Blackbird (a Sometimes Never novella)

  Blackbird

  a Sometimes Never novella

  By Cheryl McIntyre

  Dear Reader,

  I would like to thank all those who took the time to not only read Sometimes Never, but also went a step further to leave feedback. I read and appreciate all my reviews and messages. A lot of you wanted to know what happened in the time between the final chapter and the epilogue.

  You spoke. I listened. Blackbird was born.

  Though Blackbird can be read on its own, I feel it is better enjoyed if read after Sometimes Never. You can find Sometimes Never here:

  http://www.amazon.com/Sometimes-Never-ebook/dp/B00AQHUV1A/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1360780173&sr=1-1&keywords=Sometimes+Never

  And if you loved the supporting characters as much as I do, don’t worry, their stories are on the way.

  Thank you for all your support. I hope you enjoy this novella.

  Best wishes,

  Cheryl

  Table of Contents

  1 Mason

  2 Hope

  3 Mason

  4 Hope

  5 Mason

  6 Hope

  7 Mason

  8 Hope

  9 Mason

  10 Hope

  11 Mason

  12 Hope

  13 Mason

  14 Hope

  15 Mason

  16 Hope

  17 Mason

  1 Mason

  My eyes fall to Hope’s bare feet as she swings them subconsciously from her perch on the counter. I’m reminded of the moment I noticed her for the first time, her bare feet captured my attention then, too. I move forward, pressing myself into the space between her legs. She sets her drink down and skims a finger under her lip, wiping away a drop of water.

  “Are you nervous about today?” I ask as I rest my hands on her hips.

  She nods. “I could use a distraction,” she whispers. “Any ideas?”

  Oh I have plenty of ideas. “Hm. I might be able to come up with something.” I wrap one of her legs around my waist and trail my fingers up the other. “Unless you already have something in mind?”

  She cocks her head to the side as if deep in thought. “We could play Scrabble.”

  I crinkle my nose. Scrabble? Not what I was thinking at all. “You want to play Scrabble?”

  “Dirty words only and loser has to do whatever I—I mean, the winner—says for the next…” She looks down at her cell phone and glowers. “Uh, I only have a little over an hour.”

  “An hour isn’t enough time for all that.” I grin at her. “What else can we possibly do for the next hour…?”

  “I guess I could repaint my nails. They are a little chipped.”

  I shake my head slowly. “Nu-uh. That’s no fun for me and I can’t stand the smell of that shit.”

  “Huh. Well, I’m sure there’s a court show on. I love that little lady judge with the big attitude.”

  I glide my fingers into her multi-colored hair, gripping the back of her neck. “Hope, if you aren’t naked in the next thirty seconds I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” she challenges.

  Challenge accepted.

  I bring my mouth down on hers and run my tongue across her bottom lip. She opens immediately, meeting me eagerly. I take her face into my hands and tilt her head back to deepen the kiss. She hooks her other leg around my hip and squirms closer to me.

  I’m already hard. She always feels so good. Fuuuck. An hour. I want more than that. I want to take my time, working her into a blissful frenzy. I want us sweaty and breathless, our muscles rubbery and tired.

  Hope tightens her legs, pulling me into her hard. Fuck it. I’ll make it work.

  I break away from the kiss to tug her shirt over her head. “Where?” I pant. We’ve been christening my apartment since I moved in. A new place each time. We’ve already covered all the counter space in the kitchen.

  “Fifty-five minutes, Mason. I don’t care where. Just get inside of me now or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” I tease her through a smirk.

  “Implode,” she breathes.

  I lean back, unbuttoning her jeans. “We cannot have that.”

  She drops her lashes, hooding her eyes, and licks her lips. God, she’s perfect. Sliding her hands under my shirt, she caresses my stomach in slow circles. My muscles twitch at her touch and I drag her off the counter. Resting her on her feet, I make quick work of removing the rest of her clothing. I kneel in front of her to free her feet from the bunched material at her ankles, pausing to place a wet kiss against each scar on her inner thigh.

  Hope shivers and traces my jaw with her fingertips. “I love you,” she murmurs.

  I grin as I pull her down to the floor with me. We haven’t made love here yet and I can’t wait any longer. She works my belt free and I lick the skin on her neck right where her pulse is throbbing furiously. “I love you,” I say against her heated flesh.

  I raise up and help her get my jeans off. She pushes me until my ass is on the cold tile floor and my back is pressed against the chilly surface of the cabinet door. It does nothing to cool my desire.

  She straddles my thighs, guiding me inside herself. She feels incredible. I growl into her shoulder. “The kitchen floor,” she says softly, “is christened.” As she moves quicker, I let my head fall back against the cupboard and grind my teeth.

  Ever since she got on the pill and we stopped using condoms, my performance time has taken a hit. It’s even worse when she gets on top and rides me like this.

  Guess we aren’t going to need the whole hour after all.

  “Mason,” she sighs, “you feel so good.”

  Shit. I nearly release my load right there, but I slide her off me and lay her back. She trembles against the frigid floor, but I have full intention of warming her up. I lower my mouth to her stomach and trail kisses over the bone of her hip, down her thigh, working my way in between. I flick my tongue out and taste her. Her legs try to close and I hold them open as I continue to devour her.

