4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Tyler

"Your mom seems so happy to have you back in town." It was Tricia Sykes, the dispatcher at the sheriff's office just down the street. She'd just had a baby and wanted her hair trimmed before she went back to work.

Tricia didn't strike me as malicious with her comment as others had been, smiling at me while I processed her credit card. At least there was someone decent besides the folks at Shear Bliss.

"I'm definitely happy to be here." The receipt spewed from the machine, so I grabbed a pen and a clipboard, sliding the ticket under the bar for Tricia to sign.

"You should meet my brother, Jeremy. He's in town for a few weeks helping Lance do some repairs at the house. Maybe you wanna come over—"

I glanced out the window and saw a man who appeared to be living on the street. Our eyes locked, and his were the most vivid blue I'd ever seen.

The man had a wild dark-blond beard and long messy hair, the top of which was pulled up with a rubber band. His clothes were old and had seen better days, but those eyes…

Suddenly, he jerked and turned to hurry away before he completely disappeared.

"Oh damn!" I rushed from behind the counter and ran outside, finding the man face down on the sidewalk. Fucking hell! He'd tripped over our broken step.

I rushed over and gently turned him onto his back. He was breathing, though I believed him to be unconscious. His left cheek was scraped and his nose was bleeding. I quickly took off my apron and gingerly wiped the cracked pieces of concrete away before holding the apron under his nose to try to catch some of the blood .

"Oh, dear god! What happened?" I glanced up to see Mom standing on the top step.

"He fell over this broken stair. I told you to call someone to get it fixed."

I didn't know how to repair concrete. I could hang things or change lightbulbs, but that was the extent of my home-repair knowledge. Cars? Even less.

"Blasted! I forgot all about it, Ty. Should I call the ambulance?"

The stranger opened his eyes. "Where...? What...? What happened?"

Close up, the blue eyes left me speechless. Mom nudged my back with her knee, so I shook off my fascination. "You fell and hit your head, I'm afraid."

"My head?"

"I'm so sorry. Yes, you tripped over our—" And there was my mother admitting fault right off the bat!

"Mom! Get the man a wet cloth."

All we needed was a trip-and-fall lawsuit. I tossed my bloody apron over the broken step to hide it and helped the man sit up. "Do you hurt anywhere?"

"I hurt everywhere. I just fell." He wasn't nasty about it, just stating a fact and staring at me as though he thought I was stupid .

"We have a volunteer fire department and paramedic unit. Do you want us to call them?" Mom knelt next to me. "Is there someone we can call for you? Where do you live?"

"I— I live in Montecito."

"I'm calling Sheriff West. I think he needs to be checked out by the paramedics. What's your name, honey?"

The man seemed a little put off by Mom's clipped tone if his scowl was any proof, so I did my best to smooth it. "I'm Tyler. That's Marlena. We want you to get checked out. Is it okay if we call the sheriff? He'll call the paramedics to be sure you're okay."

"I'm okay—" Suddenly, the stranger sprang to his feet.

"Wait! You might have a concussion or something!" I stood to run after him.

"No police!" He stumbled a bit, but I caught him before he fell.

I was no lawyer, but I knew that if someone was injured on your property, you were liable and could be sued. I definitely didn't want that to happen to Mom. She was just starting to make a profit at the shop after taking out a second mortgage to pay my attorney when I was arrested as an accessory to armed robbery.

I'd vowed to pay back every penny Mom spent trying to keep me out of prison, though it had all been for nothing. She'd gone above and beyond her motherly obligations when I fucked up, and I would do everything in my power to repay her. I wouldn't let anything bad happen to her, either.

"Okay, okay. No cops. I actually agree with you on that one. My apartment is on the second floor over the shop. Will you consent to coming upstairs with me so I can watch you for a little while? I'll fix you something to eat, and you can shower if you'd like. I'll wash your clothes for you."

His face screwed up for a moment before he nodded. At least I said something right.

"Okay. Good. Let's go around back to the separate entrance. I need to let Mom know what's going on, so have a seat on the stairs. I'll help you climb them in a minute."

He nodded and went to the stairway while I hurried around the corner and into the shop. Mom was standing at the reception desk on the phone, so I went to the back and grabbed a bucket to fill with water to rinse off the steps and sidewalk. Nobody needed to see blood in front of Shear Bliss.

Just as I stepped outside, Reuben Bennett, the mailman, walked by and handed me the mail. "I saw that guy fall. Is he okay? You know, I've mentioned to your mother about fixing that step more than once. She should talk to Jack Hulbert at Nuts and Bolts. I'm sure he'd know someone to do the job."

Just what we needed—the nosy fucking mailman as a witness to the guy falling in front of our shop. Why were the fates conspiring against me?

"He's fine. Nothing to worry about. Do you know him?"

