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Nicky reached up and squeezed my shoulder to let me know he was there. He was part of one of the least complicated relationships in my life. Listening to him explain it to Olaf made me realize all over again that simple for me was super complicated for Nicky.
“I don’t mind. I love you, and I know you love me, because I can feel it,” Nicky said, leaning in as close as his seat belt would allow.
“What don’t you mind? Why did you say that?” Olaf asked as he pulled into the driveway of our destination.
“I’m replying to what Anita was thinking.”
Olaf glanced back at Nicky and then at me. “When you told me that you were trying not to feed on my anger because you were afraid of what it might do to me, is this what you meant?”
I made a little waffling movement with my head and shrugged. “Sort of. Just feeding on anger isn’t what tied Nicky to me, but it’s made me cautious about who I feed on for anything. I rolled Nicky on purpose. I’d hate to do this by accident.”
“I had kidnapped you and was helping my werelion pride threaten to kill the men you loved,” Nicky said.
“I didn’t say that I regretted using the only weapon you guys had left me to turn you into my ally, but the thought that I could treat you like a true slave and you couldn’t do anything about it creeps the fuck out of me.”
“You’re a better person than that,” Nicky said.
“Luckily for you,” I said.
“I knew Nicky before you. If the positions had been reversed, he is not the better person,” Olaf said.
I looked into the back at Nicky. He smiled at me. I smiled back. “Nicky and I have talked about that.”
“And what do you think of his old ways?” Olaf asked.
“I think he was made into a sociopath by the bitch that called herself his mother. I think his ties to me just helped him find his own emotions, which the abuse damaged.”
“Then Nicky is not like me, Anita. I have no emotions hiding inside me for you to find.”
“If you didn’t have more than you think you do, then you wouldn’t be trying to date Anita,” Nicky said.
Olaf startled visibly, hands tightening on the steering wheel so hard that it made protesting noises as if he might break it. He took his hands off the wheel. “I am not capable of love.”
“Are you sure?” Nicky asked.
Olaf looked at him, his face unreadable around his sunglasses. We waited to see if he’d answer Nicky’s question. He didn’t. He just got out of the car and left us to follow.
“That was interesting,” Nicky said.
I wanted to argue but said the truth since he could feel it anyway. “It was weird, disturbing, but interesting.”
“I think you just described Olaf.”
Again, I couldn’t argue, so I got out of the car and Nicky followed me, because he had to and because he wanted to. I was dating one sociopath; surely that was my limit. I’d never intended to date Olaf for real, so what were we going to do with each other? Even for my dating history, this was a weird one.
53
BRIANNA GIBSON OPENED the door to the one-story ranch house wearing a purple sports bra and leggings, with lavender-and-white cross-trainers on her feet. She was at least five-eight, maybe a smidge taller, and was lean enough to look good in the exercise clothes. Her nearly black hair was back in a short ponytail as neat and smooth as her body, so the fact that she was wearing full makeup that seemed more weekend clubbing than afternoon gym was a little startling, like she wasn’t sure if she was going to work out or head to the city for an evening out.
We introduced ourselves and asked if we could ask her a few questions. She opened the door farther and ushered us inside. “Of course. I was wondering if any of you would need to talk to me about what happened to Jocelyn’s dad.”
I nearly tripped over toys as I walked into the living room. Brianna Gibson was clean, neat, and ready to greet the world. The same could not be said of her home. There were toys and baby things everywhere, so it was like tiptoeing through a biological-clock minefield. A baby started crying from farther inside the house, and then a second cry joined the first, so there was a chorus of unhappy infants.
“Damn, they’re up from their naps. I’m sorry, but I have to go check on them. Clear off a space and have a seat,” the woman said, and then walked down a hallway that led directly off the living room.
There was also a door on the wall, which probably led to the kitchen, but who knew? And honestly, until someone cleared the debris away, the door wasn’t going to open anyway.
We stared around at the couch and the two overstuffed chairs, which sat like islands that were in danger of being engulfed in the toys and bits of baby clothes. There were two of those baby chairs with trays and wheels that helped babies practice walking while having snacks or playing with small toys. The mess on the floor was so thick, the chairs weren’t going to move. The babies could practice standing, but walking wasn’t happening until someone picked up a little.
