Seven (5 page)

Chapter 5

Bryant

Oh fuck. I must’ve called her “fat”, and from the way it sounds I did it on more than one occasion. That’s why she finds me repulsive? Because I called her fat when we were in junior high? How do chics remember that shit? Does she not see, quite literally, that people change? I doubt there’s much use in apologizing. I sense a grudge that’s not just going to go away with a “Sorry about what I said, but you look beautiful” almost fifteen years too late. I watch her continue down the aisle and disappear around the corner. I tell myself repeatedly in my head not to go after her. It won’t do any good. This is going to take some time.

All I remember of her is the chunky seventh grader I had swimming class with in middle school. I remember her from some of my elementary school classes but it’s not like we were ever really close. We were as close as kids are at that age I guess for the sheer fact that all the homeroom moms knew each other. Other than that she was a froo-froo girl and I was a boy with cooties. She changed over the summer after eighth grade and many people noticed, but in high school she was the numbers nerd and I just focused on how to score…on and off the field. I was the typical high school boy letting my dick make my decisions for me. Savannah Sanders took my breath away back then but I didn’t stand a chance with her. I wasn’t her type and by all school stereotypes she wasn’t mine. But now? Now, she has eyes that pierce me, hair like the softest chocolate silk and a body any guy would be crazy not to want to lose himself in. God I have my work cut out for me with this girl.

I try not to think about her, but everything about her has me twisted up from the inside out. I shouldn’t get involved with someone who has walls as high as I’m sure she does. She’s not going to open up to me very easily, but damn if I don’t want to try. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize her before she walked into the bar. All I cared about last night was flirting with the ladies in order to make a little more money for the bar. Once I realized who she was I fell for her all over again immediately. Fuck if I didn’t want to embrace her and tell her how sorry I was for everything she’s gone through in the past several years. She’s been like an urban legend around Bardstown. Not many see her around socially.

I have to help Savannah see life outside of the shell I’m sure she’s living in. To show her that there is still life to live, and people to live it with…people who want to see her happy. With any luck Rachel will be on my side and willing to help. If there’s one person in this town that I need with me on this, it’s Rachel. I need to talk to her about it before she blabs to Savannah. She could ruin everything for me.

I drive through town and walk into Rachel’s salon in less than ten minutes.

“Mornin’ Rache.”

I’m greeted with a double eyebrow lift and a doubting look as she organizes her tools and supplies for the day.

“So? You’re not in jail, so I’m guessing you didn’t get arrested last night for stalking, or assault, or grand theft auto.”

“Very funny, and no, none of the above. I returned her car just like I said I would, dropped her keys off in her apartment, and made sure she had water and Advil for this morning. I was the perfect gentleman, thank you very much.

Rachel’s jaw drops. “You went into her apartment? What did she say? Did she throw your ass out?"

I shake my head, shyly smirking. "Uh, not exactly. She was asleep. Didn't even know I was there."

"WHAT?" Rachel’s eyes grow huge. "You were in her apartment while she was there but she didn't KNOW it? Are you fucking nuts? Wait. Don’t answer that,” she says with her hands up in defense. “You are fucking nuts.”

“Yes I suppose I am, but she was taken care of, and that’s all that matters. More than I can say for you. You just let the poor drunk girl walk home in the middle of the street by herself.”

“Only because I knew you were watching her and keeping her safe.”

“A-ha!” I say with a smile. “So you DO trust me and you DO like me!”

She shakes her head, failing to hide her smile. “I’ll never admit that so don’t brag. But for what it’s worth, thank you for helping her. She needed last night and I’m glad she was able to let her hair down a little.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. Listen, speaking of Savannah, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“You have my undivided…” She gazes up at the clock on the wall. “At least until Savannah walks through the door in about ten minutes.”

“I want to help her.”

“What do you mean help her?”

“She’s not living her life Rache. She’s hiding in her apartment.”

“You don’t know that. Do you know anything about her?”

“Well for starters she’s never been in my bar before and pretty much everybody in this town has been to my bar. Secondly, you told me she never goes out, and thirdly, I know all I need to know right now.” I know I’m right about Savannah and damnit, I know Rachel knows that I’m right about her too.

She looks at me. “And you think you’re the guy who can bring her out of her shell?”

“You think I’m not? Cause that’s not what you were preachin’ last night.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you thinking?”

“Actually, I’m thinking several thoughts. One, you definitely have an uphill battle. She’s not easy to please and the walls she has up may as well be the thickest cement walls you’ve ever seen. She’s like a damn panic room. Two, it’ll be fun watching you try to be a gentleman when I’ve seen you as the bad boy flirt machine in the past, and three, what about…?”

My eyes snap up to hers. “What about what?” Looking at her stern eyes staring me down I know exactly what she’s referring to and I don’t want to go there right now. “It’s not a big deal right now Rachel. I can handle it.”

Rachel pulls scissors out of her apron and lays them on the counter in front of her. She’s quiet for a moment, hopefully contemplating my game plan. She exhales loudly before turning to face me again. I’m staring at her like a puppy hoping for his next treat.

