Like The Wind

by Bengtsson, J.

  His disappointment hung thick in the air. “Okay then, just tell me this one thing and then I’ll leave you alone. Is she alive, your mother?”

  The answer to that question still sent shock waves through me. She’d been ‘dead’ my entire life, so her resurrection was something I hadn’t yet come to grips with. “Yeah, RJ. It sure as hell looks that way.”

  * * *

  The second knock on the door was not nearly as welcome as the first, but this visitor didn’t wait for me to open up. Tucker just let himself in… with the key card he apparently felt entitled to have even though I was the adult child who paid his damn bills. Again, I bristled at the balls of my father.

  “RJ,” he nodded, telling my friend in no uncertain terms it was time to leave.

  We exchanged a glance before RJ dutifully exited the room. Tucker controlled the other guys too, just not with the same iron grip he used on me.

  “What do you want?” I asked, busying myself with making the bed, which I never did unless I was avoiding a conversation with my father.

  He made himself comfortable on my sofa. “Come over here. I need to talk to you.”

  “I don’t have anything to say so don’t bother.”

  He pointed to the chair opposite him before fixing his stare on me. I felt nothing but contempt for him now. My father was no more to me than my boss and the hate that coursed through me was hard to contain.

  “You’ll want to hear me out, I promise,” he said.

  I let him wait until the sheets were lined up and the pillows appeared reasonably fluffed before I walked over to the chair and slumped into it.

  “Thank you,” he offered, and I could tell he was in a conciliatory mood. “I’m not sure what’s gotten into you lately, but I can see how tired you are. I think you need a few days’ rest. As you know, I’d already arranged for the band to take a six-day break in Los Angeles next week.”

  I nodded. The break he spoke of was not a vacation. We were still working, just not as hard.

  “Anyway, I’ve made the decision to cancel all appearances leading up to the Friday and Saturday night concerts.”

  My eyes widened in surprise as I sat up straighter in my seat. Now that was news. My father lived and died on the band meeting our obligations. He had to think I was really going to embarrass him to make such a concession.

  “I rented you a place. It’s secluded. Lots of trees. Plus, there’s a pool, spa, sauna, movie theater, and arcade. You can take some time to yourself to regroup and get the rest you need.”

  “Are we talking some resort type place?” I asked. “Because, if that’s the case, I’m not interested.”

  He smiled, humoring me. “I knew you’d say that. And to answer your question, no, it’s a private residence. You have it all to yourself for five days.”

  I couldn’t help but be intrigued by his offer. “And am I going to be imprisoned by your security cronies?”

  “No. They’ll drop you off, but they won’t stay. There’s a security gate surrounding the place so you’ll be safe inside. I think it goes without saying that any outings you want to take will need to be cleared through the team first so we can take appropriate precautions. We don’t want what happened last night to happen again.”

  Even I could agree with that. No more Twinkie freedom flights for this guy. My father watched me intently, waiting for a response. It really did sound awesome and I wanted to accept his offer more than I dared to admit. But there was only one word I could think to say to him. “Why?”

  Tucker hesitated, and his bottom lip quivered for a split second. Was that sentiment I detected? A little too late if you asked me. He cleared his throat as he fought back the emotion that had suddenly overcome him. “I know I don’t always show it, but I love you, kid. I’m hard on you, yes, but it’s only because I know what you’re capable of and I hate to watch you throw everything away. And for what—a bottle of booze? Addiction is a slippery slope, Bodhi. You start with alcohol but that can lead to chasing new highs. If there’s one thing you don’t want, it’s to go down that path. I can see you’re struggling with something and if you’d just talk to me I know I could help you.”

  In that moment it took everything in me not to tell him you’re the one who created the problem and then have it out with Tucker. He didn’t have the right to suddenly care. I had to remember what he’d done… what he was accused of.

  And before you start feeling sorry for my father, don’t. He was the mastermind of deception, not me. Tucker had never just been ‘my father.’ He secured me my first modeling job at two years of age and I’d worked ever since. Even as a toddler, I’d never been allowed to be a kid. There was no time for fun when the breadwinner of the family was still wetting the bed.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” He repeated, perking up. “Okay that I can help you?”

