Doc (Bodhi Beach Book 2)

by S. M. Lumetta

  That was the day I lost myself. But only for a little while. I won’t do it again.

  As Doc’s hand wraps around my bicep, I shove it away, and his grasp breaks easily. In a flash, something shifts, and my posture stiffens. Everything real and true pushes down inside and hides. It doesn’t matter that I recognize this, because I am helpless against it. My chest aches, and I know I am already beginning to mourn. Outside, I am now an impenetrable wall of defense, a warrior cast of something entirely unbreakable and ugly whose only mission is to survive. Fighting dirty isn’t a problem.

  “I don’t love you,” I say.

  He stops instantly, maybe just for the tone and switch in my voice. The hurt is sharp in his eyes, and it stabs at my heart. The wound is deadly with or without the lie of my armor, but the robotic shell continues, going for blood.

  “This was a lot of fun, you and me, but I think we’ve run our course. Got it all out of our system. Don’t you think? I mean, you’re asking for a lot more than I want to give.”

  “I haven’t asked you for a goddamn thing, Bennett,” he hisses, spitting my last name. “And you know it. This has all been at your pace. When have I pressured you? When?”

  My eyes stare blankly, shut off from my heart, controlled only by my fucked-up mind. It’s just never hurt so badly on the inside.

  “Look, Wellesley, I’ve had my fun, so I’m done here. Okay? You can’t say I didn’t warn you.” I purse my lips and shrug, full-on bitch mode working flawlessly. “I guess I’ll let myself out.”

  He shakes his head and looks away. I still find myself backing away, like I don’t trust Doc. I thought I did, but I don’t. I guess. I lift my purse from the hat stand by the door and pull open the heavy wood slab.

  “Nora?”

  I hear it in his voice as I try to avoid his eyes. He does love me. He’s moving toward me—one step for each of mine. He sounds lost, confused, and I’m pretty sure he’s got a serious case of whiplash from the multiple personalities I’m cycling through right now.

  “What happened to you?”

  I slip into my sandals and duck behind the front door, like I’m using it as a shield. I look up and meet his eyes.

  The real manages to peek through and say, “Enough.”

  Then I run.

  24

  THE TRUTH FEELS LIKE SHAME

  NORA

  I SHOULD BE SCARED that I don’t remember driving back to the apartment. It should concern me that I don’t remember Cameron and Sophie on the couch examining Cam’s new boobs and the finally-healing incisions, and that I passed right by them without laughing or even commenting in some sarcastic capacity. It should scare me that I said nothing at all to them—and that all of this I have to be told when I finally become aware of myself again.

  When I stop moving, Sophie is with me in my bedroom, trying to block me from putting clothes in my suitcase. I don’t know where Cam went, but I’m guessing Sophie asked to go in alone.

  “I said stop,” she says, her voice demanding. “Why are you packing? Can’t you say where you’re going at the very least? What the hell happened?”

  Her questions sound almost underwater as my mind realigns to the present. “What? I’m going…” I pause, the idea returning and locking into place. “To see my Da. Haven’t seen him in almost a year. I miss him.”

  “Right now? You’re going right now.” She parrots herself, dropping the second round like a statement.

  “Huh?”

  Her expression straightens along with her shoulders, and she grabs me by mine. “Honey, what happened?”

  I stare at her face and know she’ll dig her heels in and wait until I spill it. “I can’t, Sophie,” I say. “It’s over with Doc. Like, really and truly over.”

  “Why?” She closes the suitcase on my hand and drags me over to the clear side of the bed, but I don’t sit down. Not right away. “I repeat,” she says, “what happened?”

  My entire body starts trembling. Guilt over leaving her in the dark for all this time hits me, and I feel like the biggest asshole. “I have to tell you something. And I need your forgiveness,” I say, realizing my error when her face goes white. I scramble to clarify. “No, I mean… because I should have told you this when it happened, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t admit it to myself.”

  She releases a breath that takes her entire posture with it. “Nora, I promise you can tell me anything.”

