Chapter Thirty-Three #2
“Yes. He’s always planning. Look at our honeymoon.
We didn’t even need to go on one. He did it so people would believe our relationship was real.
I never would have thought of that, and he went to the trouble of planning every minute of our trip and making it romantic since it’s the only honeymoon I’ll probably ever have.
I mean, to ship his bike to Niagara because no self-respecting biker would ever put their wife on the back of someone else’s bike?
That’s not something he could do at the last minute.
And look at today. I really wanted to help him paint, but I’m meeting the girls for the book club meeting later, so he set an alarm to get up early to make sure we’d have time to paint before I have to leave. ”
Reba was looking at her with a mixture of disbelief and shock.
Shauna realized she’d spoken so fast, it probably came across as a rant.
“I’m sorry. I get a little protective of Zander.
The guys make jokes all the time about how he’s the troublemaker of the group, but he’s not that way with me.
He’s more of a…I don’t know. A leader? A protector?
Not that I need leading or protecting. Those aren’t the right words. He’s not controlling or aggressive.”
“They’re not the wrong words, either, honey,” Reba said gently. “Zander doesn’t bulldoze, like Blaine, but he is a strong leader and a fierce protector. He just has a gentler, more charming way about him.”
“He does ooze charm, but he’s solid, you know?
I’ve always been the one to hold the reins, and there’s this part of me that has always been afraid that if I didn’t clutch them to my chest, things would fall apart.
But I don’t feel that pressure around Zander.
” Even when Brian was sober and not doing drugs, she’d never felt like she could drop the reins and he’d be there to pick them up. Not in the way she knew Zander would.
“I think the word you’re looking for is partner,” Reba said. “Someone you can count on to always have your back and watch out for your best interests.”
“Yes. Exactly. That’s actually a perfect word, given the reason we’re married. He’s my partner in crime.”
“Not in crime, sweetheart. You’re partners in hope. The two of you are giving Brian a second chance. I guess Preacher and I did something right.”
Partners in hope. She liked that. “You did everything right.”
The front door opened, and Zander walked in carrying a paper bag and two gallons of paint.
“Hey, Mom. What are you doing here?”
“Hi, honey. I brought you and Shauna a shepherd’s pie.”
“Awesome. Thank you.” He set the paint on the counter.
“I think you’re going to need more paint than that,” his mother said.
“It’s in the truck.” He touched Shauna’s hip and said, “I got you something, Angel.” He reached into the bag and handed her a beautiful steel-blue wooden frame.
“It’s for that picture of you and Brian that fell off the wall at your place.
I thought it might help you feel better if you put it up where you can see it every day.
Maybe on the end table in the living room? ”
Her heart swelled. “I’d like that. Thank you.” She hugged him.
“That was sweet of you, honey, and this?” Reba motioned around the kitchen. “I love what you’ve done to the place. I guess what your father says about contractors is really true.”
“What does he say?” Shauna asked, looking at Zander.
“A contractor can build a thousand houses and work on a thousand projects, but until he finds the one that speaks to his heart, you’ll never truly know what he’s capable of,” Zander said.
Reba’s gaze lingered on Shauna for a long moment before shifting to Zander as she said, “I’m glad you finally found the one that speaks to your heart. I have to go. We’re riding with Ginger and Conroy up to Plymouth today. Love you both.”
She hugged them and headed out the front door, leaving Shauna to wonder if Reba thought it was the house or Shauna that spoke to Zander’s heart.
ZANDER PUSHED THE roller in the paint tray and glanced across the kitchen at Shauna, humming to the music as she rolled paint on another wall.
Her hair, like the tarp beneath her feet, was speckled with paint, and there were smudges of paint on her cheek.
She’d managed to get almost as much paint on her clothes as she did the wall.
She was about as good at painting as she was at cooking.
There were drips and streaks everywhere, but he didn’t give a damn.
He couldn’t get enough of the way she threw herself into everything she did, messily and wholeheartedly.
He rolled paint on the opposite wall and said, “I might have to buy more paint if you’re going to redecorate yourself and the floor.”
“I might have to get a new husband if you’re going to criticize my painting,” she shot back, tossing him a cheesy grin.
“Darlin’, I have no issues with your painting, but when you’re out there searching for a new man, you might want to stay away from artists,” he teased. “They may not be as kind.”
