Page 77 of The Scars We Heal

“About what?” She put her hands on her hips, popping one like the little diva she was.

I tried to come up with something quick that wasn’t, Fucking my neighbor and your uncle’s best friend.

“I was just thinking about how I need a haircut.”

Whitley’s eyes widened. “Can I get a haircut?”

Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I nodded. “Sure. Just a trim or something else?”

“Short.” She bobbed her head, letting the mess of curls fall into her face.

Tears formed in the corners of my eyes, and I almost told her no, but I bit back the word, instead saying, “I think that will look cute on you.”

“Can we go now?”

I wasn’t planning on going today, hoping the excuse was enough to feed her curiosity of what I was thinking, but I’d told her she could get a haircut and the only way I was going to dig my way out of the hole I’d put myself in was following through.

“Sure, bug. Let’s go get dressed then we can head out, yeah?”

“Yeah!” she squealed, skipping to her bedroom. She picked out a light-pink top and white shorts with frills on them after a little bit of guidance.

I pulled her hair back into little pigtails for the drive into town, and then we were on the road.

“Mommy, can you put tunes on?” she asked, kicking her feet in the backseat.

“Sure, what do you want to listen to?”

“‘Mr. Brightside.’”

“‘Mr. Brightside?’” That was the kind of music Jake listened to. “Why do you want to listen to that?”

“Auntie E told me that’s the kind of music Jake likes to listen to and that he’s your special friend.”

I groaned, mentally cursing Ellison and her meddling. “Oh, yeah, maybe he does like this music.” I didn’t even address the special friend comment. The last thing I needed was her repeating that around anyone else. Quickly scrolling through my music app, I found the song and turned it on. One song wouldn’t hurt, and I could change it to something more age appropriate after. When the music began, she immediately started throwing her head back and forward, like a tiny headbanger.

It wasn’t until she attempted to start singing—or rather, screaming—the lyrics that I lost it.

“Wow, bug.” I giggled. “Maybe being a popstar is in your future.”

She shook her head. “No, Mommy. I want to be a cowgirl.”

A smile pulled at my cheeks. Montana was treating her so well. She was thriving here, and honestly, I was starting to think I was, too.

Finding parking wasn’t too difficult, despite it being lunch hour. I held Whitley’s hand as we walked down the sidewalk toward the salon my mom recommended.

Bells chimed when we stepped inside. The space was warm and welcoming, with bright lights and light hardwood floors. The salon had four styling stations on one side, each with a chair in front of a floor-length mirror, and a few shampoo sinks on the other.

“Good afternoon, ladies! How can I help you today?” A woman with thick rimmed glasses and hair pulled up into a stylish bun greeted us at the front counter.

“We’re going to do a kid’s cut for her, and I’m also going to get a haircut,” I replied.

“Amazing. It’ll be a five or ten minute wait, is that okay?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“All righty, then. Feel free to look through the magazines for styles and have a seat.” She gestured to the small waiting area.

“How short are you wanting to cut your hair?” I asked Whitley while flipping through a style book.