Down Shift

by K. Bromberg

  I turn around slowly, breath held, and heart close to bursting as I look through a sea of royal blue fire suits to find the one I want the most.

  And there he is—I can barely see him. He’s surrounded by a pack of fans, all reaching out something for him to scribble his autograph on. His smile is electric. His laugh genuine as it floats over the chaos and hits my ears. He focuses his attention completely on the person he’s speaking to, giving a full moment to each one. And the sight of him so utterly in his element, undeniably in love with what he does, surrounded by those who support him, makes me fall in love with him all over again.

  Now that he’s in my sights, I realize I should have thought this out better. That I should have planned a way to make this reunion special and memorable. But I didn’t. I was so focused on being in his arms, telling him yes, we deserve another chance, that it never crossed my mind. How was I to know that he’d be so swamped by people, I’d have to compete to get his attention?

  I look toward the rev of an engine to the left of us and when I look back toward the crowd, Zander’s eyes meet mine. Time stands still as we take each other in. And there’s not a word I can use to describe how I feel as I watch the emotion play over his features when he realizes that I came here for him. If I had any doubts about my decision, his expression alone would have erased them completely.

  All I see is love. All I want is him. All I feel is complete after being broken in pieces for so very long.

  With the events of the past week, I often wondered if our love was worth fighting for. But in this moment, when I look at him, I know I’d wage a war and more to keep him.

  The look on his face holds everything I imagined it would and then some: shock, relief, excitement, love. Urgency. I’m unable to do anything beyond stand there on the outside of the circle with tears in my eyes and a heart bursting with love.

  He tries to move, attempts to head my way, and it looks like he’s wading upstream. As he moves a foot forward, the mob moves with him. His laugh rings out again. His eyes hold steadfast on mine at the irony of the situation: how he’s been trying to get to me for a week and now that I want to get to him, I can’t.

  And the one thing that has always been a part of who we are is being able to laugh regardless of the situation. Right now is no exception.

  He trudges toward me making steady progress. A sea of fans in his team color of royal blue soon swallows me up in the throng. I’m bumped and jostled and I lose sight of Zander through the activity of the crowd.

  A hand finds my arm. And before I can turn, I’m being pulled against the tide until I come face-to-face with the one person I’m searching for.

  Flashes on cameras ignite. Voices shout his name. The crowd continues to want something from him. But when my eyes meet Zander’s, all of it—the noise, the chaos, the hands that continue to touch him—fades to gray, because the only thing in living color is him.

  The man I want. The man I’m fighting for. The man who tells me to just jump and I do because I trust him.

  At least now I do. Lesson learned. Go with your gut. Listen to his words. Believe his actions.

  “Getty.” My name is on his lips. The only thing I want to hear. That smile I love of his going into mega dimple territory.

  “Hi, Golden Boy.”

  His laugh vibrates from his chest into mine.

  And then I forget everything once his lips are on mine.

  Of all the kisses we’ve ever shared, this one by far is the sweetest. It’s an I don’t care who is watching—I’m going to take my sweet time with you type of kiss. His hands are possessive on my cheeks and our tongues dance together like we have all the time in the world.

  And when we break apart moments later, he pulls back a few inches, the smile I can’t completely make out lighting up his eyes. “You’re here.” Awe. His voice warms me from inside out.

  I nod my head. “You sent me socks. Thank you.” I lean in to kiss him. “And pineapples.” Another kiss. “And paints.” And again. “And a hammer.” I let this one last a little longer, the crowd slowly stepping back now that they know his attention is one hundred percent focused on the girl in his arms. This time I break the kiss and angle my head back so I can look him in the eyes. “Thank you for my gifts. But I don’t have anything to give you.”

  It’s his turn to kiss me. A chuckle murmured against my lips. “There’s one thing I want from you, Socks.”

  His eyes are crystal clear. His palms are pressed against my back. My heart in his hands. My nerves skitter out of control. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

  I love the lightning-fast grin. The flash of desire in his eyes. The suggestion in his laughter as he throws his head back and laughs while cameras continue to click and people continue to watch us. All I can do is lift my eyebrows and smile.

  His hands come back up to frame my face as his eyes darken with intensity. “You, Getty. I want you. All of you. With your quirks and flaws and smiles and laughs and pigheadedness and sexiness and temper and every other thing I can’t think of right now but know that I want.”

  My heart swells. . . . His words echo within me in time with the beats and breathe life, possibility, into me. Into us.

  “I just remembered that I do have one thing I can give you.” I move in closer, my lips up to his ear so he can hear me loud and clear. “I love you, Zander Donavan. Thank you for making me want to be found again.”

  His breath hitches while his fingers tense on my skin. His smile widens as he leans back so I can see his eyes when he says it back to me. “I love you too, Socks.”

  His lips meet mine as the crowd around us erupts in a roar of cheers and catcalls. But we sink into the kiss. Into the moment. Into each other.

  And as real as the moment is, I love that the first time we confessed our love for each other was in the middle of a group of people. At the chaos of a track. In an unscripted moment. When he should be getting ready to race.

  Because he just proved to me that no matter what the circumstances, he only has eyes for me.

  Epilogue

  GETTY

  “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?

  “That is pretty ugly.” He shakes his head. “Maybe they think it’s art or something and didn’t want to get rid of it.”

