by Mia Kerick
But I can’t stay. Please be okay.
Bodie
Chapter 22
It’s still too soon to ask myself why. To ask myself what changed between Bodie and me in what seems like a few short hours. At this point, I’m chalking up Bodie’s abrupt departure to his being unable to fight his true nature. He did what he was born to do, and Bodie, by his own declaration, was born to leave before fledgling roots have a chance to take hold.
Not to say I’m okay with it. I’m not; I’m devastated. I can’t eat. I can’t run. I can barely drag my ass out of bed long enough to let Hugo outside. Thank God I was able to escape into sleep last night. But bills don’t pay themselves and work is not optional.
I haven’t walked to Surf’s Up for a long time, but I set out on foot at three. The wind doesn’t feel the same as when I’m on the back of Bodie’s bike. It’s slightly distracting in a torturous way, reminding me of Bodie’s fingers running gently through my long blond hair. Something I’ll never enjoy again.
I haven’t yet allowed myself to consider what his departure means in the big picture of my life. That would cause too much distress for me to handle right now. And so, to this point, I’ve only embraced the shock—the sheer trauma caused by his decision.
I have no clue why I haven’t yet cried. As I walk, my eyes are wide and dry, not stinging with unshed tears. Maybe I fear that if I cry, I’ll come apart at the seams. Or melt into the ground. And maybe this is what I secretly want. It’s too dangerous to let myself cry at this point.
Consumed by my pain, I hardly notice the black BMW pulling off the road in front of me. “Hey, Oliver!”
“Jack…”
He climbs out of the car and circles around to the vehicle’s passenger side. “Hop in. I’ll drive you the rest of the way to Surf’s Up.” Absently, I trudge to the car. Jack opens the door and I get in. “So you’re walking to work?” he asks as he shifts into drive.
“Uh, yeah.” It suddenly hits me that I have no idea what occurred between Jack and Bodie the night before last.
“I’m not surprised.”
“Why is that?”
“Didn’t he tell you?”
“Tell me what?” This feels like a game.
Jack pulls onto the road with a screech. “That he quit. Left me high and dry. Without a doorman—on Labor Day weekend, no less.” Bile rises in my throat. I’m not ready to learn what happened between them. But I’m obviously about to find out. At least, I’ll hear Jack’s version. I swallow audibly. “I offered him hours in the fall—weekend hours. And I told him I’d raise his pay.” Jack glances at me. I can’t read his carefully schooled expression. “He wanted no part of it. Said he was leaving at the end of the weekend.”
I’m ready to beg Jack to pull over again, so I can scramble out of the car to vomit in the brush by the side of the road. Instead I grit my teeth and struggle to survive the ride.
“I told him not to bother to come back at all.” I nod, although this makes little sense. Bodie’s temporary job contract went from Memorial Day to Labor Day. “So is he gone? Did he move out of your cottage?”
I peer at Jack. He’s now staring at the road, but is tense, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, waiting intently for my answer.
“Well?”
“Yes. He’s gone.”
I watch for his reaction; I’m not sure why. There’s a flutter of eyelashes, a hint of a smile. A loosening of fingers on the wheel. “I’m sorry, Oliver. I know he meant a lot to you.”
“He did,” I admit. He does.
“Well, you know I’m here for you. To listen. To lean on.”
“Thanks.” I don’t understand what’s happening to my world. All I know is I feel trapped in this car.
When we arrive at Surf’s Up, I’m shocked to see Rod Bernardi at the front door. Oh, joy. The Angel Slayer is back. “I don’t know why I let anything shock me anymore,” I mutter.
“What’s that, Oliver?” Jack asks, although I’m certain he heard me.
“Why is Bernardi here?” I ask.
“He’s working, of course. We need a bouncer.”
“You solved your doorman problem rather quickly.”
“What can I say? I work fast.”
As I pass Rod, he elbows me in the gut. “Thanks for canning me, Tunstead.” I don’t grace him with a reply. “Your action hasn’t been forgotten.”
Wonderful. “Whatever.”
