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Gone to the Salon, shouldn’t be gone too long. There are cinnamon rolls on the warming plate, do not overdue it, I will clean up when I get home.
Maneuvering my body, I throw my legs over the edge of the bed, and stand. Feeling a slight ache in my ribs I bite back a curse and stand tall.
I’m already over this inability to move around like I want. I’m ready to get back to work, being cooped up is killing me.
Deciding to shower before I eat, I make my way to the bathroom and flip on the water. Moving around the bathroom, waiting for the water to heat, I gather a towel and pause, looking at myself in the mirror.
In desperate need of a shave, I run my hand over my jaw and stare at my reflection.
The bruise on my forehead, is fading and is now an ugly shade of greenish yellow.
Flashbacks of that day hit, and I flinch remembering what it felt like with the first impact. Falling forward I tried to break my fall because I had Samantha in my arms, but it was too much, and I crumbled to the floor. Everything after that is a blur. Until I stepped outside, and it all hit me. The reality of the situation, the scared look in the eyes of all those I call brothers.
Shaking away the thoughts, I pull open the drawers looking for a razor. Sifting through the contents, pushing aside make-up and hair products.
I’d never been in a woman’s bathroom, but my God what in the hell do they need all this shit for?
Opening the lower cabinet I lower my body, knowing that bending at the waist right now is something that hurts too much to attempt.
Finding a bottle of shaving cream though it’s some flowery scent, I grab it and place it on the counter, continuing to look for razors, is when I see a box tucked off to the side that catches my attention.
Lifting it, I turn it over and remain frozen in place as I read over the name on the box. Not noticing that it is open until the contents slips slowly from the end and falls to the floor, I sit back on my legs and stare at the white applicator laying on the tile floor.
It is face down, and part of me wants to ignore it and walk away, but an even bigger part of me needs to see what the other side reveals.
My hand shakes as I reach out and lift it, slowly turning it over.
And in that very second, my entire world changes. Everything I thought I knew is unclear, every vision I had is blurred, my entire story, our story, has been rewritten.
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
Amara
I am just about to pack my things up and leave when I hear the sound of footsteps approaching. Not high heels, which is common in the salon but big, heavy, determined boot cladded footsteps.
My pulse quickens, and I look toward the doorway just as Tyler’s body fills the open space. Fully dressed, his hair damp from I assume a recent shower and a surprising scowl on his face.
“Is everything okay?” I stand and begin to round the desk when he holds out his hand for me to stop. My mind is racing with what could have happened between now and less than an hour ago when I left the house.
He was sleeping, soundly. I’d left him breakfast, a fresh pot of coffee waiting in the kitchen.
“When were you planning to tell me?”
I wrinkle my brows, still reeling from the change in his demeanor.
“Or were you even going to?”
“Ty,” I shake my head again trying to step toward him when he reaches around and pulls out something from his back pocket. The entire moment slows, like it’s happening in an incredibly stretched out timeframe. His movements, his words, it all feels so unreal.
He tosses the applicator I had placed back in the box under the sink, until I was ready to show him.
“Were you even going to tell me?”
“Of course I was.” I was building up to it. Hadn’t quite figured out how to spring the news, but I was definitely going to.
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
