by Bella Jewel
I’m terrified, though.
I haven’t been on my own in forever.
I’ve not been left with the sound of my own thoughts and nothing else.
I could smell the sea breeze the moment I got out of my car. Hear the crashing waves and the birds chirping. The ocean is so close for me to enjoy any moment I want. For as long as I want.
I push the front door fully open and step inside the cozy little cabin. It’s as nice as the pictures, which I’m thankful for. It only has one small bedroom, but the large, opening living area makes up for that. The big windows you can slide open make it even nicer as the ocean breeze rolls in. The furniture is all very rustic and well suited to the ocean theme. Pictures of boats and sandy beaches hang on the light-oak walls.
The kitchen is large, with a window overlooking the bushland behind me. Bushland that travels until it reaches the road that leads into town. The cabin is private, and it’s so comfortable I already feel at ease. I walk in and place my suitcase down, and then I wander around. I go into the bedroom with its double bed. There is nothing else but a bookshelf in here, but that’s okay with me.
The bathroom is ocean blue, and very outdated, but I kind of like it. The tub is large and has a very tropical feel.
The deck on the front of the cabin is small, but it boasts a great little swing chair. That chair looks out over some bushland, a trail, and in the distance you can see a touch of the ocean. I can get up every morning and walk to that ocean. I can swim, I can teach myself to surf, I can run, I can just sit with a book under a shady tree.
My heart aches for that kind of freedom and, finally, it’s at my fingertips.
I slowly unpack my things, wash my sheets, and give the cabin a general tidy up. The owner said it hasn’t been used in a few months, so there are fine layers of dust everywhere. It doesn’t bother me at all to clean. I spent years cleaning, and it’s one of the only times I find myself zoning out and disappearing into my own thoughts.
The sound of my phone ringing snaps me from those thoughts.
It’s Waverly.
“Hi, Waverly,” I say, answering it.
I sit on the edge of my sofa and discover it’s quite comfortable.
“How are you settling in, honey?”
“So far, so good. I’ve just been cleaning. It has been nice so far. Hopefully my first night is uneventful.”
“I don’t think it’s going to be.”
I purse my lips in confusion. “Why is that?”
“Bohdi is coming to you.”
My heart races immediately at the sound of his name. Bohdi is coming here? Why would he be coming here? Does he have my address? How? How did he find me so quickly?
“How does he know where I live?”
“The cabin is still listed. Don’t worry, I called the owner and told him to take it down as it contains the address. He did, but not before Bohdi managed to figure out that’s where you are. I think ... I think you should hear him out, honey. I really do.”
“I don’t want to hear him out,” I say, my voice shaky. “He has a wife and children, Waverly. A family he chose to leave.”
“I think you’ll find he had good reason for that ...”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Just hear him out and make your mind up then. You two had something special—it would be a shame to see you lose that friendship.”
I exhale.
“Don’t panic, it’ll be okay. Listen, we’re going to come up for the weekend tomorrow, if you’re up for visitors this soon. I wouldn’t mind getting away after all the drama the club has had in the last few months.”
“That sounds wonderful. You’ll need to bring something to sleep on, or in ... I don’t have any spare beds.”
“We’ll cover it. See you tomorrow, and honey?”
“Yeah.”
“Hear him out.”
I hang up and turn, staring out the front door. Bohdi is going to be here, any moment, and I’m not sure I’m ready to face him. I’m not sure I want to hear what he has to say. I’m not sure I want to because if it makes sense, then I’m going to be caught in between the drama of him and his wife. Even if he has good reason, that doesn’t change the fact that she’s still here and she is married to him.
She’s not going anywhere, anytime soon.
That means it’s going to hurt for me.
I can’t take any more hurt.
I’ll hear him out, but then, I will let him go.
It’s the only way this will work.
The only way.
BOHDI ARRIVES AN HOUR later. I hear the sound of his bike rumbling down the driveway, disrupting the perfect silence. I’ve had a shower, cleaned until there was nothing else to clean, and grabbed myself a glass of wine and sat on my front swing. The nerves in my stomach are eating me alive. It’s already midafternoon, does he plan on staying? That thought terrifies me. The whole idea of him being here terrifies me.
A moment after his bike stops, he rounds the corner looking so god damned perfect it hurts me to stare at him. He’s a surfer deep down, but a biker on the outside. His long blond hair is swept into a ponytail at the base of his neck. His skin is bronze, making the scar on his cheek more pronounced. I never asked him where he got that scar. His eyes, hazel with specks of blue, are crystal clear and so intense you can’t look at them for any length of time. I’ve never seen eyes quite like his.
He’s wearing his jacket, a pair of blue jeans, and a tight, black tee beneath it. His boots are thick and heavy, and he looks so unique. He is so different to the rest of them. They’re tough and terrifying, Bohdi is terrifying in his own right, but he holds this beauty that shines well beyond the leather. Bohdi is his own person, the kind you rarely find.
“Guessin’ Waverly warned you,” he says when he stops at my front step, putting a booted foot on it.
“Yeah,” I say softly, fingers curling around the cool wine glass.