“Just say a prayer you don’t need me to watch your back any time soon.”
Without another word, I make my way to the bar to set up. The drink special, which I have named Road Trip to Hades, features champagne and tequila. Why not? And I plan to consume my share of the beverage over the course of the night to further dull my senses as I descend into Hell.
“Where’s Bodie?” Mika asks as soon as I’m parked behind the bar popping open the first bottle of champagne.
“I don’t know.”
“You what?”
“Mika, I don’t have a clue where he is.”
“Well, did you, like, call him? To ask?” She shakes her head slowly, as if stunned by my negligence.
The thing is, I’m not willing to track Bodie down and question his motives. I’m nothing like my mother. “He left my place without a word. Quit his job here too.” I shake my head instead of shrugging. “That’s all I fucking know.”
I spit out the last remark as if it’s bitter on my tongue. Maybe she’ll spread the word among the staff to stay the hell off my case tonight.
Instead of skittering away, intimidated by my anger, Mika takes hold of my wrist. “I’m sorry, Oliver.”
“Yeah, me too.” I gulp down the bile that’s again risen to my throat. “It’s gonna be crazy tonight, so why don’t you get busy chopping fruit for garnishes?”
And as predicted, the night is crazy. Every time there’s a scuffle—and there are far more than usual tonight—I automatically glance around to look for Bodie. Of course, he’s nowhere to be found. Each time I’m wrecked anew by his absence.
By the night’s end I can barely pour a beer from the keg, seeing as I consumed eleven Road Trip to Hades drinks. In fact, I can’t stand without clinging to the edge of the bar. Jack magically appears at my side, and he steadies me by slipping his arm beneath my shoulder.
“Mika, Nico—you two are in charge of closing the bar. I’m gonna put Oliver to bed on the couch in the employee lounge. I don’t want any interruptions.”
I’m drunk, but not too lost to notice the concerned glances Mika and Nico exchange. “Jack, why don’t you and Mika close the bar? I’ll drive Oliver home,” Nico offers.
“Bad idea.” Jack snatches my arm by the elbow. “I’ll take care of Oliver. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it now.”
Mika grabs my other arm, pulls me close to her side, and murmurs, “Go with Nico, Oliver. He’ll get you home safely.”
Her face spins before my eyes. “No worries, Mika.” I yawn widely. “I’m just so tired. Need to sleep. As in, now.” I allow Jack to escort me to the lounge.
“Lie down, baby. You can sleep it off here.” I can hear the smile in his voice. And maybe a note of triumph.
I fall onto the couch, face first. “Gonna close my eyes.” What I really need is to escape the impending distress I have yet to address. Sleep seems like the perfect path to freedom.
“You’re safe here.” He covers me with the quilt he keeps folded on the floor beneath the couch. And then he lies down pretty much on top of me.
“Just wanna sleep.”
When I wake up, the room is pitch black. I’m seriously nauseous, but I can’t get off the couch because there’s a body wedging me in.
“Gonna be sick,” I croak, and the body on top of me grunts irritably but shifts enough to let me get up. I only make it as far as the door, where I find a small trash can. I lose everything in my belly.
“Babe, I’ll get you a bottle of water.”
I know the voice; it’s not the
one I long for. And I’m not certain where I am. I collapse in a pile on the floor.
Jack crosses the room and grabs a bottle of water from the pack beside the couch. “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”
Still sick to my stomach, I suck down the water. “I wanna go home, Jack.”
“Oliver, it’s the middle of the night. I’ll take you home in the morning.”
“No.” I stand and grasp the doorknob. “Goin’ home now.”
Strong hands lock on to my wrists. “You’re here with me, where you belong. And where you’ll stay.” Jack shoves me into the door, driving the knob into my hip. And then he kisses me, if you can call such a forceful act a kiss. He presses his mouth against mine, opens wide, and drives his tongue inside. I shake my head, trying to dislodge his lips, but he just pushes into my mouth harder.
Finally, I manage to twist my head. “Get off me!” The shrillness of my voice is effective. Jack steps away.
