Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
“ I ’ll be outside waiting for you, Josh!” I yelled that following morning when I noticed we had exactly five minutes before we needed to leave for school so the boys could make it in time.
“Okay!” he hollered back from the kitchen where he was finishing his cereal.
Louie stood right next to me with his backpack on and a toasted piece of bread with honey on it in his hand.
I could already imagine the crusts stuffed into his seat or thrown on the floor of my car.
“I’m ready,” he said, those blue eyes completely innocent, as if he wasn’t capable of doing anything remotely bad in his life.
I gave him a tired smile, and tilted my head toward the door. I was exhausted. After putting the boys to bed, I’d stayed awake, replaying every single conversation I’d had with Dallas since we’d met. And there had been a lot of them.
How many times had he told me that he was going to stay faithful to his wife until they got divorced? Every single time she was brought up?
How many times did he mention something about his imaginary future girlfriend having to wait for him?
He knew me. I know he knew me. And mostly, he wasn’t some asshole who might say a bunch of things and not mean a single one of them.
And then, I thought about Vanessa’s words and how she’d told me not to be a chicken. How she’d reminded me of who I was now . It had taken me a lot of years, but I knew who I was and I knew what I was willing to do for the people I loved and the things I wanted.
And that was everything. I would do everything and anything.
So where the hell did that leave me?
Busy thinking about all things Dallas-related, I turned around with my bag to head down the pathway when I spotted a motorcycle across the street in Dallas’s driveway.
It was Jackson’s.
It had been weeks since our confrontation at the barbecue.
Weeks since I’d seen his bike on the street.
Just the day before, while I’d been making dinner after practice, I asked Dallas if he’d seen or heard from his brother, and he’d said no.
But it was his face when he answered that had really dug deep into my gut.
It was only with family that you could be so fucking angry, and yet still worry and love them. I understood. His brother was a piece of shit, but he was still his brother.
I sighed and glanced at Louie who was already heading toward the back passenger door of my car. “Goo, I’ll be right back. I think I see Dallas’s brother, and I want to ask him something. I’ll be back in a second.”
“Okay.”
Did I want to go across the street and talk with this motherfucker again? No, I didn’t. But this adulting thing was a lot harder and more complicated than anyone had ever warned me, and I had never known how to mind my own business. This whole loving-the-wrong-person thing also wasn’t easy either.
I jogged across the street, ready to say my two cents and hopefully not get smacked in the face in the process because I’d seen the urge in Jackson’s eyes at the barbecue.
Sure enough, standing beside the beefy motorcycle was the blond with the thick beard who was obviously not going to the tournament this weekend if the bags he had on the back of his bike said anything.
As I came up to him, he looked up and blinked in a way I’d seen his brother do countless times by that point.
I came to a stop, leaving close to ten feet between us, and raised my hands in a peaceful gesture, watching that face that really did look older than Dallas’s. “Look, I just came to tell you that you shouldn’t punish Dallas for what I said and did to you, all right?”
He snickered and shook his head, moving around to tighten down a strap on the other side. “You’re not here to apologize?” he scoffed, so full of sarcasm I wanted to smack him in the face or throw some more Hawaiian Punch at him.
“Why would I? You deserved it.” I watched him to make sure he didn’t start to get all bent out of shape, but he didn’t even glance in my direction again.
“I just don’t want my big mouth to make things worse than they already are between you two.
That’s all.” I paused and watched him for a second before this tiny amount of dread filled my stomach.
“Look, I’ll shut up after this and never say anything to you again, but if you disappear on him like this…
he already feels guilty enough about what happened when you were kids—”
“I’m not disappearing ,” he grumbled. “I can’t stay here when Nana Pearl is here. She already gave me enough shit in the five minutes I was—” Jackass Jackson let out a frustrated breath. “Forget it. I’m packing up my shit like he asked me to weeks ago.”
Weeks ago? As in at the barbecue?
He’d kicked his brother out?
I didn’t even think Louie or Josh had been this much of a pain in the ass at any point in their lives. This was cranky kid behavior, and my gut said it was pointless. I’d sensed the stubborn-ass in him the first time we’d met, and I could still sense the stubborn-ass in him right then.
