6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Tyler

I entered the salon through the back door, listening to see if anyone else was still inside. When I was met with silence, I hurried to grab the broom, turning on the hair vac we had in the front of the salon. I quickly swept the floor and emptied the trash from everyone's stations.

There was an empty station that would be mine if I ever had a client. Actually, I had just acquired a client, hadn't I?

German Belmonte was coming in on Friday at three forty-five for a trim. I opened the drawer to admire the scissors and razors Mom had bought me when I was released. My initials were embossed in gold on the case that held them all. I was finally going to get to use them, and my heart was nearly beating out of my chest.

I finished mopping the floor and double-checked the door to be sure it was locked. Mom had flipped the sign when she left for the day, so I pulled the shade and turned off the lights. I went to the kitchen and grabbed a bucket to take upstairs with me for Leslie in case he felt sick to his stomach again.

I locked the back door and headed up the stairs to my place. I let myself in and listened. All was quiet.

The door to my bedroom was open, so I tip-toed down the short hall and stuck my head inside the room. Leslie was asleep on his back, and he'd kicked off the covers. I stepped closer and placed the bucket beside the bed, hoping he wouldn't need it.

I stared at him for a moment, his chest rising and falling easily. My sleep pants were too short on him, as was the T-shirt, but it did give me a nice peek at toned abs and an enticing happy trail.

"God, I really need to get laid." It came out without me realizing I'd said it out loud .

"Happy to oblige." I glanced up to see Leslie's eyes were open, and he was watching me stare at him. My face immediately heated.

"Sorry, uh, thinking out loud. Anyway, how are you? I brought a bucket if you feel sick. It's there on the floor by the nightstand." I turned to walk out of the room to make myself a bed on the couch.

"Where will you sleep?"

I turned to face him, seeing he was sitting up, his hair a messy pile on top of his head. "Couch is fine for me. I can trim your hair and beard if you'd like. I'm a barber." I had the license to prove it.

Leslie chuckled. "No thanks." He then rolled over with his back to me. I took that to mean he was going back to sleep, so I stopped in the hall and grabbed a set of sheets and an extra pillow. I checked the thermostat to see it was at seventy-two degrees, and I made a bed on the couch. I went to the small kitchen and grabbed a timer shaped like a chicken, setting it for an hour before I sacked out on the couch. It was going to be a long night.

Hour One —

The alarm startled me, and it took a moment to remember why I'd set it. I then remembered Leslie, so I hopped up and went to my bedroom where he was sleeping peacefully.

I touched his shoulder, tapping until those blue eyes met mine. "Yes?"

"I'm just waking you to see that you're okay."

I saw the flash of annoyance cross his face. "Unless you're going to pleasure me in some fashion, just make sure I'm still breathing."

I found his snarky response funny and wished I could return it in kind. "How do I know you're not in a coma if I don't wake you?"

Leslie studied me for a moment before he smirked. "You could climb in with me. If I stop breathing, you'll be the second to know."

I rolled my eyes and went back to the couch.

Hour Two—

There was no need to wake Leslie—he used the bathroom and woke me. He walked into the living room and gave me a sarcastic two-thumbs-up as the timer rang on the coffee table. I rolled over and went back to sleep.

Hour Six—

I slept through hours three through five because I forgot to set the timer. I got up to use the bathroom and make some coffee and stuck my head in the bedroom to see Leslie with my journal on the bed next to him. He was asleep, and the book was open with a pencil cradled in the crease.

I walked further into the room to see he'd sketched a picture. I walked around the bed to get a closer look, seeing it was me asleep on the couch. At the bottom of the picture, he'd written two sentences.

Don't quit your day job. You'd make a terrible nurse.

I laughed out loud, and Leslie jerked awake. I wanted to chastise him for reading the journal I was tasked to write in for my therapy call later in the week, but I'd left it on the nightstand. Natural curiosity would have had me picking it up, too.

"I'm sorry I forgot to set the alarm. Obviously, you're still alive." I closed the journal and put it on top of the dresser.

"You're not upset with me for invading your privacy?" He seemed perplexed at me for not yelling about him looking at my journal.

"I left it out. How can I complain about you reading it when it was right there. I learned to pick my battles when I was in prison." Man, did I ever.

"How long were you there?" Leslie sat up and twisted his legs like a pretzel, so I sat down on the end of the bed to mirror him.

"I got arrested at seventeen for driving the getaway car in an armed robbery of a liquor store in Miller's Point. I became friends with a group of kids there who hung out at the arcade downtown. One of them ran out of money and said he needed a ride to the ATM, so the four of us got into my car, and I drove them to the liquor store. I thought there was an ATM inside that they would use, so I waited. When they ran out, one of them waving a knife, I was in shock. Jerry held the knife to my neck and told me to drive. I did—right to the sheriff's office."

