Page 95 of What's Left of Us

I open the counter drawer and pull out the box of hair dye I bought months ago. I’d bought it with Millie’s words in mind about changing my hair, but I’d been too chicken to do it. The woman behind the counter said I’d need to bleach it if I wanted to go lighter, so I googled everything I’d need for when I decided to make the move.

My eyes go from the box in my hand to the mirror one last time.

I touch my brown roots with my other hand and trail my fingers down my long locks that rest just over my shoulders.

My father liked my hair long. He liked when Mrs. Ricci or Leani curled it. He said it reminded him of my mother when she wore it that way.

But I amnotmy mother or my father.

Just as I crack open the box and begin pulling out the items, Lincoln knocks on the door. “Are you okay?”

When I don’t answer right away, he cracks it open and pokes his head inside. Brows pinching when he sees what I’m holding, he walks in and leans against the edge of the sink. “What are you doing, Peaches?”

I fidget with the bottle of hair bleach before peeking up at him through my lashes. “I don’t want to be the reason you’re held back. I don’t…” I stare at the packaging, fighting a deep frown. “I don’t want to be like my father.”

Lincoln’s hand tilts my chin up to meet his warm eyes. “You will never be like Nikolas.”

Swallowing, I nod, even if I don’t believe it.

Mostly because I’m still trying to figure out who I am without my family. A daughter to a businessman. A wife to a cop. But who amI? I don’t know because Nikolas has never allowed me to figure it out.

I enjoy my job, even when I find it boring. I like to read and talk about books with people who come in looking for recommendations. But there’s nothing else I’m good at.

“Is this what you want?” Lincoln asks, picking up the instructions that came with the bleach and scanning them.

Is it? I glance at the reflection one last time before making up my mind.

Whoever Georgia Del Rossi was doesn’t exist anymore. “Yes.”

“Okay.” He stands, flattening out the paper and reading over each step.

“What are you doing?”

His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Helping.”

One word wraps around my heart like a warm hug as I watch him mix the containers and shake it before fighting with the gloves that are too small for his large hands. He foregoes them without a second thought, standing behind me and putting a hand on my shoulder.

“Ready?”

I look at myself one last time.

This version of Georgia.

The old one.

Swallowing, I dip my head. “Yes.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him about what he and Matt were talking about at his birthday party.

I’m about to when something holds me back.

Fear. The unknown.

I think about what Mrs. Ricci told me when I asked about my mother’s car accident.“That is a question you are better off not knowing the answer to.”

So, I watch his careful movement in the mirror as he covers the brown strands of hair with the bleach and remain quiet, saying a silent goodbye to the girl I no longer wanted to be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

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