Like The Wind

by Bengtsson, J.

  “What the hell is happening?” I asked, neither expecting nor receiving an explanation to the nightmare raging around me. As if to drive home the danger we were facing, the dried brush directly beside the car sizzled before igniting with a pop.

  “Go. Go,” she called out, pounding on the glove compartment.

  I put the car in gear and stepped on the gas. I hadn’t even gotten my license until I was eighteen and I’ll admit, I had a tendency to drive on the lower side of other drivers’ sanity levels, earning me the nickname ‘grandpa’ from my band mates. But tonight, I’d be making the boys proud.

  The woman held on for dear life as I maneuvered down the hill, avoiding a gathering of fire trucks pulled off to the side of the road. I wanted to roll down my window and inform them of the losing battle they were fighting. Any residents still in their homes weren’t coming out alive. Although, let’s be real, the firefighters were experienced enough to know this was no ordinary blaze. They might as well have been fighting the fire with garden hoses for all the good it would do them.

  One fireman saw our approach and began to aggressively signal with his arms and point down the road in the universal sign of ‘Hey Idiot! Get the hell out of here.’

  My passenger and I sat rapt in our seats as we pushed toward safety. We hadn’t made it two blocks before an unexpected bend in the road forced us deeper into the inferno.

  “Watch out!”

  Her scream pierced the cab, commanding my foot to brake even before I knew the reason for her outburst. A tree, fully engulfed in flames, crashed to the ground two car lengths in front of us, sending embers cascading up and over the windshield. My sudden deceleration caused the backend of the Range Rover to fishtail and I struggled for control. We both screamed as the truck performed an entire rotation before coming to an abrupt stop within inches of the burning obstruction.

  Breathing heavily, I looked to my passenger for encouraging words of wisdom, but she had nothing more to add to the stunned silence. It occurred to me then that the yappy dog in the backseat had actually stopped barking. Apparently he wasn’t a fan of my Tilt-A-Whirl driving skills.

  I placed the car in reverse to get us a safe distance from the burning blockage but with distance came clarity. This narrow road was our salvation, and now the downed tree was blocking us from deliverance. The only way out was through the punishing flames.

  Slowly I turned toward my passenger, ready to explain the dire situation, but the minute our eyes met, an understanding passed between us. We were out of options. I knew it. She knew it. The sloppy-tongued canine in the backseat knew it. If we turned around and followed the fire trucks up, we would die. If we stayed put, we would die. Our lives lay on the other side of that tree.

  Incredibly, the woman seemed to absorb every word I didn’t speak. Gripping my forearm, she nodded, ready to meet the challenge head-on. Even if that challenge meant driving through a stone-fire oven.

  “Wait, what’s your name?” I asked, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to know this stranger beside me, the woman who faced the possibility of death with stunning courage and strength.

  Her eyes softened, the fear in them temporarily abated as she answered my question. “Breeze.”

  I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly. “Breeze? Like the wind?”

  Seeing the irony in her name, a tiny smile found its way to the surface. “Yes, Bodhi Beckett. Like the wind.”

  8

  Breeze: Sympathy Puker

  There are moments in life you know will change you forever. The day Terrance had showed up, hand in hand with my beaming mother, carrying a bouquet of fresh flowers meant just for me, was one of those moments. Another occurred minutes before my beloved grandmother took her final breath. She’d opened her eyes, looked around, and asked why there were so many people gathered at her bedside. My mother and I had been alone with her at the time. And then there was now, staring into the eyes of the man I would face death with. I didn’t know him before today, and probably wouldn’t know him after. But for the rest of our hopefully long and prosperous lives, this would be a stitch in time that neither of us would forget.

  A calm settled over me in the seconds before he leaned on the gas pedal and shot us into the flames. I’d never been known for my steely reserve, but when it counted and everything was on the line, I was brave. And so was he—more than I ever would have been if I had been driving. I just had to sit here and pray. Bodhi had to transport us through earth’s fiery core with an entire pet store in the backseat. Mason could say what he would about defective former child stars, but mine had it all going on, and then some.

