by Leigh Lennon
“Clara, fuck, are you okay? I’m okay, foxy. Please come out and let me look at you. Seriously, honey, I’m so fucking sorry.”
My head fell on the door with a light thud. I’d fucked up, and what would Bodhi think? He’d for sure see the large bruise I imagined had begun to appear on her face.
I couldn’t force her to come out, not like this. I staggered back to my couch, placing my head between my legs, when the snap to the lock was unhitched.
I didn’t have the courage to look at her. “Foxy, I’m so sorry.” The clacking sound of her heels stopped a couple of steps from me, and with my limited vision, I saw her bend down to retrieve the invitation to Willow Burns’ wedding.
I stayed in this position, incorporating the techniques I’d learned in counseling so long ago.
“Jack, honey.” Her voice had a sweet and understanding undertone to it with a vulnerability in the two words she spoke. “Is this the daughter of your best friend who was killed in the attack on your vehicle when you lost your leg?”
I nodded my head, still buried between my knees. “Fuck, honey, I’m so sorry. This must have been a trigger for you.”
It was a very simple and clinical reason I’d just attacked my girlfriend. “Jack, honey, look at me.” She kneeled about four feet away from my hunched over body. “Jack, please look at me.”
My neck muscles were tight, and all I wanted to do was stay in this position. Then I wouldn’t have to acknowledge the shitstorm of this trigger, or the fact I could have really hurt Clara. And those two things were just a couple of the hundred items I’d have to sift through again.
I willed my tense neck to finally obey Clara’s command when my head rose slowly, my eyes connecting with her, both of us with tears flowing down my face. “Jack, I want to help you. I need to help you. What can I do?”
I pointed at my Rolodex on my desk. She often teased me in this day and age about how I still had the most archaic form of organization. “My psychiatrist is in there under Dr. Marks. Please call and make me an appointment, his earliest, and tell him I have had an incident. Then Sheila Davis, my counselor. Find a group for me, and an individual appointment. Call Emily, cancel everything for the day. I need a pill in my top drawer. And call my buddy, Cal.” Standing quickly, she brought me the medicine and the water first. It took all of a couple of minutes to kick in, and when she made her first call to Emily, I drifted to sleep with the sound of her voice as my backdrop.
Was there glue on my eyelids? They wouldn’t open, and with my apparent condition, they both thought they were free to speak openly.
“Dom is at the apartment with Dec.” I’d heard Bo’s voice is stern almost bark. “I can’t believe this, C. Look at your face. Let me check it out.”
She let out a slight wince, as I assumed he’d most likely touched it. “Ow,” she almost cried. “It’s not his fault.” I hadn’t opened up to Bo as I had with Clara. “Look at this. He survived, but no one else did. It was his best friend. I don’t know much about PTSD, but it was like he was back in the explosion.”
As Bo began to speak, he huffed out his first couple of words, “I understand this isn’t his fault, but it doesn’t mean I’m not fucking pissed.” His voice shifted, lowering a bit. I’d heard this, when he’d talk to Clara and Declan. It was one of compassion. “What did the doctors say?”
“His buddy is on his way here. Emily understood what was going on but didn’t alert anyone else. She’ll stay until everyone leaves, and we can get him out.”
Clara was all about taking care of everyone before herself. “And,” she continued, “the doctor will see him tomorrow and the counselor after him. Emily is going to clear his schedule for the next couple of days. And one of us needs to stay with him. We’ll take turns, the other one with Declan.”
Every couple of minutes, I could sense the firm paste on my eyes giving way, and I would be able to open them soon, but my mouth must have been as out of commission as my eyes, because I wanted to say something, anything.
“No.” The two letter word rang through the room and caught me unaware. It was the lower register in Bodhi’s tone.
“Bo, I’m not…” Bodhi was right and he would fight Clara on this and I’m glad he had. My hands hurt the woman I loved, hurt the woman both Bo and I loved.
“Clara, I’m not saying this to sound sexist, but, fuck, I’m bigger than Jack, and although he’s as strong as an ox, I can physically defend myself. You can’t. And I know he’d probably say the same thing if he were awake.”
