Page 100 of His Surrogate Omega

“Not far from my home… and I can get home from there. I just need to stop in somewhere.”

“Sure. Where are we going?”

Gray gave the man the directions just before they pulled out of the semi-circular drive and on toward the O Quad. When they arrived at their destination, he climbed out with a thanks to the driver.

He stepped into the hairstylist’s shop and eyed the beta behind the chair. “Do you have time for a cut?”

“Yeah, I can trim you up,” the beta said as he continued working on the elaborate braid for the omega in his chair.

“Not a trim. A cut. As in all of it.”

Both the hairstylist and omega turned to him, dumbfounded.

“Yeah… sure… just give me a minute to finish up here.”

Gray’s heart beat in his chest like a tattoo. He wasn’t sure he could breathe in his next lungful of air. When it was his turn to sit in the stylist’s chair, he felt a cold shiver race up his spine.What am I doing?

“Are you sure you want to cut it all off?” the stylist asked, lifting the long braid that nearly reached Gray’s knees.

Jamie’s face came back to mind—crying over losing his hair. He was sacrificing a lot to endure treatment. Gray felt the need to sacrifice something of his own. “Do it. Cut it all off. But keep the braid… I want to have it made into a wig.”

“If you’re sure.”

Gray met the beta’s eyes in the mirror. “I’m sure.”

The scissors sawed through his thick braid. Moments later, the rope of hair was laid into his lap, both ends tied off.

“You want me to give you a cute cut with what’s left?”

Gray stared into his image in the mirror. “No… I want you to shave it all off.”

“Shave? Why?”

“I have a sick friend. He’s losing his hair.”

The beta smiled softly in the mirror, resting a hand on Gray’s shoulder. “You don’t have to say another word.”

The clippers came out and removed the rest of his hair. Afterwards, Gray sat there—silent—as he looked at his image in the mirror. He lifted a hand and ran it over the stubble on his head.

“I feel lighter.”

The beta chuckled. “I bet.”

The stylist cleaned his neck and shoulders before removing the cape he’d placed over him. Gray rose, braid in hand, and turned to the man. “How much do I owe you?”

“Are you using that to have the wig made for this friend of yours?”

Gray nodded.

“No charge.”

Gray felt tears burning the backs of his eyes.

“Save those tears. You’ll need them when you get the price tag on a decent wig.”

“I had hoped offering up my hair would make it significantly cheaper.”

“Cheaper, yes,” the stylist said. “Significantly? Probably not.” He reached into his station and pulled out a card. “But I know someone who will likely charge a lot less than others would. Tell him I sent you. I’ll call and let him know you’re calling.”

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