Maybe Wendy’s not as normal as Sasha, but Sasha is an exception. There are a dozen asterisks after her name when it comes to integration into the normal life she’s living. Death count aside, a revenge scheme when you’re thirteen to get retribution for the Company killing your entire family doesn’t even live on the same planet as what Indie and Wendy did as children.
I’m like ninety-nine percent positive that Wendy hasn’t killed anyone in years. Indie, on the other hand? I have no fucking idea what she’s been doing for the past four years. The only person who does know is Carter.
And that’s not good.
None of this is good.
I only have myself to blame because Gerald Couture warned me that night of the auction fourteen years ago. He warned me. We paid a price.
He was right. None of this life with Indie was what I thought it would be. Most of it was better, if I’m being honest. She did good. She was real good. And we love her. But we’ve paid a price.
And now, when I look at Maggie, I am Gerald. I am Gerald and I am cautioning myself. It’s not what you think, Adam. It’s not what you think.
I’m right, too. Just like Gerald was.
When I try to look into the future—one of those ‘where do you see yourself in five years’ type of thought exercises—there is no Indie.
And that hurts. A lot.
Because number one, I have to admit I failed. But that’s not the worst of it. The worst of it is… it was all my fault that I failed.
It’s all my fault that Indie is this woman.
It’s not gonna take five years to figure this out, either. It’s not even gonna take five days.
Because Merc is here to let loose a shitstorm.
He’s here to make things happen.
Maggie and I are both quiet as we walk through the woods towards the house. “What are you thinkin’ about, peachface?” I ask.
“I think we should go on vacation.”
Not what I was expecting, but not a bad switch in topic. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”
“I think that’s what families do when they get stressed out.”
“Who’s stressed out?”
She shoots me a look. And that look says, The fuck you think you’re talkin’ to? But then she breathes through her annoyance and continues. “They go on vacation, and sit on a beach, and drink fancy drinks with umbrellas in them. They swim and eat a lot. And they buy stuff they don’t need, or really want, and then they lug it all home. And when they get home, they’re happy to be there again.”
I get what she’s saying. She wants us all to be happy. And I do too. I wouldn’t mind all of us going on some kind of family vacation. It would be nice to be… carefree like that.
But there’s so much going on. And a week on the beach can’t fix it.
“We can’t go on vacation, Mags. Donovan is sick.” She sighs, and I sigh, and it feels like the entire fucking swamp sighs. “But when he gets better—”
“Yeah, yeah. Forget it.”
I hate it when she’s mad at me. And then I hate that I hate that she’s mad at me. Because I’m the parent here and kids are supposed to be mad at their parents. If they’re not, you’re not a parent.
This is logic to me and this is how I got here:
I wasn’t around for Indie. I wasn’t present. I wasn’t there for the day-to-day. She doesn’t see me as a father. McKay was there, he did all that shit, and she doesn’t even see him as a father. She sees us as friends. Lovers, at times. But we are not in charge of anything when it comes to Indie. We did it wrong, I guess. We didn’t set it up the right way. I should’ve been someone she looked up to. If I had been that guy then maybe she would come to me with her problems, and she doesn’t. I have never been someone she depended on. In fact, I’m starting to think I was the one depending on her. I’m starting to think that Indie has been in charge of us since that very first night I saw her in that cage.
I’m starting to think she always knew this too.
And here’s the real problem… I’m starting to think that buying Indie Anna Accorsi and bringing her home with me wasn’t my idea or even Donovan’s idea.
It was Carter’s idea.
It was Carter who talked me in to this.
He was the one at the auction that night. I’m sure of it.
The path in the woods narrows down as we get closer to the house so Maggie takes the lead. And then, before I can say anything else and fix this mood between us, we’re there, on the pool deck. And then, just seconds later, we’re walking through the French doors and into the kitchen.