“I need the chance to talk to you, Merleigh. Know you don’t want to hear it, but I need you to.”
“You told me you had things to work out ...”
“I got it sorted. Can I sit?”
I nod, and he walks up the few steps and takes a seat on a chair that isn’t the same one I’m sitting on, thank god. My heart is racing enough as it is—if he were to sit closer, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.
“Nice place you got here. Reminds me of the shack I grew up in.”
I don’t say anything.
I’d love to ask him about that shack, and his life, and all the other things he doesn’t share with anyone.
But one thing at a time.
“I’ll tell you the story. If you can listen with an open mind, I’d appreciate that,” he murmurs, low.
I don’t say anything, I just listen.
“Met Isla when I was about seventeen. Lived with my mom, she was an alcoholic and a drunk. She ... passed away. Isla and I were never super close, but she got pregnant. Figured I would do right by her, didn’t want to be like my mother and father, so I married her. She lost that baby. By then, I was already there, so I stayed. Relationship was toxic, she and I didn’t see eye to eye and we fought all the time. I wasn’t a good man back then, I was lost and fuckin’ broken.”
I take a shaky breath. I’ve never heard him say so much before.
Not ever.
Bohdi rarely says more than a few sentences. It does mean a lot to me that he’s willing to change that just so I can hear his story.
“Years went on, our relationship got worse, her family hated me, and I had nobody. She got pregnant again, and our son was born. That helped. Loved that boy. Still do. Her sister, Sherry, came to me after my son was born, telling me that Isla was having an affair with her husband. Didn’t believe her, obviously. We had a son, couldn’t see how she would do something like that, but Sherry was persistent. She wasn’t lettin’ it go, and continued to tell me she would prove it. I was in a dark place, and didn’t give a fuck at that point.”
I swallow.
“Isla got pregnant again, and our second son was born. When he was a few weeks old, Sherry called me, frantically telling me she needed to talk to me. She was hysterical. It was the middle of the night, so I went out there and met up with her. She was raving and ranting about Isla and Daniel, her husband, having an affair. She said she had proof, and there was more—my sons weren’t mine.”
Oh, god.
My heart races.
“She had managed to get DNA and get a paternity test on my oldest son. He wasn’t mine. She was right. My wife had been cheating on me with her sister’s own husband. Not only that, she had gotten pregnant by him. I was already in a fucked up place, and that was all I needed. I didn’t plan on what happened next but ... Sherry was losing it. Wanting all this stuff, saying she couldn’t live without Daniel. She had an addiction. I knew that all too well. The old that took. She threatened to throw herself off the lookout we were on, saying nobody would care.”
I feel sick.
I have a feeling I know where this is going.
“She went to the edge and was crying and screaming. Saying she was going to jump. I think she was drunk, she was hurting. I walked over, tried to grab her back, but she fought me and ... she fell. She fell off the side and plunged into the water.”
I’m going to vomit.
I stare at him with horror.
I have imagined so many scenarios in my head, but none quite as bad as the one he’s telling me right now.
“For so fuckin’ long, I stood there, staring down into the darkness. Wondering where to go from there. Do I call the police? Will they blame me? I was so fuckin’ depressed, and my world had just been turned upside down. My son wasn’t mine, the other one wasn’t likely to be mine either. My sister-in-law had just killed herself. So, I made a choice. I made the choice to disappear, too.”
I stare at him, tears in my eyes. I can’t stop them, hell, no decent person could.
“I don’t ... I don’t understand how,” I whisper.
He shrugs. “It wasn’t hard. We were both up there, there were signs of a struggle, the evidence of both our partners betrayals was in the car. Sherry’s body was never found, that water led far, far out, and god knows where she ended up. Because of that, it was easy for me to disappear. I knew people, I got fake everything, and I started my life again. After five years, I was officially declared dead. Here I am.”
“You didn’t change your name?”
He shakes his head. “No, just my last name.”
“How did your wife find you?”
“She had suspicions. She didn’t think I was dead so she came looking for me when things went south for her. She doesn’t have pure intentions, but we have proven my youngest son, is indeed mine. I regret the fact that I left without finding that out. I missed out on years with him.”
I don’t know how to take any of this.
My mind is spinning.
He basically faked his own death, disappeared, and now his wife has found him. One of those children belong to him, which means she isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
“Do you love her?” I ask, my voice soft and shaky.
“No,” he says, meeting my gaze. “No, I don’t, but I do love my son, and I want to be part of his life. I have to be part of hers to do that. She isn’t willing to make things easy right now, but I’m hoping she’ll come around.”
“Why did she come back for you? What did she expect to find?”
“She has lost everything, and she has nowhere to go. She married Daniel, and he abused her. She took the boys and left him with everything.”
She married the man she cheated on him with, and now that things have gone wrong, she wants to come back and try and worm her way back into his life. Can’t this woman survive on her own?
“So what now?”
He stares at me, and long moments pass before he answers. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about any of that right now, but I do know one thing ... I can’t have a life without you in it, Merleigh.”
“You’re married, Bohdi. You have a wife and a child. I don’t fit in that picture.”
