Long Hair Don't Care

by Maggie Dallen

  When she didn’t finish her thought, I squeezed her hand, which was still lying beneath mine. “You know you can say anything to me, right? I’m hard to offend.”

  She laughed softly. “I wasn’t planning on offending you.”

  I waited patiently until she sighed.

  “I just didn’t think you got nervous, that’s all. You always seem so...confident.”

  “I don’t think anyone’s confident all the time,” I said. And because she’d been so brave about opening up to me, I felt the need to meet her halfway. “I guess I am confident when it comes to some stuff. Like guitar and hanging out at parties and…” I stopped myself before I could say flirting with random girls. That just didn’t sound good.

  “And with girls?” Willow offered. Amusement laced her tone, and I let out a huff of laughter.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “So what aren’t you confident about?” she asked.

  The question had my stomach sinking. Did she really not see? Was it possible she had blinders on when she was with me and didn’t know that I was a go-nowhere loser with no brains and an inability to commit to anything?

  But then, like a flash, her lecture from that first run-in came back to me. Do better. Be better.

  She knew my reputation, all right. I glanced over as my heart squeezed. She knew, and she was here with me anyway. She was trusting me.

  I cleared my throat. “I guess I just don’t want to end up like my dad.”

  She nodded.

  “And everyone seems to think I’m exactly like him, you know?” I glanced over and she nodded again.

  A flicker of disappointment made me realized I’d been hoping she’d argue. That she’d look deep inside of me with those intelligent eyes of hers and tell me it was BS. That my mom, my uncle, and every teacher I’d ever had was wrong.

  But maybe I hadn’t proven myself yet. And maybe I wouldn’t have believed her even if she’d said all that.

  “Do you think you’re like him?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess, maybe? He left a long time ago so I don’t remember much about him, and what I do remember are the memories of a kid. I remember that he always cut the crust off my peanut butter and jelly. Stuff like that.”

  I glanced over and caught a sweet little smile. “The important stuff,” she teased.

  “Exactly.” I took a deep breath. “But I remember what he looked like, and I see him every day in the mirror.”

  She made a little hmm noise like she was thinking that over. I found myself clutching the steering wheel with one hand as I waited for her verdict.

  “I’ve never met your dad,” she finally said. “But I can’t imagine you have much in common other than looks.”

  The clouds parted, the sun shone, and my heart nearly burst right out of its chest. I squeezed her hand beneath mine as I swallowed thickly. “No?”

  I tried to sound nonchalant, but I doubted she was fooled.

  “No.” She shifted so she was facing me. “The fact that you were so nice to Callie once you realized she had a crush, the way you’re trying to make your uncle proud and take steps toward responsibility and a promising future…”

  I glanced over when she trailed off. I hated how much I hung on her every word. Like this was the voice of reason right here and whatever she decided was the absolute truth.

  “And then there’s me,” she said.

  I waited for her to continue, my pulse picking up its pace as I anxiously waited for her to explain what she meant by that. But she didn’t. She turned to me and flashed me a smile I knew without a doubt few ever got to see.

  It was big and sweet and open and...perfect.

  “I think you are blessed beyond belief with talent and charisma and a big heart,” she said.

  My mouth went dry and my lungs seized up at the unexpected compliments.

  “I think you have so much more intelligence than even you realize,” she continued, apparently unaware that she was shaking my entire world to its core.

  “But mainly, I see now I was wrong that day.” She winced. “I didn’t know you at all when I accused you of not being good enough for Callie and of leading her on.” Her expression grew alarmingly serious. “I made the same assumptions about you that others seem to, and for that, I’m sorry.”

  So serious. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry in the face of this sweet sincerity.

  “It’s okay,” I said, because she seemed to be waiting for forgiveness or something.

  Her brows fell. “No, it’s not. It’s—”

  “Willow, honestly. It’s fine.” I softened it with a smile. “It’s not like I didn’t have my preconceived notions about you, too.”

  She nodded, sinking back into her seat. Her gaze was so thoughtful that I let the silence linger. Finally, she turned to me, and she flipped her hand over beneath mine so she was holding it. “I’m sorry I yelled at you that day.”

  “I’m not,” I said easily. “I don’t know if I ever would have gotten to know you if you hadn’t.”

  “That’s a nice way of looking at it,” she said.

  I turned into the parking lot by the lake where we’d had that first interaction. “We’re here.”

  She arched her brows. “We’re going swimming?”

  The doubt in her voice was obvious. It wasn’t exactly warm summer weather out there.

  “Nope,” I said, enjoying her confusion when I hopped out. I headed over to her side and opened the door. “Scoot over.”

  “Scoot...what?”

  I gestured toward the driver's seat and she did as she was told, but her expression was filled with suspicion.

  “What exactly are we doing?”

  I grinned, hopping in beside her. We both had to work the Bernstein party tonight, but I’d asked her to hang out this afternoon because I’d wanted some time alone with her. But then I’d had to figure out what to do.

  It had come to me in a lightbulb moment. “You want to live, right?”

