Page 125 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
The little things he’s trying to remind me of so I don’t forget how good we are together.
Like the four dozen pairs of knee-high socks in all different patterns and colors he had delivered. The card attached mentioned how much he enjoyed those socks wrapped around his hips.
Or the two cases of fresh golden pineapples followed by the empty green crates void of strawberries. The note that mentioned he’d asked the strawberry council to go on strike because pineapples are the decidedly best of all fruits.
Next was the case of new paints and brushes and canvases in all shapes and sizes that now clutter my little alcove in my bedroom. The card still makes me smile. The dedication “to the world-renowned artist” from her model who still needs his six-pack and other delicate places painted and committed to canvas.
Then there was the hammer with the flowery handle. So I had something to use when I needed to get out aggression or emotion. An outside use only sticker attached to it.
The bubble mailer delivered to the house with the kid’s jump rope nestled inside. A note along with it that said Will you? followed by the few minutes it took me to figure out what Zander was asking. But once I did—his gift a reminder of his just jump encouragement—I lost the battle against holding back a smile.
All the items tugged on my heartstrings. Reminded me of his generosity. His kindness. His thoughtfulness. They all made me want to pick up the phone and call him. Hear his voice. Close my eyes and sink into the warmth of his presence.
But none of them were the one thing I so desperately needed. Him to tell me he didn’t sleep with someone else.
Am I being stubborn? Yes. Unreasonable? Maybe. Will my anger and hurt fade with time, and will all these small gestures that tell me he realizes what’s so very important win out in the end?
God, how I want to be able to say yes. I want to let love prevail. Win. Sweep me off my feet and carry me off into the island sunset.
But I also know love doesn’t fix everything. Trust and honesty are huge factors too. And I’ve lived without all three of those for so long. Is it really so bad to require them the next go-round?
Time. That’s what I keep telling myself. I have three more days to convince myself one way or another. To just jump or to say good-bye and go our own separate ways.
Even the thought of it gets me teary-eyed. And makes me question why I’m fighting this so hard. Shouldn’t the fact I’m resistant to walking away be enough of an answer?
“I placed some calls to some friends. We’ll find something for you. You’re a local now—you get the inside track,” Liam says with a wink, pulling me from my thoughts of Zander and placing them where they should be. On finding a place to live. Because as if I needed more shit to deal with right now, Darcy called this morning to tell me the house has been bought. Word of mouth around the island about the house being fixed up, in a market where real estate goes fast, had brought in an irresistible offer.
So not only do I have to deal with a broken heart and whether I want to mend it or just cut my losses and accept the hurt, but I now need to find a new place to live.
Maybe this is a sign. A clean break could be just what I need. A new place to live means no more memories of Zander everywhere I look. No more reminders when the pipes creak or when I pass the mini-blind wand still sitting on my bedroom dresser.
The one absolute is that I’m staying here on the island. The easiest thing would be to pack up the car and run again. Set down roots somewhere else. But I don’t want to take the easy route. I like it here. I’ve made friends. I feel at home. Accepted. And that’s not something I ever expected to find, so leaving the island is not an option.
“Thanks. It’s all so sudden. I just . . .” I fight the tears that well in my eyes.
Liam pats my shoulder in support. My tears instantly making him uncomfortable. “It’s all going to work itself out for the best. We’ll all make sure of it.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. Everything with Zander and now this . . . I don’t know what I’d do without—”
My voice stops midsentence, my breath hitching, when I see who’s walked into the bar.
My heart clenches when I meet eyes that match mine.
I just can’t take anymore right now.
I just can’t.
Let alone him.
“What does he want?” Liam mutters beside me. His words surprise me. His rigid posture even more.
My body tenses with each step closer my father takes to the bar. I know I’m strong, can hold my own against him, and yet exactly what he predicted would happen with Zander happened, and I really don’t want to go toe-to-toe with him right now on it.
“Good afternoon, Gertrude. You’re looking well.” Sharp eyes. Stiff demeanor. Zero emotion.
“Father.” I nod. My head is so cluttered with everything that I can’t think straight.
We stare at each other. The patrons around us take notice. Liam stays put by my side.