I’d been willing my eyes to open and mouth to speak, and as I took in the room, I covered my head with my hand. “He’s right, foxy.” The sentence from my already dry mouth made it almost impossible to say much more.
The click clack of Clara’s heels got closer and closer to my body, and Bodhi’s voice, stern and frenzied, called out to her. “C, no.”
I removed her arm, just enough I caught the back of her head as she turned to Bodhi and the furrowed eyebrows of Clara’s as she twisted her body back to mine. She was on her knees, her two hands cupping my one hand. A purple and black crescent was beginning to take shape on the left side of her cheekbone, and my heart clenched.
“Oh, fuck, foxy. I can’t believe I did this to you.” I rolled over to my side, and I didn’t have the heart to look at Bodhi. He was protective of Clara, and if he’d done this to her, I wouldn’t be okay either.
“Jack, honey, this isn’t your fault. And if you think for one second I’m walking away, hon, you have another thing coming. I’m in this for the long haul. We both are.” Her head swung back to Bodhi, whose shoes were the only things I’d looked at when it came to him. “Aren’t we, babe?”
Her lips kissed my hand that she still had not let go of. “Jack, honey, it’s okay.”
Bodhi’s legs got closer to the couch, and he kneeled next to Clara. I saw both specks of anger and compassion in his dark eyes. “You okay?” The words were there, but like his eyes, the timbre of his tone was the same—a little compassion and a fuck ton of anger.
“Bo, babe, I’m so sorry. Fuck. I can’t believe I did this to her.” I didn’t break eye contact with him because he had to see how much sorrow lived in my eyes. “Fuck, you should be angry with me. I’m so sorry.”
The hard lines of his jaw immediately softened, and his fingers swiped against my cheekbones. “I know you feel horrible, and it’s not your fault.” He dropped a kiss on the bridge of my nose. “I’m not mad, at you. I…” His voice cracked. “I was worried for Clara. But she’s right; we’re here for you. We are just going to have to be…”
He didn’t want to say what I understood had to be said. “We just have to be careful, and I shouldn’t be around Declan or Clara without you until I’m past this.”
His hands cupped my face, even the side that was closest to the bottom of the couch. “Fuck, Jack.” His eyes filled with tears, a small and tight grin turning from the frown that had been on his face. “I love you so much.” He kissed me on the bridge of my nose again. “You understand what has to be done.”
I nodded my head when a light knock on the door had Clara rising to her feet to answer it. A tall man, a little younger than Jack, entered the room, his arm extended to Clara. “I’m Calvin Beriton. I’m Jack’s accountability partner.” He turned to me, without a surprised look on his face, considering Bodhi’s intimate posture near me.
“I understand you three have a unique situation.” It was a statement, not a condemnation. “Can you two give me a couple of minutes with Jack?” Bodhi held me tight, and I loved the protective nature of him as he had been with Clara just minutes ago.
“I’m okay, babe.” He rose, but I stopped him. “As a matter of fact, get Clara and Dec settled for the night and meet me back at my place.”
Bo’s eyes turned to Clara, then back to me, and before I could tell him I was in confident hands, Calvin began. “I’ll get him back to his house and wait for you.” His words came out as a command. Calvin understoo
d I needed a little time to process what happened.
Clara rushed toward me, giving me a kiss. “I don’t like this. I think I’ll be fine with you.” This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to argue about, and it was if Calvin could read this in me.
“Actually, ma’am, I agree with both Jack and your other man. We need to discuss safety measures, too. So I get it, believe me, you want to be there for him, but for now, it will have to be him.” He pointed at Bodhi. Bo walked over to Clara, draping a protective arm around her, and led her out the door. With them gone, Calvin pulled one of the chairs from in front of my desk over to me. “Okay, Jack—let me have it. Tell me what happened.”
This was the worst part, and I’d avoided it as long as Calvin would allow me to. He’d given me time to change once I got home and even went as far to get me some crackers and water. I was sitting on the couch, staring at a pencil mark on the wall I’d forgotten I’d stenciled there for a picture I decided didn’t look right over my television.
