by J. Daniels
“That I could see my girls.” He looked ready to hit the floor.
“Oh, my God! Sean! That’s great!” I cried, closing the distance between us in two quick steps.
I wrapped my arms around his middle and squeezed him tight, smiling when I felt his arms drop around me.
His hands gently, almost cautiously, formed to my hips.
Holy God, this was nice. I have lived a full life now.
“Why aren’t you jumping up and down? This is good news,” I asked, keeping pressed close.
I didn’t want to move. Ever.
He smelled so good. Sean didn’t wear cologne from what I could tell. And I didn’t think it was soap I was smelling. It was just…him. He smelled like the outdoors. Like the wind when it filled your car as you were driving past a meadow with the windows down. A little sweet, but all man. Dirt and grass and every other scent you’d catch while you were outside working on something.
“I’m fuckin’ scared,” he admitted, which immediately had me leaning away to peer up at him.
God, his honesty sometimes…it was shocking. Sean fought me until he didn’t.
At all.
“They don’t know me anymore,” he elaborated. “It’s been over a fuckin’ year. What if they…they could hate me.”
“They won’t.”
“I’d fuckin’ hate me.”
I shook my head. “Kids don’t think like that. Not that young. I promise.”
“Well…what about the house? It ain’t good enough. I don’t got a playground out back for them yet, and the beds don’t have anything on them. It’s small. It’s too fuckin’ small, and that fuckin’ basement…I still gotta work on that. And some of those walls I patched look like shit…I should’ve done better. I—”
“Sean, hey.” I grabbed his face, forcing him to stop. “Those girls are not going to care about any of that. They just want to spend time with you. It’s about you. Not stuff. Not your house. And quit selling yourself short, will you? You have done an amazing job getting that house ready. It looks great.”
He thought on what I said, nodded his head firmly, once, then I felt his hands slide away from my hips, and he stepped back, forcing us apart.
“You gotta help me,” he pleaded, looking desperate. “I need your help.”
Now, this was a first…“Of course, I’ll help you. What do you need?”
He took the elastic out of his hair and let all those golden strands down.
My hand hit my chest. “Oh, my God, you don’t want me to chop off your hair, do you?” I questioned, feeling slightly nauseated at the idea. “I really don’t want to do that.”
I’d help him another way. There had to be something else.
“Not all of it,” Sean specified. “I just don’t want my girls not recognizing me. It’s gonna be hard enough for them. It’s been so fuckin’ long. I don’t want them scared it ain’t me.”
“How short do you want it?”
He touched just above his shoulder. “’Bout here?” His brows raised. “That’s how it was last time they saw me.”
That was three inches, give or take. It would still be longish, which made me happy. Sean’s hair was just…wow. It just felt wrong to cut it off.
“Okay. I can do that.”
“This too,” he said, rubbing his hand over his short, thick beard. “I want them seein’ me. Not this.”
“Do you want it shaved completely?”
I tried picturing Sean barefaced.
I couldn’t do it.
He shook his head. “I had a goatee before I got locked up, plus a little on my jaw.” He stroked his fingers there. “Just not this full, you know?”
“Got it.” I held my arm out, directing him toward the salon room. “Right this way, sir. Let’s get you ready so those beautiful girls recognize you.”
His eyes gentled, and I thought I saw a faint smile before he walked in front of me. He stopped at the open door.
“You like goin’ by Shay for this?” he asked, pointing at the sign hanging there.
I got beside him. “I don’t know. I’m still deciding. I go back and forth.” Turning my head and tilting it back, I met his gaze. “What do you like?”
“I think you already know that.”
My stomach clenched as I was flooded with the memory of my very first conversation with Sean.
He liked Shayla better. He always did. He never called me Shay.
And because I was on the fence about this decision, not preferring one over the other and possibly waiting for that little shove in the direction I needed to take, I had zero issues changing that sign and all my social media handles immediately.
