Page 28 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
“This is all your fault, you know,” he growls, pointing a finger at me.
“Mine?” I laugh, nerves tingeing the edges.
“Yes.” Definitely no indecision in that answer. “I wanted to kiss you that morning. Stood there staring at your lips and wanted to know what you tasted like. Suspected that once I did, I’d only want more. But I’m an asshole, Getty. Moody. Selfish. Have screwed up a lot of things lately and the last thing I want to do is fuck you up, because you . . . there’s something about you that in the short time I’ve known you gets under my skin when I don’t want it to. Makes me wonder why you’re here and what you’re running from, when usually the only person I give a flying fuck about is myself. So yeah . . . I wanted to kiss you but also wanted to stay true to my word and why I came here. I can’t do both. And so . . . fuck.”
I jump when his foot connects with the trash can and it slams against the metal cabinet behind it. But the sound does nothing to my pulse, because it’s already racing out of control from his startling admission. Luckily there is a shelf behind me, because I sag against it for support, my senses completely overwhelmed.
His words run in a loop in my mind as I watch him pace in frustration, anger emanating off him and slamming into me. I should be upset, feel rejected like I did the other day when he waltzed out, but it’s kind of hard to feel that way when someone has just told you what he told me with his taste still on my tongue.
“Complicated,” he murmurs along with something else I can’t hear over a cheer in the bar that seeps through the door at his back.
“Zander.” So many things I want to tell him. So much meaning in my single utterance of his name. It’s okay—I don’t want to want you either. I get everything you’re saying about why you came here. I can’t have any complications right now. Yet not a single one comes out of my mouth. Because while they are all true, right now, in this moment, I’d be lying.
He finally stops pacing and looks over to me with his hands fisted at his side and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Kissed you. Shouldn’t have laid my shit on your doorstep and made you feel like it’s your fault. . . . This wasn’t part of the plan when I came here. I was steering clear of women and then, fuck, there you were and now you’re just everywhere.” When he takes a step toward me, I hold my breath, a part of me unsure what I want more: him to kiss me again or to walk away. “I think it’s best if I stay on the boat for a few days, work there on those repairs, clear my head, get back on track. . . .”
Boat? What boat?
“Zander, I—”
“Save yourself, Getty. Let me go. You’ll thank me in the end for it.”
Chapter 7
ZANDER
Iwake with a jolt. My heart racing and face sweaty from the nightmare. From the monsters and bad men who were chasing me. And the screams. They were so loud, so scary—they seemed so real. The last one begging for help was the worst.
I blink my eyes. Over and over. And the nightmare slowly goes away.
The bed creaks when I sit up. My throat is dry and this room is hot. Water. It’s all I want and it’s against my dad’s rules to keep any in my room because of the cockroaches. I think about sneaking to the kitchen to get some from the tap, but I’m not allowed to leave my room after I’ve been put to bed.
Never. My dad’s hand reaching for his looped belt. The sting when it hits my bare bottom. The threat of it keeps me from breaking the rules.
But maybe they’re asleep. Maybe Dad’s put enough of that heaven in his arm that he’s on the couch in that kind of sleep where his eyes are partway open but he’s really not awake. If that’s the case, then Mom will be asleep in her room, because then that will mean the other men who come over will be gone too. The ones who sit with Dad and his lighters and crooked spoons and icky needles, because she’ll only go to sleep after they leave.
Because then she’ll know I’ll be safe.
I cough, try to swallow to wet my throat, but it doesn’t work. And now all of this thinking about water is making me have to go pee.
Like go pee really bad.
With my stuffed doggy tight to my chest, fingers pressing on the lumps in its stuffing, I get out of bed and tiptoe to the door. Right when my hand twists the knob, a scream fills the hallway. It’s loud and horrible and sounds just like my dream did and scares me. I freeze, but it goes on and on and on.
Mommy.
Instantly, she’s all I can think about, the only one I worry about. Tears blur my eyes as I rush down the hall. It’s the smell that hits me first. That strange scent like when I get a nosebleed, but this time it’s not just in my nose—it’s everywhere.
When I enter the family room, my dad i
s standing near the front door. He looks funny, like something is wrong. His hair is in his face and his shirt is dirty with big, dark splotches all over it. He looks up and his face is scary mean, and he’s out of breath like when he gets some of the “bad heaven” that makes him go kind of crazy.
I shrink back. I don’t want to get in trouble for breaking his rules. Especially when he has this look on his face.
“Zander.” My name is a whisper. There’s a gurgle of sound. A whimper in pain.
The fear of my dad is forgotten the minute I notice my mom on the floor at the end of the couch. All I can see is her arm stretched out above her head and her face from the nose up.
“Mom.” I say it once, but her name repeats in my head over and over as I run to her and drop to my knees. There’s blood everywhere. It’s all I can see, all I can think of as I grab her hand and tell her I’m here. My tears fall on her cheek. They wash away a spot of the blood there.
