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Pulling up outside of the salon, I’m antsy as hell. I haven’t seen Libby in three days and it’s killing me. She knows I’m in town. I told her I was staying here until we get her to New Orleans. And that doesn’t change just because she doesn’t want me with her. She asked me to leave and deserves to have space. No matter how much it’s killing me. But she’s still my wife and I will do everything possible to keep her safe.
Including moving her into the apartment I found listed yesterday and signed a lease on this morning over email.
Tyson also texted me this morning to see if I needed any help with the cleanup at the salon since he has a day off. Other than the guys I had board everything up, I’ve taken it upon myself to spearhead the cleanup. I haven’t talked with the owner, Sarah, in depth enough to know her budget to get everything fixed, but I’ll never turn down the extra help. Especially since Tyson never does anything for money and I know he’ll turn it down if she tries.
“What’s your problem?” Tyson asks as we walk up the stairs.
“Nothing.”
“I call bullshit.”
“Congratulations,” I mumble.
“See? You’ve been pissy since I got here. Slug told me Libby kicked you out. What did you expect after jumping the gun marrying the girl? You didn’t even get her a ring, man. I’d kick you out too.” I shoot Tyson a look to let him know he’s standing on thin ice. Not getting Libby a ring was completely intentional. I’ll gladly put on a fake marriage with her, but the only time I will ever put a ring on her finger is when she agrees to marry me for real. “Listen. All I’m saying is Libby has some high walls and barely knows you. Husband or not, you still have to be careful.”
I know Libby has walls. It was clear the moment she saw me on the other side of that bathroom door the first night we met. But I call bullshit on her not knowing me. I’ve made it a point to make sure she can see through me at every turn. I don’t want to be just another person in her life that she has to worry about. I want to be her fucking husband.
There isn’t any doubt that she’s been through some tough things, but she wants to believe there is better. I can feel it in the way she speaks and the way she looks at me. She deserves to have someone show her that there is better. Because even though she has a tainted view on receiving unconditional love, she loves whole heartedly.
I understand her not letting people in easily. Hard times create hard people. But I’m nothing if not a patient man, and I’ll give her all the time she needs. I’ll show her that she deserves more than the bare minimum from people. Because I see her, and I see that she’s worth so much more than the life she’s been given.
Unlocking the door to the salon, I head to the stack of mirrors that got dropped off last night.
“Holy fuck. This is bad,” Tyson gapes. And he’s right, it is bad. Even after spending yesterday cleaning everything up and patching holes, it’ll still be a week or two before they can open back up.
“I’m hoping we can bust ass today and get all the glass in.”
Tyson nods while looking around. “Yeah man. Shouldn’t be a problem,” he says. So we roll up our sleeves and get to work.
I’m wrist deep in caulk when my phone goes off. Shit. It could be Libby, but my hands are covered..
“Will you get that, Ty?” He’s finishing up installing the last mirror, which isn’t a messy job.
“On it,” he says and scoops up my phone. “Whose Savannah?” Abso-fuckin-lutely not. “Just leave it.” But the look on his face tells me his intentions before he does it.
“Oh shit. That’s your sister’s name, right?” The asshole answers Facetime and keeps my phone to himself.
“Hey pretty girl,” he says to my sister and anger ignites inside me. Fuck it, I’ll deal with the window later.
“Who are you?” Savannah’s voice is laced with intrigue.
“I’m the guy who will now be at your every beck and call.” God, I want to puke. Or punch Tyson. Maybe both.
“That’s enough,” I say to him and snatch my phone. “Hey sis. What — what the fuck are you wearing?” I know what she’s wearing. It’s a bikini. A tiny fucking bikini. One that Tyson just saw her in.
“Calm down, Mother Teresa. It’s a swimsuit. Who answered your phone?” Savannah rolls over and blocks the sun from her face.
I take a breath and focus on her surroundings instead of the tiny shreds of cloth covering her. “Are you on a cruise?” She never told me about a cruise.
“I am. We’re docked right now, so I have some service. Figured I’d check in with my favorite brother.”
“How are you taking a cruise? You were just here. What about class?” God, I sound like a worried father. But someone has to watch over her and our mom. Be the man of the house, so to say. And I’m the only option. Not that it’s ever been an option, really. Family is number one.
“I’m on spring break. Are you done with the third degree now? Or are you going to keep being an annoying asshole?” She’s infuriating, but I don’t have it in me to argue. “I’m going to take that as you’re done. Now tell me. Who the hell answered your phone?”
Tyson grabs the phone out of my hand and uses his long legs to keep his distance from me as I try to get it back.
“Tyson Miller. But you,” he pauses. “You can call me Ty. Or daddy. Or anything else you’d like.” His smile is smug, and I’d love nothing more than to smack it off of him. But he is quick. Too fucking quick and it’s pissing me off.