"Name's Leslie, I believe. I believe he lives out in the woods somewhere higher up the hill, but the mailbox is outside a locked gate so I don't know what the house looks like. Mail comes to a Moslie Consolidated, LLC. I see him around town every few months, but he's not very friendly. Might be crazy. You know, some homeless have mental illnesses that make them violent. You better be careful with him."

I rolled my eyes so hard it was surprising they didn't stick that way. "I, uh, I think the term is now unhoused, Mr. Bennett, and we don't know anything about him, so let's not form a negative opinion off the bat. I don't think he's dangerous, but I'll be careful. Thank you."

I took the mail and the bucket and returned inside. Mom was back at her station with her next client, so I walked over, leaning to speak into her ear. "I have the guy waiting for me on the steps. I'll take him upstairs to my place to keep an eye on him for a while so we know if he's injured badly. I'll feed him and wash his clothes. Let's keep our fingers crossed that he doesn't find a lawyer and end up owning the shop. I'll come back and close things up tonight. What time's your last appointment?"

"Do you trust him in your apartment alone?" My mother's face… She was worried, like always, and it made me chuckle.

"Mom, aside from the frame you gave me with the picture of us when I got out of Folsom, I can't imagine I've got anything worth any money that he might steal."

Mom blushed, which was cute. I gave her a hug before I left.

When I walked around the side of the building, I saw Leslie—if that was his name—leaning his head against the railing with his eyes closed. I had no clue how old he was, but I hoped that allowing him into my apartment wouldn't lead to a squatting situation.

"Mr. Leslie, can you make it up the stairs?"

His eyes popped open, and he sat up, rubbing his face. His nails were relatively clean for someone who lived on the streets. I hated that the old stereotype of someone foraging through a trash can was the first thought I'd had. I dealt with my own stigmas. I shouldn't assign them to others .

"Yes. If you have some pain relievers, I'd appreciate them. I might have sprained my wrist, but I'm not sure." He was holding his wrist and rubbing it, so I helped him stand and guided him up the stairs. When we reached the top, I flipped the corner of the rug and grabbed the key to unlock the door.

"It's not much—" What the hell was I saying to a man who seemingly didn't have housing?

I helped Mr. Leslie inside and onto a chair at my small kitchen table. "Can I get you something to eat? I have stuff for sandwiches if you're hungry."

"Just water, please."

I nodded before hurrying to my kitchenette and opening the fridge to grab a bottle of water. I reached into a cabinet and picked up a bottle of pain relievers, shaking out two and taking them to Mr. Leslie. "I'll be right back with a couple of sandwiches. Do you like ham or turkey? Oh, how about cheese?"

"Really, it's unnecessary. I'll be fine. I've already taken up enough of your time." He took the pills and drank the water before trying to stand, only to stumble.

"You better sit down, Mr. Leslie. We might need to take you to the urgent care in Miller's Point. I think you might have a concussion. Maybe no food yet. Let me get some ice for your wrist. "

An hour later, Mr. Leslie threw up the water and pain relievers, so I had Mom drive us to the clinic in the next town. They diagnosed him with a mild concussion and x-rayed his wrist. Thankfully, nothing was broken.

"He needs to be watched for the next twenty-four hours. If his headache gets worse or if he throws up again, he'll need to be seen by a doctor at Hartsville Mercy. We can't do a head CT here." The nurse practitioner who ran the clinic was very nice, but she seemed quite concerned, which had me equally worried.

"He can come stay at my house," Mom piped up.

"No, no. He can stay at my place. You've got a full day tomorrow, so you can't stay up all night. I have no appointments. I can stay up with him and make sure he's comfortable."

We didn't need an unhoused man dying after a fall at our shop. I was trying to get on my feet and take the burden of worry off my mother, not add more to it.

Mr. Leslie was showering when my phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but I had to answer because my parole officer could call any time and I was required to speak with them. "Tyler Cromwell."

"Hi, Tyler. It's German Belmonte calling from Ramon's phone. He got your number from Camila and told me to call for an appointment to have my hair trimmed. Is this a bad time?"

My first client… "Hi, German. How are you?"

"I'm fine. Can you fit me in sometime this week?"

I wanted to laugh. I had no appointments anytime in the near or far future. Nobody in town would let me touch their hair except to shampoo it, and some wouldn't even let me do that.

"I, uh, how about Friday? Morning or afternoon?" I grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from the drawer, ready to write down my first-ever appointment to get paid for doing what I'd trained to do in prison. I didn't even have an appointment book.

"Uh, afternoon is better. We close the truck at three, so after that would be great." German's voice was deep and quiet.

"How about three forty-five? That way you can clean up the truck first."

"Yeah, yeah, that works. I just want a trim, so it shouldn't take long."

"Of course, German. No worries. I'll shampoo your hair so you can come straight from the park. I'll see you Friday afternoon."

"Thanks, Tyler. I'm looking forward to it."

I couldn't keep the smile from my face. My first customer…