Chapter 33
Chapter thirty-three
Zac
“No tacos today?” Todd teased playfully as he opened the front door at the Millers’ house and found Zac standing there empty handed. Zac shuffled inside, feeling utterly drained.
“Not for me,” he grumbled, smirking mirthlessly as he thought about the false start with Tabitha earlier that afternoon.
“It’s just as well. There’s still half the containers left in the fridge.” He wove through the living room and into the kitchen as Zac followed. “Hungry?”
“Nah. Thanks. I’d rather get to work.” Zac could barely tolerate his own voice.
What a sad sack. He shouldn’t be moping over what had happened—or rather, almost happened—with his ex earlier.
Instead, he should be dancing the jig of a man who’d barely avoided disaster.
He had important things on his plate, namely, earning back the trust and respect of his best friend.
Shit, could he even earn back something he’d never had to begin with?
Zac had been too busy in his adult life chasing women and following flights of fancy that he’d developed the reputation of the unreliable one in the group.
But he’d been tipping the scales bit by bit. Honing his focus.
And of course, that was the moment Tabitha had to waltz into his life and derail the whole thing.
He shook his head. It wasn’t her fault. It’s not like she’d sought him out. She was assigned this article and happened to coincide with Zac taking the biggest professional swing of his life. And he almost blew it back at his van . . . between her legs.
Fuck.
Zac glanced to where Todd stood in the kitchen, frozen in place, holding two beers and wearing an expression of concern. Zac shrugged. “What?”
“Oh, nothing.” Todd approached and set the cold can of Rainier on the counter. “I was only wishing I had mind reading powers so I could hear the argument going on in your head.”
“Is that all?” Zac swiped up the beer, mumbled his thanks, and took a swig.
“But since I’m not a mind reader, perhaps you could allow me access to your inner turmoil. Let me take a look and see if I can help.” Todd sat on one dining room chair and patted the one next to him.
“I’d rather work.” Zac quickly downed his can. “Gain a little sweat equity while I wallow in the misery that I brought on myself. That cool with you?”
“Sure,” Todd replied gently. “The nursery needs one more coat of paint.” He brushed past Zac without another word and strode down the hall.
“Can you give me a haircut?”
Todd halted his angled brush and peered down at Zac from his spot on the ladder. They’d spent the better part of an hour in the twins’ future nursery applying the final coat in complete silence aside from a few sighs from Todd as he cut the paint into the corners.
“Now he wants a makeover,” Lucy’s best friend scoffed incredulously.
“Well? Can you?” Zac felt his cheeks heat under his beard.
“Aren’t there barbers here in Leavenworth?”
“Sure, but . . . never mind.” Zac shook his head. “Forget I asked.”
He rose from where he crouched behind the door and filled his tray with the spa-like gray paint.
A few wavy bits of hair had escaped the confines of his top knot and stuck to his sweaty brow.
From up this close, he could see a few speckles that had embedded between the strands.
It had been a while since he’d had a haircut or even a beard trim and he suddenly felt disheveled.
“Why are you asking me?” Todd drolled. “I’m not saying I will, merely curious.”
How much should he share with this guy? They weren’t exactly friends, though the last week of working side by side had been pleasant. Todd was likeable enough, but he was Lucy’s friend first. Then Jonathan’s and Frankie’s. And somehow, even Professor Benji’s.
Zac realized in that instant that he didn’t have anyone to confide in.
No one. Jon was normally his sounding board, but he couldn’t unload his concerns and frustration on him.
Not when they revolved around Off the Beaten.
And not while the guy had twins coming so soon.
The father-to-be was elbow-deep in stressors, and Zac couldn’t bear the thought of piling on one more thing.
“I’m trying to be better,” Zac responded.
“In what way?”
“Generally.”
Todd balanced his brush on the top of the ladder and climbed down. “And a haircut will help with your goal?”
“Yes? Not really, but maybe?”
“Zac, my friend. You’re being as cryptic as my friend, Tonya, when she refused to fess up to getting liposuction.
But there’s no way that ass got that small in so short a time.
Especially with her hotdog habit, and no, I don’t mean the X-rated kind—sorry.
Off topic.” Todd took a swig from his water bottle and eyed Zac.
“Care to fill me in on what’s going through that brain of yours? ”
“That wouldn’t be wise.”
“Why not?” Todd’s eyes went wide. “Is it about someone we know?”
Zac said nothing, only stirred the can of paint more vigorously.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Todd drummed his fingers on his chin, deep in thought. “Is it about Frankie? Do you know something about her and Benjamin? Perhaps something in the proposal department?”
Zac scrunched up his face. “Like that guy would tell me anything. We aren’t exactly friendly. Not since the wedding when I . . .”
See? This was why Zac needed this new and improved version of himself to stick. He’d made a massive ass of himself at the wedding, and everyone was standing around waiting for him to revert to the same old dog.
I almost did, with Tabitha.
He startled when a hand settled on his shoulder. Todd's face morphed into concern or sympathy, or worse, pity. Zac didn’t want any of it.
He didn’t deserve it.
“Hey. You fucked up—”
“Thanks for that,” Zac grumbled, shrugging Todd’s fingers off, and went back to painting.
“No one lets me finish around here. What I was saying, was that you fucked up but it’s clear—to me, to Jonathan, to everyone—that you’ve been making some real changes. Working hard. Taming those urges to sow your wild oats in anything with a vagina.”
“Hey.” But he wasn’t far off.
“I don’t even live in this part of the state but I hear about you from our chatty Cathys.” Todd picked idly at speckles of paint on his fingernails. “Lucy and Frankie tell me everything.”
“Which is exactly why I can’t tell you about what’s going on. Anything I say will circle back around to them and they’ll tell Jonathan.”
“Woah. I said they blab everything to me, not that I reciprocate. I know when to keep my mouth shut.”
Zac took that in and let it simmer. Sharing the chaos of the last few days—running into an ex (the ex), having to host her on numerous excursions, nearly burying his face between her legs earlier today—would be a load off.
Keeping all that in proved overwhelming. “You’ll keep what I say to yourself?”
“You have my word.”
“How do I know that’s worth anything?”
Todd’s eyes widened as his mouth fell open in a shocked gasp.
“You’re lucky I don’t smack you for that.
What do you want me to fucking pinkie promise or something?
” He held up three fingers to mimic a scout salute.
“On my honor, I will not tell another living soul what you share with me tonight. Satisfied?”
“On one condition.”
“That is?”
“Cut my hair?” He didn’t know why, but getting a cut and beard trim seemed like the right call. It wasn’t the end all be all, but if he cleaned up, he might feel more grown up, and perhaps some professional decorum could follow.
Todd pulled out his phone, tapped a few key strokes, and held the device up to his ear.
“What are you—” Zac halted as Todd held up his hand.
“Yes, hi, Sebastian, was it? How late are you open? Uh-huh. And do you have a chair available in, say, twenty minutes? Perfect. Zac. Thanks.” Todd tucked the phone in his pocket. “Let’s go.”
“To . . .?”
“A barber. I don’t cut hair.”
“I just assumed since you’re always so put together that you knew how.”
Todd scoffed. “Definitely not. Makeup, wigs, dresses? That’s all me, but I wouldn’t dare clip a single hair on my head. Leave it up to the professionals. Oh, and Zac?”
“Yep?”
“I’m only taking you in for a cleanup. If you chop all of that Viking length off, I’m going to blab your secret to the world.”