Page 101 of Creeping Beautiful

His foot slams down on the brake as I grab him by the hoodie with one hand and yank hard until he starts choking. Then I hold up the gun so he can see it. “Keep driving and this whole thing is gonna turn out OK, Nate. Do something stupid, and you won’t have to worry about it. Because you’ll be dead.” I watch him in the rear-view mirror as he opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “Whatever it is you’re gonna say, it’s not gonna change things. And I’m not interested in having a conversation with you, Nathan. I’m here to deliver a message and go on my way. If you hear my message and heed my message, you’ll go on your way too. If you choose to ignore it, well… then things are gonna get dicey. Nod if you understand me.”

He nods.

“Good. Head towards the highway like you’re going home. And by the time we get there all this will be behind us.”

Nate and I have a chat. And that chat includes little details about his life that I’m one hundred percent sure Indie has no clue about. All these years I pegged Nate as just the boy next door. Some pussy kid who got lucky when my girl came to live in the big house across the lake.

But then I heard he was playing ball. And he was good enough to get himself a full-ride scholarship to Ole Miss. Which, OK, I get it. Ole Miss isn’t Harvard by any stretch. But it’s no joke, either. So I started wondering what else I didn’t know about our friend Nate.

I needed some specifics.

Which led me to specifically finding out about that hot cheerleader he’s dating from high school. The one he just had dinner with.

Specifically… he banged her in the front seat of this very truck just two hours ago.

Specifically… Nathan St. James has a thing for rough sex.

Because he had his hands around her throat, squeezing her windpipe, the whole time they were fucking. And if I find out he choked Indie when he got her pregnant, I will cut off his cock, shove it into his mouth, and let him experience sexual asphyxiation for himself.

Not that I’m real worried about anyone hurting Indie like that. She can most definitely take care of herself. I just want to set some ground rules for my buddy Nate.

And then, just as we turn down the dirt road that leads to Old Home and the little driveway to the carriage house, I tell him what we’re gonna do about this little problem.

So when I walk past the duck lake towards my house, and Nathan St. James is safely tucked away inside his with my girl, Indie, who is none the wiser about our conversation, I feel a little bit of satisfaction.

Not a lot.

But enough.

For now.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - McKAY

PRESENT DAY

I wake up to the sound of Donovan and Indie talking downstairs. They aren’t sharing secrets or anything. Just some normal conversation. And I figure they’re putting groceries away, because I can hear the tell-tale crinkling of plastic bags and the refrigerator door being repeatedly opened and closed.

I don’t really want to get up. I feel like I could sleep for months and still not be ready to get up and face what’s coming. But I do. I get myself together and wander into the hallway, still half listening to Donovan and Indie. Though things have gone quiet down there now.

I peek over the railing that overlooks the foyer and arched entrance to the front rooms. Someone—Indie or Donovan—has pulled a bunch of the white sheets off the furniture and has piled them in a heap just in front of the dining room.

Adam not being here should feel weird. It’s his fucking house. But so much about that dude has been weird since Indie disappeared, I think I’ve become immune to it. We’ve talked a few times. Mostly texted. But I have not seen him since that day everything went down.

I don’t know that I fully expected Indie to come back. I mean, I had always hoped. But there was a big part of me that figured she’d get herself killed somehow. Who knows how? Any number of ways, I guess. Or that she’d just… forget about us. All of us. Because Indie is very good at forgetting. She’s very good at losing track of things.

Herself, mostly. But lots of other things too.

But here we are on the verge of something.

And it could go a lot of different ways. I guess we won’t know that until Adam shows up and we get Indie to remember what happened and explain what she was thinking that day. Why she did what she did.

There are two ways to get downstairs from the second floor. The front stairs, which I am standing in front of. And the back stairs that lead directly into the kitchen. And for a second I’m not sure which route to take. I could throw those sheets in the laundry if I go down the front. But I could sneak up on Donovan and Indie in the kitchen if I take the back ones.

I choose the front ones, fairly certain I don’t want to sneak up on them.

So I go down, pick up the sheets, and I’m heading towards the laundry room on the other side of the front room, trying to mind my own business, when I hear them.

Do I get jealous? Doesn’t everyone? So… yeah. I do. But this is something I need to come to terms with. I have fucked her twice now. Twice in the span of less than one full day.