by Jewel E. Ann
I shake my head, continuing with my pacing. “Funny. Someone just told me before I came here that if I loved Bodhi I’d convince you to get the treatment. So … I do love him. What’s the right answer? What’s the right way to show him? Something tells me it’s not letting you die.”
“When I die, he’s yours. You can go anywhere together. Do anything together. Don’t you want that? Don’t you think he’s served his time and that maybe he finally deserves that life? I die and my pain disappears. I get to see my wife again and make up for all the bad things I said and did. I die and Bodhi gets to live a good life with a good woman who loves him. I die and my kids can find closure to this battle they’ve been fighting for years. I want to die. I’m ready to die.”
A million rebuttals and “what ifs” play tag in my mind, but before I can voice them to Barrett, the front door opens.
“Hey.” Bodhi smiles, setting his bag on the floor by the infamous sex stairs.
“Hey.” I rush to him and throw my arms around his neck before he can see the pain and indecision in my eyes. “How was your day?”
“It was fine.” He kisses my cheek and sets me down. “Dad, how are you?” Taking my hand, he guides me back into the living room.
“Still alive.” Barrett grimaces, trying to adjust in his seat.
“Need some help?” I ask, letting go of Bodhi’s hand.
“He never wants help,” Bodhi grumbles.
“Well, today I could use some goddamn help.” Barrett seethes as he tries and fails to get his body adjusted where he wants it.
I start to help, but Bodhi grabs my arm and gives me a gentle tug away from his dad. “I’ve got it.” He lifts the arm to the recliner and bends over, sliding his arms under Barrett’s arms to transfer him into the wheelchair.
Barrett wraps his arms around Bodhi’s neck. After he’s in his wheelchair, Bodhi starts to stand, but Barrett grabs his son’s head and pulls him closer to whisper in his ear. I swallow hard as my throat thickens with emotion. A dying man hugs his son. I have no idea what he’s saying to Bodhi, but something about it is so incredibly tender it squeezes my heart to the point of physical pain. Drawing in a shaky breath, I blink away the stinging in my nose and eyes.
Barrett lets him go, and they just stare at each other for a few silent moments. Bodhi shakes his head slowly. “I can’t do that.” When he turns to me, his eyes start to redden, looking as hopeless and deflated as Barrett.
Shoulders curled inward, Barrett’s gaze drifts to his lap, forehead wrinkled with clear frustration.
“I’m going to change my clothes. Would you like to stay for dinner?”
It takes me a few seconds to tear my gaze from Barrett. I nod to Bodhi. “I’d love to.”
He jerks his head toward the stairs, a silent invite to follow him.
“I’ll wait for you down here with your dad.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” I return my attention to Barrett.
“Okay.”
When Bodhi’s upstairs, I squat next to Barrett’s wheelchair, resting my hand on his hand. “I can’t. Bodhi loves you. He would never forgive me.”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
I told Bodhi about Noah. Of course I’d tell him about his dad. I tell him everything. “That’s not how I love your son.”
“How do you love my son?”
My lips curl into a tiny smile. “Completely. Eternally. Honestly. But really just … beyond words.”
Barrett seems to consider this for a few seconds before squeezing my hand. “Beneath the surface that he shows you, he’s miserable. It won’t change my mind about the chemo, which means things are going to get so much worse for not just me, but for him too. He blames himself for my situation. My pain is his pain. No one needs to suffer any longer.”
The stairs creak and I stand, releasing Barrett’s hand while giving him a tiny nod of understanding. That’s the hard part … I really do see this from both sides.
“Do you know how to make anything aside from cookies?” Bodhi calls as he heads around the corner to the kitchen.
I wink at Barrett. “I’m going to school your son on cooking. Enjoy the show.”
Barrett doesn’t respond. Not a nod. Not a smile. Not a word.
My heart drops into my stomach. It’s like he’s already checked out of life, his heartbeat echoed in his slow, emotionless blink. Heading toward the kitchen, I pull in a big breath to chase away the pain I’m feeling for him.
