“I’m not sure I want anyone’s help,” I admitted.
“Seems like you did when you reached out to Evette.”
“And look where that got her? The only reason she’s still alive is because Aviv outsourced the job to some dumbwit and didn’t send one of his commandos. If he had, she’d be dead and that would be on me. I have enough guilt, I think I’m better off on my own so no one else gets hurt.”
“No one else but you?”
“Correct.”
“Right,” he muttered.
I didn’t have to be facing him to know he was angry, his tone clearly conveyed his irritation. I ignored that, too. I was becoming quite skilled at overlooking and rejecting behaviors I didn’t want to acknowledge.
Another useless talent.
“I hesitate to tell you this but I don’t think these knots are going to come out.”
“Damn.”
“I can keep trying,” he said gently. “But there are two big clumps that look like they’ve been dreadlocked.”
“Can you cut it?”
“Cut what?”
Despite my shitty thoughts and the dire state of my hair, I found myself smiling at his high-pitched tone.
“My hair.”
“You want me to cut your hair?”
I felt a hysterical giggle bubbling. The lunacy of my situation hit me all at once. I was in a hotel room with a perfect stranger who had purchased me shiny, ruffle-butt, high-waisted panties—oh, and we couldn’t forget the ruching that was right then bunched up in my butt crack. They were so ugly I’d actually considered pulling down my shorts to show him the hideous undies he’d bought. I didn’t know this man yet he’d spent months looking for me, rescued me, and had spent the last near hour brushing my hair. A few hours ago he’d easily held a man a gunpoint, yet asking him to cut my hair made his voice crack like he was going through puberty.
“Yes, Myles, I’d like for you to cut my hair. Right above where the knots are.”
“I can’t cut your hair.”
“Do you not know how to use scissors?”
“Don’t be crazy. We’ll make an appointment with a barber.”
I lost the battle with the laughter and it poured out of me. My shoulders shook with it. My body rocked with it. There was no reason for me to laugh but once the valve opened I couldn’t close it. It was like thirty-five years of pent-up frustration and hurt were flowing out of me.
It made no sense, it was totally illogical, it was absolutely ridiculous. But it happened. And once it started I couldn’t stop it. All my life I’d had shitty luck. It started when I was born to a shitty mother, and escalated from there. I’d never bothered wishing for anything because I knew I’d never get it. I didn’t bother asking for help because I knew I’d never get that, either. And most importantly I learned people were exchangeable so I never bother forming bonds. None of that was funny, yet I was laughing my ass off. It wasn’t funny my hair was going to be cut off but I was laughing. My life sucked and that really wasn’t funny, but I was laughing.
“A barber?” I stammered. “You don’t spend a lot of time with women do you?”
“Guess not.”
There wasn’t a hint of humor in Myles’s retort. I craned my neck and glanced over my shoulder. I regretted it instantly. I should’ve minded my own business and kept my eyes forward but for some insane reason, I wanted to tell him it was okay to laugh with me.
It was obvious he didn’t find anything funny about me cackling; not only that but he looked lost in thought—deep thought. But when his eyes met mine they changed from thoughtful to pensive. Technically there was only a vague distinction between the two looks but the nuance was clearly there.
“What’s the matter?”
“I was just thinking, three times I’ve heard you laugh, never seen you do it, but each time it felt good knowing you were doing it.”
What in the world did that mean?
I wasn’t brave enough to ask.
I wasn’t brave—period.
So, I blurted out, “You bought me shiny ruffle-butt panties.”
Myles did a slow blink. I watched him do it—the whole time, I never took my eyes off his. It was amazing to watch because when his lids opened his eyes were dancing.
“Say what?”
“You bought me underwear,” I reminded him.
“Yeah.”
“They’re powder blue and the waistband comes up higher than my belly button. They’re like old-fashioned briefs only higher. And they have tiny strips of lace across the butt. That’s what I was laughing at in the bedroom. I’m grateful for clean undies but these bad boys are…well they…I don’t know what they are but if I knew you better and we were friends I’d drop trou and show you.”
That earned me another slow blink, which I again watched with extreme fascination because now his full lips had curved up into a grin. And I liked that he was smiling at me.
“And just now I was thinking about how horrified you sounded when I asked you to cut my hair. Apparently, you can handle a gun just fine but you have serious issues wielding scissors because your voice cracked.”
His smile waned and for some reason, I felt like I lost something dear to me.
“It’s just hair, Myles.”
“No, baby, it’s your hair. Yours! And you shouldn’t have to fucking cut it.”
That came out rough and jagged, mean and angry—not at me but on my behalf.
Whoa, Nelly.
And calling me Baby? What was up with that?
“I agree with you. I shouldn’t and it sucks that I have to. But you know what would suck more? Having to feel all that hair matted and remembering how those mats got there. I’d rather you just cut it and move on.”
Without a word, Myles turned and moved across the room to his backpack and unzipped it. While he was digging through his kit, his shirt lifted, exposing the holster at his hip. I wasn’t a fan of guns, never had been, and I really wasn’t a fan when Tamir had me and I knew he could turn his on me at any time. But seeing Myles carry one put me at ease. With him it meant protection.
Myles straightened and strode back into the kitchen. He set the smallest pair of scissors I’d ever seen down on the table.
“These are your choices,” he started. “Those.” He pointed to scissors. “Or this.” His hand went into his pocket and in one smooth motion, he pulled a knife out and flicked it open.
I took in the long steel blade, then the tiny scissors, and it was a no-brainer.
“The knife.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. It would take a year if you used those tiny—”
“No, babe, you sure you want me to cut it? We can go out tomorrow and find a… haircutter woman for you.”
“A haircutter woman,” I repeated with a smile.
Myles shrugged and returned my smile. It wasn’t real, it didn’t reach his eyes, but it was better than seeing him scowl so I’d take it.
“Yeah, I’m positive.” To underline my statement I twisted so I was looking out the window and my back was again to Myles. “Are you sure that knife is sharp enough?”