Worn Me Down (Playing with Fire 3)
I glance over at her in the passenger seat and she continues to stare out the window at the second floor balcony with her camera resting in her lap.
“My foster mom at the time ran the motel,” I continue. “It was actually the one and only place I ever lived that I kind of liked.”
She closes her eyes for a second and slowly turns to face me. “You actually lived in a motel?”
I shrug and bend my head down to look through the windshield at the room where Connor Anderson is currently banging his flavor of the week. “For about a month, until it was time to move on to the next place. I had to help clean the rooms to earn my keep. It’s where I learned all of my stellar housekeeping skills.”
Leaning back in my seat, I grin at her and she returns the smile. I don’t tell her the part about how I would get smacked upside the head if I didn’t fold the sheets right or how I’d get kicked in the leg if I forgot to put new rolls of toilet paper under the bathroom sinks. No sense in ruining the moment.
“My best friend, Ellie Larson, grew up in a foster home, but she stayed with the same family until they eventually adopted her,” Gwen tells me.
“Good for her. That’s actually pretty rare. Most kids get bounced around, especially if they’re older when they go into the system. I was five, so technically not old, but older than most people wanted. Everyone wants a perfect, tiny baby, not a mouthy kid who craves attention.”
Gwen rests back against her seat and stares at me. I wonder what she’s thinking. I don’t want her to feel bad for me because I had a shitty childhood. I’m sure she doesn’t know the first thing about growing up with folks who didn’t give a rat’s ass about you and only cared about themselves.
“Was it really bad for you? I mean…did people hurt you?” she asks quietly.
I mirror her pose and lean back in my seat. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. For the most part, I learned to stay out of the way and keep quiet and they left me alone.”
I can’t believe I’m actually telling her this shit. Even though I left out all the gory details, I’m still giving her more information than I’ve ever given any woman.
She studies me intently for a few seconds before shifting her gaze to a spot over my shoulder, unblinking and staring at nothing. “Sometimes, even when you’re so quiet you could disappear, that’s when they hurt you the most.”
She sounds so matter-of-fact that I instantly want to pull her across the seat into my arms and tell her everything will be okay. I don’t like how familiar she sounds with this subject. It makes my gut clench in anger that she’s ever felt even a tiny bit of the pain I did growing up. I’m so shocked by her admission that I sit here in silence like an idiot instead of asking her to explain herself. Too soon the moment is lost and Gwen is blinking out of her daze, quickly pulling her camera up to her eye.
“There he is. Mr. Anderson is coming out of his room,” she says aloud, holding the camera steady while pressing the button on the side of it to zoom in.
I watch her work, silently snapping a ton of pictures as the guy walks out onto the balcony with his suit jacket draped over one arm. A tall, leggy blonde that is most definitely NOT Mrs. Anderson walks out behind him in a skimpy black cocktail dress. She leans against the doorframe and they exchange a few words before Mr. Anderson leans in, kisses her and grabs her ass.
“Bingo! I got you, you cheating bastard,” Gwen mutters.
I smile to myself as I watch her face light up with excitement as she continues to take pictures of the ass grab and face-sucking going on right in broad daylight. Gone is the haunted look on her face from moments ago and I realize that Brady was a smart man to put his sister in charge of his business while he was gone. She’s good at what she does and she obviously loves it. It makes me wonder what she did before this – what kind of job she used to have, what kind of life she used to live. Thanks to Cole I know she was married to a surgeon and the dude probably had a shit ton of money. She probably didn’t need to work, but Gwen doesn’t strike me as the type of person to be a housewife, just sitting around twiddling her thumbs.
“So what did you do for a living before you moved here?” I ask as she pulls the camera away and looks at the digital screen.
She clears her throat uncomfortably and for a minute I think she’s going to ignore me. She takes a while before she answers. “I didn’t work, really. I mean, I was busy; I did a lot of things for charity and stuff like that, but I didn’t have a paying job. God, that makes me sound awful.”
She shakes her head in irritation as she scrolls through the pictures she just took and, as much as I want to make a comment about her being spoiled, I keep my mouth shut. I’m slowly realizing there’s more to Gwen than I originally thought and I don’t want to ruin the moment by being an asshole.
Shocker, I know.
“I realize you don’t have a very high opinion of me and you think I’m a spoiled brat. It’s not like I didn’t want to work. I just… wasn’t able to,” she finishes.
