by Mia Kerick
He rushes from the room and returns seconds later with one of his new gray towels. He dabs the cut lightly and then helps me roll onto my side and props the towel in place.
“The cut is ragged—stitches may not help. I’d bet my ass he hit you with a piece of cement.” Bodie’s voice is as tight as a banjo string. “We gotta call the cops.”
“Not tonight.” I close my eyes. “I just can’t.”
“And you should see a doctor too.”
“No. I don’t have insurance—I can’t afford it.” I reach up to touch my eye. “And I’m not that bad off. I just need rest.”
“Rest doesn’t fix a head wound. Or broken ribs.”
“Bodie, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m wiped out.”
He tugs off his boots and then his T-shirt and jeans, leaving him in snug, white briefs. Even injured, I can’t take my good eye off him. In fact, his physique is so breathtaking, I don’t know where to look. Chiseled pecs, rippling abs, tight thighs. I’m clearly not hovering on death’s doorstep if I can appreciate that Bodie is the most spectacular man I’ve ever set eyes on.
“What are you doing?” I ask in response to his sudden near nakedness.
“Isn’t it obvious?” His gaze meets mine. It’s dark. Troubled but steady.
I shake my head. “Um…not really.”
“I’m going to bed. With you.”
“I, uh…I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“I’m not gonna leave you alone with a head injury.” It only takes Bodie three long strides to reach the other side of the bed. And within a split second he’s beside me between the sheets. “Plus, I don’t want to leave you.”
I nod, so damned happy to have him here I could literally cry. Why did I think I needed to be alone? Maybe it’s because I’ve been on my own for so long, I forgot how to be any other way.
“We’ll talk this whole thing over tomorrow,” he declares.
“I-I just… Okay.” My voice trembles despite my effort to sound strong.
He sighs, as if he’s made some sort of weighty decision. “I’d like to hold on to you while we sleep. You fine with that?”
Again, I nod. “Uh-huh.”
“Cool.”
He leans over to switch off the small lamp on the bedside table. Then he slides toward me, flips onto his belly, and places his palm lightly on my chest.
“This okay?”
“Yeah, it is.”
The truth—I’m not okay at all. I’m terrified. Afraid that Dale will track me down and finish what he started. And that he’ll haunt my dreams forever. But I focus on the simple warm weight of Bodie’s hand on my chest. It eases my trembling and I drift off to sleep.
I hear sniffling. And seeing as I’m not crying—though I’m in enough pain to be doing so—it has to be Bodie.
“Bodie?”
“Shit. Sorry to wake you.”
“What’s wrong?” Silence. “I need to know.”
“I should’ve been there for you.” The sniffling is replaced by a distinct gasp for air. As in, a giant sob.
“You were there. You saved me.”
I glance at Bodie. Despite the darkness, I have no trouble seeing him. He’s stretched out on his back, staring at the ceiling. “I didn’t protect you.” The tears streaming down his face shimmer in the dim light.
“That’s not your job.”
“But it is!” Another sob.
“In the bar, maybe it is to some extent. But you’re not my bodyguard. I left the bar. Dale dragged me off the street, not out of Surf’s Up.”
“Dale,” he echoes. “That asshole’s name is Dale?”
“Yeah. He was in the convenience store buying cigarettes. He told me his name.” I shiver. Just thinking about how he was stalking me churns my guts.
Bodie grunts in acknowledgment. “Part of me is pissed that I didn’t kill him. The rest of me is pissed I didn’t go straight to you.”
“I enjoyed the sound of you beating on him, truth be told,” I admit.
I catch a quick glimpse of that sideways smile. “It felt damn good to hit him.”
“How did you know to come after me?” I’ve been wondering this since he found me.
“Just a feeling. Ya know, a feeling that you needed me.”
“Well, your feeling saved my ass.” Pretty much literally.
“Still wanna kill him.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I been there—I got forced to do that kinda shit. Back when I was a kid.”
I’m still in shock that Dale tried to rape me, but it kills me to know that Bodie suffered this kind of pain as a child. “Is that what you told me about? The things that happened to you decades ago?”