  Knowledge needed to be earned and my father hadn’t worked a full day yet.

  “No, Dad. I accept your offer of the mansion, or whatever the hell it is you rented me. But no guards. If I see you’ve stationed them around the perimeter, I’ll find my own place to stay. And I won’t be sharing the address with you.”

  “I got it. No guards. Now, can we talk?”

  I stood up, running my fingers through my hair. “I’ve got nothing to say. You can let yourself out. I’m going to take a shower.”

  Tucker kept his eyes focused on me as if he were willing me to change my mind. I didn’t. He sighed in disappointment before finally extracting himself from the sofa and heading for the door.

  “Oh, and Dad.”

  He pivoted on cue, the hopeful expression on his face almost comical in its need.

  “You can leave that key card on the table. You won’t be needing it anymore.”

  3

  Breeze: The Proposal

  “Here it is,” the woman in my chair said, pulling up a picture on her phone. “This is the hair I want.”

  I leaned in to get a closer look at the photo in question and nearly choked on the breath mint I’d just popped in my mouth after a particularly garlicky lunch. Oh good lord, not Gigi Hadid again. I was a hairstylist, not Houdini. It seemed everyone and their mother wanted the supermodel’s hair. Of course, I wisely bit back any discouraging words. That’s not how I rolled.

  “So cute,” I agreed.

  And it was a good style … for a twenty-three-year-old supermodel! But I was in the business of making people feel beautiful—selling the dream. So, if my client wanted Gigi’s hair, I’d do my best to give it to her, at least for one day.

  “Although, keep in mind,” I said in a sugary tone, “You don’t have the same hair texture or color, so the style might be difficult to maintain. Gigi has straight hair and you have natural waves, so just be aware it will take a lot of blowing out and straightening to get this look every day.”

  There. The disclaimer. Instead of telling her I could never in a million years make her look like Gigi Hadid, I placed the bulk of the challenge on her solid shoulders. She’d have the style, but the rest was up to her.

  After agreeing to my suggestions, I went to work transforming my visionary client’s hair into the most glamorous version I could whip up in the two-hour time slot she’d been allotted.

  We were an hour into the beautifying process, waiting for the highlights to set, when Trina, my colleague from the adjacent cubicle groaned. “Oh, not again. Breeze.”

  My gut clenched. I didn’t have to even look up to know what she was talking about. He was back. Hugh—my stalker.

  “Crap!”

  I’m not sure what possessed me but, before I knew it, I’d wedged my ass down under my workstation and hid like a coward.

  Transfixed by the scene playing out at her feet, my client stared down at me through fantastically bugged eyes, her hands going straight to her hair. Who could blame her? That would’ve been my reaction if my hairstylist had a similar outburst while stripping my hair color.

  “Not you,” I whisper
ed, patting her leg reassuringly. “Your hair’s fine. You look gorgeous.”

  She didn’t.

  I was a liar, and a boldfaced one at that. The woman had tin foil protruding from her scalp like one of those satellite dishes extraterrestrials used to call home.

  Dammit.

  Hugh’s timing couldn’t have been worse. By my calculations, I had exactly eight minutes to get rid of the guy before chunks of hair started falling from my client’s head.

  “I’m not here,” I whispered loud enough for anyone in the vicinity to hear. Which sort of defeated the purpose of whispering in the first place. In fact, it might’ve drawn more attention. Now I had a rapt audience as I spun a cocoon for myself under my workspace. “I’m not here.”

  Ugh, I was a horrible person. No wonder I had a stalker named Hugh. Why couldn’t I get someone with a cool name like Freddie or Michael? But no! I got Hugh. It hardly seemed worth the effort I put into hiding, or the discomfort of being poked in the ass by the hairdryer plug.

