25. Hannah
Hannah
I 'm in a good mood today. I woke up to Noah wrapped around me like an octopus, and I got to wake him up by trailing kisses down his neck.
We made out like a couple of teenagers in his bed until I had to get up or risk being late for work.
So now, here I am, happily humming to myself despite getting broken sleep since I decided to drag Austin to an underground fighting ring in the middle of the night.
I still haven't told them about my scent sickness though.
I really don't see why I have to, as long as I'm managing it.
Really, getting your mates scents is just part of being an omega, right?
As I set my timer on my phone, I smile at my client in the mirror.
"That color is going to process for thirty minutes, and then I'll check on it.
Can I get you anything? A water or soda? "
"Oh, I'm okay, thanks. I'll just read my book." The woman in my chair grins back at me, pulling out her Kindle.
"Okay, I'll be back in a little bit." I'm halfway to the break room when my phone rings, and I pull it out of my pocket, and frown when I see Brody calling. He had me send over all the voicemails and texts to his email, which I did, so I'm not sure what else he could need.
"Hello?" I answer the phone, stepping into the break room and shutting the door behind me.
"Hannah. Is now a good time? We have an update." Brody's tone is all business.
"Um. Yeah, I have thirty minutes." Maybe this is a good call. Maybe he's going to say that they submitted all my proof into evidence and it's obvious that Nana wanted to leave me everything and we can drop the case. My heart pounds in my chest, listening to the rustling of papers.
He sighs.
Oh.
"It's not good, Hannah." My heart starts pounding in my ears.
"What?"
"It's those damn Herman & Sons bastards. They say they have damning evidence against you. From what I can gather they're either saying you forged the will, or you influenced her somehow to change it."
"I—What? That's bullshit!"
"I know. I know, it is, Hannah, but you have to breathe." It's then I realize I'm hyperventilating, trying my best to pull in long lungfuls of air.
"I...I don't…what are we going to do?" My voice is almost hysterical. Why are they doing this to me? Why can't they leave me alone?
"There's…something else." Shit. What else could there be? "They're trying to cite elder abuse. They said they won't proceed with charges if you give in now."
Fucking fuckity fuck fuck.
"What do we do, Brody?" I ask, my voice high pitched. "You know I didn't do any of that."
"I know, Hannah, I know." He soothes. "It's going to be okay. You just need to dig even deeper. Bank statements, family photos, eye-witness accounts. Anything and everything we can think of to show what lying pieces of trash your step-sisters are. No offense."
A bitter laugh leaves me. "None taken."
He goes over a few more things with me and we hang up, right as my alarm for the color processing goes off.
I shoot a quick text to the guys, updating them on my phone call, and then I go back to the client to check on her hair.
The rest of the appointment goes by in a blur, me washing her hair and blow-drying, finally styling her glossy new red locks.
One more happy client down. I look at my schedule for my next appointment, frowning when I only see the client's name down as "CW".
I get to work getting my station set up for my next appointment. My head starts to throb, likely a response to the stress from the phone call from Brody.
Hushed whispers suddenly erupt around me, and Lilah whisper-shouts. "Holy shit, Hannah! Your client is an ABL star!"
Fuck.
I look up to find Charlie standing awkwardly next to the front desk. "What are you doing here, Charlie?" I ask, running a hand through my hair. Ignoring the "are you crazy" looks from my co-workers, I keep my eye on the alpha who broke my heart twelve years ago.
"I'm just here for a haircut." He gives me a cautious smile.
"High fade. Little longer on top." I scowl at him.
He knows I love doing his hair. His 3C curls have gotten longer than I've seen them on the top, and my fingers itch to twine one and wrap it around my finger.
He catches me eyeing his hair and smirks. "It's just a haircut, mags."
"Fine." I snap, turning on my heel. "Let's get it washed."
He sits at the washing station, laying his head back in the basin. "Not too warm?" I ask gently, spraying the water on his hair.
"No," he shakes his head.
"Good." We're quiet as I wet the hair, then grab my sulfate-free shampoo and start massaging his scalp.
This process, which I do with so many people a day, feels ten times more intimate with Charlie.
It brings me back to when I first told him I wanted to be a hairstylist. He volunteered to let me cut his hair, and I learned everything I could about taking care of natural, curly hair.
A purr rumbles out of his chest, and his eyes snap open. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.
"It's fine, it's just the scent match." I brush him off as I rinse out the shampoo, and use a towel to scrunch up any excess water. Deep conditioner is next, and I saturate every strand before massaging his scalp again. It has to sit for a few minutes before we rinse again.
"I can't even scent you right now," he says so softly, I almost don't hear it. "It's never been about the scent."
I don't answer him, instead grabbing the water nozzle and rinsing out the deep conditioner. I have a special leave-in conditioner with coconut oil that I run through his hair while it's still in the basin, and then I guide him to my chair and put the cape on him.
He looks like he wants to say something, but then the clippers are going, and I give him the high fade he asked for.
The curls on top are drying nicely, dark and shiny.
I'm determined to get through this haircut in professional capacity.
There doesn't need to be any sort of conversation right now.
If he wants to talk to me, he can reach out and schedule something.
Yeah, except you blocked his number, ding-dong.
I finish the fade, and pick up my shears to trim the top. My head is pounding now, the headache having gotten twice as bad in the time it took to do the fade. Before I can get started, he blurts the question I really hoped he wouldn't ask. "Why did you leave, Hannah?"
Taking a breath, I start shaping the top with the dried curls. "I didn't know you were a scent match. I was shocked. So I left."
"That's not what I'm talking about."
Oh.
"Twelve years ago, Hannah." He tries to meet my eyes in the mirror but I avoid his piercing blue gaze. I also avoid the eyes of all my coworkers who are no doubt eavesdropping on this conversation. "We were happy. We were so in love, and you just left. Why? What happened?"
A bitter laugh leaves me, even as my head throbs behind my eyes. "Why do you care? You just can't stand that you got caught?"
His head jerks so fast he almost ruins his haircut and I glare at him. "What the hell are you talking about, Hannah?"
"Like you said, it's been twelve years, Charlie. We're both adults. You can admit what happened. Cat showed me the texts." I punctuate my sentence with one last clip and put the scissors down. "You're done."
And I can go take some medicine for this stress headache.
"I'm not done," he tears the cape off and stands, towering over me. Black spots dot my vision. "I never texted Cat, so whatever you think happened, didn't happen Hannah!"
All I can see is his frantic gaze, icy eyes pinned on me. My vision starts to swim, as his words start to sound further and further away.
"Hannah?" Everything sounds like it's underwater. Hands on my arms. "Hannah, what—"
Everything goes black.