My relief is mixed with a new rush of wariness, because despite the darkness, I can see rabid fury in his eyes. And then he smiles—wide and barbed and ruthless.
“That’s not what Bodie said last night when I gave it to him good.”
My hands fall to my sides. “What?”
“You don’t want me? You prefer a brute like Nick Bowden? He’s zero fun in bed, as I’m sure you know.” Jack grabs my shoulders and shakes me hard enough to make my teeth chatter. “If you won’t fuck me right here and now, I’m done.”
I don’t even have to think about it. “You’re out of your goddamned mind if you think I’m gonna sleep with you.”
“Then you’re fired, asshole—so get the fuck out of here! I’ll see you in hell before I see you in my bar again!”
He’s literally screaming in my face. Unhinged is the only word for his behavior. And for a moment, as I absorb the threat in his words, I can’t move.
“You heard me—get the fuck out!”
I turn around to leave, only to be jammed face-first into the door. All I can do is scramble to unlock it before he slugs the back of my head. In an ordinary circumstance, I can take care of myself fairly well, but not when I’m half awake, nauseated, and still semidrunk. Somehow, though, I manage to push open the employee lounge door and, once in the bar, I sprint for the exit.
“You’re fucking fired!” he bellows after me.
The door to the street is locked, and I fumble to free myself. My heart pounds as desperation floods my brain.
“I loved you, Oliver. I fucking loved you!”
I can’t seem to figure out how to work a simple lock. My mouth gets dry.
“That asshole is gone—he fucking left you behind. And you still don’t want me?” Jack’s voice grows louder as he approaches.
I manage to slide the lock to the side. I throw open Surf’s Up’s front door and race across the parking lot and down Main Street. I run all the way to my cottage.
Despite my sweaty and nauseated state, the very sight of home soothes my doubly wounded soul. Finding my keys proves to be yet another challenge, though, and I frantically search my pockets, checking behind me periodically for Jack’s BMW in my driveway. Once inside, a very needy Hugo greets me, and I let him out on the deck briefly.
Tonight, I welcome Hugo into my bed. I throw my arms around him and hold his furry body against me as I fade into disturbed sleep.
Waking up is not a positive experience.
My head has never ached so badly, and my belly feels like it’s twisted in knots. I feel like I got hit by a truck. And that’s before reality sinks in. I’m unemployed and may lose my house. I’m going to go belly up on my student loans. The car I had my eye on is nothing but an impossible dream.
Worse, though, the man I fell in love with has left me without the courtesy of a simple goodbye. And if I remember last night correctly—and if I believe what I was told—before Bodie left, he slept with my ex.
I don’t know if life gets much worse.
When Hugo drops his head heavily on my chest, I remember that, although I no longer have a paying job, I have a responsibility to this dog. “Come on, boy. Time to go outside.”
My struggle to get out of bed isn’t pretty; I’m extremely dizzy. Hugo drops down from the bed with a thud and waits patiently by the door. Together, we exit the bedroom. He follows me as I stumble down the hall and into the kitchen. I wonder if he misses Bodie as much as I do.
I push open the screen door and let Hugo outside. Sincerely, I wish I had the energy, or even the desire, to chase him around the yard. But I’m depleted of everything except the will to take care of the most basic necessities. I plop onto the picnic table bench and watch as Hugo wanders around the yard.
Afterward, we return to the kitchen—Hugo for his bowl of kibble, and all I can think of is coffee. I brew a pot, and once I’ve filled a mug, I retreat to my bedroom to lick my wounds in the safest of places.
The day passes so slowly it’s excruciating. Not to mention, achingly lonely.
Food has no appeal, so I stay in bed. No music. No social media. No book. No distractions. It’s as if time will be suspended until I do what needs to be done, something I’ve never before allowed myself to do with regard to the loss of any human being’s presence in my life. And it takes hours to accomplish. I have to concentrate—to clear my mind of all the clutter that provides me shelter—as I prepare to grieve.
