Chapter 29

29

Bodhi

“I went here, to Westbrook.” He started, his voice quiet and resigned.

The way he confidently treaded water while he spoke made me wonder if he’d been doing it all his life. Staying afloat. Maintaining a status but never really getting anywhere. I also wondered if he was tired.

He shook his head as though he’d spoken wrong. “Actually, it started before Westbrook. Back in high school.” His voice faded away, but then he cleared his throat. “I, ah, haven’t talked about this… well, ever.”

I knew the look of a broken man. I understood that some pain cut so deep it felt like you might be severed in two. I also finally understood what he meant when he asked if I was sure I wanted all of him.

I did.

I wasn’t going to change my mind.

I slipped into the pool without hesitation, the cold uncomfortable and my mind screaming for me to go back, get the hell out. It was actually painful to deny, but the look on Em’s face was worse, so I ignored it to swim the distance between us.

“You said you weren’t going to swim,” he said, burning a hole through my heart with his stare.

“You needed me.” My own admission made me realize it wasn’t just his stare burning a hole through my heart but knowing that there was something— someone —bigger than my trauma. Someone I was willing to battle it back to get to.

It stunned me a little, the grasp of this man’s power, his ability reaching beyond commanding my desire and body. Deeper. All the way to instinct.

His throat bobbed, and I reached out to catch his hand, tugging him toward the lane rope where we mirrored positions, tucking it right under our armpits so it could keep us afloat. Emmett left too much space between us, and though it was see-through, it felt like a dense wall keeping us apart. I slid over, bursting through the barrier, until our shoulders touched, and he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.

Neither of us acknowledged the trembling in my limbs, and I prayed he started talking soon before irrational thought took over the tenuous grip I had on my nerves.

“I fell in love in high school.”

The simple words engrossed me, and I settled my chin on my arm to listen.

“He was a football player. Typical jock.” He half smiled at that, and my stomach burned as I imagined a younger, less-bearded version of Emmett teasing someone for being a jock. As if he wasn’t one too.

This story—Emmett’s origin story, if you will—was going to be hard to hear. The jealousy I was prone to was already on high alert.

But damn, I wanted this. To know him. It was something I was so hungry for that not even my own jealousy or aversion to water could keep me from listening intently. I told him I wanted everything, and that meant everything that made him into the grumpy, closed-off man he was, even the stuff that would turn me green with envy. I welcomed it. Bring it on.

“He was good but didn’t get any offers to play in college.”

Em’s voice recentered my attention, and I cleared my throat. “Must have been hard for him,” I commented.

“Yeah,” Emmett replied, voice a little hollow. “Except he never said that. He acted like it was no big deal, said he never planned to go pro anyway. His family had enough money to send him to college, so he didn’t need a scholarship.”

I nodded but kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt his flow with my words.

“I got an offer from Westbrook to swim, and so he applied and got in too. I was pretty excited. We were both going to the same college. Figured we’d get a place together and wouldn’t have to sneak around as much.”

“You were sneaking around?”

“Yeah, he didn’t want people to know he was gay. It was a long time ago, not quite like it is now. He was afraid he’d get kicked off the football team and that his parents would disown him. I understood. I wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to tell people my business either, you know?”

I nodded.

“Turned out I had to live in the dorms the first year with the rest of my team, so he decided to rush a fraternity.”

The water splashed lightly as I kicked my feet out behind me. “You don’t seem like the frat boy type.”

The side of his mouth curved up. “I’m not.” He confirmed. “But he wanted to do it, and I figured maybe it filled a void that football had left.”

“So what happened?”

“Long story short?” Emmett murmured, gazing out over the water. “He got into the frat and decided he didn’t want to tell anyone about us.”

I couldn’t imagine not wanting to tell everyone if Emmett was mine. Hell, we weren’t anything official, but just the idea of him going to that auction made me want to scream at the entire campus to keep their hands off.