  She snickered a little as she nodded. It sounded weird when we said it like that, but I’d known exactly what she’d meant. She was tired of the walls she’d built. Tired of living so very carefully. Tired of keeping her heart and her emotions and her personality locked up under a lock and key.

  I shifted beside her, oddly nervous about this idea now that we were here and she was watching me expectantly.

  “I’m teaching you how to drive,” I said.

  She blinked. “Really?”

  “You want freedom, right?”

  She nodded quickly, her cheeks flushing with color. Excitement lit her eyes and took her from beautiful to stunning. So gorgeous it took me a second to speak.

  “Nothing says freedom like the ability to hop in a car and leave,” I said. Instantly my mind flashed to my father. Was that what he’d been thinking when he’d driven away?

  Had he left because he’d felt trapped? Or had he left because he craved freedom more than he loved us?

  I shook off those thoughts because Willow was right. I wasn’t my father and I didn’t have to turn out like him. I could do better. I could be better.

  And that’s exactly what I planned to do.

  Eleven

  Willow

  * * *

  Turned out I was a pretty good driver. But that might be because I had the very best instructor.

  Roman was patient, which shouldn’t have come as any surprise. His calm demeanor and easy laughter made the seemingly daunting lesson feel carefree. Fun, even.

  When I pulled over to let him take over, I had a whole new energy racing through me. This was just the tip of the iceberg. Driving opened doors to road trips and excursions and travel that I’d never let myself explore.

  By the time we headed back to my home, my head was spinning with possibilities. I was so caught up in thoughts of trips and adventures that it wasn’t until we reached my house that I realized...this was it.

  The date—if you could call a driving
lesson a date—was over.

  He opened my car door for me, and the walk from his car to my front door had never felt longer.

  “You’re working the party tonight, right?” I asked.

  “Yup.” He winked. “You can’t get rid of me today.”

  “I don’t want to get rid of you.” I knew he was teasing, but I wasn’t. Our steps slowed even further until we were hovering in front of the door. I didn’t want to say goodbye. Not even when I knew I would see him tonight at the party.

  His expression was unreadable and his eyes dark when he turned to face me right in front of the door. “I’ll see you tonight?”

  I nodded, not bothering to remind him that we’d already established that.

  He let out a huff of air, and I realized he was just as nervous as I was. Which was crazy because I wasn’t sure anyone could be so nervous. My heart was racing and my hands shaking as I waited for...what?

  I wasn’t sure.

  I’d never been out with a guy, let alone been kissed. How did this normally go? Was he going to kiss me? Did he want to?

  I swallowed hard and gave a little jolt of surprise when his head fell with a laugh. “I’ve never been so nervous in my life.”

  My heart jumped up and fell over in a dramatic swoon. When he looked up at me, one brow arched in a rueful, crooked smile, I knew the gig was up. I was done for.

  This guy had somehow charmed his way right into my heart.

  “Willow,” he said slowly, his voice low and sweet.

  “Yes?” It came out as little more than a breath.

  He moved forward, crowding my space and making it impossible to think. Or breathe. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  He wasn’t exactly asking for permission, but he moved so slowly, like he was giving me every chance to run away.

  I reached out, my hands catching on his T-shirt and clinging for dear life. No way was I running. I wanted to live, and there was no one on earth who made me feel more alive when he was near.

  My heart pounded in my ears when his breath touched my lips. My eyelids fluttered closed just as his warm, firm lips grazed mine. The kiss was so soft and so gentle that the spark of electricity it created was that much more jarring.

  I gasped, and he moved in closer, his arms coming around my waist as he pulled me in tight. The second kiss was firmer, filled with more confidence but no less tender.

  The back of my eyes pricked with tears at the tenderness. But the heat that spread like molten lava through my veins was what had me pressing in even closer, tilting my head to give him better access.

  I felt his groan rumble through me, and I was lost to the sensations. Heady, overwhelming, and so utterly delicious.

  One of his hands moved up and tangled in my hair as his lips teased mine, lightening the kiss as if he just knew that I was drowning and needed to slow it down.

  My hands slid up, my arms twined around his neck, and I could have stayed like that forever. Cherished in his arms. I would have stayed like that except—

  “Willow?” My mom’s voice right next to me had me jumping back like I’d just been electrocuted.

  My mom was gaping at me in horror, my father’s expression grim and tight as he glared at Roman.

  Roman was the first to recover. “Mr. and Mrs. Stephens,” he said in a voice so calm and polite it had me blinking to make sure this was still the rock god Roman I’d been kissing a second ago.

  But he was standing with perfect posture, one hand extended toward my father, who glared down at it like it was a rabid creature.

  “Uh, I’m Roman. I’m Willow’s—”

  “I’m tutoring him,” I cut in quickly. He glanced at me, and I felt a kick of guilt. Also, I wished I could turn back time and not interrupt so I would know how exactly he would classify himself.

  Surely not as my boyfriend. Right?

  That uncertainty was what had me rushing to speak now. I wasn’t sure where we stood, but I definitely didn’t want to find out along with my parents.

