Long Hair Don't Care

by Maggie Dallen

  His smile was crooked and ought to be illegal. “Of course. Shoot.”

  “Why do you want to take the SATs now?” I asked.

  He answered. Just like that. It seemed so easy for him as he launched into his story about how he’d never wanted to go to college, how he didn’t enjoy book learning, but how he loved it here, especially working in the kitchen.

  With him talking, I could relax and eat. And listen. I was engrossed in his story because I had the distinct impression that he didn’t talk like this much. Oh, he wasn’t a shy guy. But I just knew, without knowing how I knew, that he didn’t often talk about himself. Or his family.

  But there he was, opening up to me about how his dad walked out. About how his mom had no hope for him. About how much this chance his uncle was offering meant to him.

  When he was done, I felt...unworthy. And like the biggest scaredy-cat on the planet. “I don’t know how you do that,” I said after we’d eaten in silence for a while.

  “Do what?”

  I waved my fork as I looked for the word. “Open up. Share stuff.”

  “I don’t do it often,” he said, his smile small and sweet.

  “I know.” It came out as a whisper, which was weird. But the moment felt so intimate I almost didn’t want to break it with words.

  He leaned forward, his elbows on the table in a way that would have made my mother sigh in irritation. “You can talk to me too, you know.”

  I nodded. But just like that, my throat closed up. How? He made it seem so easy, but it wasn’t.

  “Talk to me,” he said softly. And there was this subtle plea that made my heart twist in my chest. He lightened the moment with a teasing smile. “You have to talk to someone sometime.”

  I bristled a bit, straightening in my seat. “I have a therapist.”

  His smile was sweet and only slightly amused at my expense. “I wasn’t offering to be your therapist. Just…” He shrugged. “Your friend.”

  “My friend.” I repeated the words like I’d never heard them before. I liked it and I didn’t like it all at once. It sounded nice, but not as nice as him telling me he wanted to kiss me the other night.

  The memory had me dipping my head as heat crept up my cheeks.

  “Okay, see right now? You’re killing me.” There was amusement in his tone, but I knew he meant it. The guy had held me while I sobbed and dealt with my irrational anger, and I couldn’t bring myself to open up to him the way he’d done with me.

  I was driving him nuts, and I couldn’t blame him for being frustrated. I was frustrated by myself.

  “I need the conversational equivalent of drums,” I said.

  He stared at me for a second before bursting out into a laugh that made my heart sing. I wasn't a very funny person—I’d actually been serious just now—but making Roman laugh like that?

  I could get used to that.

  I set down my fork, and the moment I did, he reached for my hands. “Tell me something. Tell me anything.”

  I stared at him, my mind going blank. But then his thumb began to stroke the back of my hand, and every cell in my body was aware of it. My attention fixed on it, and my mind went still.

  “I had leukemia as a kid.” The words came tumbling out.

  We both sat there in silence for a second. His thumb paused its movement over the back of my hand, and I didn’t start talking again until he continued.

  If I focused on his hand touching mine, that mental block seemed to dissipate. Next thing I knew I was telling him the whole story of that lost year, as my parents and I called it. The year of treatments and hospital stays and bargains made with God.

  But it wasn’t lost, even if we moved here to Lindale afterward and went about our lives as if it was a distant memory. It definitely wasn’t forgotten. I remembered all of it.

  I gave him the quick version. A Cliff’s Notes summary of a very bad time. When I came to a stop, I found him studying me with a gaze more serious than I could ever have imagined from him.

  “And the other day at the hospital?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I got a negative test result, and I was…” I searched for the right word for the emotion. Difficult to do when there’d been approximately eighty emotions in the mix.

  “Relieved?” he offered.

  “Yes, but also…” I met his gaze and the right word slipped out. “Angry.”

  His brows hitched up in question.

  I bit my lip. He wouldn’t understand. No one could. I was crazy, obviously, and trying to explain that insanity felt impossible right now.

  There were times even my therapist seemed frustrated with my inability to express emotions. Sorting them was hard. Labeling them was harder. So it was easier not to talk about them. Not to my therapist, not to my parents, and definitely not to the people who were maybe kinda sorta my friends.

  But now, I was trying to make this guy understand? He definitely wasn’t my therapist. The way I felt around him was not friend-like. So no, he wasn’t a friend. But he was something.

  The way he looked at me. The way he seemed to understand me. He was something, all right. But I couldn’t begin to say what.

  Roman surprised me by getting out of his seat and coming over to my side of the booth. He slid in next to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “You don’t have to talk about this anymore if you don’t want to. You know that, right? I didn’t mean to pressure you.”

  I rested against him, which felt awkward at first but then surprisingly not at all awkward as the heat of his body wrapped around me and made me feel comfortable.

  At home.

  I swallowed a thick knot. There it was again. How did this guy manage to do that? How did he make me feel like I had a home when not even my own parents could do it?

  I reached for his hand and slid my palm over his. Yet again, the contact gave me something to concentrate on, and it was like I could step out of my own way.