Hair by Shayla sounded more professional anyway.
Or maybe I just knew I would really like the way it would sound coming out of Sean’s mouth.
“I like Hair by Shayla better too, now that I think about it,” I mumbled.
The corner of Sean’s mouth twitched. It was the subtlest movement, but I saw it.
Wow.
Yeah, I was totally changing that name.
Sean stepped inside the room.
Happy with my decision and what I was about to do, I followed behind wearing an ear-to-ear grin.
I was finally getting the chance to play with Sean’s hair. To say I was excited about it was an understatement.
“Have a seat,” I said, and once he did, I draped the cape across him and fastened it at the neck. “Ready?” I smiled at him in the mirror.
Eyes still soft, he nodded.
I got started.
I wet Sean’s hair down with a spray bottle, then I clipped up half of it, had him tilt so his chin touched his chest, and snipped three inches off the back.
Neither one of us said a word.
It was weird.
I was never quiet doing this, but I just kept picturing Sean’s face when I first opened my door, and hearing that unguarded fear in his voice, and I concentrated unlike I had ever concentrated on anything. This suddenly became the most important haircut of my life, because it was so profoundly important to Sean, and I didn’t want to risk anything distracting me from giving him exactly what he’d asked for.
Lip Gallagher himself could’ve walked into this room with Justin Timberlake riding him like a pony, and I wouldn’t have noticed a damn thing, even if they were throwing sheet masks around like Mardi Gras beads.
Setting my scissors and comb aside, I stood behind Sean and checked symmetry, pulling down the pieces of hair framing his face. I checked a couple more strands. They were even. Then I ran my fingers through the back of his hair and looked in the mirror, smiling at him.
“How’s that?” I asked. “It’ll dry and shorten a little, so it’ll come up to about where you were wanting it.”
Sean nodded. “It’s good.”
“Excellent.” I brushed the cape off, then, removing it, I shook off the hair. “Now, the beard. We gotta do that in the bathroom,” I said.
Sean stood from the chair, bent down, and checked his hair in the mirror. If I didn’t know him, or if it were anyone else, I would’ve said that was for vanity reasons, but I knew it wasn’t. Sean wasn’t looking for him.
The chair I used for shampooing was a thrift store purchase I’d found a few months back. It was that squeaky restaurant plastic, and a hideous shade of brown, but it reclined, stood at the height I needed, and it wasn’t too much for me to lug in and out of my bathroom.
Until I could afford a shampoo bowl setup, this would have to do.
I pulled the chair into the bathroom and got it in place in front of the sink. Then I motioned for Sean to take a seat.
He plopped down and stretched out his legs until the toes of his booted feet touched the wall.
“Okay, straight razor, or my Venus?” I held up Sean’s choices. “Obviously, the Venus would have a fresh blade. But I’m going to warn you, it has a strip of lotion that’ll leave your face smelling pretty.”
Brow tight, Sean’s tipped his
head at the straight razor.
“No pretty face for you, huh?” I set the blades down and pressed on his shoulder while I angled the chair back, putting Sean’s head closer to the sink.
Then I folded a hand towel and stuck it under his head for comfort.
After trimming down his beard to get rid of most of the length, then taking clippers to it, I wet down his cheeks, jaw, and chin with the spray bottle from the bedroom, wiped off any water dripping down to his shirt, and pulled my bottle of conditioner out of the shower caddy.
“I think conditioner does a better job than shaving cream,” I explained, squirting a little on my fingertips and then smoothing it over Sean’s jaw.
He stiffened.
“What?”
“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled between his teeth. “That’s you.”
“What’s me?”
“That. What you’re puttin’ on my face. That’s you.”
Confused, I quit applying the conditioner to his beard. “Huh?”
Sean closed his eyes. He was breathing heavily through his nostrils. “I didn’t know what it was—shampoo, shit you put on your skin, or if it was just you, smelling like honey. Now I know.” He opened his eyes and looked at me.
