McKay lets me look at him with no shame at all, even though his dick is getting hard as I watch. “What?” I ask.
“You look… worried.”
And so does he. But that’s McKay for you. Always thinking about others. He is the most selfless person I have ever met. I turn and walk over to the bench on the far side of the shower, then sit down with my head in my hands.
McKay sits next to me. But he doesn’t hang his head. He leans back, enjoying the steam, and kicks his legs out in front of him. His thigh presses against mine. We bump shoulders.
I know McKay is not gay. He likes girls. A lot. But I’m special to him, just like he’s special to me. So that’s why we’re like this. That’s why we sleep together. We love each other and he wants me to know he loves me, so this is how he shows it. And I know that McKay will never leave me. Not the way I left him. Ever.
And that hurts too.
That he’s with me because we’re something inevitable.
It’s not even a choice, it’s just… inevitable.
“Can you put your finger on it? Or is it one of those elusive problems?”
I smile, then chuckle. And when I look up at him, when I see his face, and his eyes on mine—well, suddenly the world isn’t so bad. “I think it’s…”
McKay raises his eyebrow, waiting me out.
“Nick, maybe. But not the way you think. It’s that Wendy thing, actually.”
McKay’s eyes drop and he frowns out a sigh. “Yeah. I’m not sure what to make of it.”
“Which part bothers you?”
McKay shrugs. “I don’t know. Both, I guess. That she actually killed Chek.” He looks at me again. “What the fuck, right?” I nod. “And sure, the fact that Nick Tate is pulling her strings like a puppetmaster right now is fucking insane. We should be very afraid. But I think I would be more afraid if he wasn’t.”
Now it’s my turn to sigh. “Agreed.”
McKay gets up, walks under the water, and gets himself all glistening wet. I watch his ass and the muscles of his back as he reaches for the shampoo and starts on his hair. When he turns, he’s smiling at me.
I smile back, then kick my legs out and reach for my cock. McKay is not putting on a show. That’s not something McKay does. But he’s enjoying this, I can tell. He’s enjoying the way I watch the shampoo suds drip down his body. Over his chest, and hips, and legs. He turns his back to me and I get up. Walk up behind him. Reach for him.
He turns, quickly, and pushes me up against the wall. Then he kisses me. Hard. Like he would a woman, his hands roughly exploring my body, his fist around my dick before I’m processing all the feelings rushing around inside me.
I reach for his face and kiss him back. And we do that for a while. We make out like fucking teenagers. Then, when we pull away, we are eye to eye. “You wanna go out tonight?”
“Pizza in Pearl Springs?” he asks.
“As fun as that sounds”—I’m still staring into his eyes—“I was thinking… Corinthian Hotel penthouse in New Orleans.”
“Well.” McKay smiles so big, those fucking cheek dimples pop out. “How could I say no to that? But”—he gestures his head to the house behind us—“what about them?”
And he says ‘them’ exactly the way I want him to. Like all these fucking people in this house are interfering with us. And I just love him even more for that.
“Fuck them.”
Sometimes I wish it was just him and me.
Sometimes I wish there never was an Indie or a Donovan. That McKay and I just ran away together when we were young. Sailed around the world. Climbed mountains. Learned to parachute. Did whatever the fuck we wanted and never thought about this place, or the Company and our place in it, ever again.
Sometimes I wish we were broke, and uncomfortable, and stressed out about things like rent, and food, and bald tires.
I wish we had done it differently.
I wish I had listened to Gerald.
I wish I wasn’t thirty-seven years old, filled up to my neck and choking on regrets.
CHAPTER SIX - INDIE
Here is where I’m at. And even though it looks like this is all about Maggie and Adam, it’s not.
Not really.
It’s about me.
Just me.
I’m trying to be cool about the whole thing. I really am. Because I get it. I’m a terrible mother and Adam picked up the slack. But she’s my daughter. At some point, everyone in this house needs to acknowledge that, including Maggie.
She’s pouring bubbles into her bathtub—a bathtub that used to be mine, which sits in a corner of the room that also used to be mine. Maggie turns and looks at me. “Do you mind?”