Never Been Loved by C.M. Kars Page A

touch.
    “I don’t think so. It might spin you off into another fraking tantrum.”
    What? What did I ask her? Fuck it, another knee to the boys will be worth it. I swipe a finger along her smooth leg, marvelling at the texture, the heat of her. Her legs aren’t scrawny, but they’re shaped in a way that I know she’d be pressed into me in all the right places when I’m in her.
    Ouch. Stop it! We’re not fully recovered yet, asshole!
    Pulling a breath through my nose, I get vertical and fight the twitch in my balls that’s milliseconds away from full blown agony. I lean down carefully and place an open hand in front of Sera.
    Like always, I lose patience. I need to see Matty. “You just gonna stare at it?”
    Sera shakes her head in a way that reminds me of me when Matty says something exasperating. Shit, now I have her hand in my palm and it feels awesome and kinda lonely at the same time. I yank her up, and without another word, she turns around and lets us both in.
    I follow her, zeroing in on Matty on her couch, the blue glow of the TV the only light in the dark living room. I feel rather than see Sera stiffen up in front of me, then rush ahead and go to her knees right by Jules’ kid. Ah fuck, she checks his pulse and for a second, just the tiniest of seconds I think I’m free.
    When she lets out a breath and scrambles for Matty’s pack on her coffee table to check his sugar, crushing shame settles on me and tears burn my eyes. I’m repulsive. I should’ve been the one that died instead of Jules.
    Sera body checks me on her way to her bathroom and I hear her throwing up.
    Between you and me kid, Sera’s never going to want anything to do with us ever again.
    I check on Matty to make sure he’s okay. Underneath my palm, the strong beat of his little heart is a promise.
    The sound of her heaving her guts out doesn’t make me queasy, nor does the smell when I get to her bathroom. She’s partially collapsed over the bowl, pulling in deep breaths. I look to her sink, and pull one of those tiny hand-towels and wet it, ringing out all the excess water like a good little boy.
    I move to give her the cloth, pissed off all over again when she glances up at me with surprise and something like worry. I watch her wipe her mouth and slide her head back down to her forearms, relaxing.
    I take a seat beside her on the tile floor, letting the cold seep through my ass and wait for her to be okay.
    “What’s the number?” I ask softly, not wanting to spook her, or get another shot to my ’nads.
    “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-”
    Ah, shit. This fucking girl. Sweet, she’s really fucking sweet. I’ve never met anyone like her, ever. Maybe when I was a kid, when I was too stupid to see past a pair of hot legs.
    I lean forward and snag her hand, cradling it with mine. She’s strong and small, and a secret badass. I mean, she fucking practically carried me to the basement and got me to the hospital. She saved my sorry excuse of a life. I need to be a gentleman, whatever that is.
    “You took great care of him.” I stare at her – the dark circles under her eyes, from worry or lack of sleep, the way her hair is tangled at the end, the way she’s paled out from getting sick and her eyes are shining brighter than ever. “Thank you.”
    She nods, a few shallow dips of her head. The kind of a nod a person does when they’re not really hearing what you’re saying. I try again.
    “Thank you for watching him for me. Thank you for taking care of him. For checking on him. For worrying about him,” I say against her knuckles, watch her mouth open in that way of hers like she’s waiting to be kissed.
    When I think she’s ready, I pull her to her feet, move her towards the sink with my hands at her hips. Not good for the