“What do you want to know?”
Anything. Everything. I was desperate for more information about her. “What do you do in your spare time?”
She shrugged. “Read. Hang out. Go shopping. The usual.”
Nothing about her was usual, and it bugged me that she thought it was. “Tell me something out of the norm. Something different.”
“What is this, an interrogation?”
“Are you always this evasive? Is there something you’re trying to hide?”
“Ohmigod, you’re relentless,” she said with a laugh. “Yes. I’m actually a spy. For Antarctica.”
I loved her quick wit and the sound of her laughter. “Hey, penguins need intel, too. Who am I to judge? Come on. Give me somethin’ real.”
“You sure you want this?”
“I’m one of those weird people who finds comfort in the uncomfortable.”
“You’re weird, for sure, but all right. You asked for it. My dad used to be a pro boxer. When I was a kid, he used to take me to this gym… it was his friend’s place. I’d put on gloves and go at it with the bag. Then once I got better, he let me spar with him. He always held back—he’s a big man and would have laid my ass out if he ever gave me more than a love tap—but I gave our matches everything I had. Being in the ring with him was… freeing. No, empowering. Dad called me ‘Champ.’ Used to tell me I could do anything I put my mind to if I just worked hard enough. I believed him.”
“Sounds like a good guy.”
“The best, but he was wrong. Sometimes hard work and dedication don’t get you to where you need to be. Sometimes they get you there only to snatch it all away. I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. Maybe because you were wounded in combat, too, so I know you understand on some level? Maybe because I need to talk to someone, and it’s easier with my back to you so I can’t see you judging me.”
I started to assure her that there was no judgment coming from my end, but she kept going.
“I had an instructor once who said that piloting a fighter was all about survival. When you’re in the air, everything is trying to kill you: the weather, the terrain, enemies, G-forces, turbulence, lack of fuel, birds, faulty equipment, you name it. Any of it can take you down. I knew all about the dangers, but I loved flying and always expected to go out doing what I loved. I think that’s the most frustrating part of this whole thing. It was just some driver who fell asleep at the wheel. All my hard work, all my dedication, and some stupid ass bullshit put an end to it.” She shook herself. “But the really fucked up part… somedays I don’t know if I’m more pissed about losing my arm, or about surviving all those flights.”
Wrapping a rubber band at the end of a braid, I said, “I think it’s perfectly acceptable to be pissed about both.”
“Do you ever wish you would have died?” She snorted. “I better not end up in some psych ward over this. I promise I’m not suicidal—nor do I think you are—sometimes it just seems like so much damn work to survive.”
“I told you, I’m a vault. And you’re not alone. Death seems easier sometimes. Less painful.” And I really needed to turn this dark conversation around, because while I did want to know everything about her, the idea of her not being here today was fucking with my head. “But then I wouldn’t be here learning how to braid your hair.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you survived just for this moment.” Her voice sounded lighter.
Encouraged, I asked, “Why does this moment get to claim exclusive rights to my survival?” I swept a few strands of hair off her neck and folded them into the braid, leaving a trail of goosebumps along her flesh. It was nice to know I wasn’t the only one affected by our contact. “I can think of a few other moments we’ve shared that would have encouraged my survival had I known they were coming.”
“Oh, really? When?” she asked coyly.
I let my fingers brush across her neck again, reveling in her reaction. “That time you were sitting on your bedroom floor and called me a hot guy you picked up at a party.”
“I probably meant asshole.”
“Nope. You can’t take back compliments. Especially not while I’m fixing your hair. Of course, I also wouldn’t give up the moments after you picked me up at said party. In fact, I remember that entire night as being survival-worthy. I’d live through the zombie apocalypse for that.”
“Slick.”
“Honest.”
It had taken me more than an hour, and every single one of my fingers was cramping, but I finally finished. The braids were a bit lumpy and uneven in places and the parts were crooked and jagged, but I’d done it and was proud of the results. Narrowly resisting the urge to pat my own back, I held one mirror behind Monica so she could angle the one in her hand to see the back of her head. Holding my breath, I waited for her verdict.
I didn’t want to be murdered, after all.
“Holy shit, you did it,” she said, grinning as she turned her head from side to side. “I mean… kind of. I mean, a couple of them are kinda jacked up, but… you sure you’ve never done this before?”
“No ma’am.” Her smile was worth every cramp in my fingers and ache of my bending back. Stretching, I stood and offered her a hand. “Maybe I should hit up beauty school. I see a potential future in this shit.”