  “I made this deal with God,” I said slowly, knowing full well how crazy I must sound. “A bargain.” I shook my head. “It sounds so silly now, but at the time…”

  I shrugged and he nuzzled the side of my head. “You were a kid,” he said next to my ear. “It doesn’t sound silly. It sounds like you were a kid, and you were human.”

  My hair was still loose and it blocked my face from view when I nodded. “I made all these rules for myself,” I said. “I think I thought...or I let myself believe…” I breathed out a huff of exasperation at my own inability to spit it out. “I thought if I behaved well enough and did all the right things, I could escape sickness.” I felt a rueful smile tugging at my lips as I heard myself say it aloud. “Like I could somehow outsmart mortality.”

  His arm around me tightened.

  “And I think...I think…” I gripped his hand as a wash of emotions took hold. “I got so angry when I had this scare because I guess I finally realized how stupid my rationale was, you know? During those weeks when I was waiting for the test results, it was so very clear that I had no control. I never did. I never will.”

  My voice shook, which surprised me almost as much as the words coming out of my mouth.

  But they were right. They were true.

  And hearing them aloud helped me to understand them in a way I hadn’t been able to up until right this moment.

  He was nodding next to me. “That makes sense,” he said.

  I turned to face him. “Does it?”

  “Having a scare like that would shake anyone’s perspective,” he said.

  I met his gaze and saw all the intelligence there that he hid so well. Or maybe he didn’t even know it was there. Maybe a lifetime of low expectations had him fooled into thinking the worst about himself. The thought made me heart-wrenchingly sad for some reason.

  “I guess,” I finally said.

  Silence fell for a few seconds.

  “So where does that leave you now?” he finally asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’m angry
that I wasted so much time trying not to be sick. I’m annoyed with myself for ever having thought that I could keep myself safe by not taking risks or acting out or...or having fun.”

  His eyes widened slightly at the new energy in my tone.

  I turned to face him head-on. “Do you know, I always thought the Rapunzel story was so stupid. Why wouldn’t she just break herself out, you know?”

  If he was surprised by the sudden change in topic, he didn’t let on. “Yeah,” he said slowly.

  “But now I get it,” I said. “Sometimes the prisons of our own makings are the hardest to break out of.”

  He nodded, and his gaze grew thoughtful. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” And then, just when I thought he might say something serious, he flashed me a grin instead. “Sounds like Rapunzel’s ready to leave her tower.”

  A smile tugged at my lips. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

  I pressed my lips together as I thought about everything I’d said. All the confusing feelings that had been threatening to burst or drive me to the brink of insanity were in their proper places now.

  They were still there, but not nearly as terrifying now that I could identify them.

  Now that I could talk about them.

  I shifted to face him fully. “Roman?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think I have an answer to your question now. Ask me again.”

  Those laugh lines deepened as his smile turned affectionate and understanding. He knew what I was referring to.

  I didn’t know why I was surprised that he knew exactly what I meant. By now, nothing about this guy and his ability to understand me should be a shock.

  He shifted and his face was so close to mine, I could feel his breath on my cheek. “What do you want, Willow?”

  My smile was shaky and my voice breathless. “I want to live.”

  Ten

  Roman

  * * *

  I had flowers. I had mother flippin’ flowers.

  I ran a hand through my hair as I waited in front of her door and tried to figure out who the hell I was right now. I had books for studying, and I had flowers.

  Yeah. I definitely did not recognize myself.

  But I didn’t have much time to figure it out because a second after I rang the bell, the door to Willow’s house flew open.

  Flynn stared at me. “Roman?”

  He sounded perplexed. I had to assume that Willow hadn’t told him I was coming over. Not surprising, really. I was starting to realize just how little she told anyone about anything.

  Except for me.

  That thought was heartening enough that I managed a cool ‘hey,’ even though Flynn was staring at the bouquet in my hand like it was a snake.

  “Is Willow here?” I was already looking past him into her house. Flynn made no attempt to move out of my way.

  “Why?” His tone was wary. Almost like we hadn’t been working together at the restaurant for years now. Sure, I was typically in the kitchen, and he was at the catering functions, but even so, we’d hung out enough that he shouldn’t be staring at me like I was a stranger.

  My confidence wavered with each passing second. Were Willow and I such an unthinkable combination?

  Flynn’s face said yes.

  “Who’s at the door, babe?” Isla’s voice called out from somewhere inside.

  Then again, Flynn the brooding loner and Isla the New York City debutante weren’t exactly an obvious fit at first glance either, and they were disgustingly happy. And don’t even get me started on Callie and Maverick. They were worlds apart in personality, interests...even height.

  I arched a brow in challenge at Flynn with a look that said, I can wait here all day. I shifted the stems in my hand. With my flowers.

  Dammit. It was hard to feel too tough with a bouquet in hand.

  “It’s Roman,” Flynn called back to his girlfriend.

  “Roman?” Isla’s voice went so far up it entered screech territory. Flynn and I both winced. And then she was there in the doorway, peeking around Flynn with open curiosity.

  “So, wait...” She looked from me to the flowers to Flynn and then back to me. “Are you the reason Willow’s messing with her hair right now?”