“You fit wherever I say you fit,” he growls. “You’re the only friend I’ve got, and I don’t want to face life without you. I did lie to you, but it wasn’t even meant to hurt you.”
“I have feelings for you,” I whisper, avoiding his gaze. “More than you realize. I don’t know if I can be your friend. I don’t know if I can be what you’re asking. I don’t want to get hurt.”
“I know,” he murmurs. “But friendship is all I can give you right now. Until this is sorted out, I can’t be what you’re needing me to be.”
That hurts.
Those words are soul crushing.
I take a sip of my wine, but my hand shakes.
“Give me time, Merleigh. Give me a chance.”
I look to him and my eyes glisten with tears. “Friends?”
“Yeah.”
I have two choices here.
The first is to be is friend and accept that we’ll likely never be anything more. It’ll mean I’m there for him, that I hear him when he’s down, that we talk about his life and his situation and I have to face his wife and whatever choices he makes around that.
The second is to tell him I can’t be his friend, cut all ties, and lose him forever.
Both options are going to hurt.
But to not have him in my life ... I don’t know if I can honestly say I’m ready for that.
“Okay,” I say, my voice quiet. “Friends.”
He stares at me, his eyes scanning over my face, but he says nothing.
Neither of us do.
We just sit and stare into the darkness, in total silence.
I don’t know how this is going to go, but I do know one thing ...
Bohdi is the only person I’ve ever felt this way about.
I can’t give that up.
Even if it hurts.
6
THEN – BOHDI
18 YEARS OLD
“Bro, are you two serious or what?” Carson asks, lighting a joint and bringing it to his lips, staring at Isla over the crowd of people dancing to the loud music.
“We’re fucking, we spend time together, but I don’t think she’s the one for me.”
Carson snorts. “No woman is the one, man. That’s just a fuckin’ fairytale. You fuck them, you marry them, you have kids with them, and you always think about all the rest of them out there, that you could be fucking. So the cycle goes.”
“Bitter fuckin’ way of thinkin’ about things,” I mutter, inhaling the joint when he hands it to me.
“It’s the truth, brother. Don’t doubt it.”
“What are you two fags talking about?” Sean asks, appearing with a bottle of whiskey in his hand, a young, pretty girl hanging off his arm.
“Women,” Carson snatches the bottle from Sean’s hand and brings it to his lips.
“We love to hate them.”
The girl by Sean’s side rolls her eyes, and he spins her around and kisses her. Sean is a ladies’ man, there is no doubt about it. He’s charming, he’s funny, and he’s good looking. He can talk to any girl, and they swoon all over him. I’m not anything like that. I don’t like talking to people, and fuck the attention that comes with it.
I’m only with Isla because she won’t leave me alone and insists that we’re a couple.
Whatever, she’s a good fuck and we have fun.
That’s all it’s about, right?
“There you are.”
Isla appears beside me, curling her fingers around my biceps and bringing her mouth up to my neck, where she kisses the skin. My dick twitches. I could use another fuck. I cup her ass, squeezing as she rubs her body against me.
“Do you want to take me somewhere, baby?” she murmurs into my ear.
“Yeah.”
We leave the party, her clinging to me and rubbing her hand over my cock. We reach the beach, and
I have her down on the sand quickly. I pull her dress up, jerk her panties down, and bury my face into her pussy. I lick and suck, enjoying how she squirms and moans, how she tastes against my lips. Once she’s cried out twice from orgasm, I release her. I pull my cock from my jeans and ask her for a condom.
“I forgot one,” she says, her voice breathy. “It’s okay, though. I’m on the pill.”
Whatever.
I just want to fuck.
I bring my body down on top of hers and slowly inch my cock inside her pussy. She whimpers, clutching my back, putting her legs around my hips. Then, I fuck her. I fuck her hard and fast, my skin slapping against hers. The only thing on my mind right now is finding my release. I’ve given her her fun, now it’s my turn.
I’m selfish.
I’m cold.
I’m basically everything a woman doesn’t want in a man.
But this one keeps coming back for more.
I cum with a grunt, releasing into her. Once my dick stops pulsing, I roll off and use my shirt to clean up the mess. I can go without it. Isla uses it too, and then pulls her panties back on and her dress down. She snuggles in beside me, and I throw an arm around her shoulder, but the truth is I’d rather she didn’t touch me.
Can’t be an asshole all the time, though.
“I love you,” she murmurs into the darkness.
I stiffen.
Love.
What the fuck would she know about love?
We barely know each other. We’ve been dating less than a year, all we do is smoke joints, fuck, and go to parties. We’ve never had a serious conversation about our lives or who we are.
Love.
Fuck love.
“You don’t love me,” I mutter, standing up.
“Of course you’d say that!” she snaps. “Of course you’d act like I don’t matter.”
“Never said you don’t matter, Isla, I said you don’t love me.”
“How would you know?” she cries, launching to her feet when I take a step away. “Who are you to tell me how I feel?”
“What is there to love about me?” I growl.
Seriously, what the fuck is there to love about me?
