I push myself up on my tiptoes and kiss him quickly then immediately step back. “Follow me.”

I stand in front of the mirror then see him, walking in behind me through the mirror’s reflection.

He looks at me, giving me chills. I need to focus on the task at hand.

“You agreed to help me color my hair.”

He looks at me again like I’m nuts. “I need to tell you that I am absolutely not qualified to do something like that.”

“I’ve done it a hundred times. You just have to help me, or you’ll have to leave so I can get it done. I’m not changing my mind. I want to go back to my natural color. It’s been a long time since I have wanted that.”

“Then I’m your guy. I want you to have every damn thing you want.”

“I’m strong, Finn. I’m strong. And even though you don’t want to revisit the past”—I scowl down as I open the box of color and pull out the contents—“I sometimes need the reminder that I am—”

“Strong.” He pulls my hair to the side and kisses my neck.

“Can’t do that, either.” I squirm inside.

“Wouldn’t think of doing that again,” he says sarcastically. “Tell me where I’m needed.”

I look up to see him standing at least six inches taller than I am, and he’s so broad I look far less than a strong, independent woman. I look like a child compared to him.

“Gloves,” I say, forcing myself to look away. “I’m gonna comb this through, and then you are going to help me make sure I don’t miss any spots in the back. I want the red gone. I want me back.”

“Let’s do it.” His words are enthusiastic, but his tone is something entirely different.

“Yes, let’s.”

I cut the tip off, put on one of the sets of gloves, shake the colors together, and then section my hair in four parts with a comb while he watches me,.

“Grab the other gloves and help me rub it in?”

“I hope to hell you know what you’re doing ’cause I have never done shit like this,” he says, pulling on the gloves. He looks at them, then at me before I see him in the mirror shaking his head and rolling his eyes, “I thought we were done with gloves. I must have fucked up pretty bad, huh?”

I smile. “No. I just need to do this first.”

His eyebrows rise and his lips purse together for a second. “Good to know.”

“Why? Did you think I would chance you threatening to call room service for condoms again?” I smile as I begin squirting the dye in my hair.

“I would have, you know,” he says seriously.

“Yeah, I was kind of afraid of that.” I rub the dye around.

“Am I just watching, Sonya, or you gonna let me get some use out of these gloves?”

“Dive in,” I tease.

“She’s trying to kill me,” he whispers into the air as he begins massaging my hair with his hand. Then he looks at me, cringes, and shakes his head.

Immediately, I know what he is thinking.

“Finn, don’t do that.”

“Didn’t mean it, Sonya.”

“No, don’t walk on egg shells around me. I knew what you were saying. I didn’t take offense to it, okay? Just please don’t treat me any differently.”

“I promise I will try my best; that’s all I can do.” His brows furrow, and he looks down. “I can also dye the hell out of your hair, so how about you just have a seat and let me take it from here?” He keeps working his magic fingers on my scalp. “Okay, you’re gonna stand here, and I’m grabbing a chair. I think I got this.”

I sit in the chair he drags into the bathroom and watch him rub my hair in the mirror. I can’t let him do it all, so I work on the roots, making sure I get them covered.

“Feel good?” he asks after a while.

“Very. Thank you.”

“Any other horrible thing you want to put me through, I think I can handle.” He smiles.

“Is this horrible?”

“My hands are on you, so no, not horrible.”

I smile up at him. “Good.”

After a few minutes, I yawn, and he chuckles.

“Tiring you out?”

“It’s relaxing. Very nice. I never expected it to be.”

He walks around in front of me and squirts the rest of the solution in his gloved hand before rubbing it into the front section of my hair. Then he steps back and looks at me before turning around and grabbing the pamphlet, starting to read.

“You know this has to set for twenty minutes?”

“Mm-hmm,” I say as he takes the comb and walks toward me.

“It says to comb through. You want me to?”

“Please.”

As I brush through her hair, it’s hard not to think about the fucking video of her being stabbed in the abdomen and hit in the back of the head so hard she fell to the ground face first.

I don’t know how she survived it. It is unbelievable that she pushed herself up off the pavement, let alone to her feet, and tried to get to her home’s security gate, until he turned around and noticed, striking her again with much more force.

Sonya is so strong, stronger than I ever was.

I look at her in the mirror as I brush her hair. The color she chose is her natural shade—deep brown and beautiful.

“I think that’s good,” she says, stopping me.

“What’s next?”

“The sexy part—the cap and wrap.”

I try to keep the mood light; seems to be what she wants. I will give it to her. Hell, I would give her anything.

“There you go again. Wrapping shit.”

She smiles and giggles.

So fucking happy.

“I like that smile, Sonya.”

She looks in the mirror and nods. “Me, too.” Then she looks up at me. “I like yours better.”

“I like the color.”

“You haven’t even seen it yet,” she says as she looks at me in the mirror, then grabs some Saran Wrap-looking thing and puts it in her head. “I like yours better.”

“Oh, shit, I hoped you’d notice.” I tug at the back of the plastic wrap now on her head. “How long do I get to look at this?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes, and you decided at nine o’clock at night that this would be what, a great time to change your look?” I ask, taking her hand and pulling her toward the door behind me.

“No.” She looks at me as if questioning her response.

“Why the look?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

I cringe inwardly. “Whatever you want.”

“You don’t want to talk about the past. I respect that,” she says as she sits down on the edge of the bed.

“I appreciate that, but if you need to, go ahead. I just don’t want to revisit mine.”

I look around, not knowing if I should sit or stand. Fuck, I am no good at this shit.

She senses it and pats the spot next to her. “I just want me back. It’s been almost five years, and—” She stops again.

“Go on,” I tell her as I sit.

“I hid for a long time. Then this opportunity came up, and I had to force myself to make a decision to either stay behind the safety of the gate or step outside of it.”

“I don’t understand,” I say honestly.

“Well, everything changed,” she says, blowing out a breath. I don’t know if it’s in frustration or an internal release. “I was sixteen, my mother was in jail, and I had no one. As a result, the State sent me to a home for a week until my aunt came forward and offered to take care of me.” She stops and looks at me. “I stayed with the White family.”

“Sally and Robert White?” I ask, thinking there is no way I could be right.

She nods, still looking at me.

“How long ago?”

“Five years.”

“I know them.”

She opens her eyes. “I know.”

“You know … what?” I hate the anxiety that rises inside me.

“I saw pictures. They have pictures everywhere. You look the same now except for the facial hair.”

“Did they talk about me and”—I pause, not sure what she knows—“my time there?”

“I was only there for a week. I was waiting for my aunt to get there so I could go home.”

“Of course.” I rub her hand.