  I nod. “You remember Stephen?”

  Her eyes immediately narrow, and I wonder if she suspected. “Of course. He was the last actual boyfriend you had. Ended quite abruptly.”

  “You never liked him, did you?”

  She shrugs. “He seemed a bit kiss-assy to me,” she admits. “Couldn’t pin him down, but you seemed happy—even though I’ll tell you now that he seemed to dominate your time to a goddamn ridiculous degree. I was kind of glad it didn’t last much longer because you started returning my calls again.”

  “Do you know why I broke up with him?”

  The tension in her body changes the atmosphere. “You said he hit you and you ended it.”

  “I minimized that somewhat.”

  “Oh, God,” Sophie laments. “It was more.”

  “I was pregnant,” I say. The words sound like someone else’s. Sophie’s eyes on me feel like sunlight to a vampire, the sound of her gasp slices across my skin. “I wasn’t far along, less than eight weeks when I miscarried.”

  Her hands drop from mine in unison with her jaw dropping open. “And you never said a word?” Her voice tells me she’s hurt, but the look on her face is blank.

  It doesn’t matter; I can see her wheels churning. Two years ago, she miscarried her first pregnancy. She was in London at the time, for work, and her mom and I flew last-minute to be with her once we heard what had happened.

  Sophie blinks, shaking her head and seemingly unable to form words. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, tears streaming down her face. “I’m… I’m so sorry. Of course you didn’t. I shouldn’t have said—ugh. Ignore me. I love you. So, um. Did… did he have anything to do with it?”

  She can barely get the question out, and I can’t blame her.

  “We were on a weekend away in San Diego,” I tell her and grab her hand. I need to for the full confession. I stare at our threaded fingers for strength. “Stephen accused me of sleeping around because we always used protection of some kind. I forget what else happened after he kicked me in the stomach—someone must’ve overheard and called the cops. I woke up in the hospital and… well, I wasn’t pregnant anymore.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Nora.” The horror in Sophie’s whisper fills the room and inundates me with the shame and pain of it all.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” I hope she hears me, given that it’s my turn to get out words in the midst of emotional agony.

  “It’s okay,” she says, her voice soothing and soft. “Don’t even apologize. Ridiculous.”

  I shake my head over and over, waiting for the torture to wane as I try to get a full breath. My face is wet, and I don’t care. I focus on the bitter tickle of the tears falling instead of the memory. Sophie pulls me into a fierce hug, softly apologizing on loop in my ear. I know she feels guilty, but it’s simply for not knowing. She holds me as I cry, and it soothes some of the shock of the situation. We talk through it for a while and eventually, I’m spent. My closest friend doesn’t press for details about anything that happened with Doc. I assume she sees that I literally can’t handle it right now. I can’t even be fully transparent about the whole thing to myself.

  “So you’re going to New York? For how long?” she asks, handing me my toiletries bag to stick in my suitcase.

  My sigh is shaky. “Well, I’m going to get the first flight available and figure out the return later.”

  “Open ended?” Her voice is shrill with panic, but she tamps it back. “I’m sorry. I mean, that just sounds longer than a week or two.”

  I shake my head. “I promise it
won’t be longer than a few weeks. Probably two, tops. I need to put some distance between Bodhi and myself for a little bit. Plus, I really do want to spend some time with me da.”

  “I get it,” she says, nodding. “Call. Text.” She pokes my arm, and I look up. “Don’t you dare disappear on me.”

  “Who? Me?” I tease. “I would never. I promise. You would hunt my ass down. Don’t lie.” I point a finger at her.

  “Like a fucking psycho,” she promises. “Okay, I have to get back to the house because Fox has a shift tonight. Let me know when you get a flight and all that. I want to know all the details, okay? I worry.”

  I smile and nod. “Thanks, mama.”

  “Always.”

  25

  AFTERSHOCKS

  DOC

  I’M HAVING TROUBLE breathing. I stare at the door for a solid ten minutes, thinking she’ll turn around and come right back through it. As if Nora Bennett ever bluffed. Did she seriously just break up with me because I told her I loved her?

