Page 16 of Leather and Longing
He fuckinghatedthis.
Then the rest of Paul’s words finally sank in. “Cut my hair?”
What the fuck is wrong with my hair?
“I’m trying to help here.” There was that note of impatience again. “If Mrs. Lambton sees you neat, tidy, obviously taking care of your appearance, she might get the impression I’m actually doing my job—that you’re coping better. Andthenshe might decide to leave me to it.”
Nowhe had Adam’s attention. Fewer visits. Fewer conversations about him going to live in a community with a warden.
The possibility of beingleft the fuck alone.
Still, he was no fool. “This isn’t about helping me, is it? It’s about making sure you keep your job.”
“For God’s sake!” A sound of sheer exasperation exploded from Paul. “Sure, I want to keep my job, butyouwant to keep your sister out of your hair.” A pause. “Pun intended.” Paul sighed heavily. “If we work together, we can both get what we want. It’s a means to an end.”
“Can you even cut hair?” Not that Adam was going to see the results, but he had no desire to be a laughingstock if, God forbid, someone came to visit.
Not that anyone had yet.
Adam’s emotions were a mess, relief and misery at war within him. He was thankful he’d been left alone since moving back to the island, and yet there was this ache deep inside him, that only one person from his former life had seen fit to get in touch.
I can’t have it both ways,he reasoned with himself.
“Oh, God, no.” He could hear the amusement in Paul’s voice. “I have a friend who has a hairdressing salon in Ryde. I was going to take you there.”
Take him….
“No.” He forced the word out through gritted teeth. That much wasnotgoing to change. There was no way in hell he was about to cross his own threshold. The world could go fuck itself. If he couldn’t get someplace under his own steam, then he’d stay the fuck where he was.
“I’m trying to help you here!” Paul yelled. “What do you want?”
“I want my fucking life back!”he shouted, his voice rebounding off the walls. He caught the hitch in Paul’s breathing and for some reason that put the brakes on his rage. Adam was shaking, his fingernails cutting into his palms, his hands were clenched so tightly.
“Okay, okay.” Paul’s voice was quiet, soothing. “And that’s what I’m trying to do. Get you to a point where you don’t need anyone. But in order toreachthat point, you’ve got a few hurdles to climb over, yeah?” He fell silent, until all Adam could hear was the rhythmic sound of his breathing and the waves crashing onto the shore below.
Adam took a few long breaths, striving to regain his composure. He knew, deep down, that Paul was right.
“So, do I call my friend and see if he can fit us in this afternoon?” A pause. “I can park the car right outside the front of the salon, so you won’t have far to walk.” Another pause. “Adam?”
It was the first time Paul had used his name, and for some reason it calmed him.
“Okay,” he said at last. “Make your call.” Fatigue settled on him, as heavy as the satin-covered bedspread he remembered had always been on his grandparents’ bed when he’d spent summers here as a child. Adam would crawl under it, hiding from Caro while they played—when she wasforcedto play with him, by their parents. Simpler times, when he knew every hiding place the house afforded, and spent his days playing down on the beach, or sitting on the library veranda, reading and listening to the waves pound the rocks below.
Paul shifted away from him, and Adam finally unclenched his fists, his palms sore.
“Mark? Have you got an empty slot this afternoon?” Paul laughed. “No, it’s not for me. You only cut my hair last week, remember? It’s for Mr. Kent. Yes, that’s right.”
Adam tried not to listen in, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“That’s great. See you then. Oh, hang on. You still got those traffic cones? Could you put them outside the salon? I know Union Street shouldn’t be that busy at that time of the day, butit’ll make things easier if I don’t have to go hunting for a parking space.” Silence. “Thanks, mate. I’ll see you soon.”
“Traffic cones?” Adam remarked.
Paul chuckled. “Yeah, Mark liberated them last year, I forget where from. He keeps them for when some of his older customers want to park close to the salon, to save them walking too great a distance.”
Mark sounded like a considerate man.
“Okay, we have an appointment at four o’clock. In what order do you want to do this—shower and shave, or vice versa?”