He sat silent. It was his way, not to be pushy. Fuck, he’d sit here all night long, if needed. I’d saved the invitation and shoved it in my jacket pocket. Pulling it out of the small space, he reluctantly grabbed for it.
“Oh, shit, Jack. No wonder your PTSD was triggered. Fuck.”
“Thanks, Sherlock,” I returned, and in the breakdowns, my mood shifted from the more positive way I chose to live my life to out-and-out prickness.
“You can be a dick to me. That’s fine; I’m used to it, but it won’t help the situation.” Calvin was so calm, too calm with me. It was the reason we meshed well. He didn’t put up with my shit. “Come on, you know what’s next.” Indeed, I did. It was my choice how to approach a relapse, as some called it. We pushed to our feet, when I grabbed my carbon spring foot I used for exercise. For the next hour, we both tried to wallop each other’s asses in racquetball.
Bodhi was waiting for me on my couch when I opened the door an hour later. Calvin had left straight from the gym, and in all the commotion, I’d forgotten to text Bodhi. He stayed seated, his tense scowl clearly lessening into the smallest of smiles.
“Fuck, babe, you scared the shit out of me. I’d been texting you. I found Cal’s number in your address book in your home office. Fuck, I was so worried.” His eyebrows knitted together as his concentration fell on my workout bag.
Raking my hand through my hair, I managed to walk past him without a word. The shame of hitting Clara kept on creeping inside me, the memory of the purple bruise surging on her face like a neon sign screaming I’d done such a horrific thing to her.
“Jack.” My name from his lips was something I hadn’t heard, not since he’d appeared in my office. It was light, affectionate, and the fluctuations in his voice told me he wasn’t mad or even fearful.
“Exercise is the one thing that helps, the endorphins, the psychology of it all. My doctor explained it one time, but I’d be hard-pressed to explain it the way he had.” I hadn’t wanted to be comforted, calmed, or loved. Remembering Clara on the floor was too much to bear.
“Jack, babe.” Bo’s voice was almost a plea, both words stretching as if combined they were ten syllables. “Stop, for just a second.” He was careful not to come at me from behind, staying in my line of sight. He must have done a crash course of PTSD after caring for Clara and getting her settled for the night.
“How’s foxy?” I was working on facts, and the need to know Clara was okay—well, as okay as she could be, sporting a nice shiner on her face as a result of her boyfriend—was the information I craved.
“Clara is fine, more pissed off that we won’t let her be here tonight. Daria was flying from New York today with her layover in Chicago. She landed about an hour ago and will fly to LA in a couple of days. I didn’t want her alone.”
I nod, as the both of us stood over the small island separating my galley kitchen from the open living space. Taking a couple of cold bottled waters from my fridge, I threw one at Bodhi, moving to the small table behind my front door.
“Jack, baby.” Bo lowered himself into the kitchen chair slowly, methodically, abandoning the water to the side, covering my hands with his. “Asking if you’re okay is stupid. I know you’re not, and I’m not going to force you to talk about it. It’s up to you. If you want to, I’ll always listen without judgment. Just tell me what you need, what I can do, and I’ll be that person for you.”
My water sat just left of where my fingers were connected to his. I hadn’t opened it. “I don’t know what I want, but taking back the fact I hurt Clara is the number one thing on the list.”
His one hand danced up my arm until he clasped my shoulder, adjusting my gaze to his. “I was never mad at you. My first concern was for Clara, but I was never leaving you. I love you. You’ve got to know this.”
We’d said the word many times, and I had no doubt he’d meant it. But in the here and now of our moment together and the vulnerability of his confession, I’d never been so filled with love for this man in front of me.
“Tell me what you need, and whatever it is, I’ll move heaven and earth for it.”
I pushed the chair back, moving to my feet. I pulled him with me, and when he came willingly, he was flush with my body. “You, I want you. No, I need you—to make love to me.”
