Page 41 of Play With Me

Kate was recovering at the Madden cabin. I insisted with Emma for over three hours, begging her for the address and Kate’s location. I insisted until she gave up. She conceded with one stipulation – that I wouldn’t visit Kate until both Kate and Cameron were ready, and that would be when Emma called me.

I stood at the crash site, my feet almost up to the knees in snow and mitts not nearly warm enough for the below freezing temperatures. My mind was spinning with aches from the past. White snowflakes floated, some rising again with the wind before they touched the ground. It was slippery that winter as well, but there was no snow. The last kind of accident I expected was an airplane slamming into the highway and forever changing my life.

I pressed my hand to the middle of my chest. My heart always beat strong when I came here. My new heart, that is. My old one, the one I was born with, had failed me. I wasn’t supposed to be the one standing here, yet here I was, and all I wanted to know was why. Sebastian was a hero, while I’d just been left behind.

After a few hours, once the tips of my toes began to freeze, I went back to the side of the road where I’d parked my car and drove eight hours back towards the East coast. I didn’t go home, though, and I didn’t exactly expect to be knocking on Eddie’s door in the middle of January.

“Can I crash here?” I asked.

“You can always crash here.”

The guest bedroom was just the way I’d left it when Sebastian walked into Eddie’s barber shop and took me away. When I opened the closet, it still had some of my clothes. I removed my sweats and shirt, changed into a crisp t-shirt and a fresh pair of jeans I pulled out of a drawer, and slid under the covers on the single bed.

I later realized that I’d slept for three days straight. That third morning, I finally showered, dressed into a fresh pair of slacks, and came downstairs into the kitchen.

“Are you not open today?”

“I am, but it’s been a little slower lately.”

“Are you still making some cash, Eddie? Do you need any help?”

I always offered, and he always refused. Then I always left a stack of cash on my dresser for him to clean up. We’d never mentioned him finding the money to each other. It was how Eddie worked. He was too proud to accept help, and this was the only way I could repay him for saving me.

“I’m fine, girl, but I was hoping I’d see your face back here sooner, Lola. I could use your help.” He pointed to the scissors.

“I’m sure that’s why you were hoping to see me back.” I let sarcasm completely take over that one. We both knew he didn’t need any help and that he’d managed the little business fine on his own for years.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen. If you’re pouring one for yourself, get one for me as well.” He left through the swinging door that connected the house at the back to the barber shop at the front, and then called out. “I made eggs, Lola.”

My stomach grumbled. “Thanks, Eddie.”

After that morning, I didn’t feel like leaving, and I stayed at the Men’s Room with Eddie, filling in for him in late afternoons when his hands got tired. It was a perfect way to avoid being a complete adult. More than ten months passed before the front door opened and I felt like my past slammed right into my chest again. If I’d been holding scissors, I’d have dropped them, but I wasn’t. In fact, I became hyper-aware that I was alone withhimquite quickly.

He closed the door behind him and strolled toward me.

“Lola.”

“Brook.”

“Do I need to make an appointment for a cut?” he asked.

“An appointment?”

“Yeah, my hair’s getting long.” He pulled his fingers through the overgrown strands as if he didn’t know the effect that move had on me. And that beard he had going, well, I wasn’t sure exactly what was happening there.

“Sit.” I pointed to the chair.

Over the next forty minutes or so, I took my time washing his hair, trimming it, styling it, and enjoying every single moment of the experience. When the time came to finish, I used a blade to clean up around his neck and inhaled his fresh scent. I shouldn’t have. It made my head spin, and I nearly cut him again.

“You have a sixth sense about me and barber shops, or something?” I asked.

I watched as the skin on the back of his neck responded to my breath.

“You can call it a sixth sense, but I call it good memory.”

“What are you doing here, Brook?” I stood up.

Our gazes connected in the mirror.

---