Page 103 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
“Excuse me a second,” Zander says unexpectedly as he sees someone over my shoulder. I watch him jog over to where Liam stands out in front of the bar. Zander calls his name to get his attention as I turn back to Mable. She continues on about some of my dresses up for sale, but my attention remains focused on Zander and Liam, whose eyes keep glancing back at me.
We meet up a few minutes later. “What was that all about?” I ask, hating that I suddenly sound nosy.
“Nothing really. Just wanted to ask Liam a few things.” He falls silent, which means my curiosity is piqued.
“What were—?”
“He wanted to give me this,” he says with a laugh as he holds out a white Lazy Dog Bar T-shirt like the staff has to wear, with the logo prominently displayed across the chest of it.
“Always the opportunist. He’s probably hoping you’ll be photographed with it when you head to the race or something and give the bar some notoriety.”
“I’ll wear it.” He shrugs. “Although I like how you wear yours much better,” he says with a wink, referring to how all the servers tie the back of their shirts to make them a bit tighter for the male patrons’ benefit.
“I’m sure you do.” I laugh and smile at him.
“It’s even better when you’re not wearing it, though.” I go to playfully hit him in the arm, but he catches my arm before I connect and presses an unexpected kiss to the top of my hand. While I’m startled, he acts casual when he links his fingers with mine and starts walking.
“You going to be okay while I’m gone?”
“Yes.” No.
The question stops my heart, but I try not to show it. I know he’s referring to his flight the day after next. And of course I feel ridiculously stupid that I’m panicking over how this will be the first time we’re going to be apart in almost three months.
But I know my feelings are haywire over more than that. Once he goes back to his real life, the anchor holding him here on the island will slowly lose its hold.
He’s addressed the reason he ran in the first place. Going home means he’s going to try to right the wrongs with his family. If he’s successful, he’ll have no reason to stay here anymore.
“I feel like after everything that happened the other night, I should be the one asking you that question. How are you doing?”
He blows out a breath as we take the turn off the main street to start back home. The weight of his thoughts fills the silence. “I’m good,” he finally says. “A part of me wants to be angry at her for not getting out when she clearly knew what was going to happen, but I’m just so tired of being angry, Getty. It’s all I’ve known for what feels like so long. And being pissed isn’t going to change anything.”
He sounds very different from the man I met a few months ago. His state of mind, his openness to introspection, and what he’s going to take away from the heart-wrenching letter his mother left for him.
“I agree,” I murmur, knowing these are the conclusions he needs to come to on his own, and so the less I say, the better.
“I think what I feel is closure m
ore than anything. A small sense of peace that I’ve never been able to have. I mean, I may not like her answers about why she stayed with him, but at least I have them and at least they were in her voice, not something I conjured up to make her the martyr and him the monster. And stupidly enough, hearing her tell me she loved me in her own words . . . that made all the difference.”
“It’s not stupid at all.” I lean my head against his shoulder, a smile on my lips, my heart swelling with pride for him. “It’s validation for your feelings. Hearing the person you love tell you they love you back is something every person wants to hear.”
Chapter 31
GETTY
I forgot how much I missed this. How much I needed this. And it’s crazy to me that I’ve had no desire to paint over the past few weeks—even after the dinner with my father and the chaos with Ethan—until now, on the eve of Zander’s leaving.
Maybe that says a lot about where I stand now in my life. My father and Ethan can no longer affect me. But Zander . . . by the flurry and fervor in which I’ve lost myself to the bold colors on canvas, he most definitely makes me feel.
I’m just not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
By the looks of what’s taking shape before me, it’s an all-new thing. Instead of blended soft colors of a sunset over turbulent water, the painting depicts sleek lines and defined edges. It might be called abstract at best and crappy at worst, but my first attempt at a moving object is much harder than the fluidity of nature.
“Wow.” Zander’s voice startles me. The absence of the hammer noise outside had gone unnoticed, my earbuds falling out overlooked, while my work once again consumed me.
“You think?” I set the brush down and look over my shoulder at him where he stands.
“Yeah. It’s actually incredible.”