“You weren’t able to? Do you have a wooden leg or a lobotomy I’m unaware of?” I ask with a laugh.
“Ha, ha. You’re hilarious,” she tells me before starting up the car. “We need to get back to the office so I can print these pictures off and show them to Mrs. Anderson.”
And just like that, sharing time is over.
When we get back to the office, while Gwen is busy printing the photos and calling Mrs. Anderson to schedule a meeting, I go outside and pull out my phone. Brady answers on the first ring.
“What’s going on, is something wrong?” he asks in a worried voice.
“No, Mr. World Traveler, nothing is wrong. How’s tour bus life treating you?” I ask as I pace back and forth in front of the building.
“Cramped, shitty food and not a lot of sleep, but it’s good. Layla is doing amazing. Every venue has been sold out,” he tells me with admiration.
I look through the front window and see Gwen on the phone with her back to me. “Listen, I need to ask you something about your sister.”
Brady is quiet so I quickly continue. “What’s the deal with her? You need to tell me why I’m here and what’s really going on. It’s more than her just having a little ‘personal shit’ and you wanting to make sure your business runs smoothly, isn’t it?”
br />
I glance over at her in the passenger seat and she continues to stare out the window at the second floor balcony with her camera resting in her lap.
“My foster mom at the time ran the motel,” I continue. “It was actually the one and only place I ever lived that I kind of liked.”
She closes her eyes for a second and slowly turns to face me. “You actually lived in a motel?”
I shrug and bend my head down to look through the windshield at the room where Connor Anderson is currently banging his flavor of the week. “For about a month, until it was time to move on to the next place. I had to help clean the rooms to earn my keep. It’s where I learned all of my stellar housekeeping skills.”
Leaning back in my seat, I grin at her and she returns the smile. I don’t tell her the part about how I would get smacked upside the head if I didn’t fold the sheets right or how I’d get kicked in the leg if I forgot to put new rolls of toilet paper under the bathroom sinks. No sense in ruining the moment.
“My best friend, Ellie Larson, grew up in a foster home, but she stayed with the same family until they eventually adopted her,” Gwen tells me.
“Good for her. That’s actually pretty rare. Most kids get bounced around, especially if they’re older when they go into the system. I was five, so technically not old, but older than most people wanted. Everyone wants a perfect, tiny baby, not a mouthy kid who craves attention.”
Gwen rests back against her seat and stares at me. I wonder what she’s thinking. I don’t want her to feel bad for me because I had a shitty childhood. I’m sure she doesn’t know the first thing about growing up with folks who didn’t give a rat’s ass about you and only cared about themselves.
“Was it really bad for you? I mean…did people hurt you?” she asks quietly.
I mirror her pose and lean back in my seat. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. For the most part, I learned to stay out of the way and keep quiet and they left me alone.”
I can’t believe I’m actually telling her this shit. Even though I left out all the gory details, I’m still giving her more information than I’ve ever given any woman.
She studies me intently for a few seconds before shifting her gaze to a spot over my shoulder, unblinking and staring at nothing. “Sometimes, even when you’re so quiet you could disappear, that’s when they hurt you the most.”
She sounds so matter-of-fact that I instantly want to pull her across the seat into my arms and tell her everything will be okay. I don’t like how familiar she sounds with this subject. It makes my gut clench in anger that she’s ever felt even a tiny bit of the pain I did growing up. I’m so shocked by her admission that I sit here in silence like an idiot instead of asking her to explain herself. Too soon the moment is lost and Gwen is blinking out of her daze, quickly pulling her camera up to her eye.
“There he is. Mr. Anderson is coming out of his room,” she says aloud, holding the camera steady while pressing the button on the side of it to zoom in.
I watch her work, silently snapping a ton of pictures as the guy walks out onto the balcony with his suit jacket draped over one arm. A tall, leggy blonde that is most definitely NOT Mrs. Anderson walks out behind him in a skimpy black cocktail dress. She leans against the doorframe and they exchange a few words before Mr. Anderson leans in, kisses her and grabs her ass.
“Bingo! I got you, you cheating bastard,” Gwen mutters.