“Yep.” He rolls onto his side, so we’re face to face. “Never told anybody about that before.”
“I’m glad you told me.”
“Me too.” Bodie reaches around me and lightly rubs the bump on my head. “Not bleeding anymore.”
“A positive sign.”
“I’d say so. And your eye has opened up a bit too.”
“Praise be to the god of ice cubes.” We smile at each other. In the middle of the pain and fear, I’ve gained something: Bodie’s trust. A prize in itself. And as incredibly, he’s earning mine.
“Can’t stop thinking about what I saw.” His confession erupts in a heated rush. “When I stormed into that alley.” I’m certain that when Bodie closes his eyes he sees me being violated. As I do. “Did he hurt your ass?”
“No, no. I’m fine…back there.” But I’m suddenly exhausted. This is a lot to handle. Too much.
Bodie reads my mind. “Go back to sleep, now, Ollie. Nothing bad will happen to you when I’m here.”
That’s a sweet sentiment, since what went down in the alley does nothing to mend my trust issues with the world. What went down tonight is a major setback in my life—I honestly can’t stop shaking. “Night, Bodie. Thanks for looking after me.”
“Sorry as hell I showed up late.”
Chapter 10
I wake up alone. Not surprising, seeing as Bodie and me are housemates, not roommates. But I’ll admit to being disappointed. Actually, it’s worse than that; I’m distraught. I thought he’d taken me under his wing. Waking up alone means I was likely wrong. It’s a good reminder not to get used to feeling as if I’m cared for. Life experience has taught me well—feeling supported by another human being is always short-lived. Thank God for Hugo.
Dragging myself from the bed is a challenge. My ribs are the main reason for the struggle, although I doubt they’re cracked. Had a couple of cracked ribs my junior year of high school from a skiing accident. This pain isn’t nearly as bad, so they’re probably just bruised.
Next I check the lump on the back of my head. I press on it lightly to gauge the level of pain. It’s still swollen and tender, but not so alarming as it seemed last night. I stumble to the bathroom to pee and then examine my puffy left eye. Not much improvement here. The dark colors surrounding it are alarming, but at least it’s opened enough that I can see. All in all, I survived the worst beating to this point in my life fairly intact. At least, my body is intact.
And my dizziness is gone, so I’m shaking for no obvious reason. This can’t be good.
Hugo greets me at the bathroom door. “Hey buddy, you ready to go outside?”
Bodie appears in the hallway by the kitchen looking as chiseled as the statue of Zeus at Olympia, dressed in only tight black compression shorts. Bare chest and feet. Auburn hair hanging in damp ringlets around his face. “Hugo’s already walked. And fed. Alls we have to do is worry about you.”
We?
“Uh…th-thanks.”
“Let me look at you in the light, Ollie.” He grabs my wrist and leads me into the sunlit kitchen that smells of freshly brewed coffee. He gets right in my face to study my eye and then moves behind me to fiddle with my hair and examine the lump on my head. When he drags his fingertips over the bruises on my sid
e, I shiver. I may be in pain, but I’m still affected by his attention.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he announces, stepping in front of me.
“Was there ever any doubt?”
“I had some doubt. You’re a fuckin’ mess.”
He means physically. And he’s right, my body is a mess. But my emotional state worries me more. “Well, thanks, Dr. Bowden, for declaring me on the road to recovery.”
Bodie nods but doesn’t smile. “Go sit on the couch. I’ll bring you some coffee.”
This type of harmless order from Bodie is now rather routine; I take no offense. With great effort, I lumber to the living room where the pillow from Bodie’s bed is propped up on the end of the couch, ready and waiting for me. His blanket is folded neatly on the other end.
“Sit down.” Bodie places the mug on the coffee table, and when I sit, tucks his blanket around me. “There.” He hands me the mug and plops into Dad’s old leather chair. “I’ll make breakfast after we see how that coffee goes down.”
