Page 92 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
And goddamn if her words didn’t break parts of me that I never even knew I had. They tamed my temper. Made the order to stay home I was going to say next die on my lips. I had to switch gears.
“You’re not her anymore, Getty.”
As I watch her move behind the bar, mask up, emotions under control, I’m not sure I’ll ever forget how doubtful she looked when I told her she had nothing left to prove. Because with her strength, her resolve, and her tenacity, she’d already won against both Ethan and her father. And while she may be coping just fine, using the tourist-packed bar to keep her busy, I’m not. The longer I sit here, the more time I have to stew. And the angrier I become.
At myself: for not seeing that I’d left my phone at home sooner. At not getting there quicker.
At Damon: for sending his son-in-law after his daughter, because he won’t take no for an answer.
At the sheriff: for telling me what I already know—that Ethan will be out on bail in a matter of hours. And I appreciate the fact that he’s going to push the envelope, wait until the last minute to give the fucker his one phone call to his lawyer, so that hopefully his ass will have to stay in a cell overnight. But I know the truth without the sheriff ever saying it. Money means privilege. And privilege means high-priced lawyers and special treatment.
I have a sinking feeling Ethan will get nothing more than a slap on his wrist.
At Ethan: because he’s a royal fucking prick who needs far more than that slap on the wrist. All I can hope for is that as he settles back into his posh mansion high in the hills somewhere with a fading shiner, every time he looks in the mirror and sees the bump in the ridge of his nose from where I broke it, he’ll remember
me. That he’ll remember my threat and never touch Getty again.
At Getty: for being so goddamn strong. The woman needs to break. To cry. To rage and scream so she can leave it behind.
She needs to need me.
The last thought comes out of nowhere. Blindsides me. And I cope with it the only way I know how, by lifting my hand to get Liam’s attention.
I had no choice but tell him the bare minimum about what happened with Ethan when I called Getty in sick to work. I know how important her job is to her. Besides, the small-town gossip mill was likely already in full swing and so I figured why not tell the one person who hears it all so he can set anyone straight.
I’m sure Getty might feel differently, but while she’s busy tucking everything away, I wanted to make sure the town knows the truth so they can back her if it’s ever needed.
“You need some ice for that?” Liam motions to my knuckles where they’re red and swollen.
“Nah.” I open my hand to stretch them and shake my head. “I’m good, thanks.” Actually I wish they were worse. I’d like to have gotten one or two more good ones in. For me. For Getty. Because he deserved so much more than that.
“For your cheek, then?”
Did he hit my cheek? Shit. Never even thought about it. When I open my mouth and stretch my cheeks, sure as shit, there’s a burn of pain, but I just shake my head again and sigh as I glance back over to check on Getty.
“She still ignoring you?” He laughs and lifts his chin toward Getty. There’s concern in his eyes, very different from the surprise that was there when Getty waltzed in an hour after I called to tell him she wasn’t coming, and took her place behind the bar.
When he went to tell her to leave, that he’d covered her shift, the look I leveled stopped him dead in his tracks. And thankfully when I explained she needed to be kept busy, that I’d pay the extra set of wages if he needed me to, all he did was nod his head, point to an open seat near the end of the bar, and ask me what my poison for the evening was.
Definitely a good guy.
“Yep,” I sigh as my eyes find her again. “Stubborn damn woman.”
Liam laughs again as he lines up two shot glasses and takes the top off the Jägermeister. “You know what they say. . . .”
“What’s that?” I’m distracted, eyes staring at the door to the storage room Getty just disappeared into.
“Men wear the pants in the relationship, but it’s the woman that controls the zipper.”
I throw my head back and laugh. The rebuke on the tip of my tongue that we’re not in a relationship remains unspoken because the stress relief is more important. “Very true.” I tap the top of my glass against his and toss back the shot.
The burn is quick, but I welcome it. It’s real. That and the laugh Liam offered by trying to lighten the mood.
This time when he goes to help another customer, he leaves the bottle for me. Smart man. I relax back in my chair as soon as I see Getty come back into the bar. She pulls a pint for two men in front of her. Chats them up. Laughs. Appears normal. But I can see the strain under the smile.
It wasn’t that bad, my ass. Her words echo in my mind. Cause fury to beat through my veins. Make me think of my own mother again. Wonder how often she put that mask on to protect me, let me think everything was okay when she was bruised inside and out.
Turn it off, Zander. Another day.
