Page 40 of Painted Scars
Each cap is hand-lined with organic cotton that won’t irritate sensitive or inflamed scalps, a detail that makes her designs a favorite for anyone with alopecia or hair loss. Hair is sourced from women in a South American village she visited one time while on vacation.
She combs her fingers through the blue hair. “I’ve been tweaking the cap composition so they’re more breathable. And my recent color blends are to die for!”
“I’m predicting this is going to sell out.” I can’t stop touching it. “This is better than real hair. Softer than silk.”
I pause and stare at my reflection, wondering what my grumpy stalker will think if I wear this for him. It’ll knock his socks off.
“I want to see you in the blue one.” I gesture at Charlie to put it on.
She flushes pink and waves me away. “I tried it on earlier.”
“I bet you looked even more beautiful in it.” I squeeze her hand.
I haven’t seen her real hair in years… or what’s left of it. Stress from growing up as a child influencer under constant scrutiny from the public and her mother triggered Charlie’salopecia. These days, she switches up her wigs, depending on her mood. I want her to believe she’s enough without a costume.
Social anxiety and a hatred of the spotlight make her a homebody, but she’s turned the quiet space into the headquarters for Bookish Wigs and built something magical. Her bright pinks and purples are instant sellouts, especially with the Comic Cons and Fantasy Book Balls crowd.
She covers the top of my hand. “You always support me, Kate. I don’t think I could have kept going after the first batch flopped if it weren’t for you.”
Aww. Girl power.
I bump her shoulder gently. “You’re brilliant. I make sure you remember it.”
She smiles and fiddles with her fake red hairline.
The doorbell sounds.
“Pizza’s here.” She steps away to get it.
We settle on the floor this time and grab slices of double cheese pizza. Getting back to the scandal, I start with the nasty business about Burt first. Begin with the bad and end with the good. Really, really good. Still glowing good. Hope he texts tonight good.
My oldest friend fishes out her cell phone. “Is your pig of a boss still harassing you? I’ll call the police.”
“No!” I wrap my hand around her phone, getting cheese grease on it. “They won’t do a thing.” Burying reports against the Romans is the M.O. from what I’ve personally experienced and confirmed with sources.
Charlie reaches out to clasp my knee. “No one gets to treat you like that and walk away. Not in my world. Want me to call one of my biker boyfriends?” That’s her playful way of threatening.
Much to her dismay, she doesn’t really have a biker boyfriend. Although, she lives next door to Tom, a burly six-feet-five wall of muscle who rides with Shadow Lake Demons MC. Nobody fucks with them, not even the cops. They had a thing for a while, but he wasn’t her type, and he’s married now with kids, but still looks out for her.
“Put Tom on backup for now.” I smile, remembering how protective and menacing my grumpy stalker was to Burt. “I kind of already have a protective biker. But can we park that for a minute?”
Charlie gives me a curious look. “You can’t leave me hanging like that!”
“Sorry.” I pick at the crust, suddenly all too aware of how tight my chest feels, and how close I came to danger. “Thinking about last night scraped something raw and reminded me of things I thought I buried.”
“Come here, boo.” Charlie puts her wine glass and plate on the table, opens her arms, and lets me fold into them.
I lean into the kind of touch that says “I’ve got you.” I didn’t know how much I needed that until I melt into her. She rubs slow circles on my back that soothes the parts Harper doesn’t reach. My chest cracks a little with each stroke of my hair.
“I didn’t give myself time to process what happened with Burt,” I murmur into Charlie’s shoulder. “I came home and jumped straight into dissecting my stalker with Harper, and then…” I gesture vaguely, heat rising in my cheeks. “Things escalated in a good way. I’ll get to it, I promise. Distraction made me skip the part where I feel.”
“Take your time, boo. Feel whatever you need to. I’ve got you.” I love that Charlie doesn’t rush me and lets me piece myself together in my own time.
Love the way she reaches out and wipes my hand clean with a wet wipe and proceeds to rub moisturizer into my hands like she buffs fragile porcelain.
I’m so used to Harper’s blunt fury and sarcasm as her way of showing love. But Charlie? She’s all soft and cuddly, and I need that in this moment more than threats to slice off Burt’s dick and make him choke on it. The two of them couldn’t be more miles apart. One fires me up for revenge and leads me to chaos, and the other reminds me that I’m human, safe to feel, and hauls me out of chaos.
“That feels wonderful, thank you.” I sink back into her soft pink pillows. “My stomach cramped, and I felt like vomiting all morning until I realized my boss called in sick today.”
