Page 73 of Pretty Nightmare

Indie sighs. “You two need to work this out. We’re all waiting on you.”

She starts to leave, but I grab her arm and pull her back. “Indie?”

She turns back to me. “What?”

“You don’t think of me like a… like a father. Do you?”

She side-eyes me. “That’s a loaded question.”

“Not really.”

“Yes, it is. Because…”

“Because what?” My heart thumps inside my chest. Because I know what she’s gonna say.

“Well.” She shrugs. “You were the closest thing I ever had to a parent.”

I nod at her. Say nothing.

She stares into my eyes. “It’s not weird though.”

“Isn’t it?”

She yanks her arm out of my grip. “Fuck you, McKay.”

And then she walks off and leaves me standing in the driveway all alone.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - ADAM

Someone had to die.

That’s how stories like this go.

But the only thing I really care about is that it wasn’t me. And won’t be. Not anytime soon. Maybe not ever.

Everyone dies. But it seems like everything in this world has a hack these days.

Why not death?

The summer heat in New Orleans is something I’ve come to terms with, but I would not say I like it. I didn’t know any better growing up. I thought this was just what summer felt like. It was hot, and sticky, and uncomfortable for everyone.

Also true for most places. But summer here feels like an invisible force is trying to suffocate you from the inside out. That’s another familiar feeling for me.

The light from the lantern wobbles, obscuring my view of the dirt below my feet. Then it disappears altogether.

“Dammit, Magnolia. I gave you one job. Can you keep the fucking light still?”

“Sorry.” She peeks her head over the side of the hole I’m digging, smiling like being out at four in the morning while her father digs a hole in Holt Cemetery is no particular big deal.

I both hate and love that at the same time. Everything about her is complicated in that way. I love that she’s so smart. A little genius. Raising her has been the greatest pleasure of my life even though how I’ve done it has been questionable.

And let’s face it. I’m not winning any Father of the Year awards right now.

Especially in McKay’s mind.

“I was swatting mosquitoes,” she says, sighing. “There’s blood on my calf. I took a hit. But I’ll live.”

I look up into Maggie’s blue, blue eyes. They sparkle a sea-green color with the amber glow from the lantern light she’s holding for me. She smiles at me with a grin that says, I know I’m adorable.