  The door chimed and in walked my silver-haired suitor, a silk rose in one hand and a wedding ring box in the other. Like every other time he’d come in here to propose, Hugh was wearing his Sunday finest— on a Tuesday.

  The confused look on his weathered face was too much for me to bear, so I reluctantly pushed to my feet and brushed myself off. People told me all the time I was too nice, as if being a congenial human being was a fatal disease or something, but today I agreed with them. I’d gotten myself into this mess by being too accommodating the first time he’d come in and singled me out. Hugh was old and cute and sweet in a newborn, hairless, long-necked, baby bird sort of way. And he was about to become my fiancée. Again.

  “Hi Hugh,” I said, smiling warmly at my suitor. Although multiple engagements had never been my dream—one solid, decent guy would do the job nicely—I made an exception for the man standing before me. “Shall we get started?”

  Something must’ve triggered a long lost memory, and Hugh’s eyes misted. His hands shook as he reached out to me. “Victoria.”

  “Yes,” I lied. What was the harm in pretending if it brought a measure of comfort to an elderly man who lived mostly in his memories? Hugh took a step toward me before struggling to one knee.

  Gazing up at me as if I were the light that kept him living, he began, “My dearest Victoria, from the moment we met, I knew you were the only girl for me…”

  Though I’d heard these exact words from him many times, tears welled in my eyes. What would it be like to have a man lay himself bare like this for me? Even when I’d been in this situation for real it hadn’t felt like this. Sure, there was excitement and love in the proposal. But it wasn’t Hugh-level love.

  The door swung open, and Joel, a staff member from the memory care facility down the street stepped in just in time to witness the end of the proposal. He opened his mouth to apologize for his charge’s intrusion, but I held up my hand. Hugh deserved a beautiful finish.

  At some point in his life, the old man had found the one—a woman who’d captured his heart so completely that in the twilight of his life, his only thoughts were of her. It took my breath away. If only I was his Victoria … or anybody’s Victoria.

  Presenting me with the empty ring box, Hugh’s voice shook with emotion. “Will you marry me, my lady?”

  Tears threaded my lashes, as they did every time we got to this point in the proposal. His face, so full of hope for a ‘future’ he’d already lived, slayed me every time. Had his Victoria said yes once upon a time? Had they lived the life I could only hope for? I wanted to believe so.

  With tears trailing down my cheeks, I took his aged hand and stared lovingly into his expectant eyes. “Yes, Hugh. I’d love to marry you.”

  * * *

  As soon as my last client left for the evening, I dashed for my car and dialed the number I did every time Hugh came calling. “So I was proposed to again today.”

  “Oh, Honey.” My mother laughed. “I feel like I say this a lot, but congratulations.”

  “Thank you. And I have to say, it never gets old.”

  “Poor Hugh,” Mom replied wistfully. “He must miss Victoria so much.”

  “I wonder if I actually look like her. I mean did women really have bleach blond hair tipped in pink back then, or am I just the only woman he’s found who’ll put up with his repeated proposals? Today’s engagement was lucky number eleven.”

  “He’s fortunate to have found you.”

  “Yeah? Why do you think that?”

  “Because you say yes. Every single time. A lesser person would call the police or just kick him out of the salon. But not you, Breeze. I think Hugh found a kindred spirit. He knew you would protect his heart. That’s what I love about you.”

  Ah, Mom. That’s why I called her every day. Her positivity was the shot in the arm I needed. But after having acted the way I did today, I wondered if I really deserved her devotion.

  “I tried to hide from him today,” I admitted. “Under my work station.”

  “Why?” she asked, surprised. “I thought you loved his proposals.”

  “I do. It’s just emotional for me and I feel drained afterwards. I see what love could be, the magic and passion, but I can’t picture any man ever loving me the way Hugh loved Victoria. I mean, what if you only get one shot at love? What if Brandon was it for me?”

  Brandon had been my universe. High school sweethearts, we’d planned out our lives well before graduation. I went to beauty school. He trained as an electrician. We were going to have two kids, a boy and a girl, and live in a modest three-bedroom home with enough space for the stray animals I brought home and nursed back to health.