I smile to myself as I watch her face light up with excitement as she continues to take pictures of the ass grab and face-sucking going on right in broad daylight. Gone is the haunted look on her face from moments ago and I realize that Brady was a smart man to put his sister in charge of his business while he was gone. She’s good at what she does and she obviously loves it. It makes me wonder what she did before this – what kind of job she used to have, what kind of life she used to live. Thanks to Cole I know she was married to a surgeon and the dude probably had a shit ton of money. She probably didn’t need to work, but Gwen doesn’t strike me as the type of person to be a housewife, just sitting around twiddling her thumbs.
“So what did you do for a living before you moved here?” I ask as she pulls the camera away and looks at the digital screen.
She clears her throat uncomfortably and for a minute I think she’s going to ignore me. She takes a while before she answers. “I didn’t work, really. I mean, I was busy; I did a lot of things for charity and stuff like that, but I didn’t have a paying job. God, that makes me sound awful.”
She shakes her head in irritation as she scrolls through the pictures she just took and, as much as I want to make a comment about her being spoiled, I keep my mouth shut. I’m slowly realizing there’s more to Gwen than I originally thought and I don’t want to ruin the moment by being an asshole.
Shocker, I know.
“I realize you don’t have a very high opinion of me and you think I’m a spoiled brat. It’s not like I didn’t want to work. I just… wasn’t able to,” she finishes.
“You weren’t able to? Do you have a wooden leg or a lobotomy I’m unaware of?” I ask with a laugh.
“Ha, ha. You’re hilarious,” she tells me before starting up the car. “We need to get back to the office so I can print these pictures off and show them to Mrs. Anderson.”
And just like that, sharing time is over.
When we get back to the office, while Gwen is busy printing the photos and calling Mrs. Anderson to schedule a meeting, I go outside and pull out my phone. Brady answers on the first ring.
“What’s going on, is something wrong?” he asks in a worried voice.
“No, Mr. World Traveler, nothing is wrong. How’s tour bus life treating you?” I ask as I pace back and forth in front of the building.
“Cramped, shitty food and not a lot of sleep, but it’s good. Layla is doing amazing. Every venue has been sold out,” he tells me with admiration.
I look through the front window and see Gwen on the phone with her back to me. “Listen, I need to ask you something about your sister.”
Brady is quiet so I quickly continue. “What’s the deal with her? You need to tell me why I’m here and what’s really going on. It’s more than her just having a little ‘personal shit’ and you wanting to make sure your business runs smoothly, isn’t it?”
Brady lets out a deep sigh and I wait for his explanation.
“Look, I’m probably just being a protective older brother and I’m sure she’s pissed at me, but you’re right. It has nothing to do with the business. I know she’s perfectly capable of running that place with her eyes closed,” he admits.
“So, what is it? What the fuck is going on with her?” I demand.
“You just need to trust me, man. She was… let’s just say she didn’t leave New York under the best circumstances. I don’t know everything, but I know enough. It was bad, Austin, really bad. I’d tell you if I could, but I just can’t do that to her. It’s her story to tell. She’s been through enough and it’s been a long road getting her to trust me again. I can’t betray her by spilling all of her secrets. I’m sure nothing is going to happen while I’m gone, but I’d rather not risk it while I’m so far away.”
I continue to watch her through the glass, hating the fact that there are so many missing pieces of the puzzle that is Gwen. I’m starting to worry about her and feel bad for her and it’s pissing me off. I don’t have the time or the desire to care about someone, but I’d never go back on a promise.
“You don’t have to worry, I’m not going anywhere. And hey, thanks for telling me your sister has a kid,” I complain.
Brady laughs. “So, you met Emma? Has she made you sing any of Layla’s songs yet?”
“No, and I’m pretty sure your sister’s not going to let me within ten feet of her again. I added to her college fund within ten seconds of meeting her,” I tell him.
“Don’t let Gwen try to tell you that that stupid jar is completely full because of me. She’s got the mouth of a sailor,” Brady admits. “Look, I really appreciate you doing this for me. I know it’s hard when you have no idea what you’re getting into.”
I end the call on a promise to sing at least one of Layla’s songs to Emma the next time I see her – and with me still having more questions than answers.
Chapter 8
Gwen
Growing up, every movie or television show I ever watched where a woman was abused always made me shake my head in irritation. Who in their right mind would stick around and put up with that again and again? Didn’t these women have brains in their heads? I knew for a fact that if a man ever laid his hands on me, I would tell him off, kick his ass to the curb and never look back.