  It doesn’t take long before her hips are coming off the floor, her fingers knotting in my hair, and she’s panting my name. She claws at my shoulders, pulling me up her body until I’m hovering over her. I grip her bare hips as I rock into her. Her legs circle my waist as she closes her eyes and moans.

  “Look at me, Hope.” She does, her blue eyes meeting mine. “I love you,” I tell her again. I dip my head to capture her mouth, kissing her deeply. And I know the best decision I ever made was staying in Ohio.

  2 Hope

  I’m dragging ass today. Mason’s distraction techniques wore me out, plus I had too much on my mind to sleep last night. I have a lot going on this week.

  The first being the reason I’m trudging through this cold downpour toward the shitty brick building in front of me.

  It’s my first day of therapy.

  I find the right door and stare at it. Mason wanted to come with me. He begged, actually, but I wanted to do this alone.

  Now I’m realizing how stupid that idea had been. I pop a piece of gum into my mouth, wishing I had a bag of candy. I should have brought some Starbursts to chew on.

  My hand is shaking as I reach for the doorknob. I drop it quickly and head back the way I came. Pacing back and forth under the small awning, I pull out my cell and debate over who to call. The rain is hitting the aluminum hard and I can’t concentrate.

  If I call Mason, he’ll show up and I’ll feel… I don’t know, but I’ll feel like I’m doing this for him and not for me. I’ll end up pretending I’m okay and I’ll go in there just to make him happy. This will help us, but it has to be done for me.

  My finger hover
s over Guy’s name. If I call him, he’ll be sweet. He’ll comfort me and give me some encouraging bullshit about how I can do anything I put my mind to.

  Damn it.

  It’s so cold. My teeth won’t stop clicking together as I shiver.

  I can’t do this. I can’t.

  My head falls back into the cool brick wall and I pinch my eyes together tightly. I will not cry.

  I blow out a frustrated breath and scroll through my contacts until I find the right name, hitting send before I can change my mind.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Chase asks immediately. No greeting—just cuts straight through the BS.

  “I can’t do it,” I mutter.

  “Shut up with the Debbie Downer crap. You can go to an appointment—you just don’t want to. There’s a difference. You’re already…five minutes late.”

  I watch a car pull into a parking space and a young guy gets out of the passenger side. I mean, really young. He can’t be more than thirteen or fourteen. He looks up as he approaches the door that I’m huddled in front of. Our eyes meet and he pauses. Something passes silently between us and he nods. Without a word, he reaches around me, forcing me to move, and opens the door. But he isn’t going in—he’s holding it open for me.

  Panic rises in my chest and my heart pumps furiously.

  “Hope, you can do this,” Chase states firmly. “Quit fucking around and go.”

  I nod. I don’t know if I’m responding to Chase even though he can’t see the gesture, or if I’m acknowledging the kid. Either way, I end the call and tuck my phone into my back pocket as I pass through the threshold into what I expect is the entrance to Hell.

  ~*~*~*~

  I get the first text nearly an hour later, at exactly five o’clock on the dot. I know Mason is worried and he wants to know how the session went. But I haven’t even stepped out of the office, and I’m just not ready to talk about it yet.

  I need to take a minute to organize my thoughts and sort my emotions.

  I need to breathe.

  This is only the first day and I already had to unearth so much. Veronica Kohl is probably a nice person outside the office, but behind those doors, she’s pure evil. She pissed me off. She made me cry. And she made me say it out loud.

  “Own it, Hope.” Those were her words.

  So I did. After glaring at her for close to ten minutes while she sat there patiently, I said it. I told her that my mom’s boyfriend molested me when I was twelve. I told her that my mom was a worthless addict. I told her my mom died and left me behind.

  And then I told her that I cut myself. That I’ve come up with many unique ways to hurt myself in order to control the emotional pain.

  When I was done spilling my guts, Veronica smiled at me and claimed we made progress.

  But as I sit in my car watching the rainwater blur my windshield, I don’t feel like I’ve accomplished anything.

  I feel shaky and my stomach hurts. My mind won’t shut up. It’s so fucking loud and I just want it to stop.

  My fingers grip the steering wheel, squeezing until my knuckles are strained and white. I know how to silence it. I can make it all go away, if only for right now. One swipe of a razor. That’s all it would take.

  I press my forehead against the space between my hands. It’ll most likely leave a big, red steering wheel impression, but it’s cool and it feels good.

  My phone beeps again, alerting me to another text.

  My jaw clenches as I fight against the stinging in my eyes. No more tears today. Just—no more.

  I start the car and get some music going. That will help. I put on my seat belt, adjust the heat, and check my mirrors. When I’ve run out of ways to stall, I open the messages on my phone.

  The first one’s short and simple.

  Him: HOW’D IT GO?

  The second one—not so much.

  Him: ARE YOU OKAY? DON’T SHUT ME OUT. I’M HERE. PLEASE LET ME KNOW YOU’RE ALL RIGHT.

  I shiver and it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m wet and cold. It’s this boy. This man. This incredible person that is mine.