I took his heavy breathing and stiffness as my smell not being a good one.
An ache passed under my skin and sunk deep, burning a hole clear through my heart.
Rejection was one of the worst pains one could ever feel. It stuck with you. Scars healed. Bruises went away.
Rejection was lasting. It was a memory you could conjure up at any time and hurt from, over and over again. It never left you.
“Uh, I can…use something else,” I stammered, my throat suddenly tight and distorting my voice. “I have other stuff—”
Sean’s arm shot out and his hand wrapped around my wrist as I was turning to grab another option out of the shower. He curtly shook his head.
“No?” I questioned softly.
“No.” His voice was urgent.
“You don’t mind it?”
“I do not fuckin’ mind it.”
My breath caught. “Okay,” I rushed out, licking my dry lips. “Okay, um, that’s…I’m glad you don’t mind. That’s nice of you.”
Oh, my God, Sean liked the way I smell.
Or he at least tolerated it enough to wear it on his face.
Either way, ohmyGodohmyGodohmyGod.
Be cool, Shay. Be cool.
“It’s actually not just this,” I informed him. “I have the matching shampoo too. Plus, my body wash is crème brûlée, which basically smells like honey. I like the smell. It’s subtle but there, you know? Not too harsh.”
Sean didn’t say anything in return, but he seemed to be taking in the information I was sharing. He kept his eyes on me.
I took that as a good sign.
Once I finished applying the conditioner and wiped my hands clean, I plugged the sink and filled it with water. Then I picked up the razor.
“I’ve never shaved another person before. You might lose a lip,” I said, leaning over and touching the blade to Sean’s skin.
His eyes cut to mine.
“Just kidding,” I whispered.
Sean relaxed, exhaling, then looked to the ceiling.
Fighting a grin, I held his face and carefully dragged the blade down his skin.
I took my time. I was careful, not just around the harsh angle of Sean’s jaw, but everywhere. I remembered his request—how he kept his beard before—and followed it to a T. Like during the haircut, we didn’t converse, which worked for me, considering how close I was to Sean’s mouth with my mouth, and how enticed I’d be to lean in and taste his words if he started speaking them. Feeling his breath on my hand was temptation enough. Besides, I needed full concentration for this. Sean’s face would be the first thing those girls looked at. And he was trusting me to make this less scary for him, when he was terrified they wouldn’t recognize who he was. He worried they’d pull back when they saw him or turn away. He was half convinced they would.
I needed this to be perfect. I wouldn’t give him any less than that. Sean had come to my apartment, asking for my help, and I wouldn’t let him down.
When I had finished up and cleaned off the blade, I took a towel and wiped the excess conditioner off Sean’s face. Then I leaned back and smiled.
“All done. Check it out.”
Sean pushed out of the chair and stood in front of the mirror. He lifted his chin and stroked his face. He looked left and then right, and then he looked straight on.
“I feel like I’m meeting another you,” I said. “The man you were before, I mean. This is what he looked like.”
Sean turned to me. “You don’t wanna know him,” he mumbled.
“No?” I reached up and touched his jaw, which I could see now without hindrance of a full beard.
It was angular, like it was chiseled out of stone. It was a really good jaw.
“I like this,” I told him, referring to his jaw and the rest of his face I’d just shaven. His damp hair was tucked behind his ears. It grazed the tops of his shoulders. “I liked the beard too. But this…I feel like you aren’t hiding from me anymore. This is you.”
His muscle beneath my hand twitched.
“When are you seeing your girls?” I asked.
“Tomorrow. Val’s bringing them over after work.”
“Are you off tomorrow?”
“I switched with J.R. I’m coverin’ the morning.”
“I’m covering the morning too.” I smiled. “Yay.”
I loved it when we worked together.
Sean’s eyes, which had been holding mine, lowered to my mouth. He swallowed, then pulled back so my hand left him, and uttered, “I gotta go.”