  Fuck. Is this my fault? Had I pressured her for more than she was willing to give?

  I was fine with casual. Until we weren’t casual anymore. Then it wasn’t a matter of being okay with casual, it was a matter of holding in what I really felt. My heart clearly couldn’t take it anymore, because that breaking point was today. I’ve not wanted anyone else from the beginning, but now I can’t imagine loving anyone else, let alone being with another.

  Falling in love with Nora wasn’t exactly my plan, but I never avoided it. Not like she apparently did. I welcomed it, thinking foolishly that she might drop her high, stone walls to let me in. I mean, doesn’t she want to let someone in? Maybe that’s not fair. Fuck, none of this is fair.

  How did I manage to do this to myself? I’m so bloody angry, I can’t see straight. My lungs refuse to allow me a full, deep breath, and I can’t wrap my mind around what happened. Why? That’s all I really want to know: why? Oh, and who the fuck is Stephen?

  Fuck that shit. No. This is not my fault.

  I end up wandering my house and yard, circling the pool as my mind circles through everything I’ve done and said today and in the past few months. The more I over-examine, the less clearly I see things. As I always do when my head gets murky with bullshit, I decide to get my ass to the beach, tout de suite. Before I get in the car, I text Fox.

  U home? I need to ride some barrels.

  No. Just got 2 work 4 a shift. Soph & H r home tho — I’ll let her know UR coming.

  Tx.

  U OK?

  No.

  Shit. Nora?

  I almost snarl at the words together, context be damned.

  Understood.

  When I get to the house, Sophie is standing in the open garage next to the rack of boards, baby Henry strapped to her in his sling. Her soft expression immediately sets me on edge. I’m annoyed, and she hasn’t said anything yet. She must already know. It’s only been four or five fucking hours since Nora split from my house. I can’t stop the sneer I give her.

  “Whoa, prince charming,” she says, shifting the baby sling so H’s weight is redistributed. “Don’t come in my house like I’m the enemy.”

  I immediately take a step back from her, feeling contrition twist my stomach. Sophie is a great friend to me, and she doesn’t deserve my shitty attitude. I wish she hadn’t been home.

  I exhale forcefully. “Yeah, look, it’s all really fresh. I shouldn’t be around people right now.”

  “Clearly, but I’ll give you a pass. You know I’ve been there.”

  The memory shocks me, but Sophie pulls me into a hug. Henry squirms between us, hardly even woken from his doze.

  My arms slowly catch up, pressing into her back as her cheek rests on my shoulder, but aware of the ball of baby between us. “I do.”

  The moment the worst went down between her and Fox, I showed up. I watched from the edge of the parking lot of The Post as my best friend, drunk and ornery, told the love of his life how little being with her meant. I watched Sophie dissolve before my eyes, having no idea she was simultaneously trying to recover from a miscarriage. When I finally stepped in, she clung to me like she could barely stand. And now, here I am, feeling like the roles have changed. Though if I wasn’t so angry, I’m pretty sure this woman would not be able to stop me from dropping like a ton of bricks.

  I let her hug try to do a little good before I ask, “What do you know?”

  “I know she’s gone,” she says, and it feels like sympathy I don’t want right now. “She’s got some shit to sort out.”

  “Is she coming back?”

  She puts a hand on my arm. “Of course, she is. She just needs some time away.” She considers for a moment. “She went to see her dad.”

  I don’t know how long I stand there before I speak again. Feels like ages. And then the confession just comes. “I told her I loved her.”

  Sophie gasps, pulling back to look at my face. Her expression is a mix of pity and awe. I’m not sure which is more insulting.

  “Don’t look at me like that, please.”

  “Like what?” She starts swaying and bouncing with a now-fussy Henry. “Like ‘now I know why she’s really running?’ Like ‘I love that you love her’ and ‘I’m proud of you’?”

  My eyes widen. “Proud?”

