Page 129 of The Only Thing That's Real
That’s the first time I’ve said that since we’ve been here. My heart skips a beat hearing the words out loud. I love everything about the bubble Knox and I have here at the lake. Our own little sanctuary.
After our emotional visit to see baby Grace at the hospital last night, I had an idea. I’ve got a surprise for him and as excited as I am to give it to him, I’m nervous, hoping I haven’t overstepped.
Walking toward the back sliding glass door, I find Knox busying himself with something outside.
“There you are. Whatcha up to?” I say, as I slip out of the cool house and into the heat of the day. “Sorry I’m late. I got you a gift, and it took a little longer than expected.” When I reach the picnic table, I freeze, panic spilling down my spine.
Blocking my view of the table, he pulls me into his arms. “I missed you.” He kisses me, but it doesn’t ease my mind the way it usually does. All I can think about is what I see on the table.
“Knox, what’s going on?”
“I need your help with something.”
No, no, no, no, no.
“Knox, you can’t be serious.”
“It’s just hair.”
“Yourhair is not just hair.Yourhair is beautiful. It’s legendary. It’s you.”
“You afraid you won’t be attracted to me without it?”
“Impossible,” I say, softening my voice. “But it’s a big deal, Knox.”
“It also garners a lot of attention that I am trying desperately to avoid. I want a fresh start.”
“And you think shaving your head is necessary to start fresh?”
Taking me by the hand, he walks us over to the kitchen chair at the end of the table next to a brush, razor, and towel. He takes a seat, drapes the towel over his shoulders, then pulls me onto his lap.
“The bad boy rocker lifestyle was great while it lasted, but it wasn’t real. This.” He motions between the two of us. “You and me. We are the only thing that’s real. Other than my family, the rest is just noise.”
“I love you, but I’m not sure it should be me who does this.”
“It has to be you.”
“Why?” I ask calmy, but in my head the word is a scream.
“Because I don’t want to share this moment with anyone else.”
What am I supposed to say to that?
“You sure?”
“Please?”
Slipping off his lap, I say, “Of course, baby.”
He shifts in his seat. I’m not sure if he’s simply getting comfortable or if he’s nervous. Personally, I’m scared shitless.
His hair is freshly washed, and I take my time brushing it. Then, starting at the scalp, I glide my fingers through his thick waves, several times, only stopping when the hum of the razor startles me.
“You’re stalling.”
“I’m not stalling, I’m taking in one last moment of peace before the women of the world come after me with pitchforks.”
“Dramatic much?” He opens my hand and places the vibrating clippers in my palm.
