Page 74 of Creeping Beautiful

“Watching a movie, huh? That better be all you’re doing with Nate.”

“Shut up. Where are you?”

“I’ll be home in a couple hours. But I just want to say that… your friend isn’t dead. He took her, but…”

“Oh, thank God. I like her. She was cool. And I felt so bad.”

So bad, you’re watching a movie right now like it was nothing?

I want to say that. But don’t. Because then I might have to admit that Nick was right. She’s not OK. She will never be OK. She was bred to be a sociopath just like me. Just like Donovan.

And yeah… just like Nick.

“Well, have some… good, clean teen fun. And don’t be late for dinner. You know McKay hates that.”

“Oh, my God. Whatever. See you then.”

And she drops me.

I’m smiling, pretty satisfied with how this meeting turned out, when I realize something.

Nick. He said… McKay. He said, She’s not different. Not from me. Not from you. Not from McKay. Not from any of us.

But that’s not true. We aren’t all the same. McKay isn’t like us. He will never be like us.

There’s a two-hour drive home. And I should be thinking about Nick Tate and what the fuck he’s up to with the Company.

But that’s not what I’m thinking about.

Nick can do whatever he wants and he can think whatever he wants. I don’t really give a fuck. We barely work for the Company these days anyway. The odd clean-up job here and there is like a vacation compared to what the other teams do. And they can’t touch me. They know that. The whole fucking arrangement since I bought Indie has been one long win-win as far as I’m concerned. If that Shadow of Secrets calling himself Nick Tate wants to take some people out with him, go for it, dude.

Just leave me out of it.

I’m done with that shit.

No. What I’m thinking about is Nathan St. James. Because he and Indie are getting pretty fucking tight. And I get it. He’s the boy next door. Indie has this tattered-up romance novel about some teenager falling for the boy next door. I don’t even know where she got that thing. Maybe on one of her clandestine trips upriver for supplies? Which reminds me—I maybe need to put some kind of tracker on her. We didn’t even know she was going upriver and apparently she’s been doing that for years.

But she’s got boyfriends on her mind. And while it could be worse—she could’ve fallen for the local high-school football jock in the nearest town—I’m not ready for her to start dating.

But then I wonder… maybe she’s been dating that kid this whole time and I didn’t know it? Because I’m dumb. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old dumbass man who has no clue what teenage girls think about and I let McKay handle all that shit. And she’s been hanging out with Nathan St. James since she was ten. So… like… have they been kissing and shit?

I get this weird, sick feeling in my stomach when I think about that. I don’t wanna think about it. But she is fifteen. And back when I was fifteen, I was fucking around with all kinds of girls. Who were also fifteen.

No. I don’t like where this Nate thing is headed. Not one bit.

Indie has a job to do. And I probably got a little too comfortable with Nate because he’s just been a fixture around Old Home for so long, I started assuming he was one of us.

Which he sort of is. His father was, at least. He was a lot older than me growing up so I didn’t pay much attention to him. And I was busy being me. In fact, I don’t even know what happened to that guy. I don’t even know where Nate came from. Just… one day he was there.

He wasn’t a baby. And there was never a mother over there. Just the grandfather and then the kid. He was about four, maybe, when he showed up. Five at the oldest.

And it occurs to me that I should look into this shit. It occurs to me that I should’ve looked into this shit a long-ass time ago.

When I get home McKay’s truck is gone. I was gonna talk to him first since he’s the one who pays the most attention to Indie on the day to day. But I look across the lake and then the next thing I know I’m heading down the path that leads to the little brick carriage house.

I even sneak a little. Like I’m spying. And when I started down the path I didn’t intend on spying. I just figured it was time I had a little chat with Grandpa St. James. Make sure we’re all on the same page here as far as my… Indie… goes.

Which then has me wondering what I should call her when I talk to the old fart.