Keeping Never by Stunich C.M

Author:Stunich, C.M. [Stunich, C.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
Publisher: Sarian Royal
Published: 2013-03-01T08:00:00+00:00

16

Ty and I arrive at the hospital a few hours later, sliding into an empty parking space near the front entrance. Since he finished his story, McCabe hasn't said a word, not one single word. I wrapped my hand around his and held it tight, gazed over at his face and memorized the strong lines of his profile. Ty has nice lips, full and curved, sharp, and at the moment, tense and pursed. They tell stories, those lips, up and down my back, along the inside of my thigh, across the hot heat between my legs. His eyes remain wide and open, focused on the road, watery and far away, unsure. Normally, they're like windows to Ty's dark tortured soul, the one's that hot enough to scald, but that he never lets hurt me. And then there's his nose, straight and strong, solid, like his chin. That's not to say that Ty is overly masculine, but there's a straight edged cut to his features that makes him look tough, badass even.

I took all of this information in and held onto tight, desperate to keep as much of Ty's good side within me as I could because I had – have – a horrible feeling about what's to come. That sense is cemented when we climb out the doors and stand in the parking lot looking up at the tall, white building with the gray trim and the bright, red sign. It doesn't look cheerful, not in the least. See, I like old houses, Victorians and Craftsmen and whatnot because the way they were built makes them look like they're smiling. It's hard to explain, but the placement of the windows and the door and the accoutrement that accompanied houses in those days is just fucking cheerful as hell. This hospital, this bit of construction that can't rightfully be called old also can't be labeled as new. It sits somewhere between vintage and modern, this horrible piece of bad taste and a testament to the fact that not all architects are good designers.

Ty slips a cigarette into his mouth and does not offer me one, lights up with his purple lighter and sticks his blank hand into his pocket. His ringed beauty, which today is decorated with rhinestone speckled bracelets, sings in the clear air, clicking and ringing across the quiet parking lot which is dark with moisture and the threat of more rain. Very few people pull in nearby, very few enter that sad building, but those that do have gifts and smiles and woolen coats with fur trim.

Poor Ty, I think as I watch him, as I wish I'd gotten him something impressive for Christmas, something that would take his world and turn it upside down like he did for me. Like a cat. I should've gotten him a cat then we really would've been the perfect family. Can't be complete without a cat. Instead, poor fucking Ty gets to visit his dying mother on Christmas, the one he hates, the one he blames for not being brave enough, for not seeing, for not caring.

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