Never Been Kissed: A Never Been Novel (7 page)

“Buddy, I’ve had a really long day. I just want to go home a
nd sleep. Now let’s go.” Hunter says it like he knows he’s not going to win. Matty gives him a tantrum, and I want to scream at him to stop, to calm down because his Dad is clearly hanging by a thread.

“But I wanna stay heeeeeeeeeeerrrrreeeeee
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!” Matty beats Hunter’s legs. I cringe. And Hunter just takes it, just stands there and takes it like he’s a human punching bag and that’s all he’ll ever be.

“Hunter, let’s go to the hal
l a sec. Matty, wait with Katie,” I order, keeping my face down, and opening the door and wait for Hunter to step out. The way he lurches out into the hall and almost-collapses against the opposite wall, leaning all his weight on it is answer enough.

I clear my throat, rub my face as quickly as possible.
“You’re exhausted. I think you left against medical advice, but that’s your deal. I just wanted to let you know that I can keep Matty the night. You can sleep without having to worry about him.”

Hunter squints at me, ha
nds fisting at his side, but I already saw them shaking. “Let me do this. You’ll be right next door, super close by.”

He needs help. I guess when I’ve known intimately what it’s like to struggle, to need someone’s help without wanting to ask for it, I now have this perverse need to give it to him. I can’t stand watching someone else in pain whe
n I can do something to fix it.

“He’s my responsibility. I don’t need you doing me a
ny favours.” He notices my wet cheeks, the mascara runs that are undoubtedly there. “Why are you crying?” The words are thrown out like an accusation, like I’m doing it to get sympathy.

I shrug, wiping
my cheeks. “It really sucks that he has diabetes. That you both do. It... just really sucks.”

Hunter stares at me for a long time, blue eyes bright, and somehow seeing right through me. That gaze looks at all the ugly parts, all the unwanted parts, but his face never says anything. “It hurts you, having to take care of him?” His voice has gone soft,
but it still sounds dangerous.

“Yeah,” my voice is watery again. I clear my throat.

“Good. Say your goodbyes in the morning. I need to sleep. And keep your cell phone near you. The calls every fifteen minutes still stands.” He pushes off the wall giving me back Tony, and stomps to his door. He doesn’t slam the door when he gets into his apartment, but he does shut it nice and firm. Enough to prove a point - I’m not welcome in there, and that’s fine. After tomorrow morning, I’m out of Matty’s life forever.

I didn’t sleep at all. Two things caused my insomnia and they’re b
oth related: Hunter and Matty.

I slept on the couch with Matty, wanting to be close by. The bloody thing is long enough to fit Khal Drogo with room to spare, so I’m hoping
Matty slept better than I did.

I kept waking up every half hour, expecting Hunter to call, and when he didn’t, I checked on Matty’s breathing. Only when I felt his pulse strong and steady underneath my fingers did I go back to sleep, wondering if I should test his sugar while he’s dreaming.

I did it, humming the Mission Impossible theme song under my breath. When his glucometer flashed him at sixteen, I felt like I’d swallowed razors. My cautious plan of two units feels like such a failure.

I can’t find a silver lining to this. I stroke Matty’s hair off his forehead, wondering where his Mom is, how come she can’t take care of him, and why Hunter’s all alone. And then there’s his Dad – beautiful, strong, exhausted Hunter. Like an autobot, there’s more to him than meets the eye – I wasn’t expecting that, for him to have la
yers underneath all his beauty.

I stay up until four thirty and take his blood again. I hate, hate,
hate
that I’m hurting him, over and over again because I’m stupid, because I’m so worried I wish I could throw up to the loosen the knots my stomach’s twisted into. How does Hunter do this, every day, multiple
times
a day?

When I check again, it’s gone down to fourteen. I don’t understand. He’s not moving, there’s no reason for sugar in his blood to be burned other than for sleep. It’s dropping. Oh,
Christ
, it’s dropping!

I reach for my phone – stop. I don’t have Hunter’s number. He called me before from a blocked number – the
hospital’s. Should I just go over and knock on the door? No. I decide to wait another half hour to check again.

I read to waste the time. On my phone, I put the brightness just below blinding and keep it pointed at my face so it doesn’t bother the little guy. Where’s his Mom? Why is Hunter alone, trying to take
care of him?

Doesn’t matter. After this morning, Matty is gone from my life. I ignore the Matty-shaped hole forming in my chest, right behind my heart. He needs his Dad, not me. And it’s not like I’m not going to see
him, he lives right next door.

