by Leddy Harper
“Adele is like a music god. It’s indisputable. And I want to be like that, but with hair instead of songs.” I finished rinsing his hair, and then turned to grab another towel.
“Really? That’s your goal in life?”
When I spun back around, ready to dry his head, I found him sitting up, twisted in his seat to face me. The expression he wore on his face was so soft, so sympathetic. His parted and nearly downturned lips screamed concern, while his dark-green eyes pierced me with worry. I couldn’t comprehend what it all meant, or why he regarded me in that way.
I cautiously moved toward him, the cloth spread out in my hands. “Yes. What’s so wrong with that? People strive to be the best they can be at what they do, so why is it a bad thing for me to do the same?” I gently ran the towel over his head, drying up the water from his hair, but I also did it to obstruct his view of me. For whatever reason, he once more had me strung out, vulnerable, and I couldn’t handle him witnessing me like that again.
His hands snapped up, catching my wrists in his grip before slowly lowering the shield I had in place between us. His gaze captured mine and wouldn’t let it go. “There’s a big difference in striving for something, and having it be a life goal. Don’t you want more out of life other than being the best stylist in the world?”
I studied him for a moment longer before blinking and backing away. “You have a bad habit of acting like you know me. Like you know what I want or what’s best for me. You don’t know shit, Bentley. I don’t know how many more times I have to tell you that I’m perfectly fine the way I am, and I’m not looking for more before you finally get it through that thick skull of yours.”
He stood and stepped around the sink to stand in front of me. He didn’t seem as tall with my heels on like he had when I’d stood in front of him in my boots. But that didn’t mean I felt any taller. I still felt small, fragile, and exposed. I guess it was more than his height that made me feel that way.
“I’m not assuming anything, Sarah. It was a simple question. But the fact that you can’t give me a simple answer is proof enough that you don’t believe it, either. You’re just mad that I’m asking you questions you don’t want to think about.”
He’d hit the nail on the head with his accusation, and the last thing I wanted was for him to know that. I’d do better if he simply walked away and stopped analyzing me. I didn’t think I could take any more.
“You’re done here, Bentley. The ladies at the counter in the front will take care of you. Thank you for stopping in. Everyone here at Gr8 Hair Salon and Spa wishes you a great day.” The normally cheerful goodbye rolled off my tongue in a monotone as I stared at his chest, refusing to meet his gaze. My parting words were enough to speak volumes about how I felt—I didn’t need him to see it in my eyes as well.
He gripped my hand in his, causing my attention to fall to that warm connection between us. “I only want to help, Sarah. I’m not trying to piss you off or upset you.”
I let him hold onto me for a moment longer before ripping my hand from his and walking away without another word. I knew the break room would be the best place to go considering Bentley couldn’t follow me there. It would give me space before my next client to clear my head from the anxiety-ridden haze he’d put there.
Everything about that man was capable of drowning me in sensations I didn’t care to experience. The promises his eyes held left me with a desire to cry, his voice draped me in comfort until I wanted nothing more than to spill every one of my secrets to him. The way he held my hands, the heat from his body when he was close enough, left me yearning to curl into him, filling me with a desire to have his arms around me. He had some sort of aura around him that consoled me, made me feel safe and secure. And then there was his cologne. Sweet and strong, not spicy, musky, or woodsy like so many men wore these days. It was unlike anything I’d ever smelled before. Sweet, yet virile, and with just one whiff of it, I had to fight the urge to bury my face in his chest until I became consumed by the fragrance.
I wanted to know what cologne he wore, because I wanted to douse my bed sheets with it and fall asleep blanketed in his scent night after night. And once again, I found myself alone, coming up with questions I couldn’t ask him because I’d sent him away. Why did I continually push away the things that offered me comfort? I found myself contemplating running after him, chasing him down until he answered every question I could possibly come up with to ask. And after the fear set in of realizing how badly I wanted to be around him, hopelessness consumed me. It mocked me, telling me how this was all my fault. I’d done this to myself. I’d pushed everyone away until the only person that even gave a shit was some random stranger from a bar who didn’t even live in town. Even if I wanted to tell him everything, confide in him, lean on him, it wouldn’t change anything. Because after I’d finish spilling my guts to the man, he’d be gone, and I’d find myself alone once more.