Even so, I understood some people really struggled with their identity and acceptance, and it wasn’t really about Em but about their own demons. Plus, as shitty as my parents turned out to be, I never worried they’d shun me for my orientation.

Maybe your parents didn’t turn out shitty. Maybe you did.

Well, that thought smacked me across the face so hard my eyes stung. Shoving it down deep, I asked Emmett, “Did he break up with you?”

Em shook his head. “No. He didn’t want to break up. He just wanted to date in secret.”

He was ashamed of you . “I guess you didn’t like that?”

He let out a humorless laugh. “No. And we fought about it. A lot.” He shook his head and rubbed at his stubbled jaw. “We got into it one night, and he stormed out.” Head bowed, he stared into the water for a few long seconds. “That was the last time I ever saw him.”

I sucked in a breath.

“I spent the next two days texting and calling. He didn’t answer. I even waited outside one of his classes, but he wasn’t there.” His head tilted back as if he were reliving the experience.

“I found out he died because it was on the news.”

I let out a sound, sliding my hand over his forearm in a lame effort to comfort him. I couldn’t imagine something so personal, so life-altering, being discovered in such an impersonal way.

“What happened?” I asked, mind whirling with a thousand and one scenarios.

“His parents came into town, took the body, and that was that.”

Wait. What? “They didn’t have a funeral?”

“It was private. Only family.”

“But you were dating,” I protested.

“His parents didn’t know. Barely anyone knew,” he whispered, torment wrought in his tone. “I did call, though. Once. I thought maybe since we went to high school together and we’d been friends for years, they’d let me say goodbye.”

“They said no?” I knew just by the look on his face. The dejected air around him. Knowing he was denied such a simple yet important request made me incredibly angry. So angry my ears grew hot and the back of my neck burned.

“They told me I wasn’t welcome and hung up on me.”

I made a sound, practically choking on my rage. Slapping my hand onto his bicep, I squeezed the muscle and leaned in. “You went anyway.” I hoped.

He barked out a strangled laugh. “I couldn’t exactly beat on the church door and demand to be let in because I was in love with their son.”

“But—” I started to protest, but his palm slapped the water, sending splashes all over us both.

“But nothing!” he roared, his bellow echoing around the empty space. “His parents didn’t know. He didn’t want them to know because they wouldn’t approve. It seemed honoring that was the very least I could do. Hell, maybe if we didn’t fight, he wouldn’t have stormed off and he’d still be alive.”

I gasped and spun to face him. “It’s not your fault.”

“Maybe it is,” he declared, completely resigned and unshakable. His eyes were neither green nor gold but a muddy brown, and the look in them dared me to challenge him.

I always did love a good dare. “You are not responsible for his death.” It didn’t even matter I didn’t have all the details because I knew that down to my bones.

“Maybe you should look in the mirror next time you say that.”

My lips parted, shock slackening my jaw. “W-what?”

“You think I don’t know you blame yourself for your sister’s death?”

My stomach swooped, nausea roiling inside me at hearing it spoken so plainly. Whatever expression he found on my face made him laugh. The kind of laugh that raised the hair on the back of my neck and made me feel translucent.

How does he know?

“That’s how you survived, right?” He went on. “Shoving most of the blame at Rush so you didn’t have to bear it alone. But that survival cost you a lot, didn’t it? Your friends, parents, college… hell, almost your freedom.” Every single truth he spewed rocked my core. “It’s also the reason you can barely put your big toe in the pool without a full-on panic attack.”

The shakes came on so fast and violently that my teeth cracked together and started to chatter. I grappled at the rope, the hard, unforgiving surface offering no empathy or support. My grip slipped, and I went under, waves closing over my head and sealing me in a watery grave.

I hung there suspended, the icy temperature spreading through me like a disease and assaulting me with images I couldn’t escape. Brynne laughing. Bleeding. Floating inertly while the pool absorbed what was left of her life.

My lungs shriveled and burned, body begging for oxygen, but I made no move to satisfy its plea. My parents wished it had been me instead of her, and honestly, so did I.