Rolling my eyes, I took a step back and sighed. I almost told him good luck, but then again, this was the person who had called me a bitch and made rude comments about my brother after what I’d done for him. Ungrateful asshole.
Luckily, I hadn’t been expecting an apology because I sure as hell didn’t get one as I ran back across the street just as Josh came hustling out of the house, running down the steps of the deck before I pointed back at the door so he could lock it.
By the time we pulled out of the driveway, we were running more than five minutes late.
And Jackson hadn’t left yet.
I wondered what would happen to him and Dallas, and part of me hoped they somehow managed to work it out. But who knew. Sometimes self-destructive people didn’t know how to ever turn that button off. My abuela had always said you can’t help people who don’t want to help themselves.
* * *
I made it all the way through my first two appointments before I realized that Dallas’s appointment was that evening.
It was no big deal.
It was no big deal that the more I thought about our situation—with him kissing me and writing notes that he hadn’t given me and telling me “as you wish”—the more I wanted it—him. I wanted something with Dallas if he did, and I was pretty sure that was the case.
So I knew what I was going to do, and I wasn’t going to back down.
When my appointment right before his ran late because the client showed up twenty minutes after she was supposed to—and she was one of my regulars who showed up religiously for her roots to get redone—I might have been rushing to finish. Just a little.
I’d caught his eyes in the reflection as I drew the straightener through my client’s hair and took in an eyeful of his slow smile as he paced around the waiting room with his attention on his phone.
“What’s American History X doing here?” my client sneered. We joked around with each other, that was nothing new, but in this case, I froze.
“What’d you say?” I asked playfully, thinking I’d heard wrong.
“The skinhead. Since when do y’all do fades?” She kind of laughed at the end of her question.
I cleared my throat and clamped her hair between the ceramic. “We’ll do anyone’s hair,” I answered her slowly, reaching for another piece of hair even as I felt my neck get hot.
She made a dismissive noise in her throat, but as the minutes rolled by, I got angrier and angrier. Who was she to judge Dallas? And to assume he was a skinhead? American History X? Really?
I stared at her head as she walked in front of me toward the front desk, and I was gritting my teeth as I swiped her card.
My head started hurting in the five minutes it took to do all of that, and when she asked, “When can you schedule me in for four weeks from now?” in a cheery voice, I just about lost it.
Dallas had gotten off his phone and was sitting on one of the chairs, looking at me.
I let out a shaky breath as I took in those beautiful hazel eyes that had done so much for me.
Then I glanced back at my client. “Trish, I don’t think I can schedule you in for a month from now.
Sean’s gotten pretty good with doing color.
He can definitely do what you need. I’ll put you with him if you want to keep coming back here, but it’s completely up to you. ”
The expression on her face melted off in a split second. “I don’t understand. What do you mean you can’t schedule me in?”
“I can’t schedule you in. Thanks for coming to me for so long now, but I don’t feel comfortable with it anymore.”
Her face paled. “Did I do something wrong?”
“The ‘skinhead,’”—I used my fingers as quotation marks—“is my really good friend.” I dropped my hands. “Actually, I think he’s going to marry me one day.”
I said it. I owned it.
And she, my client, went pink from the roots of her hair down her chest.
“You can call in to schedule an appointment if you want to come back, I don’t mind. I’d ask for Sean though.”
She cleared her throat, nodded, and ducked her head.
Then she spun on her heel and, with her attention still on the ground, rushed out of the salon.
I could sense my own face getting hot and uncomfortable, but I knew it was either that or living with that layer of guilt that would saturate my thoughts and bones for days if I didn’t do something.
It wasn’t until after you had a major regret that you understood the importance of not putting things off or being scared to do something about your problems. I could live with my client thinking I was a dick for saying something.
I could live with never coloring or cutting her hair again.
What I couldn’t live with was not standing up for someone who was so much more than his looks and his skin color and his fucking haircut. Someone who was worth so much more than two hundred dollars a month.