“Sarah, you’re next client is here,” Marlo announced from the doorway, interrupting my pitiful thoughts.
“Thank you. I’ll be right out.” I stretched a smile across my lips, hoping to display some strength, yet inside, I felt pathetic, broken, desolate.
Five months ago, I had started to make my bed. I’d made it alone, managing to keep everyone at a distance, telling myself it was better if I grieved in private, better if I remained strong on the outside for the world to see. I needed to be solid for my family, for my dad, for work and life. I thought the longer I pretended to be okay, the more I’d believe it, and it would actually become true. So that’s what I did. I’d made my bed, only to realize too late—and by the help of a man who had no idea who I was—that I’d managed to make it with me in it. I didn’t just lie in it, surrounded by the things I made happen. No. It consumed me. Swallowed me whole. Suffocated me.
I wasn’t living.
I was dying.
Alone.
Bentley
I knew I’d gotten to her. I could tell by her actions—by her reactions—to what I’d said. I’d also managed to give away how much she affected me. She may not have given in and opened up yet, but at least we were making progress. She just wasn’t aware of it.
After finding her in that bar, letting some dick come on to her, and then hearing her own broken words, I knew I couldn’t turn my back on her and leave. Sarah needed someone, and that someone would be me. I owed it to her. I knew she was under the impression that I didn’t understand how she felt, how she suffered after the death of her mother. But death wasn’t a foreign object to me. It wasn’t some idea floating in space just beyond my reach. I comprehended the subject all too well. But I wouldn’t be able to explain that to her, because she wasn’t strong enough to hear what I had to explain. So I had to let her believe I had no connection to death or what she’d gone through.
I sat in my truck in the parking lot of the salon for a few minutes, grappling with what to do next. I knew I couldn’t smother her. She’d only push me further away. But I knew I also couldn’t let her be. It was apparent she needed someone, and that I had managed to get further with her than anyone else.
But she was dangerous.
I had to be careful, watch myself around her. Sarah was one sexy vixen, and if I weren’t careful, she would take me down with her. My hard-on in the salon was evidence enough of her ability to sidetrack me. From the very beginning, I knew we’d never be able to cross that line. Technically, we weren’t even supposed to know each other, let alone know about each other, but Luke couldn’t keep his mouth closed. So now it just came down to getting through to her without letting her infiltrate my thoughts—more than she had. I had to be the one to change hers, make her question what she believed, what she thought she wanted. I had to teach her how to feel again without guilt and fear, and somehow not get burned in that flame.
But I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her.
About her lips.
Those dark eyes.
Her hypnotic voice.
They all consumed me
every time I closed my eyes. Innocent at first, pulling on my heartstrings with the thought of her tears, her heartache, her pain. I wanted to hold her, to tell her everything would be okay and to not worry. I wanted to take it all away from her and give her peace, give her back her smile…give her back her life. In a perfect world, I was the one who held her and comforted her. She’d smile and laugh, and all would be right again in my fantasy. But then she’d kiss me, she’d touch me. And before long, I had to jerk off because I’d somehow let my imagination get away from me. Then I would spend the next hour wondering what it would feel like to kiss her. To feel her soft lips upon mine was enough to get me hard again.
I’d met her face to face for the first time less than two days ago, yet she’d taken over my mind half a dozen times since then.
She was the epitome of danger.
Sarah
After getting home from work, I’d called Bree, wanting to see her. She’d sounded surprised to hear from me, and perplexed when I’d tried to make plans to get together with her. I won’t lie…that hurt. But I had no right to complain, considering it was my fault to begin with. We’d spoken for a few minutes before Axel came home from work, but we’d managed to make plans to get together on Wednesday.
