Page 129 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
Because he just proved to me that no matter what the circumstances, he only has eyes for me.
Epilogue
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“It feels like forever,” I murmur as I take in the view of PineRidge from the passenger-side window.
“Four months is a long time,” he muses as he slowly eases his SUV off the ferry and onto the island. My eyes dart left and right trying to take in every little thing that has changed since I’ve been gone. The trees have grown bigger. The air seems cleaner. The town itself feels more like home.
It’s not until we arrived here that I realized how much I missed this little slice of Heaven. Yes, the complete lack of availability of rental properties on the island (besides renting a room in someone’s house) worked out to my benefit, since the only solution was to spend the last four months staying with Zander in Los Angeles. Lucky for me, that was during the tourism off-season, so Liam agreed to the time off with the promise that I’d return for high season again.
And there’s no way in hell I’d complain that the months I stayed with Zander during his off-season weren’t worth every single second together. We’ve laughed. We’ve loved. We’ve grown so much stronger together as a couple.
It still feels weird using that term.
Even weirder is how his family has welcomed me with the same open arms Rylee did that first day in Boston. I feel like I belong. And they want nothing from me other than to make their son happy.
And that is the easiest thing anyone has ever asked of me. To love Zander.
I glance over to him from behind my sunglasses. Take in his dark hair in need of a trim, the day-old stubble he’s sporting on his jaw, and the smirk on his lips because he knows I’m taking my time checking him out.
“I think we should skip looking at the places Liam sent you and you should just agree to live with me full-time.” I groan for effect. This conversation has taken place over and over the last few wee
ks as Liam and I made calls back and forth about places that were finally becoming available to rent. “C’mon, Socks. There’s no better place to have your first showing than in Los Angeles.”
“Don’t remind me.” I press a hand to my stomach, where nerves flutter at the very thought. My mind purposely repressing the fact that I actually let him and his parents and crazy cast of brothers talk me into finally taking the leap and organizing a show of my paintings.
“Are you telling me that after being together for basically nine months straight that we’re going to be able to handle this distance thing?”
I hate his words as much as I hate the inevitable separation that will happen in the coming months with the racing season starting again. God yes, I’ll miss him. But how do I explain that this place, this island, represents so much for me? That as great as we are together, as perfect as life has been for us, my past still clouds my thoughts occasionally?
What if I give this all up and things turn bad for us? Then once again I’ll have nothing. I’ll be in his house with his possessions and will be the one scrambling to survive again.
There’s no way I can tell him that. Can’t explain it properly. He’ll think I’m comparing him to Ethan when he’s nothing of the sort. It’s me. My mental block. My need to have a fallback plan. Just in case.
“C’mon, Socks. Think about it.” His soft smile tugs on my resolve.
“I promise you, you’ll be sick of me. It just that . . . I need this place, Zander. It settles me. Reminds me of who I was and who I want to be. It makes me happy.”
He reaches out and links his fingers with mine. “It makes me happy too. But you make me happier. You make me me.” The simplicity of his statement and the honesty in his words touch me. “Just don’t rule it out, okay?”
“I won’t. I haven’t.” I sigh. Maybe I just needed to come back here, be reminded that this will always be here, and that will be enough. “Can we stop by the bar before we start, to say hi to Liam? I told him we would.”
“Sure,” he says, distracted as he takes a turn the opposite way. “I want to stop by the old house first. I heard the new owners completely redid it. Inside and outside. The whole nine yards. I kind of want to see what it looks like.”
“Okay. Sure.” A part of me feels very hesitant about that idea, because I still think somehow my father had a hand in buying the place to push me out and back to him. And on the other hand, a big part of me fears the nostalgia of seeing it again. The place where we met. I’m not sure if it’s going to make me want to stay here more or hold tighter to Zander.
“Wow. It’s beautiful.” All concerns flee my mind as we turn the corner and the house comes into view. I take it all in: the new clapboard siding, the relandscaped front yard, the windows replaced with shutters added. Even the front steps and the deck have been rebuilt.
Now I definitely know my father had nothing to do with it, because he’d never take the time to make this place pretty. He’d buy and sell without a second thought and out of spite.
“C’mon, let’s go take a peek. No one lives in it yet.”
I hesitate. Of course we don’t belong here any longer and yet I can’t deny how much I want to see what the house looks like now that she’s been brought to her full potential.
So I climb out of the car and follow Zander up the walk, my eyes darting to take in everything that’s new and shiny, but remembering the old. How I first saw Zander in workout gear repairing the step. Or the oil-stained concrete of the driveway where I watched him fix my car in the pouring rain.
“What in the hell? Why did they . . . ?” The laugh falls from my mouth as I take in the ugly pink handrail I painted that night in anger and haste. Why would someone replace all the old stuff and leave this hideous reminder of the former tenants?