  Like Hugh, my man had dropped down to one knee and proposed. When he’d slipped that platinum band with the shiny diamond onto my finger, I couldn’t imagine ever being happier than I was in that moment. As far as I was concerned, I had it all. Until Brandon went and murdered our dream.

  “Breeze, honey, I fell in love more than once and so can you. Think of Brandon like I think of your father. He was the pinch hitter—a bench player not worthy of a starting spot. But the quarterback, now that’s your guy. Maybe he’s still in the dugout, but once he steps out onto the court, you’re going to know he’s the one for you.”

  “Seriously mom, you’re mixing up all the sports. Pick one and stick with it. Plus, you know I’m not the girl who gets the quarterback. Sure, I’m prime real estate for the band geeks and the stoner boys. But as far as athletes go, I might be able to land a tennis player. And even that’s stretching it.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Breeze. I’m sure you could get a weightlifter… or even a bowler.”

  I laughed. “Wow, thanks for the support, Mother.”

  “My point with the whole sports analogy is that sometimes you have to be patient and wait for the right guy to come along. Just like my Terry. He doesn’t need to be a star athlete to treat me the way I deserve to be treated.”

  “So Terrance is your quarterback?”

  “Terrance is everyone’s quarterback.”

  And he was. My stepfather had stepped up to be the man my mother and I had needed in our lives. He’d been more of a father to me than mine ever was.

  “So, was that pep talk enough to convince you to come home for the family reunion?”

  As if.

  The woman never gave up. It didn’t matter how many times she’d asked, my answer was always the same.

  “We’ve been through this before,” I answered, trying to keep my voice light and airy for my own sanity. “You secure me a date with Jon Snow and I’ll come to your family reunion.”

  “Game of Thrones. I can work with that. Are we talking the actor or the fictional character?”

  “Um… I prefer the fictional character. But not if he’s wearing that big snowy outfit. It’s not his best look. I like the sexy leather number he wears in warm weather but, you know, I’m not picky. Surprise me.”

  “Sure. I’v
e got a call in to his agent.”

  “Yay.”

  Silence broke into our lighthearted banter and I braced for the begging.

  “Breeze?”

  I took a deep breath. “Mom?”

  “Please come. For me?” When I sighed she was quick to add, “If not for me, then for Terrance. He misses you.”

  My stomach clenched. Typically I’d do anything for her and Terrance. But this was asking too much. “He’ll be there. I just can’t. Besides, I’ll be home for Christmas a couple weeks after the reunion.”

  “I know, and I can’t wait, but I hate to see you avoiding the family because of a man. You’re letting Brandon win and that’s not like you at all.”

  Letting him? My ex was the one with the charmed life. Married to the perfect woman. Father to a two-year-old, with another on the way. I was the one whose only legitimate suitor was an eighty-three-year-old Alzheimer patient. Maybe it was selfish of me but there was no way in hell I was going to face Brandon without, at the very least, a fictional television character by my side.

  You might be wondering how my ex wound up attending our family functions in the first place. Well, I’ll tell you why. While he was engaged to me, Brandon was having unprotected sex with my cousin, Jenna. I discovered their deception a mere week before the nuptials after I took notice of Jenna’s swollen belly and innocently asked who the father was.

  And just like that, I’d become a horrible cliché—the jilted bride. Object of behind-the-back gossip. The last one in on the joke.

  I hadn’t been able to get out of town fast enough, retreating south to join my best friend Mason in the land of sun and surf. I’d managed to reinvent myself in this county by the sea. New friends, a new job… a new life. It should have been enough, but it wasn’t. The stigma remained, if only in my own mind.

  Not that I was still hooked on Brandon. I’d gotten over the sting of his betrayal long ago, and even moved on from plotting his murder. But the scars from his deception remained, bloody and raw, even more than two years after the fact. So yes, I’d once again be missing a family function because I couldn’t stomach the idea of watching Jenna and Brandon live the life that should have been mine.