“So what do you do during third period these days?” I press my chest to Bodhi’s back, running my hands up under the front of his white tee as he inspects the contents of the open fridge.
“There’s a new girl in town who likes to sit on my desk and expose herself to me.”
I curl my fingers, letting my nails dig into his flesh. Bodhi grabs my wrists to keep me from breaking his skin.
“I hate you.”
He chuckles, turning toward me, letting the refrigerator door close behind him as he backs me into the counter, still holding my wrists to his chest. “I know you do.” The mischief in his eyes challenges my scowl. Releasing my wrists, he clutches the back of my legs and lifts me up onto the counter.
My hands rest on his shoulders as he nuzzles his face into my neck, inhaling like I’m the breath he’s needed all day.
“But you love me more,” he whispers just before trailing kisses from my ear to my shoulder.
“So much more …” I wrap my legs around his waist. “Bodhi?”
“Hmm?” His hands slide under the back of my shirt, his fingers dipping to the waist of my jeans.
“Your dad is not doing well.”
Bodhi slowly lifts his head, meeting my gaze. “Because he refuses treatment.”
“It’s not a cure.”
A line forms between his eyes as his gaze intensifies. “It can prolong his life. It has prolonged his life.”
My fingers tease the nape of his neck as I nod once, lips twisted to the side. “What life?”
“What do you mean?”
Lifting one shoulder, I cringe. “He doesn’t have a wife. He has a babysitter. His daughter is rarely here. You work at school and with the horses. And when you’re here, the two of you seem to be at constant odds. He’s in pain.”
“That’s why he needs the treatment. To fight the cancer and eventually the pain will get better.”
“What if he doesn’t want to fight anymore?”
Bodhi reaches around and releases my legs from his waist, stepping back until we’re no longer touching. “What are you saying?” His chin drops to his chest as his hands rest on his hips. “I—”
“Dinner smells wonderful.” Barrett interrupts us.
I slide off the counter, giving Barrett an apologetic smile. “Sorry. That’s my fault. I think I saw some chicken in the fridge. Why don’t you boys go into the other room while I make something magical with that chicken?”
Bodhi’s gaze lifts to mine, filled with questions that I can’t answer right now.
Barrett clears his throat. “Looks like Bodhi here doesn’t trust your culinary skills.”
Bodhi doesn’t trust me at the moment, but it has nothing to do with dinner.
“My mom doesn’t know a cheese grater from a colander, so assuming I don’t either is a fair assumption. But while she was busy being her spectacular self all around the world, I was learning life skills from my nanny and our cook.”
“I’ll help.” Bodhi snaps out of it.
I shake my head. “Go hang out with your dad. Really.”
Because his days are limited no matter what you want or what I’m willing to do.
Barrett Malone is trying to check out of this world and that’s just life.
“You don’t know where stuff is at.”
I close the distance between us and lift onto my toes, grabbing Bodhi’s shirt to steady myself as I whisper in his ear, “Go. Pretending that it’s not happening won’t change reality.”
When
I release him, he searches my eyes for something. I’m not sure he finds it, but he turns and follows his dad into the living room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
AFTER A SILENT dinner with Bodhi and Barrett, where Barrett takes literally one bite of his food, I walk home before dark and Bodhi lets me because he seems more worried about leaving his father unattended than letting me walk home alone. Probably a good instinct. The following day I keep my distance from both of the Malone men. Bodhi doesn’t call or text.
Saturday, I finally get a text from Bodhi.
Bodhi: My dad is having a rough day. I’m not going to be able to see you.
Me: Need help?
Bodhi: Thanks. But I’ve got this.
Me: Love you.
Bodhi: Love you too.
We repeat this conversation on Sunday. By Monday, I need to see what’s going on at the Malone house. I don’t expect to see Alice parked in the drive, but she’s there, which either means she didn’t start this morning or Bodhi didn’t go to school.
“Hello?” I call, letting myself inside the house.
