Free Never Can Tell by C. M. Stunich Page B

expensive whatever-the-fuck-it-is.
    “Never!” I hear Noah yelling from inside the cab. The dog retreats inside the vehicle and proceeds to railroad her supposed master, stomping his crotch and exploding out into into the fields around the house. Angelica follows, and I let her go, confident that if I called, she'd come back. Noah emerges next, a little disheveled, an awful lot cute. I smile at him.
    “That dog is almost as ornery as me,” I say, wondering what he thinks about me naming my son after him. I try to decide if I should let him bring it up or if I should take the initiative.
    Noah pauses, blonde hair shifting in the breeze, blue eyes twinkling, and he smiles at me, letting it all out, not holding anything back. His white T-shirt sticks to his body and emphasizes a few changes – since we left, Noah Scott's gotten buff.
    “Never,” he says, slamming his door, watching me watch him. He's absorbing me, appreciating me, but he isn't going to try, not anymore. I know that, and it makes me happy and sad both. Happy because I know he's accepted that Ty and I can never be separated, not without a massive hemorrhage of love and darkness that would kill us both. But also sad because it means he's a great fucking guy who deserves better than I gave him. Goddamn it, Zella, make your fucking move! I vow to call and bitch at her later tonight. “I missed you like crazy,” he says and then he comes over and gives me a hug. It's not as awkward as I thought. Noah feels good, like a friend I've had forever. Maybe not my best friend because that spot is and always Ty McCabe's, but maybe a close second or something, right up there with Lacey Setter who I haven't seen in for-fucking-ever. He pulls back and glances over at the house. Ty is nowhere to be seen. He isn't even spying on us? Is this man for real? “Is little Noah around?” he asks, turning back to me with a grin. “God, I can't even believe you named him after me. I'm honored, I … ” Noah pauses and digs around in the back pocket of his designer jeans, the ones that only further emphasize that metrosexual look he has going on. “I wrote a poem.”
    I laugh and take out the piece of paper he's extended to me. Noah takes a deep breath in and then lets it out.
    “How was New York these last few months?” he asks as my eyes scan the words, absorb the beauty layered in them with awe. Noah Scott is so fucking talented at this shit. If there was any market for poetry, he'd be a millionaire.
    Clandestine beauty revealed in time's extent, born of moths and butterflies./Hearts of broken now repaired, connected first with sanctity and oft forgotten truth./And all the strings that severed, tied together, broken never.
    I fold the page back up and put it in my sweater pocket.
    “It was … a rainbow,” I tell him and he cocks a golden brow. “And I don't mean that it was all sugarplums and kittens, just that it was all different colors. It was good, bad, just everything.” I think for a minute and decide to add something, just in case he got the wrong idea. “I wouldn't have changed it for the world.” Noah smiles softly. “You ready to meet your namesake?” I ask and he grins.
    “I'm actually dying to see him, Never. I always thought you'd make beautiful babies.” I smile back at him, but mine is tinged with sadness. He seems okay, but I can hear the meaning in poor Noah Scott's message. I always thought we'd make beautiful babies. I think he had always planned on marrying me and having a family. When that didn't work out, I guess he just didn't know what to do. He still wants that, but he just doesn't know who to want it with.

13
    Inside, the house is chaos. There are Regali women everywhere, cooing over babies, picking at the holes in Ty's pants, screaming. It is absolutely insane.
    Noah and I weave our way into the mess and wade through copper haired hugs and hazel eyed gazes, cheek kisses and teary blubbering. Ty is waiting for us, leaning up against the