Page 19 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
“I have a feeling that was your own fault.”
“God yes, it was, but damn, the parts I remember were well worth it.”
The suggestion in his tone is loud and clear. I hate the creative images that fill my mind of him in a bar: loud music, a slew of women surrounding him hanging on his every word in the hopes that they can get him to buy them a drink. Stake a claim. Even if just for the night.
Because he’s that type of guy—by no fault of his own other than the good looks he was born with and that subtle charm that wiggles its way into your resol
ve not to like him. The type that a woman would gladly accept a one-night stand with, knowing ahead of time the hurt that would come when he’d walk out in the morning wanting nothing more.
Without knowing anything else about him, I already know he’d be worth the hurt.
I shake away the thought instantly, seeing as I’m not looking for that from him or from anyone. I’ve had enough pain to last a lifetime.
And yet images from earlier tonight in the bar flash back in my mind. How even though he had been here less than a day, he already had townspeople approaching him, talking to him, and not treating him like an outsider like they did me for a good few weeks.
“Did I lose you?” Zander’s words pull me from my errant train of thought. A train that needs to derail and not fill my head with notions about what exactly he’d be like in any situation.
“No. Yes. Sorry.” Why do I feel so rattled?
“Getty?” The way he says my name—part question, part concern—causes that panic to reemerge, because I don’t want to turn this discussion back on me.
“It’s nothing. What were we talking about?” He narrows his eyes and studies me for a moment. Asking without asking. Can I help? Do you want to talk about it? And I don’t want to do any more talking right now. It’s overrated. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Just don’t, okay? I just want to sit here and drink this beer that tastes like shit and feel the breeze start to pick up as the storm moves in, and enjoy the silence without being alone. Can you understand that?”
When I finally look over to him, his eyes meet mine with more understanding than I expected. He holds my gaze for a moment before acknowledging my request with a slow and steady nod.
“I can understand that more than you’ll ever know.”
Chapter 5
GETTY
Thunder rattles the windows in the early morning. The clouds swirling and tumbling across the horizon block any sunlight.
The weather fits my mood and the mood is reflected on the canvas in front of me. Dark splashes of color rich in hue marble together to reflect a violent sky ready to erupt.
Music plays in my earbuds—a hard beat, a deep bass—and yet I couldn’t tell you the lyrics if I tried, because I’m so focused on what’s in front of me. I’m so engrossed because with each stroke of my brush, a part of my past leaves me with the movement.
Criticism. Control. Punishments. Expectations. Requirements. And the list goes on from my old life. My monochromatic one.
I dip my brush in a deep blue and slide it across the canvas.
Your art isn’t allowed in this house. It will amount to nothing. Good wives host parties. They have tea and join the Women’s League and their job is to make their husbands look better. Not this ridiculous bullshit.
My thumb smears the blue with the gray. A wash of two colors together. Blending into the background.
Ethan doesn’t mean it, Gertrude. He’s a man focused on business and making it a success. He doesn’t have time for your female idiosyncrasies. You can’t blame him that you didn’t do your job properly. God, how I wish your mother was still around so she could show you how to be a proper lady, because regardless of how much schooling I’ve paid for, for you, you seem always to fail at it.
Dark gray right on the center. Harsh strokes. Pressing the paint into the canvas until it bleeds into its fibers.
What do you think you were trying to pull tonight, Gertrude? Do you think I don’t know you wanted Fred? I saw you talking to him. I saw you laugh differently. I saw you flirt. Do you really think any man would find you attractive? For Christ’s sake, look at you. You’re ten pounds overweight. Your makeup is smeared like a damn teenager. Do you think anyone else would ever want to fuck you? It’s a chore to make myself hard enough to do it. You should thank your lucky stars you have me, because no one else would take you. Now get on your knees and give me a proper apology.
Tears on my cheeks. Salt on my lips. The storm on the canvas and on the other side of the window feels nothing like the one I rage against daily inside me. Dabs of white. The froth of an angry ocean. The sign of churning turmoil. Of the ocean fighting against the shore.
Don’t walk out that door, Gertrude. That is an order. I will cut off your trust. Your credit cards. Everything. This is just a phase. You don’t really want to divorce Ethan. No Caster has EVER been divorced. You just need to be more compliant and do what he says. If he’s happy, then the company will remain in good standing and everything will be better. Gertrude. Get back here. Gertrude!