  Hercules whimpered from the backseat, momentarily drawing my attention away from the path ahead. I reached back to soothe him when the realization dawned. This was all on me. If I hadn’t insisted on saving the animals, we would’ve passed this spot before the tree fell and we wouldn’t be trapped in a coffin rolling through hell. Why not take it a step further? Had Bodhi left me in the street back there, he’d already be at the ocean by now, safe from harm. If he died on this mountain road, it would be my fault.

  I’m sorry, I wanted to say, but no way did this guy have time for apologies. He was busy keeping us alive. With a grimace of determination stamped on his chiseled profile, Bodhi maneuvered the car up and over the curb and drove us directly into the belly of the dragon. Heat penetrated through the surface of the vehicle and, almost immediately, I could feel the temperature rise inside the cab. We were being cooked alive. Sweetpea barked incessantly in his carrier, and Herc’s long, sorrowful wail sounded like a baby’s cry. I wasn’t sure how much he understood about what was happening, but he knew enough to be terrified. Even Lucy got in on the action. With her angry meows muffled from inside the bag. I caught a glimpse of one of her paws reaching up through the small opening where the zipper and duffle bag met.

  “It’s not ending,” Bodhi yelled over the roar. “I can’t see the street.”

  “It’s there. It has to be,” I said, trying hard to keep the hope alive for the both of us. But with every second that passed, the chances of us getting back onto the road without smashing into a tree or light pole diminished. “Just a little bit further.”

  Although my words were paved more in wishful thinking than actual foresight, they seemed to be what he needed to hear.

  “Okay. Hold on.”

  Tightening my grip on the ‘Oh Shit’ handle, I bit back my scream as Bodhi floored it, blindly navigating his way through the smoke and fire until a sudden sharp veer to the right set the tires back on cemented ground. And although we were free from the tunnel of terror, the Range Rover had emerged from the inferno on fire. The flames licking up the hood increased the likelihood that it wasn’t the only surface of the vehicle currently sizzling. Since we were still surrounded on all sides, Bodhi had no choice but to keep driving. Stopping now was more dangerous than barreling down the two-lane road in a mobile barbeque.

  Neither of us spoke as he kept his foot pressed deep on the gas pedal. The speed at which we were travelling actually worked to extinguish a fair number of the flames on the hood. Briefly prying his eyes from the road, Bodhi dared a glance in my direction. We were both breathing heavily, traumatized by the lengths it took to come out the other side.

  And then it hit me. We were still alive! And more importantly, it looked like we’d stay that way as the world around us gradually returned to normal. Here, the trees were still standing. The hillside road hadn’t been reduced to a valley of flames, and the stately homes weren’t yet exploding. And world-renowned popstar Bodhi Beckett and me—we were still breathing.

  I opened my mouth but no words could do any of this justice, so I held onto the silence. Without warning, Bodhi swerved over to the side of the road, put the car in park, and jumped out.

  “The towel on the rat’s cage,” he said. “Give it to me.”

  Springing from the car, I opened the back door and, snagging the towel off the cage, I tossed it at Bodhi. He quickl
y went to work slapping out random flames still smoldering on the metal. He continued batting at the melted paint long after the threat had been extinguished. Clearly he’d gone someplace else in his mind, someplace fraught with danger and distress.

  “You can stop now,” I said softly. “The fire’s out.”

  Bodhi turned toward me, blinking multiple times in what appeared to be an effort to clear his mind, then mercifully ceased his firefighting efforts. The towel was still wrapped around his knuckles and he held on tightly, seemingly unconvinced of lasting safety. Regardless, if a second wave was coming for us, his charred towel wouldn’t have much fight left in it. I needed to pry it from his hands.

  “Here, let me take that,” I offered and, as if it were a loaded weapon, I cautiously extracted the towel from his steely grip. “We’re safe now.”

