by J. Daniels
I nodded firmly.
“You like it?”
“Yep.”
He bent closer, putting his face an inch away from mine, and grated, “That’s why you don’t know shit. You wanna know about me? You want facts? I’ve been to prison. Not jail. Fuckin’ prison. Been to jail too. A lot. Got busted on assault, breaking and entering, trespassing, theft. Everything I had growing up, I stole from other people. I stole food. I stole clothes. I stole shit I wanted and wouldn’t ever fuckin’ get unless I did steal it. Stole cars. Found out I could get money for certain cars, and then stole a lot of fuckin’ cars to get that money. I’ve beaten the shit outta people for being better than me, for havin’ what I don’t, as payback, and for no fuckin’ reason. How you like that character now? Huh? I’m a twenty-nine-year-old loser. Those enough facts for you? No? How ’bout this—I got kids. Two girls. Four and five years old. Little. Fuckin’ impressionable. The last time they saw me, I was getting hauled off to jail, right in front of them. I can still hear them screamin’ for me ’cause they were scared, and I was the reason for it. Me. I’m a fuckup. Nothin’ to nobody. That’s who I am.”
My heart was racing so fast, I could feel its pace throughout my entire body.
“That’s not true,” I whispered.
“No? Why? You think buying you six-dollar tacos and driving your brothers around makes me what, a fuckin’ good Samaritan? You like the person I am?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t,” he growled.
My eyes jumped between his.
There was so much going on inside my head. Too much. The first thing being holy shit, Sean has kids. He’s a father. A father who’d done some bad stuff in his life, yes, but…
“Going off someone’s actions isn’t the best judge of character sometimes,” I told him, verbalizing my next thought.
His eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Sometimes people do things because they have to, or for other reasons that are justifiable. If we were to list things we’ve done in the past and judge each other based solely on those things, you’d think badly of me.”
He leaned back, brought his arms across his chest and cocked his head. “Like what?”
“Well,”—I licked my lips, thinking fast since I wasn’t at all prepared for this part of the presentation—“I’ve smoked weed,” I blurted out.
He stared at me. “Said you never smoked a day in your life.”
“I meant cigarettes. I’ve gotten high.”
“Ooh,” he mocked.
I grabbed my hips. “It’s still illegal. And I’ve stolen things. I stole a belt one time from Sears. Got caught and had to give it back, which was totally embarrassing since my friends were with me. I’ve also busted into a car before.”
His eyebrow raised.
“See? You’re judging me right now. You don’t know why I did it,” I said, driving home my point. “I’m assuming you stole food because you were hungry?”
Sean’s mouth got tight.
“Mm. That’s a terrible reason to steal. Starving isn’t life or death or anything.”
He breathed deep and shook his head, mumbling, “This is fuckin’ bullshit. You’re judging me ’cause of the shit I did for you. How’s that any different?”
“Good deeds hold more weight, especially when they aren’t motivated or asked of a person. They show true character. The person you are deep down. What life can’t touch, no matter how bad it can be sometimes.” I watched his eyes slowly return to mine. “You saw me crying, Sean, and you could’ve just walked inside and left me, but you didn’t. That’s not nothing to nobody. Not even close.”
His chest rose slowly, and his lips parted.
“I don’t think any different of you.”
“You should.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
Sean clenched his jaw and looked away. I knew he was getting frustrated with me, and I didn’t want that frustration to turn into anger. So I changed topics while still holding firm to my ground.
“Now, as your friend, I’m going to request a quick tour before I gather up my brothers and leave, since I did believe you when you said you had work to do. But I’m getting that fucking tour. Friends get tours.” I smiled up at him after I spoke, then I turned and took three steps in the direction of the hallway, leading to what I assumed were bedrooms, before turning back. “Coming?” I asked.
Sean slowly turned his head, met my eyes, looked distantly at the floor for a brief moment, and then rubbed at his mouth while uttering a curse before moving toward me.
“Why’d you break into a car?” he asked.
“There was a puppy inside, and the asshole owner didn’t even crack a window. It was nearly a hundred degrees out,” I told him. “That puppy could’ve died.”
Sean stopped in front of me. “You risked goin’ to jail to save a dog?” he asked, disbelief in his voice.
“Yep. And I’d do it again too,” I replied, smiling up at him.
His eyes lowered to my mouth.
I smiled bigger.
“Now, I’d like that tour please,” I requested, gesturing toward the hallway.
Sean lifted his gaze to mine, breathed deep, and then moved around me.
I got my tour.
My parents came home on Sunday.
After exchanging hugs and getting filled in on how Pop was doing, plus hearing stories of Nana and the little packrat she had apparently become, I fessed up to the mistakes I’d made before Sean stepped in to help me out.
Dad didn’t hide his disappointment—I should’ve told them I was having trouble immediately when it started happening. Mom didn’t seem disappointed at all—she knew what was being asked of me and expected some difficulty on my end.
They both, however, seemed in agreement on Sean. Especially when Dominic and Eli got to talking about him.
“What kind of bike?” Dad asked after hearing about the rides the boys had taken.
“A Harley. Black and chrome,” Dominic answered.
