Never Been Kissed: A Never Been Novel (18 page)

“Did you have a good time, barring my friend being a giant jerkwad?” I whisper, stifling a yawn. The pain in my hand has become background noise; only there when I really look for it.

“You didn’t have to bring me a plate. I could have gotten it for myself,” Hunt growls, the rumble vibrating in his chest, travelling up my ear pressed to his shoulder.

“Bloody hell, when are you going to let me help you?” I suck in a breath, hoping I didn’t jostle Matty too much for him to wake up. “I brought you a plate of food. I didn’t tell anyone you were diabetic – not that it fraking
matters
.”

“It matters to me,” he says. The words fall between us like bricks forming a wall, even though we’re touching and I’ve never felt safer in my life.“And your fucking hand is broken because of me.
”

I mad-whisper back, “How do you think this
was about you? Tommy was being a dick to
me
, I hit him because he’s a giant asshole.”

“That fucker wouldn’t’ve made that comment if I didn’t need food. Or if he didn’
t want to get into your pants.”

I snort. “Right. Tommy wants to get into my pants. Like that makes sense.” I snort again, thinking about it.
“He’s just like that –always.”

“With ever
yone?”

“Uh...yeah.”

“Only with you, right? Not with your girl, Katie. He wouldn’t dare say something like that in front of her man, now would he?”

“Katie doesn’t have a man at the moment, so your argument is
invalid
.”

I can feel
him smiling, cheek pressed to the top of my head.

“I was the trigger. You got embarrassed because
of me.”

I ta
ke a deep breath, hold it, and push it all out. “I got embarrassed
because
you were there. I didn’t want them to presume something that hasn’t happened.”

“How does that translate into yo
u bringing me a plate of food?”

“I don’t know if you get this, but all our parents are immigrants – we’re first generation Montrealers. Means that there are certain rules and traditions we’re all trying to break free of. The guys, they like to pull ‘the woman stays in the kitchen’ card, I think bec
ause it drives me up the wall, and I seriously think about places to hide bodies whenever they bring it up.” I snuggle closer to him. “I don’t bring them plates of food – like, ever. They make a kitchen comment, or how whatever I bake or cook is not up to scratch I get downright bitch-tastic. So, surprise, surprise I bring you a plate without any coercion.”

“So it’s the presumption that
bothers you.”

I nod
. “Exactly. I don’t mind bringing you a plate of food – you don’t expect that from me, and you appreciated it, even if you couldn’t tell me. I punched Tommy because he implied that what I did for you was relegated to a good roll in the sack. He belittled what you needed from me – and that’s what made me punch him and ruined a perfect Saturday night.”

“Looks like I’m going to have to
show you how to throw a punch.”

“I don’t think I’m going to punch anyone ever again for as long as I live.” Matty lets out a sleepy snuffle, and burrows his head deeper into my neck. My heart just m
elts at the cuteness of it all.

“Just so you know, I don’t think women belong in the kitchen. You’ve met my mom – the lady has never stepped foot in a kitchen for other than a glass of wine her entire life. Neither did my sister. My life would have b
een a lot different otherwise.”

“You have a sister?
”

“Yeah, I did, baby. She was sweet, and good, but she could be fucked up. I...I
wasn’t a good brother to her.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Hunt.”
I totally caught the past verb tense.
Shit
.

He keeps quiet for a time, and my eyes start to get heav
y.

“Still believe I’m amazing
?”

For as long as we both shall live
. God, kill me now if I said that out loud. When the silence continues, I know it’s okay to speak. “Yeah, I do.”

“Keep believing that, okay, b
aby? No matter what happens.”

I frown, feeling him wrap me tighter to his side, closer to his beating
heart.

“I
can’t make that promise, Hunt.”

“Try. For me.” The words are short and harsh, like bullet casings falling to the ground. My throat gets thick, and I hate him a little bit, for ruining the moment. But everyone has a past they wish they could hide – and even if to me, it seems trivial – it doesn’t make his pain any less real, or any easier for him to endure.

“Okay.”

He kisses the top of my head, and my heart expands and contracts, like a pulsing star on the verge of supernova, waiting to burst into a show of light that touches everything with it.

“Thank you. Close your eyes, I’ll wake you when they call you.”

“Okay.”

The side of his mouth hits my forehead, and warmth floods my entire body. I kiss on the forehead might just mean that I’m more than just a piece of ass, more than just a listening ear or a friend. It means I could be the one he wants.

I close m
y eyes, smiling.

The first punch I’ve ever given somebody and I end up breaking my hand. I now have a cast with strict instructions not to get the plaster wet or Dean Winchester will sacrifice himself for Sam
again
, and Neverland will die. I just made that last bit up. But bad stuff
will
happen if I get my cast wet, so I’ll try not to.

We left the hospital after one o’clock in the morning, and I’m so tired my vision is going wonky, making all the crisp lines of objects and people fuzzy. Hunter opens my door for me, while opening Matty’s door to unbuckle him from his seat. I take my time getting out of the car, rubbing my eyes with my good hand, and trying to convince myself that sleeping in my bed
sounds like a way better idea.

