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"What color is it?" I ask, a bit apprehensive.
Jemma winces slightly. "Don't be mad, but... red." I almost laugh. Red hair with my almost olive skin? It'd be garish for sure. "Now hold on a second,” she says seeing my terrified expression. “It's a muted red, and I think it'll look kick-ass. Matches your tattoos, though I suggest you keep those covered as much as possible."
I look at the box, considering. I've run before, but this time feels different. I'm far less prepared, my savings not nearly what it should be. In the past, I would've immediately fled the country. But without my passport, that's impossible. Maybe coloring my hair isn't such a bad idea. And if things calm down, I can always dye it back.
"Alright. After I'm done then, you wanna help me?" Jemma claps her hands together, a squeal of glee making me wince.
"Oh, for sure. Do you drink beer?" she asks.
I almost say, 'only every chance I get', but decide that's probably a bit much for this new acquaintance to know. "Okay, I'll be at your room after my shift ends at six."
With that settled, I turn the music back up and head back to the bathroom to scrub the toilet, my mind already panicking with thoughts of me with short red hair.
Chapter twenty-six
Tommy
I'm sitting on a stiff couch in an ornate lobby in downtown San Diego. Everything about the hotel screams money. Why install practical hardwood or carpet when you can use imported marble? And seriously, I’ve counted four—FOUR—Greek statues of naked men. Whatever happened to nice imitation flowers or some drab framed pictures of landscaping that can’t possibly offend anyone?
Okay, the place is nice, but I’m in a foul mood. Ever since my mother and Miranda rallied around me, I’ve been a mess. Even now, while in the midst of getting information I need to find Tilly, my mind is racing. Miranda is upstairs, meeting with her cousin Grayson. I have no idea what they are discussing, only that it has to do with Tilly.
After discovering that Tilly had left, I was frantic, ready to search the entire resort or stake out bus stations and airports. But Mom, always the voice of reason, talked me down. Tilly left of her own free will, she had said. It was what she wanted, and I needed to accept that.
So, I let her go. Since leaving Tahoe, I've barely spoken, my blonde scruff evolving into a scratchy beard. It’s a scraggly mess that looks like my own personal wildlife sanctuary right on my chin. I have no intention of shaving it. It’s less a style choice and more a side effect of the new ‘I really don’t give a fuck’ attitude I’ve adopted. There's a tournament in Australia I was supposed to head to in three weeks, but I've already withdrawn. I was due to have stitches removed yesterday but skipped the doctor. Who has time for taking care of yourself when wallowing in self-pity and focusing on the start of my hermit’s beard? Eventually, I'll pull them out myself, but for now, I just don't care.
I lean my head back, staring at the hotel's ceiling. It's been hours since Miranda went upstairs. If she takes much longer, they’ll need to scoop my decayed body off the floor of the ridiculous polished marble. I sneak a glance at Mack, who arrived with my mother. He is sitting across the room, absorbed in his phone, seemingly indifferent to everything.
He’s good, almost too good. Half the time, I find myself looking around just to spot him. He has this admirable way of blending in that shouldn’t be possible with how huge he is.
Then, I see Miranda coming down with Grayson. Her eyes are red and puffy; she's been crying. I rush over, but Grayson stops me with a hand in the air. The authority he has in that one move is something I’ll never be able to emulate. Maybe it’s his size? The guy is tall and wide in a way that might make me jealous. I say might because the taller they are, the harder they fall off their surfboards. Short and broad is better for my career choice, even if I’m standing up straighter around him.
"Miranda already filled me in about Tilly. I'm sorry, but if she left of her own—" he starts.
I'm already walking away. He doesn’t want to help? Fine, fuck him too then.
Miranda calls out, but I head straight to the car, where Ma waits inside, listening to an audiobook and doing a crossword.
"How'd it go?" she asks as soon as I’m inside.
"No clue except they won't help find Tilly," I say, my voice rough with frustration.
Miranda gets in the back and scowls at me. "It went well. Grayson hasn’t heard from her, but he’s going to put some feelers out. Just to make sure she’s not in a hospital or jail."
The car falls silent as Mom nods, trying to inject some optimism. "That's a good idea. Let's go back to the Airbnb. I can make some lunch, and maybe we can go to the beach or something."
"Fuck the beach," I snap, my patience worn thin. If I wanted to rub salt in my wounds, I’d just stare at the picture my mom took of us at her house again. The beach reminds me of Tilly, how her hair would get stiff from salt after a long surf session, how she’d lay in the sand and take one of her ‘power naps’ after a tough paddle out. Even the sand that would always coat her arms, making that smooth skin look rough, just like her prickliness. Yeah, fuck the beach.
Miranda sighs from the back seat. "That was incredibly rude, Tommy. Your mom is trying to help and probably doesn't appreciate getting barked at."
“It’s okay, baby. I know he doesn’t mean it. Do you need anything, Tommy?” my mom asks.
I don't answer. What does it matter? No one is doing anything to find Tilly. What if she's already hurt? Miranda seems to think the family wouldn't do anything drastic, but I don't trust them one bit.
I put the jeep in drive and start backing up, with Mack set to follow a few car lengths behind, but never far.
Once back at the Airbnb, they get out of the car, but I don't join them. Rolling the window down, I say, "I'm gonna run an errand. I'll be back for dinner."
Mom gives me a sad smile. "Okay, baby, call if you need anything."