Dad nodded appreciatively. I could tell he respected Sean not only for what he did, but also for his taste in motorcycles.
My parents also noticed the change in Dominic, and then they really appreciated Sean, Mom especially.
Using my stationery, she scribbled out a thank-you note and left it to me to pass along.
I couldn’t wait to see Sean’s reaction to that. He always looked so captivated by those little cards.
My parents stayed for lunch, then I walked with them outside to say my goodbyes.
“So?” Mom whispered, stopping at the front of their car while Dad and the boys filed in. “Is he like, a friend friend?”
“Mom,” I groaned. God. No way was I talking about this with her.
She kissed my cheek. “Well, we would love to meet him sometime. Maybe we’ll all go out to dinner one night. How about that?”
I wasn’t sure how receptive Sean would be to that idea, or any idea involving my parents. The man wasn’t exactly pushing for a connection. But I gave my mom two enthusiastic thumbs up as I backed away.
Smiling, she piled into the car with the rest of the family and they pulled off, waving out the windows.
Now, it was Sunday afternoon, and I was anticipating the arrival of my next client.
Valerie had messaged me yesterday, the sweet woman from Frank’s Pizza with the two adorable daughters. She was taking me up on my offer on non-pink hair, and wasn’t wasting any time doing it either. She jumped right on my opening today when I gave it to her.
I was really looking forward to this appointment. She seemed cool, and really nice.
“Hey!” I greeted her, propping the door open and gesturing for her to come inside. “Oh, no kiddies today?”
She blew out an exhausted breath. “No, thank God. My sister offered to keep them. Otherwise, yikes. They would get into everything. Caroline would find your pink hair color and paint herself from head to toe.”
I laughed as I shut the door. �
��She was so cute in all that pink.”
“Always. No other color.”
I didn’t see any harm in that.
“Well, are we ready to get fabulous?” I asked her. “Because I’m ready.”
Valerie unzipped her hoodie and shrugged it off, handing it to me when I held out my hand. “Yep! Let’s do it.”
I showed her to the room.
After getting her gowned up and situated with a cold beverage, I stood behind Valerie and met her eyes in the mirror.
“So, what are we thinking?” I asked, running my fingers through her long hair. It was soft and thick. “You said highlights on the phone. Do you only want highlights? Would you want some contrast in there? A little dark to break it up? And what about your root?”
We breezed through the consultation. Valerie knew what she wanted, for the most part, and loved the suggestions I made in terms of keeping with a more natural look. After mixing up her color, I sectioned off her hair and got to work.
Now, I have always said that if a woman gets her hair done professionally, she’s paying for not one but two services: hair styling, of course, and therapy.
Women like to talk. Some men do too, especially ones in this industry. And when you’re working on someone’s appearance for several hours, that’s a lot of time to gab. Some clients vent. Some ask advice. Some simply swap personal facts with their stylist.
Valerie didn’t waste any time. She shared how long she’d lived in Dogwood Beach—six years—and that she was a fourth-grade teacher who absolutely loved her job, not only because she’d wanted to be a teacher her entire life, but also because it gave her summers off with her girls.
Her girls were her life. Once she got on that topic, she stayed on it.
“So, yeah, my kids are with my sister,” she said, pausing to take a drink of her sweet tea. “She’s my only sitter. I’m lucky to have her. It’s tough sometimes, getting a moment to myself, you know?”
Nodding, I painted another section of her hair, foiled it off, and picked up another. “Mm mm. Time to yourself is so important, though.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What about their dad? Is he not around?”
She made a sour face in the mirror. “Don’t get me started.”
I chuckled. “Uh oh.”
“You don’t even want to know the half of it. My ex…I wasted so much time on him. It was my own fault, though. I knew exactly who he was. I tried to tell myself he could change. Whatever. I just feel bad for my girls. You know, their last memory of their dad is watching him get arrested?”
I stilled my brush.
“Yeah.” Catching my eyes, she nodded. “Nice, right? He’s not winning Father of the Year, that’s for sure. He’s out now and wants to see the girls. He must think I’m a fucking idiot. No way.”
I finished painting that section of hair and foiled it off, then quickly moved on to the next.
What…were…the odds here? It had to be Sean, right? But do I ask? I don’t know. And if it is, do I say I know him?
Shit! Why did people think this was a therapy session? It wasn’t. We should be talking hair and hair only.
Valerie took another drink of her tea, watching me work in the mirror.
I had to ask. I had to know.
“So, what does he do now that he’s not in jail?”
It was a terrible lead-in, but I couldn’t just say, Hey, what’s his name? That would be too obvious.
“He’s a cook. He’s always been a cook, but he’s never really held a job down. Not really the professional, hardworking type, if you know what I mean. He’s a loser.”
I bit my tongue.
I really didn’t want to hate Valerie, since I was liking her so much and really wanted to keep her as a client, so I kept telling myself she had reason to feel the way she did, and I wouldn’t judge her based on that.
“Anyway, he’s saying he’s kept the same job since he got out. I just don’t know if I believe him. Sean’s a liar.”
Bingo.
“Sean.” I met her eyes and stuck my hand on my hip. “You don’t mean Sean Molina, do you?” I asked nonchalantly.
