Chapter 30
THIRTY
“Would you quit squirming?”
I groan, gripping Arlo’s hair tightly. He whines, though he tries to act nonchalant. It’s about time we tackled his outgrown roots, and since it was peaceful yesterday, why not do it today while we’re having some semblance of peace?
With a deep sigh, I finish adding the last bits of bleach to the bottom part of his scalp, and the outgrown roots have processed already. I put the dirty brush into the bowl, then into the sink, and run my fingers throughout his hair, massaging the bleach in.
Arlo’s eyes close, and he hums in appreciation. As I drag my fingers down gently, I can’t help but notice how long his hair is. When we met, it was neatly trimmed, with the top part of his hair longer. Now, all of it is long. If he were to straighten it, it would reach his shoulders.
“Your hair really grew a lot.”
“If it bothers you, grab scissors and chop it all off.”
I chuckle. “No, definitely not. I love it. I think this length suits you.”
He tilts his head backward, looking up at me. He grins, the diamond tooth gem shining under the bathroom lighting. My heart skips a beat at the expression, and I bend down to peck his lips briefly.
Arlo all but pouts when I pull back. Amusement fills me, and I take off the gloves, toss them into the trash can, and turn toward him, straddling his hips.
He’s sitting on a small stool in the middle of the bathroom, and I don’t even want to know how the small chair is supporting both of our weights.
His hands immediately land on my hips, and he’s looking at me like he used to. Before all of this mess officially started. I press a soft kiss to his cheek, hands curling around the cotton shirt.
The little peace of mind we’ve had since yesterday won’t last forever. There are too many things we need to discuss, and I fear bringing it up first.
“What’s on your mind, butterfly?”
“A lot of things,” I sigh, half-exasperated.
“Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”
A blush creeps up to my cheeks, and I clear my throat, trying to act unaffected by his words. Arlo smirks in response but doesn’t tease me. Well, not verbally, at least. His eyes tell me everything I need to know.
“Well… How are you doing? It’s tomorrow.”
Arlo’s face turns somber at the reminder. Tomorrow, we’re burying Luna. She deserves a proper burial, and since Luna’s body would’ve decayed, Aria had her cremated. The funeral is more of a symbolic nature, for all of them to get a proper goodbye.
Sadness fills Arlo’s eyes, and he smiles, though it’s forced. My heart aches at the sight, and I know there are no words in this world that would lessen the pain he’s feeling. The guilt ripples through me, and yet again, I feel like I’m just fucking his life up more.
Everything started because of me. Luna’s dead because of me. Noelle’s not waking up, and her state isn’t improving. Hudson’s in prison, and I hear that he’s slowly losing his patience. Not that the man ever had any; he’s the least patient person I’ve ever met.
“I’m alright.’’ Arlo lies, and I can tell the facade is crumbling. “The worst part will be telling Mom. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it.”
My hand reaches for his, and I intertwine our fingers together, giving him a firm squeeze. “You’re not alone, Arlo. I’ll be right there, every step of the way.”
“I know.” He kisses my forehead, and something in me melts. “Thank you, butterfly.”
“Don’t thank me,’’ I mumble, watching as Arlo makes some distance between us. His eyes dart all over my face, soaking me in. If anyone else were to look at me like that, I’d either be extremely uncomfortable or get self-conscious. But when it’s Arlo, all I feel is being seen.
He sees me for who I am, for what I need, not for my past. It’s thanks to him that I learned not to let the past define me. Fucking hell, I’m whipped for this man, and I’ll never get tired of the look of pure softness he’s giving me.
“I should wash this off,” Arlo comments. “It’s getting itchy.”
“Alright,” I smile, kissing the tip of his nose, then getting off his lap. The window’s slightly opened, letting the cold, winter air in. “I’ll fix up your toner.”
Arlo bends over the tub, eyes closed as he washes out the bleach from his hair. I don’t think my hair would’ve survived being bleached as many times as his. The ends of his hair are in pristine condition. There’s not even a slight breakage. I’m jealous.
I follow the instructions on the box carefully, humming a soft tune as I stir everything in a clean bowl.
Silence surrounds us, but it’s the comfortable kind.
Silence used to wreck me, haunt me, and kill me on the inside.
Now, I wouldn’t mind spending the rest of eternity with Arlo in silence.
Because there’s no need for us to speak, the actions are speaking for themselves.
Arlo finishes washing his hair, rubbing the excess water off with a towel.
He slings it over his shoulder, then wraps his arms around my waist from behind.
