Page 57 of Creeping Beautiful

I close my eyes. Take a moment to think about yesterday. Before she came back. Before Donovan got here.

And wonder, much the way I did that very first day she came home with us fourteen years ago, if anything will ever be the same again.

Donovan drives.

Stupid prissy fucker.

My truck, too. Since he came in a ‘car’, which means he had a driver, whom he did not ask to stay and take him back to Old Home. So. My truck.

Indie sits in the back and I take shotgun. I probably managed to down six or seven shots in those thirty seconds I was holding that Jack bottle. And I did have sex. So I’m sleepy as I look out the window and watch the landscape go by.

There was very little traffic getting out of New Orleans and once we get on the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway, there’s a long boring stretch until we get up north and finally head west towards the Old Pearl River.

Every now and then I glance over my shoulder to look at Indie, who is sitting behind Donovan for just this reason.

She wants me to look at her. And every time I do, I catch her staring at me.

I don’t know what the fuck came over me back at my apartment. I should’ve just… pushed her away. Kept her at a distance. Because now she fills up my head and I can’t make sense of things.

It’s nothing but a swirling mess. And I wish I could say it was regret. I would fucking love to feel some regret when it comes to Indie.

But I don’t.

And it’s not.

It’s just… conflict. And apprehension about what comes next with Adam.

“So how’s…” Indie stops mid-sentence.

“How’s what?” Donovan glances at her in the rearview.

“I was gonna say school.” She laughs. “But obviously you’re not in school anymore. I knew that. How’s work?”

“I just finished my second residency, actually. And it’s all… fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Great. It’s great. I can’t complain.”

“Did you ever get that Malibu house?”

I glance over at Donovan and find him smiling. “Nah. That dream faded a while back now, Indie. I’m… considering my options at this point.”

“What options?” I’m still staring out the window when I ask.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this, actually.”

I turn my head to look at him. He keeps his eyes on the road. Fucking hands at two and ten o’clock like he takes his goddamned driving seriously. “Talk to me about what?”

He side-eyes me. “Later, McKay. It’s not a good time.”

Indie is quiet in the back, but I know she’s listening intently. When neither Donovan or I say anything else, she pulls herself together and asks another question. “Are you married, Donovan?”

“Married? No, Indie. I’m not married.”

I glance back at Indie again. She’s looking out the window this time. Studying the Louisiana darkness all around us like there’s anything to see out there.

We’re all quiet after that, our pathetic attempt at small talk a complete failure. And then before we know it, we’re driving down the long, empty lane that leads to Old Home.