  I tried not to grin. I truly did. But…

  Ah hell, Willow was the cutest.

  “She’s messing with her hair?”

  Isla smiled as she nodded, but Flynn’s eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want with Willow?”

  Isla smacked his arm. “Cut it out, Flynn. She’s not your little sister, and she has every right to have a friend over.”

  He gave a grudging huff, and I had an inner debate as I shuffled past him over whether I liked the fact that there was someone around looking out for Willow or hated the fact because the person looking out for her wasn’t me.

  Willow’s head poked out from a hallway to my right. “Hi, Roman.”

  Her smile was shy and my heart did a tango dip in response. “Hey. You look…” Words failed me.

  I couldn't see anything but her head and her face, and she was gorgeous.

  “Isla’s still working on it,” she said.

  I nodded. I barely saw what she was talking about. I supposed she meant the chunky braid that kept the front part of her hair out of her face.

  She tugged on a lock, her brows drawn together in confusion. “I was thinking about cutting it all off, but…” She blew out a long breath. “I’m not sure I can do that yet.”

  My heart ached. It literally ached like it had been overused. Maybe it had been. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so aware of its existence let alone felt it squeeze and tug and pull and wrench.

  Willow had that effect on me. And right now, watching her puzzle over her hair, I felt such a swell of tenderness, it caught me off guard.

  “You don’t have to cut it to make some point,” I said. “Not if you’re not ready.”

  Her gaze lifted and collided with mine. There was confusion and sadness, but more than a hint of happiness too. “It was kinda symbolic back then, you know? To not lose my hair again.”

  I nodded. It didn’t take a genius to piece it together, and I’d understood the crazy long hair the minute she’d mentioned chemo. To go through that at such a young age, of course she’d responded the only way she’d known how.

  “I’ve been telling her she should dye it.” Isla’s voice behind me made me jolt. I spun halfway around and found Flynn behind her glowering at me from the sofa.

  “Dye it?” I echoed just for something to say.

  Isla started talking about streaks of colors and shades that made Willow wince.

  I laughed at Willow’s response, and she gave me a sheepish smile. I was pretty sure we were both thinking the same thing. Just because she wanted to loosen her self-imposed rules didn’t mean she was ready to dye her hair purple and join a band.

  “I think I’ll just stick with the braids for now,” she said.

  She and Isla disappeared and a minute later Willow came out. Gorgeous. She looked like herself, but different. More open, more vulnerable. And I couldn’t tell if that was her vibe in general or the new look. She was wearing a dress, but a casual sundress rather than something too stiff and buttoned up. “I think I’m ready,” she said.

  Anyone could hear that she was nervous.

  The silence between us was awkward as Isla and Flynn looked on like overprotective parents.

  Willow blushed. But then her gaze dropped and she seemed to notice the flowers. I stuck them out in her direction with all the grace of an elephant, but her answering smile made the embarrassment worthwhile.

  “They’re beautiful,” she said.

  “You’re beautiful,” I shot back.

  Her blush made my heart skip a beat or two. Maybe three.

  I might seriously not survive dating Willow Stevens. And that was what we were doing, weren’t we?

  I thought so.

  “Don’t be home lat
e,” Flynn called after us.

  Willow shot him a bemused look and we both heard his ow behind us. I would bet money that Isla smacked him again.

  “I think Flynn’s taken my dad’s lectures to heart,” Willow said when we reached my car.

  “Lectures?” I opened the car door and helped her in.

  “Every time they’re about to take off on a business trip, they give us the rundown on responsibility.” She tilted her head to the side. “Well, usually just me, but my dad’s added a special talk just for Flynn.”

  My fingers clenched the wheel too hard. “So they take off a lot?”

  She was too quiet, and when I glanced over I couldn’t read her expression. “It’s not like they don’t care,” she said. “They do. A lot. When I was sick, they wouldn't leave my side. And then, even after I was better, there was a while there where they...hovered.”

  I nodded. I could imagine.

  She shot me a little smile. “So I went out of my way to prove to them that I don’t need them. And…”

  “And?”

  “And it’s possible I did too good of a job.”

  I found myself laughing, though it wasn’t exactly a haha situation. But her wry attitude made it impossible to feel sorry for her. And besides, no one wanted pity, right? I knew that as well as anyone.

  “So, what did you want to do today?” Willow asked. She hadn’t stopped fidgeting from the first moment we’d slid into the car.

  I reached out a hand and placed it over hers. “You nervous?”

  She looked over at me with wide eyes. “Is it that obvious?”

  Yes. I swallowed a laugh. “I’m nervous too.”

  I looked to the road and back over to Willow, cracking up when I caught her open-mouthed stare.

  “You are not,” she said.

  “I definitely am.”

  “But I didn’t think...I mean...you seem like…” She made a noise of irritation, like she was frustrated with her own attempts to speak.

  I found myself grinning at the road ahead because just being with her like this was the best. Like, the best. I felt alive in ways I hadn’t known were possible. The world looked fresh and new. Like anything was possible so long as I had this girl at my side.