  The reassurance surprised even myself. After the last hour, it seemed almost deceitful to speak such hopeful words. Bodhi stood, conflicted, his hands curling into fists. I could see in his body language that he wanted to believe me, but he’d seen too much to take my baseless predictions at face value.

  Looking toward the orange hued horizon, a myriad of emotion passed over his troubled face. I felt nothing but sympathy for this man. Had he been anyone else, anyone ordinary, I might have wrapped my arms around him and given the guy a supportive pat on the back. But Bodhi wasn’t just anyone, and that fact wasn’t far from my mind. Celebrities, as a whole, shied away from the touchy-feely approach. From what I gathered, they treasured their privacy and what interaction they did have with the general public did not include hugging or light petting. Still, I had to wonder, now that we’d faced death together, where was the line drawn between strangers and Stockholm Syndrome survivors.

  In the end, Bodhi made the call on the type of support system he needed, and it didn’t include me. Shoulders slumped, he unexpectedly dropped onto the sidewalk, burying his head into his hands. Perhaps even more awkward than consoling a celebrity was consoling a crying one. At least that’s what I assumed he was doing, even though he maintained a steely silence. All I could see of his internal turmoil was his quaking body. With each vibration of his broad shoulders, my own resolve weakened. Depleted myself, I took a seat beside him and allowed the tears to flow freely down my cheeks. There was a time and place for superhero strength and then there was now… the time to be human.

  * * *

  Sitting side by side consumed by our own harrowing memories, neither of us spoke. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. There was some solace in knowing I wasn’t the only one who felt so gutted. Several minutes of parallel suffering passed before Bodhi slowly rose to his feet and offered me his hand.

  “We should probably keep moving,” he said, sounding more in control than he looked. Gesturing toward the growing smoke cloud on the horizon, he added, “It’s still coming this direction.”

  Illuminated by the headlights, I got my first solid look at the guy who saved my life and, maybe it was a case of hero worship, but I was awestruck in his presence. Looks-wise, Bodhi Beckett had seen better days. Half-naked, hair wildly unkempt and covered in thick layers of soot and ash, the guy had a serious cro-magnum man vibe going on. And yet, props to him for being distracting enough to temporarily take my mind off the plume of fire and smoke currently gobbling up the landscape. Normally I wasn’t into the whole ‘hunter and gatherer’ look, but I made an exception for famous popstars surviving their first apocalypse.

  Staring back at me from behind long dark lashes, Bodhi’s light blue eyes were as pretty as they were haunted. I wondered if this troubled expression of his had been with him longer than just tonight. Certainly he appeared wiser and more poised than his celebrity alter ego would suggest. The young guy mugging for the camera on the cover of magazines was a far cry from the subdued one standing before me now. Yet something told me getting to the bottom of his story would take longer than the handful of minutes I probably had left with him.

  From my position on the sidewalk, Bodhi seemed larger than life… and I suppose he was. This was a guy worshipped by millions and now suddenly he was here with me, sharing a moment neither one of us could have foreseen. I blinked him in, my brain still catching up on the idea that my savior was also a pop music superstar. And for the first time since crossing paths with Bodhi, I felt wholly unworthy of sharing his space.

  “Breeze?” he questioned, still offering a hand to me.

  “Oh geez, sorry,” I said, sliding my palm against his. “I’m trippin’ out.”

  And like a weed peeking out from a crack in the sidewalk, a smile fought its way to the surface, instantly transforming Bodhi’s serious expression into one of relief and amusement. “You and me both.”

  I allowed him to pull me to my feet but was unprepared to be planted inches from his imposing body. How had I, in a matter of an hour, gone from pathetic Breeze sitting on the sofa calling her deadbeat daddy for emotional support into the Lara Croft of firestorm survival? And more importantly, how was I now suddenly in a full frontal stare down with a guy whose face I’d seen staring back at me from the pages of a magazine?

