Worn Me Down

Chapter 7 Austin

We’ve been sitting outside the Sunset Motel in Gwen’s car for twenty minutes and neither one of us has said a word. She’s pretending like nothing happened, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to keep letting her shut me out. Obviously, my usual charm and finesse isn’t going to work on her; I’m going to have to use another tactic. The only problem? I know next to nothing about communicating with a woman unless we’re naked and I’m telling her to fuck me harder. Coercing someone to talk to me on the job usually involves them being tied to a chair with a gun to their head. Something tells me Gwen wouldn’t respond well to either one of those options.

What’s that old saying – you catch more flies with honey or some shit? Maybe if I give a little something of myself she’ll give me something of her. Doesn’t that touchy-feely childhood shit usually work on chicks?

“This motel reminds me of one I used to live in when I was thirteen. I bet they even have the same green shag carpet and piss stains on the bathroom floor.”

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.