Page 6 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
To apologize.
Fuck that. I’m not apologizing. I’m not the one who lied.
And I would never threaten to hit a woman, let alone actually follow through with it. The image on Colton’s phone flashes through my mind. Another lie to throw in the pot.
The rage is instantly back. Misdirected but back. My body feels restless, but my mind is whipped to the point where I can’t think about this any more. Don’t want to. I just need another bottle to get lost in. Then I’ll figure where to go from here, since it looks like I have some time off coming to me.
And yet I don’t get up from the bed to walk down to the bar. I can’t, because somewhere deep down that voice of doubt grabs hold of my heart and squeezes tight. Twists it. Letting me know there are two truths I have to accept before I can move forward.
I am Colton’s son.
And I’m the one who killed my mom.
Chapter 1
GETTY
“You good, Getty?”
Good?
My mind flashes to a few hours ago. How jumpy both my heart and the rest of me felt when the man from table nine simply touched my forearm as he reached to get my attention for another round. The crash as the bottle of triple sec hit the hardwood floor. The immediate waves of panic. The rush of memories. The fear. From another place, another time, to rattle nerves already on constant edge.
And until now I was doing so well hiding my uneasiness behind my tough-girl facade.
But I saw the customers’ stares. Heard my stammered excuses. Suffered the immediate regret of giving them a glimpse of the secrets I’ve kept hidden. Of the life I left behind.
So, good? Not by a long shot, but I’m not about to let Liam know. Besides, I’m making progress. It’s been three months and I’ve already got a job, a place to live, and more freedom than I’ve felt in forever.
Baby steps.
Trudging uphill and through what feels like barbed wire.
But it’s progress nonetheless.
I collect my distracted thoughts—exhale a sigh to cover up my preoccupation—before turning to look at the Lazy Dog’s owner, walking beside me. A tight smile hits my lips when I nod. “It’s debatable if I’m good,” I finally say, trying to make light of the earlier incident. Add humor so that he doesn’t ask more questions. It’s something I’ve learned how to do way too well. “But I do know I deserved to be fired after dropping that bottle.”
The laugh I force—the one that used to be my everyday normal— sounds hollow to my own ears. Funny how it seems so odd in this new life I’ve created for myself.
“Nah. Everyone makes mistakes.” Liam’s voice pulls me back from my thoughts. “It’s no big deal. Really.”
“I can add an extra hour on my shift or help cover during a game night if you get too busy. It’s the least I can do.” I slow down my footsteps as we approach the fork in our paths on the walk home from the bar.
“Not necessary. Besides, you should come in during a game. Be a customer. Most of us here are a little obsessed with the Mariners. It’s a good time.”
“Nah. Not my thing.” Too many people crowded in one spot. At least when I’m working, I have the bar counter as my barrier. A space between me and any unwanted contact.
Who am I kidding? All contact is unwanted these days.
“Are you telling me you don’t like my bar?” he laughs in mock offense as we stand on the corner beneath the streetlight.
“No. Not at all,” I correct myself. “I mean—”
“Relax. I’m just teasing you.” He reaches out to touch my arm and I freeze at his motion. Then curse myself. Shit. He obviously notices my reaction, because he pulls his hand back immediately, but his gaze remains locked on mine. Searching. Asking. Wanting more.
“I, um—thanks for walking with me. I’m beat and—”
“Getty?”