Something clutched beneath my arm, and I fought against it unsuccessfully. My head cleared the surface, and I gasped automatically, gulping in the air like it was my dying breath.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Emmett whispered, pulling me into his warm, wide chest. “I’ve got you.” He reassured me. “I’ve got you, and you’ve got this.”

But I didn’t. I felt like I was shattering all over again. “I want out!” I spat, whirring toward the edge. But God, the distance between me and the wall seemed insurmountable. Like a journey I’d never survive.

My chest heaved so violently it was nearly painful, and the cold water seemed to leech what little warmth I had left, turning the blood in my veins to ice. Forgetting I used to be a D-1 swimmer, I paddled sloppily in an attempt to get to the side. My wobbly arms and legs failed me, and I slipped under, water rushing up my nose and burning.

Em cursed and wrapped an arm around me. His hold was tight, almost crushing, but it served a purpose, proving I wasn’t as fragile as I felt. He kept us both afloat while towing me to the side where I scrambled out with a newfound burst of energy.

I flopped onto the pool deck with a shudder, pressing my cheek against the cold, wet tile, and waited for my heart rate to return to normal. I didn’t know how much time passed, but after a while, I rolled onto my back, stared up into the dark ceiling, and scowled. “You did that on purpose.”

“Did what?” He feigned innocence. He was lousy at it. There wasn’t an innocent thing about him.

Pushing up onto my elbows, I glared at him sitting close by with his feet hanging into the water. “Lured me into the pool with your trauma and then brought up mine.”

“I wanted you to know I understand how it feels to lose someone. How trauma takes a lot from a person. But you don’t have to let it take this, Goldilocks. You can swim again. I believe it. I believe in you .”

I will not cave. I will not cave. “You still shouldn’t have said all that.”

“Why?” he pressed. “Because it worked for a little while? Or because it’s the truth?”

Yes. “Because we’re talking about you.”

“We can talk about us both,” he refuted.

“I’d rather talk about you.”

A silent battle of wills fell between us. I was well trained in battle, though, and while I might have had a few strong moments before, I was now utterly drained. Maybe Em sensed it because he was the one who spoke first.

“Pretty sure his parents suspected,” he confided.

I pushed into a sitting position but kept myself away from the edge. “Why do you think that?”

“Because after our fight, I left all those messages on his voicemail. Sent texts. Not to mention the photos he had of us. If they went through any of his things, they would have seen.”

“You think that’s why they wouldn’t let you come to the funeral?” I asked.

Emmett nodded. “Kinda feels like I betrayed him that way too. Like I let his secret slip and ruined his parents’ memories of him.”

“What about you?” I demanded. Fuck those parents. Fuck them denying him the closure he needed by saying goodbye.

At least I’d been able to attend my sister’s memorial. At least I was able to grieve openly. But Emmett? What had he done? Suffered in silence.

“What about me?” he echoed.

“You’ve just never talked about this?” I pressed. “To anyone?”

He shook his head. “No. I called my parents. Told them he died. They knew we were friends, but that’s all. A couple friends from high school knew about us, but we’d all gone to separate colleges and hadn’t kept in touch.” He paused. “I did mention him once, about a year later, to a roommate. I’d been drinking. When I sobered up, I made him promise not to tell anyone.”

The picture he painted was so grim. So lonely. “So you just suffered by yourself?”

“It’s what I deserved,” he said simply as though he were talking about something as mundane as the weather. “I put too much pressure on him.”

And again, I asked, “What about you?”

Confusion clouded his features as if he truly didn’t understand. As if it never occurred to him that his feelings mattered too. That he was allowed to hurt. He had truly just pushed it all deep, locked it away, and told himself what he felt didn’t matter.

Em didn’t answer, and I sighed. I understood not wanting to talk about feelings, so I tried acknowledging them in a different way.

“What was his name?” I asked. Even though I was jealous that this other man had Em’s heart at one time, he still had a name. An identity. It bothered me when Brynne’s name was sometimes forgotten.