“Well, my wall is done, and I’m ready to edge in the next one. I can’t say the same for yours.” She stepped back, holding the roller like a prize, assessing her work. “What’s wrong with my painting? It looks good to me.”
“Nothing I can’t fix. Just a few streaks.”
“They’re not streaks. That’s texture. I did it on purpose.”
He barked out a laugh. “Texture? You’re painting a wall, not a—” Fuck. The word slipped out of reach. He could see the damn thing in his head, could feel what it meant, pictures on the wall.
Her roller stopped midswipe. “Not a…?” She looked over, her eyes narrowing. Not in annoyance, but in the way they did when she was trying to figure something out.
“Doesn’t matter,” he gritted out, and went back to painting. The heat of her stare burned through him as the lost word—canvas—appeared in his mind like a fucking bully.
“Zander.”
His name felt like a spotlight. “Yeah?” He continued painting to avoid looking into her caring eyes.
“You forgot the word, didn’t you?” she asked too damn carefully.
“No,” he said with a half laugh, trying to brush it off. “I’m just keeping you on your toes.”
“This isn’t the first time I noticed it,” she said more firmly.
He felt the walls closing in on him and gritted his teeth.
“Zan, please look at me.”
Fuck. He turned, and the worry in her eyes slayed him, but he didn’t want to be another guy she needed to worry about. It took everything he had to muster a little white lie. “It’s nothing, Angel.”
“Bullshit.” She dropped the roller on the tarp and went to him, her eyes imploring. “Why won’t you talk to me?”
Gripping his roller tighter, he forced the grin that had gotten him through life and reached for her with his other hand. “Because I’d much rather kiss you.”
She stepped back and crossed her arms. “Don’t do that.”
“What? Kiss you?”
“No. Don’t play that game with me and joke your way out of this. I’m a frigging EMT, remember? I know what can happen from a head injury, and I want to know what’s going on with you.”
“Fine,” he gritted out. “You want to know what’s going on?
” He tossed his roller into the tray. “Ever since the accident, words sometimes get lost in my head. It’s like they’re right there, but I can’t reach them.
I thought it would be better by now. It’s better than it was, but it’s just one more thing my fucked-up brain can’t handle. Okay? Are you happy now?”
She pressed her lips together, her brows furrowed, and shook her head.
“No, I’m not happy, but I appreciate you telling me.
” She stepped closer. “You don’t have a fucked-up brain.
It’s not abnormal after a head injury to have trouble finding words.
Brains take time to heal. What does your doctor say about it? ”
“I never told him.”
Her eyes widened. “Why not?”
“Because I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Nobody? Not even your family?”
“Fuck no.” He paced. “You think I want anyone looking at me the way you are right now?”
“You mean like I care about you?” Her tone was sharp, cutting through the bullshit straight to his heart. “Zander, don’t you know how lucky you are to have people who care about you?”
Great. Now he looked like a selfish dick.
He had plenty of people who cared about him, but he’d never had this, and he probably didn’t deserve it.
“Yes, I do. That’s why I haven’t told anyone.
I’m sick of being the guy everyone worries about.
I appreciate them, and I appreciate you, but none of you need to carry my shit. ”
“So you’d rather suffer in silence and pretend it isn’t happening?”
“I’m not suffering. It’s not like I can’t remember how to drive or do my job. They’re just stupid words, and it’s not all the time.”
“What if it gets worse and it could have been prevented? What will you tell your family? Because I’m standing here right now as your friend and your wife, and my heart hurts just thinking about it.
Your family trusts you, Zander. It would break their hearts to think you didn’t trust them enough to tell them the truth.
You’re doing exactly what I did with Brian.
I didn’t want to face the issue, so I pretended it wasn’t happening until it was too late. Is that really what you want?”
Everything she said had him hitting the brakes, and the look of stubborn determination laced with worry on her beautiful face cut him to his core. “Why would it get worse? You just said it’s not abnormal to forget shit after a head injury.”
“It’s not, but I’m not a doctor, and every head injury is different. You need to tell your doctor and let him check you out. Then we’ll know what you’re dealing with. I know it’s scary, but you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll go with you.”
He scoffed. “I’m not scared. I’ll make an appointment, but you don’t have to go with me.”