Or, at least, attempted to ask nonchalantly.
Her eyes flickered wider. “Y-Yes. Do you know him?”
“I work with him.”
“You…what? What do you mean?”
“I’m a waitress at Whitecaps. That’s where he works. I work there too.”
“Get out of here!”
I chuckled. “Totally serious. Small world, right?”
“Wow, that’s crazy.”
I dipped my brush in the color and parted another section. “He’s, uh, been there for over a year,” I shared, glancing at the mirror.
She lifted her gaze. “He has?”
I nodded. “He’s really good too. His food kicks ass.”
“Sean’s always been a good cook. That doesn’t surprise me,” she said, biting her lip. “That’s…he’s really been there for over a year? Are you sure?”
“He started after I started. I’m sure.”
She brought her glass to her mouth, mumbling a “huh” before taking another sip.
Valerie wasn’t expecting Sean to be telling the truth, or maybe she just had a hard time believing it herself. I had no idea what all Sean had done to lose that trust from her, assuming it was more than the arrest I was aware of, even though that was probably plenty enough, and even though I wanted to pry more than I wanted her walking out of here with kickass hair, I didn’t feel right about doing this behind Sean’s back, which was exactly how it felt.
But if Valerie were to offer up information, or inquire about stuff I knew about, I supposed that was different.
“How does he seem?” she asked.
“Good. Focused. He was running the kitchen by himself up until very recently, and he didn’t have a problem. He just bought a house.”
Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her that. What if Sean didn’t want her knowing?
Focus on hair, Shay!
“Sean owning a house,” she mumbled, shaking her head a little. “The only thing he ever owned was a trailer. We lived in an apartment with the girls. As soon as we met and got serious, Sean went out and found a place. He refused to stay in that trailer with me. He wouldn’t even let me in it. I think he was embarrassed. It was pretty dumpy. He kept it, though. Stored it somewhere, I guess. Good thing too, since he didn’t have anywhere to go after he got out. I’d left him.”
I listened and focused on my task.
“It’s like, you give people so many chances and they just keep blowing it. You have to eventually say, enough is enough, you know? I didn’t blame Sean at first. When he’d get into trouble or whatever, it’s like, I knew it was all because of his terrible home life. He didn’t know any different. But then, I’d think, why am I justifying this? It didn’t matter why he was doing the things he was doing, he shouldn’t have been doing them. Especially when kids are involved. I mean, my God. I was so unbelievably angry with him when I found out what he did. Even after I knew he was stealing that car to get the money to pay for the hospital bill, I’d had it, you know? The fact that he had the girls with him and he didn’t think. He didn’t stop and worry what that would do to them? No. There was no justifying that. My babies were terrified. And when I had to pick them up from the police station, I knew I was done. No more chances.”
Valerie paused to take a drink, then licked the sweet tea off her lips and shook her head.
“And now you’re telling me he’s holding down a job and wasn’t lying to me about the house, and I got to be the bad guy and say no.” She sighed, meeting my gaze in the mirror. “I’m going to need to walk out of her with fabulous hair today. My mood is kind of crappy now.”
“That I got you covered on,” I replied, offering her a smile.
Valerie didn’t say any more about Sean after that, but I could tell her mind was heavy and keeping her thoughts hostage. We kept the conversation light thro
ughout the rest of the appointment.
Honestly, I was grateful she was finished sharing for the day. I had a lot to process and work out inside my own head. There were so many questions I wanted answers to, things I was still unclear about.
Who was Sean Molina? Where did he come from? What all had he done, and why? And who was so terrible to him growing up?
I promised Valerie hair no short of fabulous, and I delivered. She was ecstatic with me and the finished product and declared Hair by Shay the hottest spot in Dogwood, swearing she’d refer me to all her friends.
I only had one worry—
I knew I couldn’t keep this from Sean.
Chapter Ten
SEAN
Two days later
I killed the engine to my bike, swung off, then headed inside Whitecaps.
I’d had to postpone a full day of work on the house after getting called in, which would’ve pissed me off, but I’d never be pissed about getting paid.
Furniture was my next purchase. I’d drained my accounts getting the house, and even though the raise was helping, any extra shifts I could get I’d take.
I knew Shayla was working today. I’d seen her car, so I was expecting more of what we were doing now: talking. Letting shit play out, which was her idea, and I was grateful she offered it, leaving me not having to explain my actions. So when I stepped out of the hallway and caught Shayla at that exact moment coming out of the lounge, met her eyes, and watched her make a hasty retreat back inside that lounge, I didn’t understand what the fuck was going on.
But I sure as hell was finding out.
“Give me a minute,” I said to J.R., holding him off from leaving. I prowled out of the kitchen and yanked the door to the lounge open.
Shayla was standing at the lockers, chewing on her nail. She stopped chewing once I stepped inside, and looked at me with worry.
“The fuck was that?” I barked. “You see me and you go runnin’? We’re back to this?” I stopped on the other side of the bench seat and stared her down. “Explain,” I ordered.
“I didn’t think you were working today,” she said meekly.
“The kid has something he’s gotta do, so I offered to come in. So what?”
