Page 88 of Gorgeous Misery

And the funny thing is—well, it’s not funny at all, actually. The ironic thing is that the most prominent memory I have of this feeling is from that day out in the Montana woods. The day when Sydney Channing almost killed Sasha and me because she was triggered and under Garrett’s orders.

Garrett was my mistake that time. I underestimated him. Not his skills, per se. But his hatred of me, I guess. He wanted me dead and he used Sydney to finish me off.

I’m still standing by the truck when Nick comes back out.

What I’m doing is not normal. I mean, I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here, but obviously something is on my mind and that’s why I haven’t gone back into the house with the groceries. But Nick says nothing. Just grabs the remaining bags, and dinner, and walks away. The screen door slams behind him.

I take my groceries into the house. Nick is already putting things away and the fridge door is wide open as he haphazardly shoves milk and eggs inside.

“You got a lot of fresh food.” He narrows his eyes at me from over his shoulder. “You plan on staying here a while?”

I study him, trying to figure out the mistake. Trying to retrace my steps to where it went wrong. It can’t be that far back. I mean, we’ve only been together a couple of hours. So I guess the hotel room.

But it doesn’t feel right.

That wasn’t when. I was careful then. A mistake happens when you’re not being careful.

I decide to be direct the way Sasha was. “I don’t know what you’re doing, Nick. But I know you’re doing something.”

He turns away from the fridge, shuts the door. Stares at me as he leans against the kitchen counter and crosses his arms. For as long as I have known him, I have had trouble meeting his gaze. And looking back, I wonder why that was. Those eyes, they’re brown, not blue. They’re not piercing or overly dark. They’re kinda amber, actually. But it’s like this man can see through me. Even when he was a kid, he saw things I never did because he’s had access to information I never will.

But right now, he’s not glaring at me. His eyes come off as rather lazy. He is comfortable, at ease, and unconcerned about what I might think he’s doing.

“So walk out.” He shrugs his shoulders.

It’s a casual dare. So casual, it comes off like a threat only people like us can decipher.

He knows I’m not walking out. I’m in. No matter what happens, I’m playing his game until it’s over. So when I don’t say anything back, he pushes off the counter, walks past me, and goes back outside.

I stand there for a moment, still holding my grocery bags.

“You know you owe me now, right?”

I glance over at the hallway and find Wendy. She’s dressed in Nick’s clothes—a pair of denim shorts that look like she just cut the legs off five minutes ago and a white Shrike Bikes t-shirt, which takes me aback a little. That fucker has a Shrike Bikes t-shirt? He has no fucking shame.

Wendy’s hair is still wet. It makes her look different for a moment because even though I can still see streaks of blonde, it’s dark. And she’s in the shadows of a dying sun, so her eyes come off dark too.

Illusions.

These girls are like that.

They trick you without even trying.

I set my bags down on the counter and start putting things away. She waits me out. So I finally say, “I’m good for it, Wendy.” Because I did take her mind without permission and if she were just some random nobody, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. But she’s not a random nobody. Something tells me that Wendy Gale is now a permanent fixture in my life. So she’s right. I owe her.

“Where’s Nick?”

I nod my head to the backyard. “Out there, I guess. You saw our conversation?”

She laughs a little. And this is when I notice it’s kind of a sweet laugh. Wendy is a dangerous girl and she’s not even close to being sane. But she’s not a mean girl. And she’s not nasty, either. She’s a lot like Sasha in this respect.

“What’s funny?” I ask.

“Just that you know him.”

“What?”

“You know. You said ‘saw our conversation.’ And that’s Nick for ya, right? When you have a conversation with Nick, half of it always takes place inside his head. But you heard all the things he wasn’t saying, didn’t you?”