  I don’t want him to worry about me, so I send him back exactly what I’m thinking.

  Me: I’M NOT ALL RIGHT, BUT I WILL BE. JUST NEED A MINUTE. LUV U.

  I don’t wait for a reply. I throw my phone into the passenger seat and head out of the parking lot. It’s the first time since I met him that I don’t think I’ll find what I need in Mason.

  Right now, what I need is a mom.

  It’s just too damn bad I don’t have one.

  3 Mason

  I can’t sleep. Storms usually lull me into an infant-like slumber, but not tonight. The thunder reflects the turmoil inside of me too well.

  I pick up my phone and check for missed calls or texts for the hundredth time tonight. When she said she needed a minute, it wasn’t like I took that literally, but it’s been seven and a half hours. I can’t believe she hasn’t called.

  I call Guy again. If anyone would know anything it would be her best friend and foster brother.

  “She’s still not here,” he says, his voice tired.

  “Damn it. Has she text you again?”

  “Not since the text I told you about an hour ago. She had a hard time today. She needs some time. Dad said they already talked about this. He told her as long as she went, she could handle it however worked for her.”

  “I still think one of us should have gone with her.”

  “I know. I tried. You know how she is.”

  Yeah. I know. Stubborn as hell. “All right. Call me as soon as you hear anything.”

  “Will do, man. Try to get some rest. Tomorrow’s another big day.”

  “Sleep? Are you shitting me?” He chuckles and I end the call.

  I lay my cell on my chest and rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. This sucks. Hope better not be pulling her shit again, trying to push me away. I don’t know how many more ways I can make it clear—I’m not going anywhere.

  If my mother—my own flesh and blood—couldn’t bribe (or guilt) me back home to Illinois, then Hope isn’t going to be able to make me leave either. I’m exactly where I want to be.

  Well, not right now. Right now I want to be wherever she is. I want to touch her and know she’s okay.

  Shit. There is no way I’m sleeping anytime soon. I throw the blanket back and pad out to the tiny living room. Maybe I can tire my mind with some TV.

  The remote isn’t where I left it—which is beside the television. Hope gets so irritated when I put it there because “the whole point of a remote is so you don’t have to get up,” or something along those lines.

  As I’m searching through the couch cushions, lightning flashes, illuminating the yard out front. I catch sight of the old Bel Air for just a moment and my heart lunges in my chest with a kick of adrenaline.

  I move quickly to the door, turning the lock, and flinging it open. Hope’s sitting on the one step that makes up my stoop. She’s soaked and I can see she’s shaking. I’m not dressed, but I don’t give a shit. If any of my neighbors are up, they can deal with my boxers. I step out on the slick concrete and scoop her up into my arms. She presses her face into my neck. She’s freezing.

  “What are you doing? Why are you sitting in the rain?” I kick the door closed behind me and take her into the closet I call the bathroom.

  She looks up at me as I sit her on the edge of the sink. “I miss…my mom,” she whispers through chattering teeth.

  My chest tightens with her words. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her say something like that. Hope’s always claimed to hate her mom for all the messed up shit she did to her as a kid. But hell, I miss my messed up mom too.

  “I miss the times when she acted like a mom,” she adds as I start pulling layers of clothing off her. I start with her hoodie, dropping it heavily to the floor. I pull her shoes off next and she sighs.

  “It wasn’t very often, but she would make the best pancakes and we would
race to see who could eat them the fastest.”

  I rub her frozen toes for a moment as I watch the emotions passing over her face.

  “Whatever would make her happy—make her act like a normal person…it would usually disappear by the time we were finished eating.”

  I start to take her shirt off and she pulls back quickly, pushing my hands away. “Don’t,” she murmurs.

  “You’re wet,” I say, stating the obvious. “You can wear one of my shirts.”

  She looks away and shakes her head. And then I realize. I know exactly why she doesn’t want to take her shirt off in front of me.

  “Either you take it off or I will. I’m giving you fair warning, so there’ll be no misunderstanding my motives.”

  She purses her lips and runs her fingers over the hem of her damp tee shirt. “Don’t judge me.”

  I close my eyes and place my lips against her dripping hair. “No judgment. Just show me.”

  Her eyes are glossy when I lean back. She lifts her arms and I slide the shirt off slowly, afraid to see what’s waiting underneath. I don’t see anything on the front except her pale, smooth skin. She shifts uncomfortably and I catch a streak of purple skin in the mirror behind her.

  I bite down on my tongue to keep myself in check. “What happened?” I ask carefully.

  “Therapy wasn’t very fun.”

  I clench my jaw so hard my teeth hurt. My fingers curl into fists. “What happened?” I repeat. The tension in my voice is evident even though I try to hide it.

  She slips off the counter, pressing into me. As she trails her fingertips over my stomach, I know she’s trying to distract me. Normally, this would work. I can never seem to get enough of Hope, but I can still see the bruise across her back.

  As weird as it may sound, I love her too much to have sex with her right now.

  I hold her face in between both of my palms and kiss her softly. “Tell me what happened, Hope.”

  She holds my gaze before finally reaching up to wrap her hands around my wrists. “I don’t like Veronica.”