Wednesdays at work were easy. I always went in early to stock the shelves with the shipment of product that came in on Tuesdays, and I left around one in the afternoon. I never did any actual haircuts or styles on those days. When Marlo had hired me a few years ago, straight out of a dime-a-dozen salon, her inventory was disgraceful. Stylists were constantly running out of product, and it wasn’t like they could just run up to the store to buy more. We could only use the products we sold there. And if we didn’t have any on the shelf, not only could clients not buy it, but it also meant our stylists couldn’t use it to promote sales. I’d said something to her after working a few weeks there, wondering why we weren’t receiving regular shipments. Turns out, she had too much on her plate and ordering had been one of the things that had fallen through the cracks on a continual basis.
The salon had been new, but I knew it would only be a matter of time before it’d be the go-to salon in our area if only Marlo knew how to micromanage. I didn’t know much about ordering, and even less about running a salon, but I’d offered to help if she taught me. And that’s what she did. She took me under her wing and molded me into her protégé. Ever since then, we hadn’t run out of product, and had even shown a constant increase in aftercare purchases. In order to keep up with my clients and the tasks Marlo had given me, we’d agreed on one day a week where I did nothing but manage the side work. I used to love it because it had allowed me to spend time with my family during the week. But ever since Christmas, it’d been nothing more than a half-day at work filled with the dread of being alone for hours when my shift ended.
This was the first Wednesday in months that I actually arranged to spend time with one of my sisters. They’d made plans with me before, leaving me no room to back out as they tag-teamed me with guilt. But this was the first time I had been the one to set it up. That thought alone made me sad. I’d spent so long blaming them for the distance that was now between us, when really, I was just as much to blame.
I made it home shortly after one to find Bree sitting at the kitchen table with Ayla next to her, eating a sandwich. “Don’t you have food at your house? Or is Axel starving you guys?” I asked as I threw my keys on the counter and moved to the fridge to grab a can of Coke.
“We were out all morning and came straight here. Ayla was hungry so I made her something to eat. I was going to make you something, too, but you don’t really have much to choose from. When was the last time you went to the grocery store?”
I swallowed my drink too fast, the coldness of the liquid combined with the carbonation causing my eyes to water. “I go when I run out of something to drink. I still have four more cans of Coke and half a bottle of wine left. I’m good for about another day.”
“You’ve lost too much weight.”
I rolled my eyes in agitation and shook my head. I’d heard it from her too many times, and yet she never seemed to get the hint. “No I haven’t. I weigh the same as I did four months ago.” I’ll admit that after Mom passed away, I did lose a few pounds. The stress and depression basically ate away any healthy fat I had on me. But in no way did I look sickly, or too skinny like Bree often tried to say.
“Well, you used to have bigger boobs than me. Now I think I wear a bigger cup size than you.”
“Are you pregnant again?” I accused with a careless attitude, wanting to turn the tables on her. Not that I wouldn’t care if she were pregnant again, but because I’d grown so accustomed to reacting that way to her interrogations that it had become the norm.
“No, I’m not. That would totally suck considering I just finished with my final fitting for my dress. If I got pregnant, there’s no way I’d be able to breathe in the darn thing.”
“Aunt Sarah?” Ayla spoke up, interrupting us at the perfect time. “Since you and Mommy are talking about dult things, can I watch TV in the living room while I eat?”
“Adult, Ayla. Not ‘dult,’” Bree corrected her, like she always did.
I hated it when she did that to her. It was a daily thing at home back when we lived together for her to lecture Ayla about her words. It annoyed me. Let the damn kid be a kid. It wasn’t like she’d grow up pronouncing words the wrong way forever. I found it endearing and never wanted her to stop saying the words in her own special way.
