Page 96 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
He starts to open the bag and all of a sudden what seemed like an innocent purchase seems so very personal, which makes me hesitate in explaining my reasons behind selecting it. I thrust my hands out to his. “Wait. . . .” Everything I want to say dies on my lips.
He just looks at me and links his fingers with mine. “What’s wrong? Are you finally sharing that huge box of sex toys you murmur about in your sleep?”
“What?” I sputter out, completely taken aback by his statement. From the heat flooding my cheeks, I’m sure they must be beet red. And all he does is sit in front of me, a stone-cold expression staring at me blankly. A nervous laugh falls from my lips as I shake my head in a rapid denial, immediately rejecting his comment. “Wh-what—I don’t—are you—”
His face transforms instantly. Smile wide, head thrown back, hand to his stomach as he laughs so loudly it echoes around the room. He falls onto the bed, trying to stop laughing except he can’t. “Your face. Oh, Getty. That look was priceless.”
I reach for the pillow closest to me and hit him with it before he can duck out of the way. “That’s not funny at all.” Now I sound like the toddler having a tantrum. But my God, that was so not cool.
And I do the only thing I can after swatting the pillow at him one more time: I cross my arms over my chest. And pout. And glare at him. But hell if it’s not the hardest thing in the world to be mad at a man whose face is half-covered by pillows, with a laugh so contagious I’m fighting back a smile, and who looks so damn cuddleable I just want to crawl over the bed and curl into him.
“I’m so sorry, but everything about that was classic.” I can still hear the laughter in his words as he pushes himself back up to a sitting position, eyes now locked on mine.
“I’m pouting.” Just thought I’d make that statement since I don’t know what else to say.
“And you’re adorable,” he murmurs.
“That was mean.”
“No, it wasn’t. It was perfect timing because you were second-guessing buying whatever this is for me and so I distracted you.” My attempt to level him with a glare serves only to widen his grin farther. “And it worked, because now you’re more mad than worried. Secondly, you should know sex toys can be a whole helluva lot of fun, so never count them out, Socks.”
“Your present . . .” I redirect the conversation with a lift of my eyebrows, because I’m not going there with him right now.
“Hmmm.” He leans forward, giving a quiet chuckle as he reaches out and taps the tip of his finger to my nose. “Sex toys for your next present, then.” And before I can even finish rolling my eyes, he continues with impatience. “But now, tell me about mine.”
I can only stare at him with a wide smile and a shake of my head in exasperation, but my nerves are now nonexistent. “I wanted to get you something to say thank you . . . to say I understand . . . to tell you to just jump.” My voice fades off as his eyes darken before he looks down to start unwrapping the gift.
He takes his time. Pulls the humidor from the bag. Runs his hands over the smooth surface. His eyes glance up to meet mine momentarily before shifting back down to where he’s lifting the lid to look inside.
“Getty . . .” It’s barely a whisper but once again, he knows how to tell me everything he’s feeling in the simple utterance of my name. Surprised. Awed. Confused. Gracious.
“We both came here escaping from something. And you’ve spent so much time helping me . . .” I struggle with the right words to say but then realize he already said it for me. “. . . want to be found again that I wanted to get you something to do the same.”
When his eyes find mine again, I can tell he understands this has something to do with his mother, his reasons for being here, but isn’t quite sure how.
“This is to keep the good memories in.” Something sparks in his eyes in acknowledgment, but I continue. “That box in your room might hold both good and bad. And when you choose to go through it, I wanted you to have somewhere to put the good. A safe place. A new home. That way when you leave here, you can leave the bad in the cardboard box behind you and bring the good home with you in something new.” I struggle with getting all the words out. Too much emotion for him. Too much sadness thinking of him leaving me.
But when he reaches out over the box and cups a hand to the side of my face without speaking—his eyes swimming with emotions I can only assume are similar to what I feel inside—I know I did the right thing.
“Thank you, Getty.” He looks down to where his hands are on top of the box, his voice rough, his fingers fidgeting. “This is perfect and thoughtful and timely.”
“Timely?”
His chuckle fills the room, but there is a tinge to it I don’t recognize. “Yes. Come here. I want to show you something.”
He gets off the bed, picks up the humidor, and reaches back to grab my hand to make sure I’m following him. I’m surprised when he turns abruptly into his room and then stops. But the confusion lasts only for a second because the cardboard box sits squarely on the center of his bed.
“I had planned on asking you to go through this with me tonight.” He twists his lips, eyes focused on a seemingly innocent cardboard box. Except I know it’s something that holds so much power over him. “I guess we were on the same page.”
My smile is soft as I nod, but he doesn’t see it. He lets go of my hand and sets the humidor down beside the box. Silence weighs us down. Zander’s discomfort so palpable I can feel it.
“It’s time.”
Chapter 28
GETTY
“What do you remember of your mother?” Zander asks me.
