Take Your Time (Fate and Circumstance #2) (7 page)

Sarah

The rest of Saturday night sucked. After going home—alone—I’d taken a shower and gotten ready for bed. But sleep refused to come. I ended up tossing and turning for hours, thinking of nothing but Bentley. His words filled my head, his voice echoed throughout the dark room, and the memory of his touch lit my entire body on fire. It was different, though. I didn’t find myself turned on as I thought of him. Sure, he was gorgeous, and if I’d thought about his body or fantasized about what he could’ve done to me with those hands of his, it would’ve led to me taking care of my own needs. But those weren’t the thoughts that crossed my mind as I fought sleep that night. Instead, I berated myself for not asking where he was from, where he was going back to. Not that I would go visit him or anything, but because I’d felt a connection to him. The first connection to another living person since Christmas, and he was gone. I thought that was what I wanted—no relationship with anyone—but realizing what I’d lost made me sad. Made me question if I’d ever find it again. Made me worry about my desire to have it again. And then left me feeling even more alone and empty inside without it.

Take your time
was the advice he’d given me. I didn’t know how to do that. He told me I couldn’t ignore the grief. I didn’t think that’s what I’d been doing. I
was
grieving. I
did
feel pain…that’s all I felt and why I sought out the men to give me a reprieve. I didn’t want to live this way forever. I wanted to move past it, but fear of feeling too much kept me at a standstill. I didn’t know how to move forward, and I felt he held those answers. But he was gone and I’d never be able to ask him what he meant by that statement.

It was just another example of people leaving, taking with them the answers I’d never be able to find. It happened with my mom first. So many things I wish I’d asked before she laid down that day. So many things I wish I’d been able to say. But I’d never have that opportunity. And now with Bentley…more questions I’d never have answers to. Only this time, it was different. He wasn’t dead. He was just out of reach.

By the time I woke up on Sunday, I seemed to have gotten over the whole Bentley thing. He’d come out of nowhere, took me by surprise, and dug up old feelings I wished would’ve stayed buried. But after sleeping it off, I realized that’s all it was. I hadn’t felt anything for him other than annoyance that he’d somehow gotten me to open up to him. He’d hypnotized me and had me believing in things I knew would never happen. In the light of day, I saw reality.

I moped around most of the day, barely listening to Bree lecture me about my carelessness from the night before. Just as I suspected, she’d called me and immediately began her interrogation as to the text I’d sent. I told her I went out with a guy I’d met and wanted to be safe in case something happened to me. I thought that would settle her, but no such luck. I eventually gave up and let her rattle on about the dangers of getting into vehicles with strangers and how my downward spiral would one day get me hurt—
if I was lucky
. She always had to add that, reminding me without words that my actions ran the risk of being far more damaging than just getting hurt. Like I needed her to tell me that.

I loved Bree; honestly, I did. We’d been so close ever since she moved in with my family. I’d connected with her better than I did my biological sister. And after the first month of having her in my life, it was almost as if we’d known each other forever. I was there for her during her pregnancy, and then even after that when she had to raise her daughter, Ayla, all by herself. After she graduated high school, she felt she needed to be out on her own since she was a mom, and I offered to find a place with her. I knew she wouldn’t have been able to handle the finances on her own fresh out of school with a baby, so I helped in every way I could. I’d just finished cosmetology school, and started cutting hair at a local salon. It wasn’t much money, but it was more than the sleazy motel had paid her. We were sisters—best friends—learning about life as we went. But we always had each other.

Things changed after my mom died. I’d spent an entire month holed up in my house, crying to myself because I had no one to lean on. Bree had her new fiancé, Axel. Clari had her husband, Joel. Dad and I were the only ones left without anyone, but it became difficult to rely on him. Ever since he married my mom, she’d become his entire existence. His whole world. Everything revolved around her, and he never showed an ounce of regret about it. My mom deserved that. She’d spent ten years being the single parent, raising my sister and me. And she’d done a fantastic job at it. But she deserved to have someone take care of her the way she did us. We were just too young to do it—not that she would’ve ever let us be the parent and care for her. So when Wayne came into her life, she finally had someone to depend on. And I think she was made for him, too.

Since I was so young when Wayne came into our lives, I never really knew much about his life before us. But Bree had been able to fill in the blank spots after she came around. I guess her mom was a nightmare, and treated Wayne like shit. She’d told me stories of how her parents couldn’t stand each other. It made me feel bad for my stepdad. He was such an amazing man, so loving and kind, treating us as if we were his own from the very beginning. He deserved someone to love him right, and my mom did just that. They were perfect for each other—the model example of soul mates. So when she died, he was left with nothing. Granted, he wasn’t alone. He still had us girls, but it wasn’t the same. I think I understood that better than my sisters did.

Just because we had each other didn’t mean we didn’t feel alone.

Bree had been busy planning her wedding to Axel, and because of that, she’d spent a lot of time with Clari. Clarissa had gotten married last year, so she was able to help with the planning. The entire thing pissed me off. Our mother had just died, and their lives continued. They laughed and smiled, getting excited over dresses and flowers. Meanwhile, my mother wasn’t around to help celebrate. She hadn’t even been able to congratulate them on their engagement before dying. I hated how their lives went on, how they acted as if Mom’s death never happened. Unfounded bitterness etched its way into my heart, and I’d allowed it to take residence, settle in deep, and then it bled out into other aspects of my life.