Emmett paused, the energy around him thick with emotion. “Lance.”

“Lance was lucky you loved him.”

“No. He wasn’t.” His voice was sure. “And that’s why I wanted you to know. This is why I’m single. Why I don’t date. Why my daughter—or anyone—doesn’t know I’m gay. I’ve kept my world small and well controlled. It’s easier that way.”

“Less chance of getting hurt again,” I murmured.

“Less chance of hurting anyone else,” he amended.

“I hate he did this to you.”

His face whipped up, surprise animating his face. “What?”

“He made you afraid to love. To live. You deserve better, Emmett. So much more.”

Anger darkened his eyes. I liked it a lot better than the hollow, bereft look he’d worn before. “Don’t put that on him.”

I was familiar with death. Loss. Anger. But right now, I was woefully out of my depth. I had no idea what to say.

Grief and loss are polarizing for everyone, but it manifests in different ways. They often say no two people read the same book. Just as no two people grieve the same.

I mean, just look at us. He had closed himself off, and I went wild.

Even though my limbs felt weary, even though my fingers and toes stung with cold and going near the water again was the last thing I wanted, I went to him. Crawled across the unforgiving tile on hands and knees. His haunting, brooding stare observed me, his face a mix of want and pain. Moments later, I reached him, rose to my knees, and looped my arms around his neck to hug him tight. Both of us were so cold there was no warmth at all between us, but it didn’t matter.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered against his skin. “I know it hurts, and I’m so sorry.”

His chest expanded with a deep inhale, and then his arms locked around me, squeezing me close like he was afraid I might slip away. “It was a long time ago.” He tried to be stern and dismissive.

I wouldn’t let him dismiss this. “But you’ve been frozen in time.”

He made a rough sound. “I don’t want your pity.”

“That’s good because you aren’t going to get it,” I smarted. He was so infuriating! Couldn’t he see I was trying to be sweet?

He laughed beneath his breath, the sound lighting me up with joy and chasing away some of the melancholy hanging in the air.

“Brat.”

Smiling into his neck, I snuggled closer.

“I asked for time, and you gave it. But I offered nothing in return.”

That acknowledgment squeezed my heart and made me realize it was something that hurt me. So naturally, I made light of it because, bro, this conversation was heavy. “I wouldn’t exactly call your dick nothing.”

“Be serious,” he scolded.

“I am.”

He sighed. “I’m not good at this, Bodhi.”

Not Goldilocks. Not sweetheart, baby, or brat. I guess it could have been worse. It could have been my last name. “Good at what?”

“Loving someone.”

The words caught in my chest as if my heart had locked them in a cage. Loving someone. It wasn’t exactly a love confession, but it wasn’t not one either. And to my heart, it was mere semantics.

“The last man I cared about ended up dead.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask how he died, but really, the result was the same and this conversation was hard enough.

“I’m not Lance.”

“No, you aren’t.” He readily agreed. “I loved him with the soft heart of a boy, but you… you’ve claimed the jagged heart of a man.”

This was a good time for a daddy joke, right? Except, oh , I couldn’t breathe.

“I’m afraid I’m going to blow up your life. Our lives,” he confessed. Probably the most vulnerable thing I’d ever heard him say.

Rueful, I pulled back. “Are you forgetting the time you bailed me out of jail and then I almost got you shot?”

His laugh was rumbly and reeked of fondness as though he thought my crimes were cute.

“You can’t blow up my life, Em. I did that all on my own. But you can make it better.”

“You really believe that?” he asked as if I couldn’t possibly.

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I do.”

“I still have to talk to Landry.” He cautioned me. “My job?—”

I cut him off, not wanting to hear it. Not wanting to acknowledge how this conversation was one step forward but two back. “I know, Em. You need time .”

He’d told me about his past. He’d confided his biggest fear.

It’s not what you asked for.

It’s something!

Something is not everything. Everything doesn’t ask for time. Everything is time.

And time is the longest distance between two hearts.