When the tears finally come, it’s like a rainstorm, rising to a frenzy and then falling to a hush. Pails of water pouring down upon my hopes and dreams and expectations, then easing to a meaningless pitter-patter. And just when I think the storm has blown off to sea, jagged hailstones pelt my skin.
I cry until the sky is dark again.
I cry for regret, although I can’t point to what I would do differently, had I the chance.
I cry with bitterness that I let down my guard only to be cut to the quick.
I cry to wash away my anguish.
And then I let loose and sob, not just with loneliness, but for missing him. For somehow squandering his love. I suffer the loss of a future I’ll never know.
How much can a man grieve? Hours and hours are in no way enough when you lose someone so precious. If I can’t ease my heartache with a million tears, I need to stop. Sadly, crying won’t be the hardest part. Tomorrow I’ll consider Bodie and his reasons for leaving.
Right now, my mind is a blur of painful questions with no easy answers.
Why did Bodie do what he did?
And what did Jack mean when he suggested that Bodie went willingly to his bed?
Will I ever again see those flashing eyes and auburn curls?
Do I even want to?
I know the answer to my last question is yes, even though it tears me apart to admit.
Food doesn’t call me and neither does the lure of intoxication. Like a zombie, I stumble around the house, taking care of Hugo’s needs. And then, worn as I am, I retire early. Sleep has always been my most reliable escape. With Hugo nestled in the bed beside me, my departure is swift.
The last thing I hear before I fall asleep is my own voice, a hollow echo in my too-empty bedroom. “I would’ve gone with you, Bodie. I would’ve gone anywhere with you.”
Chapter 23
Having no job means I don’t have to go anywhere; I don’t have to see anyone. These small favors ease me slightly. Being alone has never been a problem. Until Bodie came into my life, it was something of a pleasure.
But unemployment also means worry. Will I lose my cottage?
It means guilt. How will Sam and Mika and Nico deal with me being suddenly gone?
But for this one morning—sitting on my sunny deck and watching Hugo dig a hole by the fence—not being absorbed in tears is enough. The job search will start later today. Calls to Mom and Dad won’t happen until I screw my head on straight, which could take a while. My only task now is to consider Bodie. Dry-eyed.
Last night’s sobbing did its job; it took the razor-sharp edge off my
pain. And somehow, at the same time, the crying made my loss real. It guided me from blind shock into the realm of heartache. Which sounds miserable but was necessary.
Bodie.
I place my mug on the deck and grab one of Hugo’s discarded sticks, and then I toss it across the yard. For a second, he seems surprised; I haven’t played with him in the yard in eons. But he trots off to fetch the stick and brings it to me. Hugo’s never been a huge fan of releasing balls or sticks into my hand upon fetching them, so when he returns to me with the stick in his mouth, we play the tugging game. I yank on the stick until Hugo decides it isn’t fun anymore, and he takes his stick and waddles away.
Bodie.
I pull off my T-shirt and lie flat on my back on the deck. The wood is scratchy on my skin. He was right: it does need sanding and staining. I have time to do it now, don’t I? The sun is scalding, which reminds me that I should water the lawn. So I grab the sprinkler from under the deck, set it in the middle of the side yard, and hook up the hose to the spicket. Hugo is mildly surprised at the flinging water. He comes to sit beside me on the steps and together, we watch it. The mindless task eases me ever so slightly.
Bodie.
I really should let the crew at work know I’m still alive and kicking. I decide to text Mika. She can tell the others that I haven’t been offed by a bartender serial killer.
Hey, Mika.
Thanks for your concern the other night when I got so totally wasted. You and Nico (and Sam) are good friends.
After Jack and I broke up, I swore I’d never do anything that would make him look bad to the staff of Surf’s Up. But the truth needs to factor in too. Jack fired me because I wouldn’t sleep with him. You should know this. As should the others, so it’s fine if you share.
And I’m hurting over Bodie leaving. But I’ll be okay. It’ll just take time.
Call, text, stop by anytime. Just because I’m not behind the bar at Surf’s Up doesn’t mean I’m not here for you guys. Hope to talk soon.