I watch Matty sleep, feeling a little like Agent Coulson watching Cap. I didn’t know it was possible to go to sleep smiling. I’ve never had one of those nights, like the day’s been so fr
eaking amazing, going to sleep to dream about is another bonus.

Hard not to imagine Hunter like this wh
en he was younger. But I know nobody’s born twisted. It’s done
to
them. Sometimes, the knots are so tangled together you can’t do anything but watch them slowly wither away. I don’t want that for Hunter. Matty deserves better.

My phone buzzes in my hand, making my whole body jerk like I’ve been having a dream about falling down the stairs. My breath whistles through my teeth as I swipe my thumb across t
he screen and put it to my ear.

“Hello?”
I mutter.

“Did he wake up at all?” Hunter barks. No manners, whatsoever. The Beast was more polite than this! And he gave Belle a library! A
library!

“I’m
great, thanks. How are you?” I whisper, looking around my dark apartment. I wonder if turning on the TV is too dangerous. Will the light wake Matty up? I do it anyway.

“Did he wake up?” Each word
is bitten off like he’s a lion tearing at a piece of meat.

I keep quiet.

“Sera? Hello?”

“How are you, Hunter?” I’m being stubborn. I shouldn’t be. Matty is more important. But I want to win – at some
thing. Just this once.

Hunter sighs, the sound weary. “I’m tired. I’m tired of all this shit.
I’m really fucking tired.”

“I hope
‘shit’ doesn’t include Matty.”

He chuckles, chokes it off, like he doesn’t want to laugh at my jokes. The kind of surprised laughter you have when someone you want to throw a brick at is surpris
ingly hilarious. “Is he awake?”

“Who the frak is awake at five am?”
I sputter. I see that having just watched my first Battlestar: Galactica episode has already changed my vocabulary. What an awesome word.

A pause o
n his end. “What’s frak mean?”

Sera, your geek is showing.
And he says frak really well.

“Never mind that. We ate suppe
r, I gave him a slice of cake-”

“YOU DID WHAT
!?” Yup, definitely like the Beast. “Open you’re fucking door right now before I break it DOWN!”

I’m stupid, I know. Potential homicidal maniac standing outside my door with enough anger in his voice to warn me that opening said door is a bad,
bad
idea. I open the bloody door, but push past him and close it behind me so we’re standing chest to chest outside in the hall (more like boobs to upper abdomen).

Hunter’s chest is pumping up and down as he sucks in air, nostrils flaring. I half expect him to paw the ground with a foot and charge me. He does none of these thing
s.

“Let me see him. Please.” The words come out like orders, and the last bit of po
liteness is nothing but a joke.

I came out of my apartment ready to do battle. I can’t explain what I’m feeling, what I’m doing.

“He’s fine.
I know what I’m doing. My Mom’s a diabetic, remember? I made him a special cake and only gave him a tiny portion. Don’t wake him up, he’s had a long day,” I yell-whisper in the hall.

Hunter’s eyes are narrowe
d to slits like I’m worse than shit on his boot. “You don’t know fuck all of what’s happening, of what he goes through.” He moves into my space, crowding me against the door. Using his big body against my not-so-smaller one.
Fuck this.

My hands go to his shoulders as I lift my knee. As close as we are, only my upper thigh connects with Dick and the Twins, but I keep going, momentum as it is, crashing into him. The softness of him collides with my thigh muscle. I’m kinda glad he didn’t get the knee, but that’s t
he cowardly part of me talking.

The brick wall that’s Hunter falls backwards as he cups himself gasping, moaning but trying to stay quiet about it. I crouch down, fingers tented in front of me, balancing my weight on the balls of my feet.

I wait for the curse words, the swearing, the slurs he’s bound to launch at me. I wait for him to recover, watching as the rocking back and forth slows down and eventually stops and his eyes come to me instead of being squeezed shut.

“I deserved that. Fuck. I deserved that,” he groans
, not moving his hands from his crotch.

I fall on my ass, losing my balance. “You’re giving me whiplash with your fraking moods. What the
hell
is wrong with you?”

His lips quirk up in both corners. I have the insane urge to Tarzan yell and beat my chest. “There’s that word again. Yo
u gonna tell me what it means?”

