Page 87 of Gorgeous Misery

She knows this is about Nick. She might even understand that I’m bringing her to see him, but she’s not going to argue with me.

“Sasha?”

“I’m here.” He voice is small now. Low and soft. That’s the woman she turned into. Someone soft. And I don’t mean that in a disparaging way, even though if I ever told her this, she would be insulted. I mean that… she got out. She let it go. Somehow, some way she put all that Santa Barbara and Kansas shit behind her and moved on.

It’s a sign of strength. And I would say this to her, if we ever had this conversation for real. I would tell her, Don’t regret the soft, or the easy, or the good. Because you, of all the girls they used up and threw away, you are the one who made it. And that is strength.

But she wouldn’t want to hear it, so I just concentrate on the present. “So you’ll come,” I say.

“Is this gonna ruin my life?”

I have to pause. In the old days, and for people who are not Sasha or anyone I seriously care about, I’d just lie about this and say, Nope. But I can’t lie to this girl. She’ll know, first of all. And second, I don’t want to ruin the trust we have. When you’re surrounded by lies truth is more valuable than gold. Because truth, even if it’s bad news, breeds trust. And trust is worth even more than truth.

Plus, something is happening right now and for whatever reason, these Company people have decided to place me on their chessboard. I’m a game piece at the moment. I can feel it. And I need help. And maybe it’s not fair to expect this help to come from Sasha, but she truly is the only one I can turn to. I can’t call Sydney. She’s not that kind of Company girl. And I’m sure, by now, Syd knows something is up. But she trusts me to take care of it and get back to our family in one piece.

So I’m phoning a friend, as they say on that TV game show. I’m placing my own chess piece onto the gameboard. A twist, if you will.

“Merc?”

“Look,” I sigh. “I can’t answer that. Not yet, anyway. But I’m calling you because I need you. That’s all I want to say over the phone. I need you.”

“It’s…” And I swear, Nick Tate’s name is on the tip of her tongue. I don’t know why she doesn’t finish her thought or say it out loud, but I can take a good guess. If she says it out loud, it becomes real. So instead she says, “OK. Should I pack an overnight bag? Find a babysitter and bring Jax? Pull the kids out of school and clean out my bank accounts? How deep is this going?”

“It’s not that deep. At least, I don’t think it is. You know I wouldn’t put you in danger, right?”

“I do know that.”

“So I would leave Jax at home with the kids. And one night—you don’t even have to stay the night, actually. I really just need your opinion on something and I need to get that opinion in person.”

There is another long pause. Then she blows out a breath. “OK. I guess we’re leaving now. See you in an hour or so.”

She ends the call without saying goodbye, but I don’t think it’s because she’s mad. I think she’s just a little off balance.

Because she knows.

And she’s coming anyway.

I put my phone away, pay for the groceries in my cart, grab the tacos and ice cream from down the street, and head back south to the farm.

Nick is sitting at the picnic table behind his house when I pull to the end of the gravel driveway. He doesn’t get up, or greet me, when I get out. He doesn’t say anything at all, actually.

“I’m kinda surprised you’re still here,” I call, grabbing grocery bags. “Where’s Wendy?”

He nods his head towards the house. “Taking a shower.”

There’s something different about him now. I can’t put my finger on it because I don’t know this guy. He’s not shootin’ me a look or anything. His answer didn’t come out snide or resentful. But something is different. “You gonna help me out here?”

He gets up, walks over to the truck, and grabs several bags, then turns and takes them in to the house without another word.

And this is when I get that feeling in my gut.

It’s hard to articulate. But it’s kind of a sick feeling and it means I missed something.

I don’t miss a lot of things. This is not customary for me, so this feeling and my reactions to it aren’t well honed. But I’ve had it enough times to recognize it for what it is.

A mistake.

Somewhere along the line I have made a mistake with Nick Tate. I have missed something.