Page 123 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
“Yes. You can.” He cups the side of my neck, directing my gaze to remain on his. His voice comes out thick with reassurance, resolve, determination. “Think about us. Think about the past few months. We’ve laughed till it hurts. Made love till it feels so good it burns. We fight. We make up. We know each other’s pasts. We accept them.”
“But that doesn’t fix—”
“You’re right. But you’re talking from fear. You’re so fucking scared right now, Getty. You’re so worried that I’m him, you’re not looking and seeing me. The man you know. Well, guess what? I’m scared shitless too. I’m afraid of taking a step when I’m typically the king of just jump. I’m scared of hurting you. I’m petrified of loving you. But fuck, Getty, more than anything, I’m terrified of not taking the chance and knowing if any of that fear is worth it.”
His words are undeniably powerful. They strike chords I don’t want to vibrate with the impact they have on me. The look in his eyes—complete conviction in what he’s saying—makes it so hard to think otherwise. My heart and head are in conflict. My sense of right and wrong on a demolition derby to see who survives with the least amount of damage.
“Do you hear me? Do you understand what I’m saying?” He steps back and turns around, walking the length of the porch, hands behind his head, body energized with determination but tense because of my lack of response.
“Yes.” I finally speak. Petrified to say yes and terrified to say no. “I . . . I can’t take any more hurt, Zander.”
He turns around at my words. Walks back toward me. Smile slight, but there’s hope in his eyes. Relief that I actually responded in his posture. “Then it’s a good thing I’m here for the long haul.” He pauses. Takes a breath. “I don’t want an answer before I leave, Getty. All I want is for you to think about it while I’m gone. One week. I’ll leave you alone so you can think through everything I just said. Because I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it in your sadness. I miss it from your touch. We deserve this chance. No regrets, Socks. Let us have a shot. Will you at least tell me you’ll think about it?”
“Yes.” I nod my head.
“Thank you.” His hands are back on my cheeks, his lips pressing a kiss teeming with desperation against my forehead. We stand like this for a moment. And his lips move against my skin when he speaks in a hushed whisper. “Even if you gave me a hundred reasons why we shouldn’t be together, Getty, I’d still look for the one reason to fight like hell for you. Remember that.”
And with that comment he presses another chaste kiss to my forehead before turning and walking away without another word. I stand on the porch watching his car long after the lights have disappeared down the road, his last statement repeating over and over in my mind.
I’m breathing normally for the first time in what feels like days. And the funny thing is, I thought it was Zander’s presence that was making it hard to draw in air.
Now I wonder if it was the fear of him not being there that was causing the burn in my lungs.
Chapter 39
ZANDER
Have patience. But not too much. When there’s something you want, go after it. But if there’s something worth your while that you want bad enough, be patient.
The words from my mom’s letter repeat in my mind. But there’s no indication of how much time is too much damn time.
Fuck.
That’s the only way I can describe my state of mind. Or the paper cut left by Getty on my heart. She was like that swift quick slice you never saw coming but that stings like a bitch when it happens. And aches even more with each passing day.
Small but mighty. Goddamn knock-me-on-my-ass is what she is.
Especially since I want to call her. Hear her voice. See if she’s made any kind of decision yet.
But I don’t. I promised her I wouldn’t. That I’d give her time. And fuck if that’s not brutally hard to do. Lost time is something you can never get back.
So I’ve tried to focus on the race at hand. Using my frustration to own the damn track instead of tear myself apart. Well, that and try to get answers to the one thing that will fix this entire situation.
Identifying the woman in the picture.
I lift my face to the sky and close my eyes for a second, let the sun’s warmth hit my skin while I take a deep breath. I stand like that for a moment, Boston Harbor spread out below me from the balcony of my parents’ suite. I soak up the view, am reminded of the deck back on the island, and hate and love that I miss it all at the same time. The island had offered me quiet solitude. The feeling of being so small against nature’s wrath. The scent of Getty’s nail polish as she painted her nails when sitting beside me. That little “Good night” she murmurs before she falls asleep.
That’s why the text on my phone pisses me off even more, because it’s telling me I might still lose everything. The investigator I hired to look into the Instagram account hit a dead wall today. His text says the only info he could find is the account and the Gmail it’s associated with were created in the last month, and all are linked to false background information.
A race bunny out for a good time hiding it from her husband or boyfriend. Great. Just what I need is another asshole to deal with if he eventually finds the picture.
“That bad, huh?” Rylee pats my shoulder as she and Colton join me out on the balcony. She sets a bowl of chips and salsa out and my first thought is of Getty sitting across from me at the restaurant, seducing me with her words.
She’s fucking everywhere I look and nowhere I want her.
I roll my shoulders, try to focus on the positive in that she said she’d think about us. Hopefully the time apart will make her miss me as much as it’s making me miss her.
“So how are you going to fix this, Zander?” It’s Colton who speaks, but my gaze flicks over to Rylee. The one person I’ve confided in, and I know she’s spilled the details of our heart-to-heart to Colton. Didn’t expect any less but at the same time, fuck.