Linking his fingers with my own, Bodhi pulled me behind him until we crossed the threshold to my room, and what he knew I needed, he gave me, the second the door shut behind us.
33
Bodhi
He needed me, there was no doubt about it. His words spoke of tenderness, but the flare in his eyes and his ragged breathing led me to believe he needed a good old-fashioned fucking.
“What do you need, babe?” My hands were cupped on his cheeks. “Soft or hard? Made love to or fucked?”
Touching the base of his neck and fumbling with his watch were all telltale signs he wasn’t sure what he wanted.
Moving my hand to his chin, I tipped it to meet my gaze. “Whatever you decide, there’s no wrong answer, babe, because I’m not going anywhere. So if you need gentle, I can do rough later. You need hard and rushed in a way you can’t get enough of me, I’m down for this, too.”
With his downcast expression, his reply was soft. “Gentle, tender.”
“You need me to take control?” I asked, and with tonight of all nights, he needed a choice.
“Yeah, babe, please take care of me. Please take care of my heart.”
I loved this man, and in his story of losing his leg and not being able to give us children in our future, I hurt for the man. But my heart split for the brokenness that was my alpha dominant lover. The trembling chin and the color draining from his face were just a few of his internal markers making my sympathy cascade from my body, and if I could’ve physically and emotionally healed him, I would have given my last breath to do this.
I laid him on the bed gently, starting with his shoes, socks, and shorts. In his pain, his need was obvious when his erection poked from his boxers. One look at his face, and he angled his head to the side with a sheepish grin peeking through. “He’s ready,” I added, and with my evident statement, I was rewarded with a heart-searing chuckle. I loved his humor, and in his laughter was hope for my man—for all of us. We’d be okay. This was just a small setback, and when you loved somebody, like I loved Clara and Jack, you’d walk the ends of the earth to heal them both.
I yanked off the last piece of fabric, exposing the long shaft of my man’s cock. I’d always been a fan, but tonight, it was the gateway to Jack’s soul. We’d been alone, together like this, but never was the need so paramount on his face. The longing called for me as if I was coming home. And though we were always complete with Clara, this bond we shared was vital for our individual relationship, too.
I unbuttoned my belt, stripping off my jeans right away, then pushed my boxers off at the same time. Tugging my shirt over my head, I straddled him, crawling over his body until I found his neck. My kisses began there, trailing down,
and at times, I nipped at his skin and was rewarded with little whimpers. But my mind was on one thing, and that was making love to him. He needed gentleness to make some of the shit from his past evaporate, if only for a while.
When my mouth made it to his dick, I began to suckle it at the tip, savoring every little bit of pre-cum. “Fuck, baby.” It was all he said over and over and over again, and it only fueled me. With my mouth on his cock, I worked two fingers inside him. The noises filling our quietness was my motivation, and when his body began to writhe, I pulled both out and away from him.
I pushed to my feet, moving to his dresser behind where he kept what we needed, and as I returned, his eyes told me everything in one flash. He loved me, he treasured me, and he sure as fuck needed me. He didn’t have to say a word, yet I returned everything he silently articulated my way. “I love you, too, Jack Calypso.”
I entered him with my fingers, working around the tight ring of his ass. I was rarely the top with him, but tonight was about the unknown and the promised future I saw with all three of us.
“I need you inside me.” His plea was barely audible, but I’d known what he’d wanted. It was a connection I not only shared with Clara but I shared it with Jack, too.
Lining myself up, I pushed past the tightness of his ass. I worked my way inside him slowly and with purpose, so he’d feel every part of me. When his fingers raked through my hair, I increased my speed, little by little. “I love you, so much, Jack Calypso.” I moaned because his body knew mine intimately. It was as if I was on autopilot because I understood what he needed so much.
He was stroking his cock, taking every bit of me as my thrusts got more fervent, more frenzied, and we were lost at this moment. His missing leg, my fear of messing up again, his inability to give us the kids he so desperately wanted—none of it mattered. And though she was gone, Clara was very much a part of us making love because she was the basis, the beginning of our love with one another.