He pulls me into him, his face buried in the crook of my neck.
My body heats again, and I remind myself that there’s no time for any of the dirty thoughts that are sneaking their way into my head.
We barely slept last night. I don’t even want to think about the amount of times we did it, and I’m still pretty sore.
“Arlo.”
“Mmm,” he hums against my skin, kissing softly.
“Sit.”
He sighs, pressing one last kiss to the crook of my neck, then letting me go and sitting back down on the stool. I take my position behind him, adding all the mixed toner to the roots, mids, and ends of his hair until it’s completely coated.
“Can I ask you for a favor?”
I lift a brow. “Always.”
“Tomorrow, during the funeral, please keep your eyes on Niko.”
“I will.”
He doesn’t need to elaborate. I’ve seen what the loss of Luna has done to Niko, albeit from a distance. He’s a wreck, and on some level, he’s blaming himself for not finding her sooner, just like Arlo. It’s gut-wrenching, and all I can do is pray that some day he will find peace.
Because getting over something like this isn’t in the cards; it never was.
“And also, we need to talk about what’s been happening recently.”
I freeze for a moment. Panic floods me, though I keep a straight face. My hand trembles, and I lower it out of his sight, trying my best not to reveal anything.
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you send Paul to prison using Noelle’s name, Blair?”
A part of me is relieved that he’s not referring to my heroin hobby, but the other part of me is a little scared. He doesn’t use my name often, and now that he is, the tone of his voice is serious.
“Let’s just… sit in the living room and talk.”
Arlo nods and heads out of the bathroom.
He holds the door open for me, and I step into the room.
It’s warm. Arlo figured out I needed a lot of warmth during the winter, so he turned up the heating to the maximum.
And I’m still wearing a pair of leggings and a sweater.
Meanwhile, he’s in a pair of shorts and a shirt.
I sit on the couch, putting the decorative pillow on my lap, fiddling with it.
He sits across from me, arms folded in front of his chest. He’s serious, but that soft gaze he always looks at me with is still there.
The kindness, the love, all of it is out in the open for me to see, to make me more comfortable.
“It’s very stupid.”
“I figured,” he chuckles. “Go on.”
“You were gone, Noelle and Hudson were gone, and Aria was trying to be four different people at once. And I just… needed him out of the way.”
“He was already locked up, Blair.”
“Yes,” I nod. “But if we kept him there, he would’ve been set free when we got attacked. It turned out to be better to have him in prison. Besides, he’s Hudson’s cellmate. He’s definitely not having the time of his life.”
“He’s one wealthy man,” Arlo points out. “He’s got connections in a lot of high places. He can easily get out. What’s the plan if that happens? We barely got him the first time.”
“He won’t,” I respond immediately, confident in my words. “I mean, yes, his legal team is working their ass off to get him out, but whenever they try something, a little birdie sends more evidence to the press.”
Something dark gleams in his eyes, his brows narrowing. I can’t tell if it’s pride or respect, but I don’t have the time to question it, either. I’m focused on clearing out anything he might need cleared out, because I’m not risking our relationship taking a hit because of miscommunication.
“Your plan is to turn the public against him until it’s safer for him to stay in prison.”
“Bingo.”
“Alright, what next, then?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, unless your grand vengeance is to keep him in prison, then you’ll need a plan on how to pull him out.”
I smile. “That’s where Amy Marshall comes into play.”
Arlo blinks. “Come again?”
My fingers tap against the pillow absentmindedly, my eyes focusing on Arlo. “Well, if I could live as Amy Marshall for two years with no one noticing, why wouldn’t Amy Marshall live as Blair Hawke and spend the rest of her life behind bars?”
Realization hits Arlo, his eyes widening. He’s silent for what seems to be an eternity, blinking rapidly. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, then he laughs.
“You don’t mean—”
“I do,” I cut him off.
“You’re one wicked woman. And God, if I don’t love you for it.”
A beaming smile tugs on the corners of my lips. “You’re not upset with me, are you?”
Arlo shakes his head. “No, I’m not. I didn’t know where you were going with all of this, but now that I know, I’m proud of you. Speaking of which… I’ve heard about Alexander.”
Instantly, the smile drops from my face, and I straighten in my seat. “Oh.”
“Don’t do that,” Arlo says. “Don’t withdraw into yourself, don’t seek my approval. The motherfucker is the reason you’re in the position you’re in, and killing him was always your decision to make. I’m fucking proud of you for doing it. You’ve done well.”