Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Of all the people to run into this morning, the last person Freya had expected was Xander.
And damn . . . the guy was just as handsome as he’d been last night.
After she’d made it home, he’d stayed in her thoughts.
He’d been the bright spot in a ridiculously chaotic and surreal day.
But the more she’d thought about him, the more she’d concluded that there was no way he was as larger than life as she’d recalled.
After the day she’d had, she’d been overtired.
She was certain that the stress of the entire day had her painting him in some sort of heroic, better-than-reality kind of light.
As she’d gotten ready this morning, she’d been certain that she’d remembered the tall, scruffy, long-haired man wrong, that she’d romanticized the entire evening.
Sneaking another glance at him, her belly fluttered.
Nope.
The man was still smoking hot. If anything, he was even better looking this morning than he’d been last night. How is that even possible?
Her stomach flipping surprised her. It had been a long time since anyone had caught her attention, let alone had her feeling much of anything beyond irritation like last night’s encounter with the drunk guy.
Clearing her throat, she glanced around the salon and her mind scrambled for something to say.
Nothing. Her mind was mush.
“I thought you had the week off?” he asked, his voice a soothing deep rumble.
She turned to him in wonder. It shouldn’t surprise her that he’d remembered her mentioning that—especially considering his line of work—but it did.
In her experience, men didn’t pay attention to what she had to say, let alone remember anything.
Though that probably said more about the quality of guys she’d dated. Or lack thereof.
She scrunched her forehead. Not that Xander was interested in dating her or anything. In fact, if the way he was currently looking at her was any indication, the man probably thought she was a little slow—
She mentally smacked herself upside the head. The man asked you a question. Answer him!
Shifting on her feet, she pasted a smile on her face.
“Oh, I do have the week off.” She nodded to the empty area where the four salon stations had been.
“But I’m meeting Janie for lunch later. Her husband was the one who .
. .” She waved her hand at the room. “I figured I’d come in early and see if Miriam needed help.
I’m going through everything to see what’s salvageable.
The faster we can get back up and running, the better. ”
And she needed to stay busy. The last thing she wanted was to sit at home by herself, replaying every second of what had happened.
He glanced around the salon. “It looks completely different. Whoever cleaned up got a lot done.”
She nodded, following his gaze. The salon did indeed look completely different from yesterday.
Not only had all the glass, broken mirrors, and debris been swept away, but the destroyed furniture had been hauled out.
The seating in the waiting room that hadn’t been damaged remained neatly arranged, every inch vacuumed and wiped down.
Aside from the hair-washing stations, the rest of the salon area remained empty.
Meticulously clean, but empty. It was like they were simply waiting for the stations to be installed.
The only indication something had happened here was the patched bullet holes in the walls, the bright-white spackle standing out against the cream-colored walls.
“Miriam said once they got the okay from the sheriff’s department to clean up, Mr. Ortiz had a cleaning crew come in, and they worked through the night. ”
“That’s right,” Miriam said, her heels clicking on the hardwood floors as she made her way to them with a tablet tucked under one arm and a stack of mail in her hands.
“The cleaning crew left maybe an hour ago. Miracle workers, I tell you. And before I forget”—she held out the stack of mail to Freya—“these are for you. Have they not figured it out yet?”
Groaning, Freya rolled her eyes and took the mail.
“Apparently not.” Seeing Xander’s brow knit in confusion, she explained, “I just moved here last month from Whidbey Island, but the place I’m renting downtown is new.
” She frowned. “Well, not new new, but it’s a newly converted apartment, so the post office isn’t recognizing it as a ‘verifiable address.’ I had my mail forwarded here before I got a PO box.
I thought that would make things easier, but apparently, it just confused everyone even more.
” She held up the stack of mail and shrugged.
The corners of Xander’s lips twitched, and her stomach did that flipping thing again. She glanced at her boss. “Sorry for the hassle. I’ll swing by the post office again later this afternoon.”
“You’re fine, Freya.”
Glancing down at her mail, her eyes narrowed on the large white envelope on the bottom of the stack. Quickly shuffling the mail, she caught sight of its mailing label.
Her heart stopped.
The familiar block letters bearing her old mailing address sent a chill crawling slowly down her spine like a cluster of tiny spiders racing down her back. No. Not again.
“Freya, are you okay?”
She startled at Xander’s deep voice. Hugging the mail to her chest, she glanced up. Xander and Miriam looked at her, concern evident on both their faces. She forced a bright smile. “Sorry, yes. I’m totally fine.”
Her breaths were coming too fast. She could hear how her voice had pitched an octave higher, but she couldn’t do anything about it.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” she said, her words coming out in a jumbled rush.
“If you need me, I’ll be in the back going over the stuff the repair crew pulled.
” Before they could respond, she spun on her heel and hurried to the employee breakroom.
She crossed the breakroom, dropped the mail onto the coffee table, and sat on the couch and bent at the waist. Breathe.
Her stomach was rolling. With her eyes slammed shut, she focused on each deep inhale and each slow exhale, willing the nausea to subside.
This was nothing new, dammit. After all these years, she should be used to this.
But when she hadn’t received the familiar envelope on this year’s anniversary, she’d thought . . . Hoped . . .
With a gasp, she opened her eyes. No, she’d never get used to this.
She slowly sat up, and her throat grew thick. Her gaze found the white envelope. Its edges were bent and creased. A familiar rock settled in her belly—sour, painful, and guilt-ridden.
With a trembling hand, she reached for the crinkled envelope. Her shoulders sank, as if a heavy weight were pushing down on her, which wasn’t too far from the truth. She tore open the top flap and peeked inside. Her stomach twisted painfully.
No, she sure as hell would never get used to this. And she shouldn’t. Because it’s what she deserved.
Taking in a deep breath, she poured the contents onto the table and braced herself. But it was no use. Sorrow and guilt bombarded her. Her chest squeezed tightly as she stared at the four pictures on the coffee table.
All were from high school. She’d seen some variation of the photos before, but it didn’t stop the grief and shame from seeping into her every pore. Nothing would.
The first two were of her and Sarah. Happy. Smiling. Laughing. She swiped away a stray tear before moving the photos aside.
The last two photos raised the fine hairs on her arms. As always, they were of her standing by herself at Sarah’s gravesite.
On one of the photos, her face was circled over and over again in ballpoint pen.
Grooves dug deeply into the photo. A giant X crossed out her face.
In the other, her eyes were blacked out and there was a message scrawled along the bottom.
The message was the same. Always the same. But like the photos, it was no less devastating. It should have been you.
She shot up from the couch and raced across the room, barely making it to the garbage can before her stomach emptied.