It’s always easy to judge other people when you have no idea what kind of life they live behind closed doors, when you’ve never walked one footstep in their shoes or when you’ve never given your heart to a man you believed when he told you it would never happen again.
I met William at a charity function my mother was hosting. He had just finished his medical residency and secured a full time position with Mount Sinai hospital. He was the most charming man I had ever met and the first man to make me laugh since my brother left for the Navy when I was sixteen. At twenty-two years old, my parents were starting to pressure me more and more about finding a husband and settling down. Not that I was a wild child or anything like that, but in their eyes, it was high time I find someone so they could impress their friends with a lavish wedding and give them grandchildren they could brag about. Over the years, they tried setting me up with some of their friend’s sons and each one was worse than the last. They were all too much like my shallow parents and I wanted more. I wanted a man who would let me be who I wanted to be and not who my parent’s thought I should be.
I still remember the night I met him like it was yesterday. I was standing at the bar with a full glass of champagne in my hand wishing I were anywhere but there.
“Don’t slouch, Gwendolyn,” my mother scolded out of the corner of her mouth as she smiled and waved at someone she knew across the room.
I sighed and stood up taller, taking a small sip of my champagne. I wished Brady were here. He would be standing off in the corner making fun of all the pretentious people in the room, our parents included and making me laugh. It’s sad that I can’t even remember the last time I laughed. My life has turned into the movie Groundhog Day – one day bleeds into the next, the same things over and over until I’m so bored I could cry.
“I’m going to go find your father and start making the rounds to all the tables. Make sure you smile and thank people for coming,” she told me distractedly as she wandered away.
It took everything in me not to roll my eyes at her retreating back. I should have told her that I didn’t feel well and stayed home tonight, but then she wouldn’t have been able to parade me around to all of her friends bragging about how I just graduated at the top of my class with a degree in business. A degree I didn’t want, but the only one that would make my parents happy and keep them off my back. I wanted to study social work, but my parents thought it was a frivolous waste and one that wouldn’t make me any money in the future. Just like always, I did as they instructed.
“Is this the most boring party you’ve ever been to or is it just me?”
A voice next to me at the bar brought me out of my thoughts. I turned to see a man in a black tux smiling down at me, dimples in each of his cheeks giving him a boyish look. He could be a few years older than me, but his friendly smile and the sparkle in his green eyes made him look younger.
“Well, my parents are the ones hosting the party, so I think I’m required to say that I’m having a wonderful time,” I replied to him with a smile of my own.
“You’re Beth and Karl’s daughter?” he asked in shock.
I nodded, taking another sip of my drink.
“Forgive me if this is a little forward, but I had no idea their daughter was so shockingly beautiful,” he told me softly.
Over the years, I had heard enough trite compliments and pick-up lines from men in my parent’s social circle that I could fill an entire book. But the way this man said it, so honestly and quietly, it didn’t come off as anything but genuine.
“My name’s William Stratford the third. I realize that makes me sound like a pompous asshole and I apologize for that. If I don’t tell people I’m the third William Stratford, my father will tell me I’m ungrateful and I’ll have to hang my head in shame. So really, you should just blame him for it,” William said with a laugh.
He held out his hand for me to shake and when our palms touched, I wanted nothing more than to hold on to him for the rest of the evening. His large, soft hand wrapped around my own small one and my heart skipped a beat.
“My name’s Gwen Marshall, but if my mother is around, you’d better call me Gwendolyn or she’ll think you’re a common man who has no social skills,” I informed him.
William threw his head back and laughed and I couldn’t help but join him. His laughter was infectious and it made me forget for just a moment how much I hated my life.
“Well, Gwen Marshall, what do you say we defy both of our parents? I’ll let you call me Billy if you let me take you out onto the dance floor and show you my moves.”
William asked me on a date during our third dance that night at the charity event. I spent the next two years falling madly in love with him and thinking that my life was finally moving in the right direction. He was encouraging of my desire to go back to school for social work, he was thoughtful and romantic and he could always make me smile no matter what kind of day I was having. My parents adored him, mostly because he was quickly becoming one of the most sought after surgeons in New York and his success reflected back on them since we were dating. I didn’t care if they liked him or not; nothing mattered but the fact that, for the first time since my brother left, I’d found a man who understood me and love me for me and not for who my parents were or the amount of money they had.