Lovely Darkness (Creeping Beautiful)

We’re not supposed to be apart. That’s just not how it works.

McKay and I are a set. Like Nathan and Indie, I guess.

I’ve come to terms with it. I still don’t really like Nathan, but it’s none of my business who she takes up with. It’s a relief, actually. Nathan has always been a relief. He watches out for her. He’s been there for her. But he and I, we’re two completely different people. And I cannot forget who he is.

What I’m really saying is—who he isn’t.

He isn’t one of us. Meaning Untouchable. And technically McKay isn’t either. Thank you, rational side of my brain, for bringing that up. But McKay grew up in it. He’s dripping with Company privilege.

Even though he lives down the hall from me now, Nathan St. James will always be just a boy who lives in a small house across the lake.

I really come off as an asshole when I think about Nate. This makes me chuckle.

Maggie notices. “What’s funny?”

“Oh, nothin’. Just thinking about your father.”

When I glance over at her, she’s making a puckered-lip face. She shakes her head. “Nah. I don’t need those thoughts.”

I chuckle again. “You really don’t.”

I’m not too worried about Maggie and how she might turn out, even though I probably should worry about her. Her parents are Indie Anna Accorsi and Nathan St. James. Her pedigree couldn’t be any more indiscriminate. Gerald Couture would be turnin’ over in his grave if he knew about this.

Fucking Gerald.

I kinda feel bad the old guy went out the way he did. I heard he shot himself in the head when the government showed up to raid his island. Which is a joke, but not really a funny one. Not the part about Gerald killin’ himself, at least. I really kinda liked the guy. But the part about the government raiding his island and acting all shocked and disgusted—as if their bosses weren’t all taking part in those hunts and auctions. Hell, everyone on that raid team had probably been on that island three or four times at least. They weren’t there to arrest people—they were there to hide the fuckin’ evidence.

That place was not a secret. There are very few actual secrets in this world for people like me. For other people, everything around them is a secret. They just don’t see it, or they do, but pretend they don’t. They’re too fuckin’ busy with their phones, or their streaming services, or all those stupid videos on socials to give a fuck about what’s going on right under their noses.

I let out a sigh. I’m starting to believe nihilism might be my thing.

Now that is funny.

You know what else is funny?

Carter Couture has been living in my house on and off for almost fifteen fuckin’ years so it’s highly probable that Maggie’s breeding isn’t the mistake it appears to be.

But that’s not why we’re out here. A problem for another day.

We escaped today to do the debrief. So I cut the motor in the middle of the Rigolets trench, drop the anchor, and then Mags and I get our fishing gear ready. We do this in silence. We’ve morphed into this new phase, I guess. One where we do things out of habit without speaking.

I like it.

The silence feels a lot like when Indie was little and I took her on jobs.

But then again, it’s totally different.

For one, this isn’t a job. Just a little conversation about last night.

And two, Indie and I were never close the way Maggie and I are.

I don’t care who her biological father is, Maggie Accorsi is my daughter.

Indie was never my daughter. She was my… ward. Charge. Possession. Weapon. Lover, a few times. And now, I don’t really know what we are.

Friends, maybe?

But then again, maybe not.

We’ve got our lines in the water and we’ve settled into the chairs on the deck when I finally say, “OK. Tell me everything.”

“Well, I like her.”

“Why’s that? I mean, I like Wendy too. But why do you like her?”

Maggie shrugs. “She feels… like home.”

“Huh.” I consider this. Wendy does feel like home. I’ve worked with her a lot over the years. She’s a regular in my life. She’s way more of a friend than Indie is, that’s for sure. “What’s that mean?” I ask Mags.

“You know. She’s just…” Maggie goes silent for a moment, considering her words. “She just feels like family.”

“She is family,” I remind her. “I’m a hundred percent sure the two of you are related in some way.”

“No. That’s not what I mean. Wendy just feels…” She stops again. This hesitation makes me pay attention. Wendy is special in some way or Maggie would just say things like, She’s fun. Or, She makes me laugh. Off-the-cuff things like that. But Maggie doesn’t say those things. She says, “Wendy feels connected to me.”