Etta comes down the stairs, holding her finger to her lips. “They’re both sleeping,” she whispers, padding her way to Barrett’s bedroom just off the living room. She eases his door shut and meets me back in the entry.
“Bodhi didn’t go work?” I ask in a hushed voice.
Etta shakes her head while frowning. “He took a personal day after yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
Her forehead wrinkles. “He didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head.
The frown on her face deepens. “Barrett refused to eat or drink, so yesterday afternoon Bodhi took him to the ER. They gave him IV fluids and had someone talk to him. Like … a psychiatrist or something. They determined he was fine to go home given his condition.”
“What does that mean?”
“I guess it’s hard to get anyone to say that a terminally ill person is a danger to themselves. After all, they’re …”
I nod once. “Going to die.”
Emotion grows in Etta’s eyes as she returns a tiny nod of acknowledgment.
“I’m sorry.”
She gives me a sad smile. “We all are. It’s so hard to watch Bodhi and Barrett go through this. That boy just tortures himself with guilt. It’s so heartbreaking.”
“How is Barrett?”
“Gone.” She wipes a tear before it falls. “He has such a vacant look in his eyes. His voice carries this monotone defeat. He doesn’t want to live, and I don’t know how you convince someone to live when they’ve lost the will.”
I rest my hand on her arm and give it a gentle squeeze. “I don’t think he’s lost the will to live. I think his body has lost the will to live. There’s a difference. He’s just lost the will to suffer and watch his kids suffer with him.”
Etta nods. “You’re wise for such a young girl.”
Sharing a sad smile, I shrug. “I’m just prematurely experienced in matters like life and death.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“It’s fine.” I nod toward the stairs. “I’m going to peek in on Bodhi.”
“Okay. I’ll put some stuff in the Crock-Pot for later.” Etta gives me a kind smile before heading to the kitchen.
Easing open Bodhi’s door at the top of the stairs, I pad toward his bed where he’s asleep on his side, shrouded in darkness from the drawn blinds. I don’t want to wake him, but my arms need to hold him. When he shuts me out like this, I feel like I did when he let me go over the phone half a world away.
I slip under his sheet and thick gray duvet, inching toward him as he breathes steadily with his arms slightly crossed on his black T-shirt clad chest. Before I let myself touch him, I watch him for a few minutes, wondering if he’s at peace when he sleeps or if his dad and his past haunt him.
The palm of my hand touches his cheek so softly. His groggy eyes blink partially open.
“Go back to sleep,” I whisper. “I just needed …” I bite my lips together to hide the wave of emotion crashing into my heart as he looks at me with such sadness in his grief-stricken eyes.
“Me,” he whispers back. “I hope to God you just needed me because I sure as fuck need you right now.”
“I always need you … in all ways.”
Bodhi palms my backside with his possessive hand, bringing my body flush to his before rolling on top of me, settling his tall frame between my legs. I drown in the exhaustion and frustration etched into his face … but it’s the need that wins over.
“All ways?” His gaze sweeps over my face, settling onto my mouth.
I nod once, feeling breathless, tingly, warm, and heavy with need.
Balancing on one hand, his other hand slides between us and down the front of my jeans in one quick motion that ends with two of his fingers buried inside of me. I gasp, my eyelids surrendering to the gravity of his touch.
“Do you need me like this?” Bodhi whispers over my lips as I arch my back.
“Yesss …”
He kisses me hard with his tongue, making demanding strokes just like his fingers inside of me.
I am his canvas.
His instrument.
His making and his undoing.
Bodhi paints me with his emotions, plays me with his body, takes what’s his, and gives me everything in return.
“Take me away,” he whispers in my ear before dragging his warm mouth down my neck, “without leaving this bed…” he slides his fingers out of me and peels my shirt off, followed by my bra “…take me to another world where it’s just … Bodhi … and … Henna …” He shrugs off his tee.
