Page 61 of Hero Hair
Macs doesn’t comment on the fact that all of my friends know about us, but his friends don’t even know what the hell is going on. He’s like me. A master at evasive techniques. We decided not to label it, so I decide we’ll be together. That’s good enough for me.
We finish our breakfast and our coffee. The conversation is light and breezy as we discuss the facets of his kitchen. I don’t have to pretend to be interested. I truly am. I tell him I want to redo my kitchen and his eyes light up at the prospect of another project. He takes our bowls and mugs to the sink and disappears down the hall to the bathroom. It’s where my stuff is, so I can’t get ready yet. Approaching the sink, I wash the dishes myself.
I startle when someone pounds on the front door. My heartbeat leaps into my chest as I peek around the corner to peer out the window. His driveway is hidden by the garage, but I see the uniform right away. I’ve never seen Macs wear it, but I know merely by sight this is one of his teammates. The severity of the slamming on the door forces me over. I unlock the deadbolt and pull the door open as quickly as my fumbling hands allow. This man, this beast of a man, looms over me like a goddamn nightmare. Where Macs is beautiful, this man is…rugged. His eyes flare the second the door opens and he sees me.
“Oh,” I say, pulling at the hem of my shirt. “I’m sorry. You didn’t seem very patient,” I explain. “I’ll go get Macs.” For a second I think I should introduce myself, but then decide against it. Macs should do that.
He shakes his head, closing his eyes. “I knew it. I fucking knew it,” he says under his breath.
Macs rounds the corner with his towel slung over his shoulder, wearing only his boxer briefs.
His whole demeanor changes when Macs sees this man. “Tahoe. What the fuck?”
“Time to stop playing fucking house. Grab your shit. We need to leave. Like now. Like fucking yesterday,” the man named Tahoe explains using a gruff, emotionless voice.
I step to the side and take a few steps back.
I’ve never seen this side of Macs and I watch his face change as he processes the vague information given to him. His brow furrows, and his lips turn down in the corners. No dimples or smiles, or warm eyes. His face is made of stone and ice. You could carve a fucking swan out of it and set it on display on a cruise ship. This is work Macs, and I don’t know him.
“What’s the matter?” I ask. No one looks at me. “Macs,” I say, my voice pleading. I look between the men and it’s only been a matter of seconds since Tahoe spoke, but it feels like years.
Macs is heading back into the bedroom, and I’m left standing in this beautiful room with a man who looks like he deals out death for a living.
“What happened?” I ask, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. It matches the pit in my stomach that sinks further and further every second.
The beast named Tahoe flicks his gaze to me instead of the hall Macs disappeared down. “Stay here today. Don’t go out,” he says.
My brow crinkles in confusion. Tahoe doesn’t notice, though. He’s eyeing my bare legs up and down, wearing a smile that looks like it belongs in Shark Week. The dread is so deep I don’t even give him a zing or readjust the tee. I stare at his uniform. The camouflage printed fabric that looks starched to death, the seams, his boots, the collar and Trident emblazoned over his heart. It’s weird to see it, but I know what it means. I can’t look at it another second. I retreat to the bedroom. The first thing I notice is the bed. It’s still in a disarray, the covers and sheets a tangled mess from our morning sexual escapade, then I see Macs. He has the bags out of their hiding place and he’s tucking his white shirt into his twin camouflage pants.
“Macs,” I whisper.
He glances over his shoulder and his face looks pained. “I’m sorry I have to go. I keep a spare key under the doormat. Take it. Okay?” he approaches quickly, his pants still unbuttoned. His hands embrace my cheeks. “I’ll call you.”
“Is everything all right?” I ask.
His face closes down. “I’m sure it is. I’ll call you,” he says again. “I missed a bunch of calls this morning.” Macs shakes his head, irritated.
I frown.
“It’s my fault. For being so into you.” He tries on a smile, but it fails. No dimples or happiness. He kisses me slowly, lips and tongue and the desire that always simmers when our lips are joined is there, but he’s not. He’s already the other person. He releases me. “Stay put for a second.”
I sit down in the middle of the bed. I hear him talking to Tahoe in hushed whispers and when he comes back to collect his bags he’s a different person.
“Will you be gone for a long time?” I ask, quickly.
He shakes his head. “I have no idea. I need to get into to work and figure this out. Bye, Teala.” He leans over, putting his palms flat on the bed to reach me for another kiss.
I lean up on my knees to wrap my arms around his neck.
“Be safe,” he whispers.
“Text me.”
A small grin starts to appear on his lips, but disappears just as quickly. He tells me the same thing Tahoe did about staying home and then he’s gone. Trusting in someone other than myself might be the hardest thing I’ll ever do. I don’t know what the hell is happening, and I’ve never had to accept half-truths before. I grab another cup of coffee and open the sliding glass doors in his living room. The sun is a burning ball in the sky now. Somewhere in between him holding me and Tahoe banging down the door, I know something huge changed.
I won’t heed their instructions to stay home. I shower and dress quickly and pull my wet hair into a bun on the top of my head. On a whim I take a photo of the messy bed before I make it and send it to Macs. He doesn’t reply right away, and I know he won’t. I grab the key from under his welcome mat, lock the door, return the key to its hiding spot, and head for the yoga studio. I call my mom on the way, but it goes straight to voicemail. I narrow my eyes at my phone and try it a dozen more times. My Bluetooth must be glitching, so I turn it off completely. The radio automatically picks up where my morning playlist left off. It’s not Adele blasting through my speakers anymore. It’s a frantic radio host screaming about a terror attack.
“Tone it down, buddy,” I say, grimacing.
I mute the mayhem with a shake of my head and try my mom again by doing it the ancient way, with my phone pressed to my ear. It’s still going straight to voicemail. “Where are you?” I ask the air. “Call me back, Mom. Where are you? Why is your phone going straight to voicemail? I have news I need to talk to you about ASAP. Call me back. Your phone never goes straight to voicemail. What is going on?” I hang up the call and my fingers twitch on my steering wheel, tapping out a furious rhythm of annoyance. I park my car in the empty parking lot and check my watch to find it’s ten minutes before nine. I unlock the mirrored door to the studio.
The business phone is ringing off the hook. I run over and answer it by leaning over the counter. I answer with the standard greeting.
“I’m going to the mall,” Carina rushes. “What was the name of that tea you made the other day? I want to grab some while I’m there.”
We talk for a few more minutes, and she’s happy, and I’m happy. I forget I can’t reach my mom and I’m worried about tea and everything is right in the world.
And then it’s not.