  His eyes burrowed into mine as if they were looking for a safe place to take refuge and, oh lord help me; Bodhi Beckett instantly became my newest obsession. It was like the heavens had opened up and handed me a dream come true. All those little, defenseless animals I’d nursed to health over the years had brought me here—to the wounded landscape of the man who stood before me now. In my mind’s eye he was the flawless mix of beautiful but scarred. A man who was broken just enough that his fragmented pieces could still be painstakingly sewn back together again. Honestly, I had to keep myself from salivating. Oh, how I’d love to get my hands on him, not in the biblical sense… okay that too… but for a mender like me, Bodhi was the perfect project and I was convinced that, given half the chance, I was just what this guy needed.

  Bodhi’s eyebrows lifted as he continued to stare, and I wondered what his internal dialogue sounded like. It probably went something like this – how do I get this googly-eyed dork to let go of my hand, or where can a guy get a restraining order at this late hour.

  Yes, it was times like this I was glad human beings weren’t equipped with mind-reading capabilities, because if Bodhi had picked up on even an inkling of what I’d been thinking, he would have dropped my hand and run toward the flames. Certainly I was the last thing a guy like Bodhi was looking for. He was a shiny billboard of accomplishments and I was, well, one of those dull, brown corkboards you hang on the wall and cover with post-it-notes. If my lackluster brilliance hadn’t been enough to hold the interest of a cheating ex-fiancé, there was little hope a gleaming superstar would find me fascinating.

  Thankfully, Sweetpea and his incessant barking ended the awkwardly long stare down between the two of us. Bodhi wisely diverted his eyes away from my psychotic plotting and fixed them on my small charge. A grimace instantly hardened his features as he took in the ramped-up dog slamming himself into the sides of his carrier. Good lord, Sweetpea’s anxiety levels were through the roof tonight, and even though he wasn’t my pup, I was still embarrassed.

  “That dog needs meds,” Bodhi commented absently, not even trying to be funny, even though it sort of was.

  I nodded my agreement. “Or chloroform.”

  “Yeah, I vote for chloroform.”

  I laughed but it died off quickly. It felt almost inappropriate, like we were at a funeral. And I suppose, in a way, we were.

  “Hey, I’m really sorry about your house,” he said, surprising me with his genuine concern. “But at least you got your animals out, right?”

  “I’m not sure the house is actually gone. It wasn’t on fire when I left it but… I guess its chances aren’t real good, are they?”

  “No, not good at all.”

  “Anyway, it’s not my place. I was pet-sitting.”

  Bodhi’s eyes widened as he glanced from me to the creature convention in the backseat of his car. “Wait. You
were saving someone else’s pets?”

  I shrugged. “I take my job seriously.”

  “Well, shit,” he said, as if stunned by the news. I couldn’t tell if he was highly impressed by my work ethic or frustrated for being dragged into Animal Planet in the first place.

  Encouraged by the smile that broke free from its confines, I relaxed and said, “I’m going to add it to my marketing flyers—‘Saves animals from raging infernos.’ If there are any houses left standing, I’ll be the most popular pet sitter in the county.”

  “No fucking doubt. Shit, I’d hire you… if I had pets to save, that is.”

  Suddenly Bodhi didn’t seem as intimidating as I’d made him out to be. Still flawed? Oh yes, that much I was convinced of, but he knew how to hide his inner turmoil well and transform himself into your average, everyday hot guy.

  “I guess I should extend the same condolences to you,” I said, employing my gift for gab to keep the conversation going. It didn’t work.

  Bodhi seemed confused, and eyed me questioningly.

  “I’m sorry about your house,” I clarified.

  “Oh.” He exhaled. “I was trying to figure out who died. No, it wasn’t my place either. I was house-sitting.”

  Now it was my turn to gape in surprise. What were the chances of us both being supporting players in this natural disaster?

  “Well check us out!” My voice tipped up in amusement. “We’re a couple of squatters.”

  He laughed. “I guess we are.”

  “So… are you as good at your job as I am?”

  “Huh?”

  “Did you save the house?”

  A mischievous grin swept over his face. “Do I look like I saved the house?”