My gaze goes straight to the side of his torso where my name crawls along the sexy curves of his muscles. I can’t see well in this light, but I know it’s there, an idle promise that we will never be temporary.
Sitting up, I lift onto my knees so we’re facing each other. “Henna and Bodhi.” My fingers thread through his hair, bringing his head to mine so our lips are a breath from touching. “Forever.”
He unbuttons my jeans as I kiss his soft lips. “Forever,” he echoes.
*
Bodhi
I NEED TO check on my dad, but I don’t want to let go of Henna’s naked body tangled with mine, so I indulge for a few more minutes on the floral aroma of her wild hair spread around my neck and the warmth of her cheek on my chest. Her fingers trace my ribs and abs. I love this girl with more love than I thought I had left in my heart. Henna takes everything that’s good in my life and multiplies it.
“I’m worried about you.” She turns her head just enough to press a kiss over my heart.
Stroking her hair, I take a deep breath and let it fall from my chest with a slow release. “It’s my dad you should be worried about. He’s not thinking straight. He’s reckless. And he’s lost all regard for his wellbeing. I don’t know how I’m supposed to finish the school year with him in this mental state. It’s not fair to ask Etta to be on suicide watch. She tends to his needs, but that involves turning her back on him. He needs constant supervision.”
“What if he’s just tired of…” she shifts her body to the side, head on her propped-up arm, blue eyes set on mine “…everything. The cancer. The chemo. This …” Trapping the corner of her lower lip between her teeth, her nose scrunches.
“Life?” I roll onto my side to mirror her.
She nods.
“I know he thinks that right now. He’s thought it before. It will pass. It always passes. In the meantime, can you do me a huge favor?”
“What?”
I curl her hair behind her ear and brush my knuckles along her cheek. “Can you be here as often as possible with him? Bring him cookies, smoke joints all day, hell … I don’t care. Just be here so he has something to look forward to, and so he has less time alone to do something stupid. He likes you. And I need to finish the school year, then I can be here for him.”
“Bodhi, he’s very sick. You get that right? He�
��s weaker than I’ve ever seen him. His disposition has changed so much since before I left. I can’t give him the will to live no matter how many cookies I bake for him or how many joints we share on the porch. Your dad is …” She rolls onto her back and covers her eyes with her arm, but I don’t miss the quiver of her lips or the tear that slides down her cheek.
“Baby.” I pull her to me and she buries her face into my neck as her body shakes with silent sobs. I know my father is dying, but I’m not ready to say goodbye. There are a million unspoken words between us that I have to say before he’s gone. I just haven’t been able to say them yet, and if he dies before I get the nerve to tell him what’s in my heart, it will destroy me.
“Can you just give me a couple more weeks until school is out?” I kiss the top of her head, and she slides her arms around my torso.
She nods.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Henna
“YOU’RE THE BABYSITTER?” Barrett stares at the joint I offer him.
“Yes. Bodhi asked me to get high with you while he’s at school. He’s killing my sobriety.” I ease into the chair on the porch next to Barrett’s wheelchair and pull a sketch pad and pencils out of my bag. “How cool is that?”
“He’s worried I’m going to kill myself.”
Sharpening my pencil, I glance up at him with a gonna-give-it-to-you straight grin. “Yep.”
“So you keep me in line until he’s out of school. Then he forces me into more treatment. God … that boy is delusional.”
I shrug, working my pencil in short feathering strokes over the top of the paper. “Maybe he loves you. Let’s go with that possibility.”
“He was good, ya know. At the drums.” A tiny smile steals his lips. I like where this is going. “His band didn’t exactly play the kind of music that I enjoyed, but I wasn’t blind. That kid had talent. Dumb as a box of rocks, though. Every one of them. They were on the cusp of becoming something really big and they knew it. That’s why they were celebrating all the damn time. Booze. Drugs. Girls. Just … stupid.”
I can’t see that Bodhi. It’s not that I don’t believe history. It’s just I’ve never seen him drink or even look the tiniest bit tempted by drugs. “What happened to the rest of the band?”