  “Proud,” she repeats. “You and Fox were like Never-Never boys. Wait, I think that’s a song. I can’t remember…” She looks to the side, searching her memory. “Anyway, the never-grow-up Peter Pan crew.”

  I shift on my feet. “I was just waiting for the right one.”

  She nods. “Fair. Look, you need some ocean time,” she says through an exhale. “I didn’t mean to hold you back. Get in it, and if you want, we can chat after. Or not at all. Our casa es su casa. No pressure. Promise.”

  I collapse in relief. She purses her lips in apology before spinning slowly to walk back inside.

  “Sophie?” I call.

  She twists her upper body around in response.

  “Thank you.”

  She smiles and follows with a quick nod. “Anytime, sailor.”

  Once I’m finally alone, I shed my denim jacket, tear off my shirt, and switch into my board shorts. The big cabinet in the back of the garage houses wetsuits and the like. I dig out a rash guard and pull it over my head.

  Each step in my process pushes my mind toward a more mechanical place—a place of practicality and function. I tuck my board under my arm and focus on each dig of my sole and toes into the dense sand. Everything else shuts off the second the water rushes toward me to swallow my feet as I stand at its edge. All of me, body and soul, senses Australia on the other side of all that water, and I am magnetized. I love California, but right now I’m questioning where I am in all aspects of my life. Why not go back home, too? I don’t really want to leave, but maybe home is the balm I need. That’s when I realize why leaving doesn’t sound like any kind of solution: Nora is my home now. She is when, where, and how I feel home.

  Soon enough, the sea pulls me in. It’s there—once I’m surrounded and slowly rocking with the movement of the water—that all the bullshit ceases, and my mind goes quiet. For a few blissful hours and only a few decent swells, I find a temporary but merciful peace. I know it won’t last. The moment I sink a foot into the sand again, I’ll remember my naked wounds and forget how to breathe.

  26

  THE BEST ADVICE

  NORA

  MY FEET DRAG DOWN the jetway as if I’m not looking forward to seeing my father. I am. I’m just so tired, and everything hurts. My head, my chest… I love Doc. He loves me. And I annihilated him for it.

  At that thought, my chest seems to fold in on itself. I stop suddenly, gasp, and grip the gate podium just outside the ramp doors. Whoever was walking behind me bumps into me.

  “Excuse me,” the woman says, irritated.

  I ignore her, focusing instead on my breath. How does one breathe when they’ve managed to break their own heart?


  “Ma’am, are you okay?”

  I open my eyes and see a little boy no older than six looking up at me. His mother looks impatient, but surprised at his concern. She may have been the same person who bumped into me—or not. I can’t be sure.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, embarrassed. “He thought maybe you were hurt.”

  My mouth hangs open, and I feel my heart pound. “I was,” I hear myself say. “I was.” I’m in shock, because I don’t want to believe my own words.

  This woman looks a bit disturbed, probably because I sound kind of possessed or maybe like I’m on serious drugs. “Come on, Theo. Daddy’s already out front waiting for us,” she tells her son. “The lady’s okay. See?”

  The boy doesn’t budge, letting go of her hand to wrap his arms around my hips in a hug. My hand automatically presses against his back. Warmth bleeds from him to me, and tears form in the corners of my eyes. “Thanks, Theo,” I say quietly. “You should go. I feel so much better now.” It’s not necessarily untrue.

  He waves politely at me before taking his mother’s hand and walking off. She looks over her shoulder at me once, and I expect her to scan me for signs of crazy, but she doesn’t. She smiles.

  What feels like eons later, take a deep breath and exhale out whatever funk I dragged off the plane with me. I need to spend some time with me da and forget the colossal damage I’ve left back in the good ol’ Golden State. Maybe even find a way to live with that.

  Half an hour later, I’m watching the sun set on Queens from the backseat of a cab. Orange blends with the bright red and yellow of taillights and indicators. Part of me warms, and another part snags on the gray of the cement and buildings, as that echoes everything inside of me right now. I cannot get to my dad’s house fast enough.