“Okay look. I want to see Savannah happy just as much as you do. She’s my friend and I care about her. But you make one stupid mistake…even one time, and it’s over, do you understand? I’m in this for everyone’s happiness. I’m just not sure how you plan to work this out.”

“I’ll make it work. I owe her that much. Just…don’t tell her anything okay?”

Rachel slowly shakes her head. “You know I won’t interfere with your life, Bryant. I just hope you’re doing the right thing and not just for yourself...and why on earth do you think you owe Savannah anything when you barely even know her?”

Fuck. Think fast Wood!

“I just…” Shaking my head, I try to come up with an excuse for my slip fast. “I was a douche to her in high school so you know, I owe her. I’m not the same person I was back then.”

Rachel nods and I smile, relieved that she’s being supportive. “Look, I’ll get out of your hair and let you get the shop opened. Thanks for the talk. I’ll catch you later, okay?”

She shakes her head in defeat. She knows I always get what I want. I don’t take no for an answer if I don’t have to. “See you, Bryant. Have a good one.”

Chapter 6

Savannah

The drive from my apartment to the salon takes only a few minutes but in those moments Bryant Wood causes my mind to travel back to seventh grade, the year I began to hate the world and all boys in it…or maybe I just hated Bryant.

I don’t know whose bright idea it was back then to make middle school kids take co-ed swimming classes, but it happened. There definitely weren’t many kids happy about it. On one hand, there were the girls who were forced to wear bathing suits right out of the nineteen fifties, except that they were a nasty worn out red color with numbers written in permanent marker in the corners, and were assigned to each of us. Why we couldn’t wear our own one-piece bathing suit is beyond me. Every girl hated locker room time. It was the time we sized each other up. Whose boobs were growing? Who was wearing a bra? Who shaved their legs? Who didn’t shave their legs? And on top of all that drama, there was the mystery of who was on their period each week. Didn’t want to swim that day? We just told Mrs. Farabee, our gym teacher, that it was shark week. No questions asked, although that also meant we sat on the bleachers watching everyone else swim. We may as well have been wearing a huge scarlet letter on our foreheads.

On the other hand, the poor middle school boys were forced to wear tight red banana hammocks that not only rarely fit right, but allowed everyone to see the instant hard-on each of them had watching the girls in their less than attractive bathing suits. At that pubescent age it didn’t matter what a girl was wearing. Boys got boners constantly just imagining what was under those things, and God forbid one of those girls be a little more blessed in the chest.

Our first day back in the pool after summer break was a day that will forever be etched in my mind. It was the day my schoolgirl crush on Bryant Wood ended, the day I secretly wished he would uncontrollably shit his pants every day until the end of the year, so that he would understand the embarrassment of being judged by a member of the opposite sex.

I had just jumped off the diving board and into the pool. The water was a refreshing change from the steamy stuffy natatorium. Bryant was next up to jump so I swiftly swam out of his way toward the ladder on the wall so that I could exit as he jumped. I was just hoisting myself up the ladder and out of the pool when Bryant swam over to where I was. He watched me for a moment before giggling and saying “Man, someone got fat over the summer.”

What?

Did he really just say that?

I didn’t even know how to respond. How do you respond to a comment like that, especially when it’s coming from the one person you have had a complete and utter crush on for the past several years? “Shut up Bryant,” was all I could say. I walked away completely defeated, but I had to hide it from everyone else for the rest of the class period. If that weren’t bad enough, that afternoon on the bus, for whatever reason, his relentless teasing just wouldn’t stop.

“Savaaaaaanah,” he would sing. His tune was completely made up and stupid.

“Savaaaaaanaaaaaah…Hey, Savannah, did you know your name sort of sounds like you’re saying Seven-ah? Anyone ever call you that Savannah? Seven? Seven Sanders?”

“Shut up Bryant. Leave me alone.”

“Okay Seven. But I’m going to call you Seven from now on because your name sounds like Seven. Do you get it? Sev-an-ah?” He annunciated each syllable so everyone around us heard him. Some of the kids would giggle but I just stared ahead of me. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that what he was doing was bothering me. In reality, he was breaking my heart, and making me angry with myself for ever liking him in the first place. Stupid fucking love.

*****

“Hey Rache,” I greet Rachel as I enter the salon. I head to the back of the shop to store my purse and keys and grab my apron. My first client should be here any minute. Rachel is already working on Mrs. Wither’s weekly style.

“Well good afternoon’ to you too birthday girl!” Rachel smiles.

Oh yeah…it’s noon already.

“It’s not my birthday anymore. That was yesterday. Today is today.”

“Yeah well it looked like you were having a great time last night. Thanks for letting us take you out. Glad you made it here safely this morning.”

“Thanks. Yeah, I did have a pretty good time. And speaking of making it here safely this morning, were you in my apartment last night? Did you get my text earlier?” I whisper to her. “Was I that drunk that I don’t remember letting you in?”

Rachel shakes her head. “Nope. Wasn’t me.”