I’m starting to feel like a pitiful patient. “Bodie, I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” Eyes narrowed; he shifts his gaze to the street through the picture window. “I got eyes.”
“An asshole beat me up. I survived. It’s over.” Maybe a little bit of wishful thinking with the “it’s over” part. The residual terror, I expect, will linger.
Bodie shakes his head, frustrated. “You need to report this.”
“In the summer, Gillamour Island is a largely transient community,” I argue. “I’d bet my ass Dale is long gone by now.” More wishful thinking.
“Could be. But it wouldn’t hurt to go to the cops.”
“That’s my decision.”
He nods. “You’re right. It is.”
No argument? No pressuring me to do what he has decided is the right choice?
In my youth, my silence wasn’t something Mom could accept. And since I rarely offered information by my own free will, she questioned me constantly. Dad pretty much avoided asking questions, so much so that he rarely talked to me. It was safer for him that way. He didn’t have to rock the boat with Mom.
My boyfriends didn’t question me about anything at all, mainly because they didn’t really care about my emotional wellbeing. What was going on in my mind—if I was happy or anxious or feeling blue—just didn’t matter. Those relationships were shallow but were a relief from Mom’s constant prying. We ate together, drank together, had sex. End of story.
The silence between Bodie and me is undeniably comfortable—neither of us obliged to fill it with chatter. We don’t require detailed explanations of each other’s thoughts. There are, however, positive and negative effects to the complacency of our voluntary communication gap. Nonetheless, at the moment I’m enjoying the comfort of it. I don’t have to pick at a barely scabbed over emotional and physical injury. I can just let it lie.
“I called us in sick to work tonight. Hope that’s cool,” he says.
“You called Jack?”
“Sure did.”
“What did he say?” I’ve never before called in sick. Even when I should have.
“You don’t want to hear the story word-for-word, do ya? It ain’t pretty.”
“A brief summary will be just fine.”
“Wheeler wasn’t pleased. Knew there was nothing he could do about it, though.”
Brief, but I get the picture. “Well, I’m glad you called him. I’m not up for working the bar considering how much it hurt to walk from the bathroom to the couch. But you don’t have to babysit me. You can go to work tonight.”
“I don’t see it that way.” Bodie scrambles from the chair and bolts to the kitchen. If I were one to burden my housemate with questions, I’d ask why he seems so hurt.
The silence in my tiny cottage is now less comfortable and more maddening.
“I’ve lived all over New England, mostly in cities. Seen the whole country, though. And I never stay in one place too long—I try to bolt before I get booted.” He reaches out and tucks his blanket around my thighs. “Folks say I’m born for leaving.”
Bodie and I are eating a late-night dinner by candlelight. Okay, we’re chowing down on grilled cheese sandwiches and chips on the couch, as I’m not up for sitting on one of the hard, wooden kitchen chairs. Still, it would be a romantic scene if my ribs weren’t screaming, and if I weren’t still so freaked out by what happened in the alley last night. The easy conversation helps to distract me.
“What I can’t get over is that you aren’t an actual cowboy.”
“Nope. I just play one on TV.” Finally, the crooked smile makes its appearance. I haven’t seen much of it today. “The Stetson’s my way of hiding my eyes.”
I laugh. “You play your part well. Everybody at Surf’s Up thinks you came to Gillamour Island straight from your home on the range.”
“More like from northern Maine. I was working at a sawmill.” He wipes his mouth with the long sleeve of his T-shirt. “It was temporary work. And in the middle of May I found the doorman job at Surf’s Up online. Worked it all out with Jack by text.”
“Yet another temporary job.”
“Yep. But I couldn’t find a better place to spend the summer.” He picks up our paper plates and asks, “How about another beer?”
“You’re not a cowboy; you’re a mind reader.”
“Be right back.” Hugo follows him to the kitchen. That dog will surely miss him when he leaves.
Bodie and I never got cleaned up and dressed today. He’s in the compression shorts he made coffee in and I’m still wearing my pajama pants. We threw on T-shirts before dinner. That was the extent of it.