  “Mom. Dad.” My voice was cool and collected, even though my heart was firing on all cylinders in my chest. “You’re home early.”

  All three of them stared at me in disbelief. But rather than answering me, my dad turned to Roman. “You’re the Holt boy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  My eyes widened as I stared at Roman. Yes, sir? But my father’s stern frown morphed into a look of disapproval so quickly it left me stunned. He turned that glare on me. “This is what you get up to when we’re gone?” He gestured toward Roman without a second look in his direction. “You invite boys like this over?”

  “Boys like this?” My brow was scrunched up in confusion. Boys like this? Had he really just said that? Did he have any idea how condescending and snobby he sounded?

  “He’s not just some boy,” I started.

  “Right, you’re tutoring him.” My mom look liked she was trying to find the high road here. A compromise or a happy solution. That was always her role in this team. My father and I might be at odds occasionally, but never to such an extreme that my mother couldn’t mend things with some reasonable comments. “She’s just tutoring him,” she hissed at my father now.

  “Tutoring. Did that look like tutoring to you?” My father’s face was turning red. “I know his family. I know what they’re about. This boy is not good enough for you—”

  “Dad.” I interrupted loudly. “You’re being rude.”

  “No, it’s fine. He’s right.” Roman was backing away, his gaze on me. Panic clutched at my chest at the sight of him leaving.

  I was losing him. I could feel it. This thing between us was tentative and new, and...and it was breaking apart right in front of my eyes.

  “Roman, wait—”

  “Let him go,” my mother said quietly. Her tone wasn’t mean, and with a glance I knew she was just trying to be reasonable. This scene would only get worse if he was here.

  He would only be more hurt if he stayed.

  I bit my lip and stared back as he turned and got into his car. My father was still talking loudly, my mother trying to calm him down, and me…?

  I knew my role. The part I should play here. It was my job to apologize and speak reason and make sure neither of them had cause to worry.

  For a second, I almost did just that. Especially when my father turned on me, demanding an answer. “What were you thinking? How could you do something like this when we trusted you—”

  “No,” I said shortly.

  My father blinked. “What?”

  “No.” I turned and opened the door, leading the way inside and grateful that Flynn’s car was gone, which meant he wouldn’t be forced to overhear this long overdue conversation. “You don’t have the right to judge,” I said. “You don’t get to pick and choose when you’re a concerned parent.”

  My mom’s jaw fell. My father started sputtering. “This is partially my fault, I’ll accept that,” I said.

  “Partially your—” My father turned red. “You invited a stranger over here and you–”

  “He’s not a stranger,” I said. “Obviously. He’s a friend. I hope he’s more than a friend.”

  “He’s Bill Holt’s son—”

  “And I’m your daughter. What does that have to do with anything?”

  They were both staring at me in stunned silence now.

  “I love you guys, I really do,” I said. “But let’s face the fact that you stopped being concerned parents a while ago. You stopped being involved even longer than that.”

  “You said you were okay—”

  “I lied.” I shrugged, the gesture at odds with a lifetime of emotions that wouldn’t be denied. “I lied, and that’s on me. But I was a child, and I was trying to make you happy. I was trying to ensure you never had to worry.”

  I stopped in the face of their stricken expressions. Guilt and sadness made my belly sink. They loved me. I knew they loved me. I’d never doubted that a day in my life.

  * * *
<
br />   But they hadn’t always been there when I’d needed them. The blame for that likely went both ways, but I couldn’t exactly stand back and let them pass judgment on Roman when they had no right to interfere.

  “Roman is his own man,” I said, as calmly as I could. “He’s not his father any more than I am a replica of one of you. He’s the product of his life, his upbringing, and his own will.”

  My parents were staring at me like I was speaking a foreign language.

  It was possible I’d never really spoken up to them like this. My father and I might have butted heads on my continuing to work for the Princess Troupe when he thought all my focus ought to be on my studies, but that seemed like nothing compared to this topic.

  There was an urgency in me to make them see and understand. No, more than that, I wanted them to be grateful toward Roman. Because he’d given me more understanding and helped me come to more insights than my therapist, my doctor, and my parents combined.

  “He’s good for me,” I said. “He’s helped me when I needed him, and he’s been there for me—”

  “We would be there for you if you needed us,” my mother said. The hurt in her voice made me cringe.

  “I know.” I tried to be as gentle as I could. “I’ve always known that. But there were times when I did need you, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask.” I chewed on my bottom lip. I didn’t want to make her feel bad. I didn’t want their guilt. Our family dynamic had taken a decade and countless small decisions to reach this point, and it was useless to cast blame. But at the same time…

  “I love you both so much. But you’ve been treating me as an independent adult for many years now—which I appreciate,” I added hastily when it looked like they might intervene. “I do appreciate the trust you have in me, and the fact that you’ve given me so much independence.”

  “Then you can understand how we’d feel betrayed to come home and find that you’ve abused our trust,” my father said, his voice still heated, though some of his initial shock had eased and that softened the worst of it. “We’ve been too lenient with you. We thought we could trust you.”