  I snort in disbelief. “Seriously?”

  “Maybe they left it as a reminder that when your wife gets pissed, hide the hammers and paintbrushes.”

  “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

  “Or maybe they left it so that every time one of them comes home pissed or they have a fight, it’ll remind them that they always need to stop, listen to what the other person is saying, have some patience . . . because life’s never going to be perfect, but in the end it’s going to be okay.” He’s got his head angled to the side, and I have to wonder how he made all of that up on the fly.

  “Perhaps.” Something feels off here. I narrow my eyes at him as I try to figure what exactly it is.

  “What do you think their story is, Getty?”

  My smile is automatic at the memory of the night so long ago that started things for us. “Hmm. Newlyweds perhaps. He can’t wait to bring her home, carry her over the threshold, and make love to her on the deck with the moonlight above and the sound of the ocean around them.”

  Zander’s smile seems sentimental when he meets my eyes. “My, how much you’ve improved at this game since that first time at Mario’s.”

  I shrug. It’s easier to believe in the idea of happily-ever-after now that I have Zander in my life. “Then again, she could be a madam and is going to open the first brothel here on PineRidge.”

  Zander’s laugh is sharp as he takes the two steps to the front door. When he presses the handle on the new front door, it swings open.

  “Holy shit. It’s open. Let’s look,” he whispers, and steps inside without hesitating.

  “Zander,” I half whisper, half shout, my head swiveling left and right to see if anyone’s watching or calling the cops. “Zander!”

  When he doesn’t answer, I step hesitantly just inside the door. It’s the new tiled floor beneath my feet that catches my eyes first. The fresh paint on the walls in browns and tans next. And I’m so taken with how this house could be the same as the one I lived in before, my feet take a few steps farther inside.

  The kitchen’s been redone with granite slab and glossy white cabinets. The sliding glass doors to the deck replaced with French doors. The mini-blinds switched out for shutters.

  Forgetting that I don’t belong here, I keep looking at the beauty that has been restored in this old house. The bathroom gutted and replaced. New fixtures. Crown molding added.

  “Zander?” I realize I haven’t seen him. Panic. Then I feel ridiculous.

  “In here.”

  I venture into his old bedroom and my eyes widen. Not only at the striking image of him standing in the empty room with the sun behind his back. A halo of light around his head. But also because the entire room has been transformed. Bigger windows facing the ocean. Built-ins installed. Shelves and cubbies. Overhead lighting taken down and adjustable lighting put in.

  “Zander?” Questioning. Asking. Wondering.

  “Yes.” Coy. Smug. Implying.

  This can’t be right. You’re crazy, Getty.

  But when I turn around to face the wall where Zander’s old bed used to be, the one where we spent our first time together, the hints and inklings I’ve been feeling walking through the house finally come together. There is a huge sign on the wall with three easels set up below it.

  And the sign reads GETTY’S STUDIO.

  I spin back around, hand to my mouth, heart beating out of my chest. “Zander?” His name again, but this time it’s fueled with even more emotion. Hope. Want. Awe. “Is this really . . . ?”

  He takes a step toward me, jaw clenching, eyes so serious. “It’s yours, Getty. One hundred percent yours. I know how much it makes you happy.”

  “No. Yes. Oh my God. What did you do?” I reach out to him, needing to touch him to make sure I’m awake, that this is real, so I can process this. And he is real all right, because he takes both of my hands in his and lifts his eyes to mine.

  “It all came down to two wor
ds. Grand. Gestures. My mom mentioned them in her letter to me. Rylee mentioned them when I was trying to figure out how to get you to believe me. It was my sign. My moment of clarity. About what you need to feel safe. What I can provide for you.” He shakes his head and smiles softly. “What I can do to show you I know what matters most to you.”

  He draws in a deep breath and all I can do is give him the time he needs, because he’s effectively stealing the words from my mouth right now.

  “It’s not the house that matters to you. It’s what it represents to you. It was your sanctuary when you first ran. Then it was your proof that you were making it on your own. And for me . . . for me it’s my very first memory of you in that hall back there, naked except for those socks, and wielding that mini-blind wand,” he says with a smile as he points to where the wand sits as a memento on one of the new shelves.

  “I know the next step for us is hard for you. You may not say it, Getty, but you’re afraid still. Fearful that if you move in with me, you’re giving away everything you’ve gained back. You said it yourself in the car—this is who you are. The island. The sea. The town. And so I wanted to give you this. This place is your security. A promise that you’ll always have this home you created for yourself no matter what happens between us.”

  His hands reach up to frame my face in that way of his that’s strong but tender and tells anyone watching that I’m his and he’s going to kiss me soon.

  “This is incredible, Zander, but it’s just too much. It’s not a cell phone this time. . . . It’s a house.” I’m dumbfounded. My mind is skipping over every other thought, because I’m so overwhelmed by his love and that he’d do something so meaningful. “A gorgeous house, but a house nonetheless.”

  “You’re right.” His chuckle rings around the room but warms my soul, my heart, and any part of me left untouched by the beauty of this man in front of me. “She is beautiful. She was broken and bruised at first, but with a lot of patience and some hands-on attention, I think I was able to bring out the beauty that was hiding beneath it all. The real her.”