It was easy to remember when you weren’t angry that people say things they don’t mean when their feelings are hurt. It wasn’t so easy when you were a breath away from taking a butter knife and using it to stab someone. Somewhere in the back of my head, I realized that Jack didn’t know anything about me and my life, or me and my family.
By some miracle, out of the corner of my eye, I caught two big hands gripping the edge of the table, I caught a “Jack” out of Dallas’s mouth that didn’t sound human. It didn’t take a stretch of the imagination to figure that Dallas was on the verge of flipping it. It could only be that extreme love you could have for someone who had come out of the same womb as you—or been born from someone who had—that could persevere in a situation like this. I couldn’t blame him. He loved this jackoff, asshole or not.
But I’d learned over the last few years that the only person who could fight my battles was me. And even though I was sure I would later regret him not defending my honor and taking this matter into my own hands, I brushed Dallas’s forearm with the back of my burned hand before reaching over to grab a cup of something red with ice that Jackson had brought to the table. Dallas’s eyes met mine even as this sickening feeling filled my belly at his brother’s thoughtlessness.
His hands loosened a moment before I faced Jack again and tossed the liquid inside the cup at his face, watching the red go everywhere—his face, ears, neck, and shirt. His mouth dropped open like he couldn’t fucking believe it.
Good.
“He had a traumatic brain injury, you insensitive, immature asshole,” I spat out, wishing there was another cup of red liquid to throw at his stupid face again. “He slipped on some ice, fell, and hit his head. That’s how he died. There weren’t any tacos involved, you prick.”
Fuck it, I wish there was a Slushie so I could toss that at him instead.
Angrier than I’d been in a long time, the muscles in my arms and neck were tight and my stomach hurt.
“Oh, hey, Diana, let’s go see what Ginny’s doing, what do you think?” a voice asked from behind me as two hands settled on my shoulders and literally yanked me back. “I got her. Dallas, deal with him.” Trip’s voice was right by my ear.
I was mostly numb as Trip steered me through the crowd that had been watching what had happened so quickly. I didn’t like being the center of attention, but if I’d had to do it again, I would. Damn it, I wanted to do it all over again.
It wasn’t until we were halfway to the salon that my poor hand gave a dull throb, reminding me that I’d used it to grab the cup. “Damn it,” I hissed, shaking it, like that would do something to help the pain.
“You all right, honey?” he asked, looking down at my hand.
“I used the wrong hand.” I shook it again and gave that wrist a squeeze with my good hand. “Oww.” It had been getting better, but I had gripped the cup too hard.
“What the hell happened?” he asked. “One minute, I saw you sitting there with Dal, gigglin’ like a girl, and the next, you’re both standing up, you start yelling at Jackson and throw Hawaiian Punch at his face.”
“What happened is that he’s a spoiled little bitch. That’s what happened.”
Trip laughed that laugh that made me do the same. “Spoiled little bitch. Got it.”
“Dallas’s brother or not, he’s the worst. I don’t understand how two people can be so different,” I grumbled as we made it to the door of Shear Dialogue. Trip opened the door for me, and I went in first. “He’s lucky I didn’t grab a chair and go WWE on his ass.”
Trip laughed even louder.
At her station, Ginny had her back to us as she cut a client’s hair, tossing over her shoulder, “We’ll be with you in a minute!”
“It’s just me,” I called out. “And Trip.”
Over at my station, there was a woman I’d met a couple of times in the past who had worked with us before when someone went on vacation. She was a nice lady who was a stay-at-home mom who took jobs here and there. Recognizing me, she waved and I waved back. In the seat in between my station and Ginny’s was Sean. I settled for holding up a hand, and he did the same right back. According to Ginny, he was mad I had taken three weeks off work. Like I could control how quickly I healed.
Ginny didn’t reply as she kept up what she was doing. By the time she finished blow drying her customer’s hair, I had led Trip into the break room and we’d taken seats at the table. I was calm again. She took one look at me and asked, “What happened?”
“Your cousin happened,” Trip snickered as he took a sip of Pepsi.
“What did Dallas do?” she asked, confused.
“Not Dallas,” Trip replied before I could.
Her features dropped into a blank mask. “Oh. Him.”
Cradling my hand on my thigh, I leaned back on the chair and watched my boss. “I should have asked why you always made faces every time his name was brought up. Now I know.”
“He said something stupid?”
How did she know? “Uh-huh.”
Ginny shook her head before making her way to the fridge and pulling out a glass bottle of water, taking a slow drink. “It’s what he does best. I don’t think there’s a woman he’s related to he hasn’t insulted at some point or another, even Miss Pearl. What he say?”
“Something about my brother,” I told her, not in the mood to replay what the hell had come out of his mouth exactly.
She winced. “He called me a slut when I was pregnant with number two because I wasn’t married. And maybe about six years ago, he said I was an old bitch.” Ginny’s smile was grim. “Good times.”
That asshole. “Now I definitely won’t feel bad about throwing Hawaiian Punch at his face.”
Ginny howled, settling her bottle of water on the counter, which made me smirk. “What happened? Where’s Dallas?”
“At the shop,” I told her.
“My best guess is that he’s telling Jackson to fuck right off,” was Trip’s input.
“He should,” Ginny scoffed, her gaze meeting Trip’s as they exchanged a look I didn’t understand.
“What was that about?” I asked.
She was trying to be innocent, but it wasn’t working. We’d known each other too long, witnessed each other want to kill people while plastering smiles on our faces. “What?”
“That face you made at each other. What is it?”
“Nothing—”
The chime of the front door opening had, by instinct, Gin and I both glancing at the television in the corners where images of the security camera were shown. On the screen, the body I would always recognize as Dallas’s appeared.
“He’s not here looking for me,” Gin commented.
Getting to my feet, I shook off the rest of my bad mood and made my way out of the break room toward the front, leaving the two cousins inside to go over whatever little secret they were harboring between each other. When Dallas’s eyes landed on me, I was torn with what to say or how to act. He tipped his head in the direction of the door behind him and I nodded, following him outside.
The door had barely closed when he said, with his attention aimed at the sidewalk, “Diana, I’m sorry.”
Sorry? I couldn’t help but poke him in the chest, right in the center of his pecs. “What do you have to be sorry about? You didn’t do anything.”