Mostly we just sat around all day. Listening to music—I like eighties pop and he’s into classic rock—and chatting about nothing too significant. We even took naps, me stretched out on the couch, him sprawled on the rug with Hugo’s head on his chest.
Bodie comes back with a couple of beers and sits down close beside me. “It’s gonna suck to brush your hair tomorrow. It’s all tangled up.”
“Christ, I must be a sight.” I know how crazy my hair gets when I don’t pay proper attention to it.
“A sight for sore eyes.” I can tell he wants to study me, but he focuses on the beer in his lap. “You look good.”
Smoothing my hair, I say, “Like you should talk.” I have a much more difficult time resisting him. I stare at Bodie way too much.
He shifts sideways on the couch so he’s facing me. “You tired?”
“I guess so.” Despite the nap, I actually am exhausted. Worry and pain have a way of draining a person. “Wanna go to bed now?”
“Together?” he asks without missing a beat.
“If you can stand my company for another eight hours.”
He shakes his head. “Won’t be a problem. It’s real easy to be with you, Ollie.” With that admission, he stands, takes my half-empty beer from my hand, and places the bottles on the coffee table. Then he helps me rise from the couch.
“You’ve been a lifesaver today,” I tell him. Bodie said it’s as easy to be with me, and this is strangely easy to admit.
“Was my pleasure. Come on.” I follow him to the hallway.
We take turns in the bathroom, each of us emerging in boxers, and then we slide into my bed, choosing the same sides as last night. And just like last night, Bodie leans over and turns out the light.
It’s only dark and quiet for a minute. I break the silence. “I-I’m…shit, how do I say this?”
He rolls toward me. “Whatever it is, I guess you just spit it out.”
A pool of sweat gathers on my forehead. “Bodie, I’m feeling sort of worried.” Sort of worried is a definite understatement for how I feel. “You know, worried about going back to work.”
“On account of that asshole, Dale, coming to find you at Surf’s Up?”
“Good guess.”
“I’ll be with you, Ollie. He won’t get near you.”
But
you aren’t gonna be here forever. “I guess I just have to deal with it.”
He slides toward me until he’s so near that the heat radiating from his near-naked body warms me. I don’t think we’ve been this close all day. “Listen good—Dale’s a dead man if I see his face again. You can take that to the bank.”
But Bodie’s born for leaving—he told me himself—and I’m obviously staying. I could try going to the police about it. But what are they going to do? To begin with, I don’t even know Dale’s last name. All he did was punch me a few times; he didn’t actually rape me. And somehow, Mom would find out if I filed a police report. I’d never hear the end of it.
“Bodie…please, just make me forget.”
He doesn’t hesitate. His hands find my face—thumbs brushing my temples, fingers on my forehead—and leans over me and presses his lips to mine. The kiss is immediately deep and intense, so blissfully distracting that my pain and fear slip away.
And then as Bodie explores my mouth with his tongue, he slides his fingertips along the damaged sides of my body—too gently to hurt, just enough to bring out goosebumps. And then, very carefully, he lifts my ass in one huge hand and pulls down my boxers. It feels safe and right to be handled with such care. I sigh, louder than I intend, and our gazes meet.
“You okay?” he asks, his eyes darkening.
“I’m good,” I utter and, at the moment, mean it.
When I’m naked, Bodie raises himself above me on hands and knees. He stares down at my body—his breath coming in quick rasps—and isn’t shy about his perusal.
“Ollie, I never seen anything so beautiful as you. Or something I wanted so much.”
If he’s trying to make me forget my troubles, he’s doing a damn good job of it. I can’t help but sigh.
“I want to try something, if it’s okay. It’s probably not new to you, but it is to me.”
I nod. “Do whatever you want.”
Bodie drops onto his thighs and bends nearly in half to place his cheek on the light blond fuzz of my belly. He breathes quickly, as if trying to summon the courage to move his head lower. Finally, he inhales deeply, separates my legs with a single two-handed push, and takes my dick into his mouth. Not little by little, but all at once.