Free Never Can Tell by C. M. Stunich

that, Nev.”
    “I don't think he'll even care,” I say, but I glance back over at my baby, our baby, and I let him curl his fingers around one of mine.
    “Don't say that,” Ty whispers, and my heart starts to pump like crazy. My eyelashes drop down to rest on my cheeks and I can feel beads of sweat popping up here and there. I'm really good at the sex stuff and even pretty damn good at the romance stuff, but this … this family intimacy thing is killing me. It makes me so uncomfortable that I can't breathe. I don't deserve this. A broken whore like me doesn't deserve any of this. My eyes pop open and see that Noah is smiling at me again. I feel ashamed. “He loves you, Nev.”
    “Ty.” Just that one word and he can hear how much I need him, how much I love him. He drapes his right arm over the passenger seat, so I can lean forward and press my face against his skin, hook my fingers around the bronze bangles he's wearing today. I kiss the back of his wrist and close my eyes again, just for a moment, just until I can push this back and focus on more important things. My self-loathing comes last right now. I have to get Ty through this Marin Rice thing, and then I have to decide what to do with … My fingers drop to my belly button, push up the sweatshirt and rest there, feeling, listening to the ebb and flow of my body. Another baby. I'm not even good with the one I have. What if, by bringing in a second, I fuck them both up? What if I've only got enough in me for one?
    I bite down on my tongue to push back the panic, turning my head so that my cheek is against Ty's butterflies and my eyes are on Noah.
    “I think I might know something that'll make you feel better.”
    “What's that?”
    “I brought the strawberry flavored lube in my carry-on, just in case you wanted to give me a blow job while I'm driving.” I sit up and stare at the back of his head.
    “You're kidding me, right?” Ty chuckles.
    “Of course I am,” he says, but I'm not sure that he is. Still, I roll my eyes and feel relief in my annoyance. Ty knows me too well. “Oh, and check this out.” He gestures absently with his right hand. “Look in the side pocket of Noah's baby bag. I bought you guys a joint gift.” I raise my eyebrows and bend down, dragging the bag across the floor and between my feet. I dive in and search around, pushing past diapers, wipes, a pack of Marlboros (what kind of parents are we?), and some extra socks. And then I find it.
    “This is the most atrocious thing I've ever seen,” I tell him and he grins. “What the fuck even is this?”
    “It's a pirate hat. For Noah.”
    “This is dumb,” I say, but I'm smiling. Always smiling when it comes to Ty fucking McCabe.
    “Ah,” he says, snapping his fingers like he's just remembered something. “I forgot. Check in the pocket again. I'm pretty sure it came with an eye patch.”
    I love that fucking man.

12
    “Why is your baby dressed like Long John Silver?” This comes from Beth, is, in fact, the first thing that comes out of her mouth when we climb out of the car and unhook Noah from his car seat. Ty laughs hysterically, and I have to pause for a moment and take in the sound, like embers falling from the night sky. Beautiful, strong, clear. It's probably the nicest laugh I have ever heard come out of that boy's mouth.
    Beth has a baby carrier strapped to her chest, but unlike ours, it has no bullets on it. Not half as cool. When we make eye contact, our hazel eyes reflecting one another like a mirror, she starts to cry. Her hot, fat tears fall on her daughter's head as she holds out her hands and touches the sides of my face.
    Beth looks tired, worn-out, like maybe there's something going on that she's not telling me.
    “Are you alright?” I ask as she tries to kiss my cheek. I pull back and give her a look. Her hair is longer and a little disheveled. The perfect bob cut she had last Christmas has not been properly taken care of. I guess I don't really blame her.