Page 48 of Indigo Sky

Indigo was quiet as we approached her little sedan. She kept her head down, her hand wrapped tight around her duffel bag’s strap. I figured she was thinking about what had happened with that dickhead—Tyson. Granted, I didn’t know the extent of it. Didn’t know exactly what he’d done to her. It wasn’t any of my business. But the overwhelming urge to console her swept over me in a tidal wave of anger and empathy. Shit, I could only imagine the type of crap she’d been through over the years, doing what she did for work, and just the idea that men like that existed in this world … men who thought they had the right to take advantage of women—and even other men—for their own sick benefit …

I had never considered murder before, but thinking about men like that pushed me pretty close to it.

“Thank you again,” she finally said as we reached her car door. “For what you did tonight.”

“I was just doing my job,” I replied with a shrug.

“No, you weren’t. Holding him back and keeping him from hurting anyone else—that’s your job. But letting me kick him in the balls …” She turned to finally look up at me, her eyes soft and hurt and grateful and fuckingsad. “That was for me, and you didn’t have to do it, but I’m glad you did. So … thank you.”

A thousand questions hung at the tip of my tongue, but all I said was, “You’re welcome, Indigo.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes to the sky above. “Don’t call me that. God, not when we’re out here.”

Out here… I assumed she meant when we weren’t inside the club, and I asked, “What should I call you then?”

“Kate,” she said before sucking in a deep breath and smiling almost wistfully. “Youcan call me Kate.”

***

I got home that night, feeling weird. That was the only way I could explain it. Like my heart was ten pounds lighter and my stomach was practicing somersaults.

I kept replaying what she’d said on repeat.

“Youcan call me Kate.”

You.

Me.

There was so much emphasis on thatyou. Like her name—herrealfucking name—was meant for me and nobody else, and I felt like a giddy little kid on Christmas trying to figure out what the hell that had meant.

I wanted to see her again. I wanted to see hernow.

I wanted to ask her for her number and go to sleep to the sound of her voice, which … yeah, that was weird, too, but holy fuck, I didn’t think I had ever felt like this before. Well, not since the first time we’d met and she gave me my first kiss, but I had understood then that I’d never see her again—or so I’d thought—and it was easy enough to accept that. But now?

Wekneweach other. We worked together. And I could call her Kate.

I thought about it while I was falling asleep, and I thought about it when I woke up. I thought about it while I was eating breakfast, and Mom asked why I was so quiet. Dad asked why I had a funny look on my face. They both asked if I was okay and if I was sure when I said yes. I just told them I’d had a good night, and funnily enough, apart from Tyson, I had.

Then, I went out to the driveway to work on Dad’s car. Since Roy had fired me, my parents no longer took their cars to his shop. They said they didn’t want to give him the business, out of solidarity.

Besides, they had me to do all the work for them.

Dad’s car needed an oil change. The thing had needed it for a few days, but I’d been waiting for some time off to get it done.

I thought about Indigo—Kate—while I did that too.

“So, is it a girl?” Dad asked casually when he came out to give me a bottle of water.

“What?”

He looked up at the sun and shrugged, curling his lips into a sly, knowing smile. “You know … why you’re looking all mushy-gushy.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Mushy-gushy?” I mocked. “Jesus, Dad.”

He tipped his head with another shrug. “What? I don’t know how else to put it! So, is it, or isn’t it?”

“A girl?”

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