“I don’t think so. It might s
pin you off into another tantrum.” My hands have fisted in my lap, and in a wave of realization that chokes, I realize he sees what I’m wearing. Black sleep shorts, and a
kawaii
version of Spider-man hanging underneath the word AMAZING shirt. One of his fingers swipes at my smooth leg, burning my skin. It’s just a leg, just the pad of his finger. Two patches of skin that when they come together shouldn’t mean much – but, Christ, they do. I gulp down air, try to calm myself down.

Hunter gets vertical and moves his giant paw in front of my face. To be an asshole, or not to be an asshole? Shakespeare and his questions. “You just gonna stare at it?” he asks,
fingers curling in impatience.

I shake my head. Placing my hand in his, I get to my feet using his strength. I open the door and let us in, the glow of the
TV the only thing we can see by. Matty’s curled up on my couch, the blue glow on his face making him look deathly pale. I freeze, wondering if he’s dead, if he died while I was just outside. My stomach convulses, and acid burns up my throat.

I move to him, hands shaking as I reach to feel for his breath with a finger under his nose
. Breathing, even. Pulse, steady. I take his sugar again, unaware of anything else around me. Bruce Banner could Hulk-out and I wouldn’t even notice.

Fourteen. Still at fourteen. Thank you baby Jesus.

Despite the wave of relief, my stomach becomes a vortex of doom, swirling, twisting and I have seconds to get to the toilet before I spew chunks everywhere. I retch into the toilet, tears leaking out of my eyes. The poor kid, poor Matty.I moan into the bowl, let the echo crash against my ears. I want my books, I want my movies. I’m not made for real life, I’m not strong enough for this.

A cold cloth gets placed on my forehead. S
tartled out of my misery, I glance up from my stomach’s contents and burn with humiliation as I realize Hunter’s in my bathroom, probably having watched me throw up.

I want to die now, please.

I take the damp cloth and wipe my mouth, letting my head sit on my forearms. Opening my eyes, I watch Hunter settle cross-legged in front of me, blocking out my view of the sink. He’s too big in here, taking up too much space, demanding my attention. I can’t stop the shakes, the coolness of my bathroom tiles somehow seeping into my bones. My jaw cracks, my throat burns.

“What’s the number?” Hunter asks quietly. The gentle tone undoes me. I was used to his moods, his harsh words,
his accusatory tone. Brashness I can handle. Gentleness is another kind of torture – one you desperately want to believe, but try to convince yourself not to.

“Fourteen. He has fourteen. I only gave him two units ‘
cause I didn’t know how he’d react. Plus, kids; metabolisms are quicker than ours, and I didn’t want to give him too much and bring it too low and then go to the hosp-”

Hunter grabs my hand, puts us palm to palm. My heart ratchets up another level of speed, thudding hard at the base of my throat. I do
n’t know what to do. Ignore it?

“You took great care of him.” His eyes rove over my face, pop down to my shirt then back up. He’s got that little smile again. My hand still in his, he brings it to his mouth, placing a kiss on my knuckles. My heart squeezes and it’s hard to b
reathe. “Thank you.”

I nod, throat too tight to speak, body clamouring for something else together.
Jesus, brain, get a grip. This roller-coaster ride of emotions is screwing with you
.

“Thank you for watching him for me. Thank you for taking care of him. For checking on him. For worrying about him,” Hunter says against my knuckles, and those prehistoric butterflies are fluttering against my insides, and I’m acutely aware that I’m nearly-naked in front of him. He’s in full-view of my giant legs and ass, and I have no bra on and-
he doesn’t look repulsed, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to run away screaming either.

Saying you’re welcome might be an asshole thing
to do, so I keep my mouth shut.

Hunter pulls me to my feet, sets me in front of the sink, hands at my hips.
Fingers aren’t digging into my roundness there, just placed lightly on my skin and bones. The shakes have stopped, but my skull feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton. I brush my teeth with him standing behind me. When I’m done, Hunter pulls me away from the sink, rinsing out the washcloth himself.

My throat aches not just from tossing my cookies, but because, in his own way, Hunter’s taking care of me.

“Come on, let’s get Matty awake, and we’ll go get breakfast.” He says to my reflection. The sight of him behind me has my whole body tingling, wanting, needing.
My eyes bug out, meet his in the mirror. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
He shrugs, a gentle motion of the bulk of his shoulders. “You fed him. I’m going to feed you. We’ll be even.”

Unease settles in the pit of my stomach. I’m too tired to fight right now. My muscles tremble with each step I take, my eyes weighed down with fatigue. I just want to sleep for hours, days, even
. The last twenty four hours have changed me.