“C’mon, baby. Get out of the car for me.” Hunter’s voice floats to me like he’s standing twenty feet away instead of right in front of me. I sigh, and lean my head back against the headrest, ru
bbing my eyes harder. “Sera...”

I nod, sniffle and move my legs out of the car and onto the pavement of the indoor parking lot. The fluorescent lighting hurts my tired eyes, and my legs are being assholes that they don’t
really want to hold my weight.

Hunter grabs my good hand, fingers and thumb holding my knuckles which he gently pulls and I get to my feet, eyes half-closed. He shuts the door behind me, loud enough to echo about the underground parking lot, making me shive
r and realize how alone we are.

“Hunter, baby?”

Like I’ve jumped naked off an ice shelf into the frosty ocean, my whole body erupts in goose-bumps, the tiny hairs at the back of my neck standing on end. Ice squeezes my heart, freezing my lungs so that I can’t breathe in or out.

The end i
s here, and her name is Alysha.

I don’t remember the red of her hair being
that
red or bright, nor the green of her eyes so clear and exotic looking. I don’t remember her skin being that gorgeous golden color like she has a tan year-round. I don’t remember her being quite so tall, or so skinny, or so bloody gorgeous that Adonis himself would look twice at her, wolf-whistle and get an instant hard on.

I remember that Hunter wanted her once, and that knife of memory slices into the deepest part of me and takes away whatever confidence I had built up these last few weeks. It shreds apart the beacon of hope in my chest cavity holding what
could have been
between Hunter and I. The memory slices me, filets me with the knowledge that he was hers before he could ever be mine.

What claim do I have over him when she might have
her name tattooed on his body?

Then I remember that bitch
left
him while he had his low, and
I
was the one that had to get him to the fraking hospital. And the anger burns away my insecurities.

“Here, Hunt. Give me Matty and come to bed when you’re done.” Rocky
and
Dean Winchester high-five in my head, whooping like soccer hooligans and thrusting their fists in the air. I move to Hunter, keeping my eyes on Matty, keeping his body in sight as Hunt twists him and drapes his arms and legs into the crook of my arms. I grab a hold, and hold my good hand out for the keys.

When Hunter gives them to me without a word, I walk towards the basement access
door to the building and hit the up button for the elevator. I concentrate on Matty and the pain in my newly casted hand. I`m studiously ignoring the questions buzzing around my head, and the way my brain keeps telling me that Hunter is going to get back together with Alysha and realize how much of a waste of time I am.

Shit.
When are you going to give yourself a break?

I fumble with the lock and key
once I get up to the sixth floor, scratching the crap out of the door before I can get it in right while pushing my knee against the door frame so all of Matty’s weight is on my thigh.

I can’t believe I said that
to her.
Me
, Sera Delos, used some badass sass and implied that Hunter and I were already sleeping together to get in that bitch’s
face
. See, I don’t need drugs, I get high off of verbal putdowns. I can’t stop smiling, even as I fight with the lock trying to go about the world as a leftie.

I grunt when I push Matty’s weight up with my leg, secure my left arm around him, bad hand free, pushing the door open with my elbow. I kick the door closed, cringe when it makes a loud
thunk
but get Matty to his room without him waking up.

Once I’ve gone back to lock the door, do I settle him, wondering if it would be pervy of me to change his clothes into pjs. I rummage through his dresser and find a matching set- red sleep shorts and a red and gold t-shirt with the arc reactor in the middle. I wake Matty up, mumbling to him to get his pjs on even though he isn’t cooperating. I end up hitting my bad hand against his headboard, twinging my knuckles on the inside of the cast with such a sharp pain I start gagging at the feel of it.

I’ve gotten his shorts on while panting like I’ve done a half hour on my spinning bike when a knock comes at the door. I drop Matty in a flop of limbs on his bed, and gasp that I just
did
that because of Hunter. Jesus.

Oh, God is he
coming up here to kick me out?

Stomach twisting
, I go to the door, cracking my ankles as I go on tippie-toes to reach the peephole. I swallow hard, palming the doorknob with my left hand after unlocking it and pulling it open.

I should apologize for saying what I did, but
frak
it felt good to take control for once in my life where I don’t know if this is actually happening – or I’m actually in a mental institution and this is all some
Inception
-like dream.

I step back with the opening door, not saying anything
. Hunter has an unreadable look on his face, and his eyes look dead
.
I’m going to seriously hurt that bitch if she said anything even to remotely hurt his feelings, I swear it to Castiel.

I watch Hunter walk woodenly into his apartment, then slowly turn around to lock the door. He’s starting to scare me – maybe he’s having another sugar spike. Oh Jesus, I can’t even remember how long it’s been since he’s eaten something.

“Do you want something to eat?” I ask, backing up into his kitchen. “A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, maybe?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just going to have another juice,” he says, voice h
oarse with some sort of strain.

Class dismissed.