“Yes, Ayla. Of course you can go watch TV while your mommy and I talk about dult things,” I said, giving my sister a pointed look and Cheshire smile. I waited until my niece was out of her seat before turning to Bree and saying, “Is it so hard to let her sound like a kid every once and a while?”
“She needs to learn.”
“Or what?” I argued back with enough attitude for her to shift in her seat. “Do you think she won’t learn on her own how to speak properly? Did your mom correct every word that came out of your mouth when you were her age?”
Her eyes fell to the table and I knew I’d struck a nerve by bringing up her mom. Her issues were different than my own, but that didn’t mean I shouldn’t have known better. Before I could form an apology on my lips, she said, “Have you heard Axel speak? I think my fear of her growing up to use improper English is justified. His grammar is atrocious.”
I couldn’t contain my laughter. She had a valid point. It wasn’t that Axel sounded uneducated, because he was a very educated man, but he had issues when it came to the proper phrasing of things. Bree certainly had her hands full when it came to correcting how her fiancé and daughter spoke. I still thought it was pointless and she shouldn’t be so concerned about it, but that was Bree. She hadn’t been given too much control over things in her life, so what little she could grab onto, she’d never let go. Unfortunately for us all, she chose our grammar to control.
“I still have no idea why you never wanted to be an English teacher.”
Bree’s eyes sparkled with humor. “One teacher in the house is enough.”
“So does that mean Axel got the job?” I felt horrible for not asking her about it sooner. Axel had taken a substitute position a while ago, and at the beginning of the school year last year, a possible full-time position had opened up. They’d given him the job temporarily, but had to wait until summer before any permanent plans could be made. With everything that had happened since Christmas, I hadn’t even realized school had ended weeks ago, and I hadn’t once thought to ask about his job.
A bright smile covered her face, lighting up her every feature in complete happiness. It warmed me to see, yet it set an ache in my chest at the same time. “Yes. They offered it to him two weeks ago. He feels conflicted, though. Ever since taking the landscaping job his dad had set him up with, he’s really been enjoying it. And he had even thought about not returning to the classroom. But as soon as the school offered him the position, he accepted with
out questioning it.”
“Why can’t he do both? Didn’t he do both last year?”
“Yeah, but that left him with no free time. His days off from the school were spent on the other job. He doesn’t want to do that anymore. Ever since Christmas, he’s worried about not spending enough time with us.”
Her words slammed into me, stealing the breath from my lungs until they grew so tight in my chest, I feared they had collapsed. Whether she meant to or not, she’d caused the guilt over not spending time with my own family to suffocate me. I stood abruptly, my chair slamming into the kitchen wall behind me.
“Sarah…” she called after me as I ran to the sink. Her hand on my back as I bent over the basin, splashing water on my face, made her presence known. And not just her physical presence, but the emotional one, too. It let me know that she was there for me.
“I just…” The words were stuck and not forming past my hyperventilating breaths. “I just—I can’t, Bree.” I spun around and locked eyes with her, water dripping down my face to my shirt, cooling the overheated skin on my chest. “I know I’ve let you down. I’ve let everyone down. But you don’t know what it’s like for me to be around everyone. To be in that house.” My breathing rolled through me like angry waves of a tide in a storm. Erratic. Violent. I swallowed a few times to keep myself from vomiting, grief shutting down every system inside me. “To see you all smile and laugh,” I whispered like it was a bad thing to be happy. “You act as if nothing happened. It’s like you guys think she’s still in her room taking a nap, and you go on with your daily lives like she’s still here. But she’s not! She’s not asleep. I know this because I saw her. I tried to wake her up. I couldn’t wake her up. I couldn’t…” My voice became shrill, unrecognizable to my own ears. Breathing became more difficult. My stomach hardened. Acid churned, burning my chest as it tried to find a way out. I couldn’t fight it anymore. I broke down and fell to the floor, tears replacing the water on my cheeks and shirt.