see her smiling, her orange and black hair hanging loose over one shoulder, her long-sleeved white sweater partially covering the matching paint on her nails. She cocks a hip and puts a fist on it, looking at me like I'm in seriously big trouble.
“How did you find me?” I ask as Ty slips in the screen door and gives me a warm, brotherly sort of hug. He smells exactly the same as she does—cloves, tobacco, home. I wonder if couples just start to smell like each other after a while. Like maybe if I dated Foster I'd start to smell of apples and cedar and geraniums.
Before he gets a chance to answer, the door to the bedroom is flying open and Foster is right there with a fucking knife in his hand. He punches Ty as hard as he can, right in the face and sends him stumbling back through the screen door and into the grass.
“Foster!” I scream as he turns on Never and then rears back like he's been punched. He falters for a few steps and then drops the knife on the carpet, fingers weakening around the handle of the blade like he's pretty sure he's just seen a ghost.
Or my twin.
Never and I look so much alike that sometimes I wonder if we really are half-sisters, or if that's just another one of my mother's lies. Don't think ill of the dead, Jade. Don't do it.
“What the fuck is going on?” Foster says, his voice weirdly high with shock.
“Oh, man, I am so going to kick your fucking ass,” Ty says as he tears open the door and steps inside with blood running in two bright rivulets down his face. Never goes right to him and lifts his shirt up, checking the bandages on his tummy for blood. Just by the look of them, I can tell that they were applied by a doctor and not some girl with shaky hands and a store-bought med kit.
It occurs to me then how freakishly similar my choice of man is to hers—they're both even sporting stab wounds.
“I'm sorry,” Foster blurts before that scowl on Ty's face escalates into something even worse. Never steps in front of him, putting her back to his front, like she's protecting him. He doesn't seem to like that, but he tolerates it, putting his hands on his pregnant wife's shoulders. “I heard the door slam, the scream, and then I came in here and saw you grabbing her.”
“That's called a hug, bro. Chill the fuck out.”
Ty reaches up with a hand tattooed in butterflies and drags it across his face, doing more to smear the blood than actually clean it off. Meanwhile, my heart is pounding and I'm waffling between feelings of panic (how did they find me?!), excitement (I want to introduce my sister to Foster), and … this strange warmth in my belly at the idea that Foster was willing to throw himself at an attacker to protect me.
I guess he was serious when he said he was willing to risk his life.
'Your eyes are hard, but your mouth … is still soft.'
“Foster, this is my sister, Never, and her husband, Ty.”
The two men stare at each other for a really long moment as Nev swings her hazel eyes over to me and raises a brow. But then she flicks them right back to Foster and I know without a doubt that she recognizes him.
“You were in the truck,” she says, voice rising an octave. It takes Ty a few seconds to catch on, but when he does, his brown eyes go black. “He was in the truck. Shit, he was in the fucking truck.”
“It's not what you think,” I say as I put myself between my family and Foster Wallace. “He saved me. He … rescued me. He was just trying to protect his sister!”
I sound hysterical, and I get hysterical when my sister bends down and grabs the knife, pointing it up and over my shoulder in Foster's direction.
“Jade—” she starts, but I'm not about to let this thing go south. I press my body back against Foster's and I'm surprised to find out that even in the middle of a catastrophe, there's a strong physical reaction between us. I can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the warmth of his body soaking into mine.
This is a far cry from my reaction a few weeks ago when I left him to get stabbed by a stranger on a New Orleans city street.
“He was in the truck, yes, but he had no choice. The people that wanted you dead, Ty, they had his little sister. He was just trying to get her back. And then later, when they tried to kidnap me—”
“You were kidnapped?” Never asks, and I notice her face paling and her grip loosening on the knife. I try to speed this up because the last thing she needs right now is to go into some sort of shock. Just before Christmas, my sister collapsed on the driveway outside our friend's cabin and almost died. I guess she had an … ectopic pregnancy? Is that what it's called? She was pregnant with twins; one was in the right place and one … ruptured her insides and almost killed her with internal bleeding.
As much as I say I hate her, I don't know what I would've done if she'd died that day. I was so upset, I couldn't even bring myself to go to the hospital to visit her. I just curled into a ball on my bed and wept.
“Fucking cocksucking son of a bitch,” Ty says, like he's just really, really tired and can't stand up anymore. He leans back against the wall and slides to the floor to sit on the carpet. Black hair falls across his forehead as he puts his head in his hands.
“Ty, don't,” Never says, dropping the knife and sitting on the floor next to him, curling her body around his. “This isn't your fault.”
“This is all my fault,” he whispers quietly, eyes closed, face still buried in one hand. The other, the one with the orange and black butterfly tattoo, he uses to hold my sister's hand. “I brought all of this shit down on your family. And now your sister—”