In the end, it didn’t matter how close Bree and I once were, or how we’d once upon a time had each other’s backs for everything. She didn’t need me anymore. She had Clari. And Clari had her. I, on the other hand, had no one. So in the middle of February—just a month and a half after my mom had passed away—I made the decision to stop mourning. I needed to get my big-girl panties, pull them all the way up, and say “fuck the world.” If they could move on so easily, so could I. And that’s when I’d made the decision to
literally
fuck the world. If having a man between my legs, inside me, made me feel something other than pain, made me do something other than cry, then so be it. My sisters had each other, Wayne didn’t want anyone, and I had my Saturday nights.

I guess it’s true what they say: Everyone grieves differently.

Monday morning came, reminding me that I needed to be an adult. I had a job to go to, money to earn, so I got up and started my day like I did every morning during the week. Monday through Friday, I had to act like a mature adult. This pretty much meant I spent five days a week walking around like a zombie, completely emotionless to the life around me. No one at the fancy salon I worked at knew much about my personal life. I’m sure they’d heard rumors, or had seen me out on the weekends, but none of them had ever asked me about it. If they’d heard people talking about me, they never voiced it. The girls in the salon didn’t treat me any different. Inside that space, I was one of them.

I loved the salon for one reason, and that was because I could pretend to be someone I wasn’t. I could pretend to be busy, masking my sadness, and no one was the wiser. I could feel dead on the inside, yet wear a smile on my face. I became the physical example of the saying, “check your baggage at the door” while at work. Once I stepped through that door, I left the grief outside, and the tears, and the need to lose myself one night a week. It’s the only thing that got me through each day.

But what had started out as any other day, quickly fell apart. Halfway through my shift, I had a walk-in. It wasn’t an unusual thing to have—I’d typically have about three a week needing a trim between my appointments. There were a couple of the new stylists that hadn’t built up a base yet, so they normally took the last-minute cuts, but if I had the time, I didn’t mind doing it. Except, this wasn’t a normal walk-in. And it made me wonder if it’d been fate that he just so happened to come in when I had a break in my schedule.

“What are you doing here?” I asked in shock after rounding the corner to come face to face with Bentley. The
same
Bentley who was supposed to have gone back home to his family the day before.

“I need my hair washed.”

“Okay, and you don’t have a shower where you’re from?” My voice was tense and harsh. I hadn’t expected to see him again, and finding him standing in my salon in front of me came as quite a shock.

He smiled at me, even though my lips were pressed in a hard line, finding no humor in this situation at all. “Yes, I have a shower. But I wanted to see you. Is that okay? I mean, I can go…”

Marlo, the owner of the salon, stood behind the counter, glaring at me with unspoken threats flashing in her bright eyes. She only had a few rules, and one of those was to treat every client as if they were the most important person that ever walked the earth. She didn’t have to say anything for me to know she didn’t appreciate my attitude toward Bentley. And I wasn’t about to explain.

“No, don’t go. I can wash your hair. Follow me.” I turned my back to him, leading him into the main galley of the salon where we had the sink basins. “I really don’t understand why you needed to come here.”

“I just wanted to see you.”

“How’d you know I work here?”

“You told me you were a hairstylist the other night. There’s only like three places in this town to get a haircut. Finding you wasn’t that difficult.”

I ignored the thought of him out looking for me, and instead said, “I thought you were leaving. Was that a lie? Was any of what you said the other night the truth?” I made sure to keep my harsh tone low, not wanting to draw attention from anyone around us, especially my boss.

He leaned toward me, concern showing in his furrowed brow. “Nothing I said was a lie, Sarah. I
was
supposed to leave yesterday. But I couldn’t seem to get you off my mind, and I realized I couldn’t go home just yet.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” he asked, staring intently into my eyes which caused my stomach to do somersaults. “Why were you on my mind? Because I think you’re selling yourself short, and that bothers me. Why couldn’t I leave yet? Because I can’t find it within me to walk away from you when you clearly need someone.”

“I don’t need you.”

“So you’ve said. But guess what, Sarah? I don’t care what you say. You wouldn’t tell me the truth, anyway. I have a feeling you’re so used to hiding the truth and telling lies to everyone, that you don’t even know the difference anymore.”

“Have a seat.” I needed distance from him, so I backed away, pointed to the chair, and lowered my eyes to the sink to avoid his gaze. His words struck me like daggers to my heart. The way he pinpointed my exact feelings terrified me. I wanted to tell him to leave and never come back, but just the thought of sending him away stole the air from my lungs.

I grabbed a towel from the closet and rolled it up behind his head, guiding his neck to the dip in the basin. At least he wouldn’t be able to see me from where I stood behind him, so he wouldn’t be able to witness the immense turmoil I’m sure riddled my face.

My mind twisted with confusion and my stomach fluttered with unexpected excitement. I didn’t understand any of it. A complete stranger had managed to pull things from me that I didn’t even know were there. That night we’d spent together, just talking, had been intoxicating, and it had left me wanting more. But once the moment passed and I was able to think clearly again, I realized it’d been nothing more than a fog that had settled around me. As soon as that fog lifted, I no longer wanted him. The desire to have him with me, or to talk to him about everything, had faded. So why did I feel relieved to see him? Why did my insides seemingly illuminate like it’d been taken over by a swarm of lightning bugs when I realized he hadn’t gone back home?