“Huh. What the hell then?”

Scrunching her eyebrows at me, Rachel asks, “Why do you ask?”

“Well…because my car was parked in the lot outside my building, my keys were waiting for me on my front table, and there was a note on the counter with some Advil and water. I know I wasn’t that trashed that I would forget doing all those things. I mean, I certainly wouldn’t write myself a note.”

I look over at Rachel just in time to see her roll her eyes and smirk to herself as she curls another piece of Mrs. Wither’s hair.

Narrowing my eyes at her, I step towards her and quietly say, “You know something.”

She’s quiet for a moment, most likely contemplating how to respond. The shit-eating grin on her face tells me I’m right.

“I might know something.” She closes her eyes tightly and laughs, almost like she knows she just got caught with her hand in the damn cookie jar.

“If it wasn’t you, then who was it? Heather or Audrey?”

“Nope.” She giggles.

“Damnit Rache. You let someone break into my apartment last night? I gave you that key because I trusted you! You’re the only one who…”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” She smirks. “Stop right there. One, I didn’t
let
anyone break into your apartment. I was nowhere near your apartment. I was at the bar last night until it closed. Two, I also didn’t give anyone your key, so slow your roll there sister. It wasn’t me.”

“Okay it wasn’t you, but you know who it was, and I’m going to assume that you at least thought about my safety in knowing that someone was going to break into my apartment, so out with the details Rache!”

“Well…” She puts down the curling iron she was using and begins to comb out the curls in Mrs. Wither’s hair. Mrs. Wither looks just as confused as I do in getting to the bottom of my mystery visitor. “You were getting along so well with Bryant Wood last night…”

“Bryant Wood? Bartender last night Bryant Wood? That Bryant Wood?” Something in my chest flips.

Rachel nods her head slowly, smiling. “The very same.”

What the fuck?

No wonder he asked how I was at the grocery store.

“Rachel! Why the hell would you allow that guy in my apartment?” My mind is going a mile a minute. How the hell could she think that was a good idea?

“What’s the big deal? He said you knew him.”

I throw Rachel an exaggerated huff and almost shout, “Yes, Rachel…KNEW would be the operative word here. I knew him. We grew up around each other and went to school together. He was a douche back then and he’s a douchebag now.”

Albeit an attractive douchebag.

Did he see me sleeping?

Did he watch me?

She smirks again, not hiding her amusement of the situation at all from me. “Well anyway, for the record, I didn’t
allow
him anywhere. I didn’t know he was going to enter your apartment. How he did that is beyond…no, wait. He went to school with your apartment supervisor, Cole. I’m guessing that’s how he got in. But Rache, before you get all pissy about it, think about something first.”

“I’m all ears,” I say, deadpanned.

“He followed you home last night to make sure you made it safely into your apartment. He said you walked down the middle of the damn street!”

“Yeah because I was creeped out. I thought someone was behind me. Guess I was right.” I cross my arms over my chest and tilt my head, staring at her as she continues.

“After he followed you home and made sure you made it in, he came back here. He already had your car keys Savannah.” She laughs. “He showed them to me behind your back last night when you were telling me you were going to walk home. He must’ve gotten them from your purse or something. I don’t know. The guy is slick, I’ll give you that. But he drove your car back to your place for you and he made sure the keys were returned for you. So, um, I’m guessing he’s also the one who left you the Advil and water.” She raises her eyebrows in my direction and I see the suggestive notion all over her face.

Why would he do that?

For me?

I feel my expression change from one of irritation to utter confusion. I don’t understand at all why a guy like that would do that for me and not come knocking for a booty call. That’s what all guys want. I roll my eyes at the thought and remind myself that I’m pissed at Bryant for…whatever it is he did.

“Ugh! Wait till I get my hands on Cole for being Bryant’s accomplice and giving him a key! I might have to kill him.”

The bell above the door dings when my first client of the day comes in.

“Good morning Mrs. Bently. How are you this mornin’?” I say a little too bitterly towards a customer undeserving of my attitude.

“Fine, dear. Just a cut and style this morning, please.”

I smile to reassure her that I’m okay and not upset with her or anyone else. “Sure thing. I’ll meet ya right at the back sink. Come on back.”

I look over at Rachel, who is watching me in her mirror as she sprays Mrs. Wither’s hair. I quickly wipe the smile from my face so she knows how serious I am. “This convo isn’t over Rache. I’m so not okay with this.”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear ya, but Savannah, listen.” Rachel turns around to watch me walk back to the sinks.

“What?”

“He may have been a douchebag then, and I’m not defending his past, but the Bryant Wood that I know is actually a pretty decent guy. Cut him some slack, ok? You don’t know his story.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh please, enlighten me. Tell me his story.”

She shakes her head adamantly. “It’s not my story to tell. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.”

What does that mean?

“Okaaay.” I say slowly. My mind spins frantically as I try to come up with some sort of horrific story of his past that he must’ve suffered through, but quite frankly, none can come close to mine. Besides, he seems like he’s doing just fine now.