“I was just putting Matty to bed, then I’ll get out of your way,” I say swinging around to go to Matty’s room. Further down the hall Hunter’s room is dark, the lack of light stirring up my imagination and I wonder what he has on his walls, what color the paint is, what color his sheets are – how big his bed is.

I shak
e my head at my thoughts and go into Matty’s brightly lit room, and wrestle his sleeping form into his Iron Man sleeping shirt, all with my left hand being the only one that’s operational. When it’s done, I lean over Matty’s form and kiss his forehead, shocked when I hear a little hurt sound come from his throat. Moving away so I can look at him, I push his hair back off his head, watch as he struggles to open his eyes.

“Hey, little man. What’s the matter?”
I whisper.

“Sera?” God, his voice is pinched and hurt, on the verge of tears. My heart stops its slow and relaxed pace
and starts to sprint. “Is my Daddy okay?”

“Of course, Matty
. He’s right here. Want me to get him?” I start moving off the bed, but his arm winds around my neck as he gets up and crawls into my lap, sobbing into my shoulder. I tighten my hold on him, squeezing him enough that I want the shaking of his sobs to stop. “What happened, buddy? Hunter!” I call out into the darkness of the apartment, hearing Hunter’s bedroom door open through the echo of the hallway.

“Hospitals are scary. People go away in hospitals.” Matty’s arms tighten around the back of my neck, under my hair, almost like he wants to crawl inside me so I’ll keep him safe. God, where is this kid’s
mother?
Why isn’t she taking care of her little boy?

“I just broke my hand, kiddo. Nothing happened to me. And you’re Daddy’s right here, look. C’mon Matty, let go so you can see.” Hunter appears in the doorway, I can only see him from my peripheral vision,
the kid won’t let me turn my neck.

“I’m scared, Sera. I don’t want to go to the hospital and go away.” I grunt like I’ve be
en pushed, my chest cavity aches like someone’s decided to ice-pick my heart.

“No one said you’re going to go away.
I’m
not going to
let
you.” I vow, testing his grip on my neck so I can pull away to look at his face. He lets me. Was there ever a blue more beautiful than Matty’s eyes? Maybe Hunter’s – but his have seen things, have endured life and the blue there is hardened, darker and sadder. So the fear I see in Matty’s eyes has worry gnawing my insides.

“Can you sleep with me tonight? No reading, I promise!” Like reading is a chore, like taking him on adventures with just my voice is a hardship. His blue eyes are bright with pain and fear, his mouth crumpled, dark eyebrows pinched on his fo
rehead. He’s breaking my heart.

I just want to give him comfort – but this isn’t my place, here by his side. It’s for Hunter to do, and Matty’s mom. Not
me
.

“I don’t think t
hat’s a good idea, little man.”

“Please, Sera! I promise I’ll be good, I promise! I won’t even
think
about cake, or eating bad food, and I won’t ask you for any more quarters when you say a bad word!” Matty pleads. His body trembles in the cradle of my arms, his chest heaving up and down, choking with tears. Saying no will put me in Assholeville, and I don’t want to go there.

“Hunt? Is it okay?”

I feel more than hear or see him move deeper into Matty’s room. When he crouches down and gets eye-level with me seated on his son’s bed, a big hand palms my face as he gives me a tired smile.

“Come on. All t
hree of us will fit in my bed.”

I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. There should be protests – things like:
what do you mean sleep in your bed? Do I look easy to you?
and
This is too weird. I’m going home. Tough shit, Matty.
I shouldn’t be thinking that I don’t have pajamas here, and how lazy I am to go over to
my
place and get some. I shouldn’t be thinking about sleeping in Hunter’s bed. I
should
be denying that excited curling sensation in my lower belly with everything I have.

I really just want to be in bed with him – no pressure, no sex, just him and I and Matty wrapped in his sheets, smelling like him – like we belong to his pack or pr
ide. And he belongs to us, too.

I get up, still holding Matty and walk
into Hunter’s room, with Hunt trailing behind me. I freeze when he turns Matty’s light off, and the whole apartment is plunged into darkness. Hunter bumps into me from behind, his hands finding my hips, branding me with his touch as he steps around me to turn on the light in his room.

On the far wall by his bed are pictures, tons of pictures all hand-drawn. I see Matty smiling up at me, different versions of Iron
an in full suit armour flying in different positions. So many of them stacked on top of one another, edges curling inwards like they’ve been hanging out for a long time, keeping him company.

It hits me then that I don’t think Hunter has many friends. And I wanted to remedy that with
my
friends and well, that didn’t work out so great, thanks to Tommy, the Russian
ass
.

“Wow,” is all I can manage. Matty sniffles in my shoulder, head moving to look at the wall with me. “They’re... they’re beautiful.” If I look more closely, darker pictures dominate the wall – I see a lot of tombstones but don’t concentrat
e on the words engraved on them. I see dark outlines and stark contrasts – purity in the movements he’s drawn, despair so easily seen on the paper. My throat clogs up, and I hold Matty closer to my chest.