“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.
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.