Those were not the words I was hoping he’d say, and not just because he was leaving.
A huge part of me wished Sean wanted me with him tomorrow to share this important moment in his life. But he didn’t propose it. I wasn’t even sure it was on his mind. And it hurt—him not wanting me there or not thinking to offer. But it was a selfish desire, and deep down in my heart, where honest feelings budded and flourished, it was more important to me that Sean was getting this chance for himself than having my own part in it.
So, as I left the bathroom, I didn’t allow that disappointment to fester. I thought about what this was going to mean to him instead.
And as I thought about it, feeling good, feeling excited for him, I realized Sean was booking it through my apartment, steps fast and heavy, like he was suddenly in a rush to get out of here.
Did I mess something up?
“Hey!” I lunged forward and grasped his elbow, giving it a tug until Sean stopped retreating and turned back, a step away from the door. “What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” I asked him.
His face was tense, then he registered my meaning and shook his head sharply, once. “I just gotta go,” he said.
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Yes, why? Do you have plans? Do you need to go do something?”
He stared at me, and I knew his answer without him speaking it.
Maybe he didn’t know…
“You don’t have to leave, Sean. I’m not asking you to leave. You can stay. We can…I don’t know, watch TV or something. Do you want to do that with me?”
Still, he said nothing. Just kept staring.
I begged, please stay, inside my head. I almost said the words out loud. I was desperate for him to know he could be here. That he could always be here.
Awareness came on abruptly. My eyes began to sting, because I realized that was it. He didn’t think he deserved what I was giving. Sean didn’t think he was good enough for this, for my company. For spending time with me and hearing me tell him things like you can stay, and this is you, I like it. He didn’t think he was worth it.
“Sean,” I whispered.
He tugged out of my hold and pleaded, “Stop,” his voice beaten down and brok
en.
I imagined him, beaten down and broken. A child unloved.
Then he took a step back, turned, and walked out. I touched my fingers to my mouth while I stared at the door. I almost walked away.
But that was not the person I was.
“Sean!” I hollered, twisting the knob and swinging the door open. Then seeing him standing there and not expecting him to be, I doubled back.
Sean was facing the door. His head was down, his chest was moving quickly, and his hands were clenched into fists at his side.
“Hey,” I spoke softly and reached for him, but he stepped back.
I wanted to reach out again, even further this time. Fighting that urge was a difficult one, but I managed, and instead waited.
Seconds blurred into minutes, then finally…
“I’m nothin’,” he whispered to the ground, with more pain in his voice than I’d ever heard pour out of a person before.
Oh, God.
“Sean…”
He lifted his head. There were tears in his eyes.
“I deserve nothin’,” he continued. “Sure as fuck nothin’ good anymore. And that’s not ever gonna change, no matter what the fuck I do, or what you say or what anybody fuckin’ says. I know that now. You need to quit lookin’ at me like I’m worth lookin’ at. I’m not. I’m nobody. I’m nothin’ to nobody. A fuckin’ fuckup. Tell me to leave.” He rushed out a breath. His eyes lost focus on the floor between us, then he whispered this time—he pleaded, “Tell me to leave, Shayla. Tell me I’m nothin’, so I can leave.”
Breath catching with emotion, I bit the tremble in my lip and shook my head.
He’d said those words to me before—I’m nothin’ to nobody—and I knew Sean was repeating something he’d heard. Something he was told, over and over, until he believed it himself.
A switch turned on inside me. People I never met and probably would never meet, I hated them. I despised whoever did this to Sean, and I would forever feel this. I knew it.
“Please,” he begged.
“I can’t.”
“Please.”
I shook my head faster, telling him, “You’re not nothing, Sean. I won’t say that. And I won’t tell you to leave—I don’t want you to.”
His eyes came up. He was still and silent, but his breathing…my God, it filled my ears. The sound—it was tortured.
