Page 54 of Hideaway Whirlwind
“Right now.”
Christian chuckles, not at all put out by my gruff attitude and short response. He’s used to it. “I’m with a client, but come by the shop around three. I should be done by then.”
I grunt my thanks and keep it together long enough to get home, but as soon as I make it inside, all hell breaks loose. My long-familiar static explodes in my head, blotting out every good thing in my life—of which there’s hardly any left. Birdie still hasn’t texted, the man from Wichita is coming down to pick up Storm in a week, my brother thinks I’m a loose nut or a liability and doesn’t want me around, and I’ve hurt just about everyone I care about in some way or another.
I curl on my side in the spare bedroom, needing another dose of Birdie’s scent on her pillowcase that I won’t ever be able to bring myself to wash. Storm isn’t allowed on the bed, yet when she jumps up onto the mattress, I don’t command her to get off. She turns in circles until she finds a comfortable position and drops against my chest, licking my wet face. When the puppies yip from the floor, I roll over to scoop them up to join us. Stroking their silky ears doesn’t help as much as slipping my hands into Birdie’s hair would, but it’ll have to be enough.It just has to be.
* * *
Christian’s girlfriend and tattoo shop receptionist, Ms. Judy, points to the gold frame hanging on the blood-red painted wall. “I still can’t believe that’s you, Elliott.” It’s a side-by-side portrait of Christian’s work on my chest and back with my head cropped out for anonymity. “He wouldn’t tell me who it was,” she says, her graying dark blonde ponytail swishing when she shakes her head and gives Christian anaughty-youlook. She giggles when he blows her a kiss.
To be polite, when Christian takes a break to pull his chin-length black twists back from his face with a hair tie, I ask Ms. Judy about her daughter. “How is Dolly? I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.”
“Oh, she’s doing amazing.” Ms. Judy plucks a photograph taped to her computer and brings it to where I’m laid out on a padded table. “She and Wyatt finished building the extension for the in-home daycare she wants to open up now that she’s graduated with her ECE degree. I couldn’t be prouder of my girl.”
The photograph is of Ms. Judy, Christian, and Christian’s father, Old Freddy; Dolly, Wyatt, and Wyatt’s mama, Ms. Ellie; and their two shared grandsons, William and Weston, standing in front of Dolly and Wyatt’s green-painted wooden house, not too far from Davis’s place. They all have their hands thrown in the air, celebrating the new addition, each wearing a smile broader than the last.
I clear my throat, having to look away from the big, happy family. Ms. Judy is yet another person living the kind oflife I’ve always wanted. One that I don’t know I’ll ever have. Though with Ms. Judy and Christian having found each other after her hellish twenty years with her ex-husband, it gives me a smidgen of hope that Birdie might ever come around and choose me. Not that she should, as everyone apparently agrees.
“Changed my mind,” I tell Christian when he snaps on a new pair of sterile gloves, needing more physical pain to drown out the mental. “Add the trees in the background.”
“Shit, man, you sure?” Christian leans back on his rolling stool and studies me, his brows furrowing. It’s like looking back in time when I was a kid and my dad worked at Old Freddy’s mechanic shop. Freddy was the bright spot in my childhood—the one who got me into restoration in the first place—after my mama died and Dad became a living ghost ‘til he passed too.
“I’m sure,” I say, scooting down the table to get more comfortable, my neck already swollen and about to take another beating.
“You don’t want to take a couple of weeks to think it over? Come back when everything’s healed?”
“No. Now,” I grunt, instantly reminded of Birdie and every time she demandednowof me.
Christian shakes his head, but he goes ahead and refills the ink caps on his metallic tattoo tray. Ms. Judy taps and squeezes my arm before she returns to the receptionist desk, lightly drawing her fingertips down the photograph with a more subdued smile.
Chapter 23
Teagan
“Wow, are you a princess?” Sydney asks Layla when the right side of the enormous double-front doors opens. The black, two-story, new-build structure might as well be a castle, easily three times the size of Elliott’s cabin, if not more. And with Layla wearing an ankle-length satin ivory gown with ruffles, I can see how Sydney could think she is.
“No, but you are,” Layla says with a laugh and grabs Sydney’s hand, spinning her in a circle so that her new, royal blue dress—courtesy of the last of my tips and a trip to the thrift store in the next town over—flares out beneath her matching jacket.
Sydney giggles and does a few extra spins, and Kendall claps, wanting a turn, wearing one of Lily’s velvety, long-sleeved, emerald green dresses.
“And what a handsome prince you are,” Layla says to Dustin, who picked out a more casual outfit, dressed head to toe in black. He’s been less enthusiastic about tonight since Davis told him Elliott wouldn’t be here, and his expression shows as much when I have to poke him to remind him to saythank you.
“Sorry,” I mouth to Layla over Dustin’s head, and she graciously waves a hand to let me know she isn’t offended.
I give one last sweeping glance at the dark, sprawling estate—because that’s what this is—searching for any out-of-place shadows, before I pass through the foyer into a massive, open concept living room, dining room, and kitchen of mixed woods and metals. We’re immediately confronted by a crowd that all turn at once to stare at us like an exhibit at the zoo. Goldie and Davis, whom we followed behind on the way here, move around us to greet their friends while the kids and I go stock still, stiff to be the center of attention.
“Baby red!” a little boy with thick brown hair shouts, muscling his way between several adults like a miniature linebacker.
“Oh, no, you don’t, William.” Davis catches the boy with a woosh of air before the boy can tackle Lily to the hardwood floor, which earns him a smile from Dustin.
Layla cups my elbow. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” She waves to the biggest dining table I’ve ever seen on the left, layered with a hodgepodge of potluck dishes and plastic plates, and says to the kids, “Help yourselves.”
It’s like being thrust on center stage when Layla’s friends surround me. Even in my platform combat boots, I’m the shortest of them all, save for the children, and I feel even more crowded, wanting to shrink back into the darkest corner of the house. As if they all coordinated their outfits, the women are wearing light or bright colored dresses while the men circle us, and the air turns thin in my lungs.
Layla says, “Everyone, meet Birdie—”
“Teagan,” I blurt, correcting her.Birdieis only for Elliott. Only ever Elliott.
