Page 54 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
Really going to do it.
Screw the nerves and the doubts and my insecurities. Easier said than done, but I’m not living, not proving the old Gertrude Caster-Adams is gone, if I don’t take a chance.
So I’m taking the chance. Decision made. No backing out now.
Four microbrews on draft.
“Gertrude.”
That voice. The unrelenting condescension. The one that controlled my life for so very long. The one who believes I’m in the wrong.
I’m startled—my mind races, pulse thunders, nerves start to hum, body becomes flushed. But I don’t move, don’t waver. I keep one hand on the pull, the other holding the glass at an angle, and my eyes fixed on it.
I don’t look up, just keep pretending I didn’t hear what I thought I just heard.
There’s no way. Can’t be.
“Can you go grab me some more limes?” It’s Liam’s voice that pulls me from my panicked fog.
“Sure.” My voice is barely audible, because I’m afraid if I speak normally, my father will recognize my voice.
I all but run from the counter, a half-filled glass of beer left sitting on the catch grate, and my body trembles with that flustered shock. I never look up. Never acknowledge him.
My only course of action is to hope that if I stay in the storage room long enough, he won’t be there when I come back. Hearing his voice say my name would have been a figment of my imagination.
After I grab the limes, I sag back against the refrigerator, exhausted from all the emotions running through me: defiance, anger, fear, worry, homesickness when I shouldn’t feel it. I close my eyes, lean my head back, and fight the urge to run out the back door and not come back. To not have to face him.
Because I knew my father would find me. He’s Damon Caster after all. The man with no boundaries, no morals. Well, unless you are one of the lucky few he deems worthy of esteem according to his ridiculous standards. As for me? He rules his family like his real estate empire—with an unrelenting iron fist. I’m just surprised Ethan wasn’t standing beside him.
Or maybe he was. It’s not like I looked up.
The thought has bile rising in my throat. Ethan. The man my father had chosen to walk on water beside him. The one who broke every single part of me with his harsh demands and constant criticism.
“It’s unacceptable for you to walk away from me.” Disdain drips from his aristocratic voice. I shouldn’t be surprised he followed me in here.
I set my shoulders and straighten my posture before I lift my chin and open my eyes to meet the ones that mirror mine in color.
He looks older. The immediate thought surprises me. And I reject it instantly. Because that means my leaving has been hard on him, and it should be. He should have picked his daughter’s well-being over satisfying his protégé and upholding his public image.
But that will never happen.
Hasn’t been the case since my mom died what feels like forever ago.
“Father.” My teeth are clenched and hands are squeezing the bag of limes so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if the peels ruptured under the pressure. “How did you find me?”
The flare of his nostrils tells me I’m insulting his long-reaching fingers. “Easily enough. The diamond in your wedding ring was laser engraved with a serial number. The pawnshop registered it. We went down to speak to them and followed the trail you left. The contact phone number was that bitch of a woman I refused to allow your mother to see. A quick search into Darcy’s life revealed a new mortgage she’d taken out, and I’m sure you can figure the rest out.”
My resolve falters. I thought I had done everything right. “If I went to that much trouble to disappear, did you think for once, I didn’t want you to find me?”
“Now, now. Let’s stop your melodrama and focus on getting you home and away from the disgrace of this job behind a bar like some two-bit floozy hard u
p for money.” His disgust radiates off him like a venom, poisoning the small room around us.
No It’s great to see you, Gertrude. No You look good with a little sun on your face and your hair not slicked back to perfection. No I missed you, sweetheart. The small part of me that hoped maybe my leaving might have changed him dies a quick death at his comments.
“A job’s a job, Father. My bank accounts seemed to have been suspended somehow,” I say after clearing my throat to shake away the nerves vibrating in my voice. “Would you rather me have taken my clothes off to make money?”
The shock that passes over his face is priceless. Gertrude would never have spoken back to her father six months ago. “Remember who you’re speaking to and that—”