I reached up and pulled down the collar of my T-shirt. "I got this when I laid on the horn and a deputy came out. We were all tried as adults because we were seventeen and eighteen, and I was sentenced to eight years as an accessory to armed robbery. I served five years and am on parole for three. I was granted early release six months ago, right before Thanksgiving."

There was no reason to lie about my past, even to a stranger whose business it wasn't . I was sure I'd be explaining myself for the rest of my life, but as I'd heard more than once, if you can't do the time, don't do the crime.

Leslie stared at me. "You drove the armed robbers to the sheriff's office and honked the horn?" He started laughing, which lit up his whole face in a very pleasant way. I was sure under all that hair was a very handsome man.

"I thought maybe it would go in my favor. It got a year shaved off my sentence and went over well with the parole board. The other three are still in prison, as far as I know. We were each sent to different prisons throughout the state, and we can't be in contact, which is fine with me."

"Were they close friends?" Leslie seemed intrigued by my story.

I chuckled. "I'd known them for about a month before it happened. They'd grown up together, and I didn't like the kids I went to school with. It's a typical bully story, but when I met those guys, they seemed cool with me. I was a na?ve idiot back then. I was the makeup-and-nail- polish-wearing gay kid who didn't fit in and wanted desperately to find a place where I could."

"Ah. I've been down that road myself. So, how bad was prison?"

The alarm on my phone went off—thankfully—so I needed to get my ass in the shower to get to work. I'd used the kitchen alarm to wake me hourly so I didn't have to mess up the alarm setting on my phone. It was easier to use the plastic chicken alarm than fuck around with my phone.

"That's a story for another time. I gotta get to the salon. Will you be okay here today while I work? I'll come up when I get a break." I was oddly not nervous about leaving him in my space. He'd already seen my journal, so everything else was ordinary. No big surprises.

"I, uh, yeah. I'll be fine, thanks." He sounded unsure.

"Do you still have a headache?" I had pain relievers, but if he had a headache, I was going to suggest going to the hospital like the nurse practitioner at the clinic had advised.

"No. Head's just fine. Memories are coming back. I'll just get out of your hair. It was nice to meet you."

I'd put his clothes on the chair in the corner before I lay down last night, so he was ready to go. "There're your clothes. Do you remember where you live? "

Leslie's eyes studied the gingham plaid sheets for a moment before he grinned. "Yeah. I live up the mountain. I remembered when I woke up." He wore a sheepish grin, which was too damn cute for my own good.

"Well, okay then. Uh, I didn't find underwear in your clothes. Do you need some clean ones? How about an ice pack? You've got quite a scrape on your cheek. Uh, let me call my mom to come open the salon for the others. I'll get you a care package ready to take with you. How, uh, I can have Mom drive you home. I don't have a license any longer."

He tilted his head. "How do you get around?"

I giggled, which was embarrassing. "I walk. I'm saving to buy a bike. I won't get my license back for a long time. Everything I need is along that one street." I pointed toward the window that faced Main Street.

"Ah. Okay then. I'll come into the salon and say goodbye."

I nodded and hurried into my closet to grab clothes for the day. I rushed through my shower and then dressed, hurrying to get downstairs so I didn't have to bug Mom.

I quickly went through the cabinets and fridge, pulling together some ingredients for sandwiches, fruit, chips, a plastic bag with ice, and a dish towel for him to make an icepack for his face. I put everything, including a few bottles of water, into a small cooler I used when I went to the farmers' market with Mom outside of town. I could get another one the next time we went to the big box store in Hartsville.

"Okay, here you go. Keep the cooler. Uh, don't forget the keys there," I pointed to the counter where I'd placed the two keys on the little ball chain he'd had in his pocket.

"Yeah, thanks a lot for everything." He sipped his coffee as he stared at me.

I still had a baseball in my gut about his accident, so I decided just to ask him, face-to-face. "Are you going to sue us? Mom paid for the trip to the clinic, and if any follow-up is necessary, we'll cover that too."

He stared at me like I'd sprouted a second head. "Are you being nice because you're afraid I'll sue you?"

Was he mad? "Not entirely. I mean, Mom did so much for me when I went to prison, I guess I'm just trying to pay it forward. I don't know how to fix the step, and she was supposed to call someone to do it, but she forgot. I love her, but she can be a little flaky at times. I should have followed up on it myself."

"Pay it forward, huh? Well, all I have to pay forward is heartache. Give me a piece of paper and I'll sign a waiver that lets you and your mother off the hook. I won't sue you. You have my word. "

I did as he asked, and he scrawled out a note to that effect, signing Leslie at the bottom. I glanced over it and folded it, sliding it into my pocket to give to Mom.

"Thank you. I hope you recover fast, and again, I'm sorry you tripped. Maybe when you come to town again, we could have lunch at Pints ‘n Pool. They have great burgers. I think you and I could be friends."

I didn't expect his hysterical laughter.