Chapter 37

37

Bodhi

I shaved my head. Buzzed it all right off.

I didn’t regret it. I wouldn’t. It was an act of defiance. A declaration of war.

Em loved my hair. Even nicknamed me for it. Why should he have something he loved when I got nothing?

That’s right. Nothing.

From here on out, if it wasn’t everything, then it was nothing. Nada. Zilch.

I was starting over. How? I wasn’t sure. You think I’d be good at it by now, but no. Technically, I never really started over. I just free-fell through hell, hitting every branch and rock along the way.

Sure, coming to Westbrook was supposed to be a fresh start, and I tried.

Look where that got me. Broken-hearted and bald.

I had no idea what to do or even who to go to.

I miss Brynne. Having a twin was a built-in partner. A guaranteed support system. At least it was with us.

And then she fell in love with Rush, and it ripped everyone apart. And now I had no one. Not even any hair.

Yes, I will continue to make comments about my buzzed head. I’m processing. Shaving it off was cathartic. A giant fuck-you and two middle fingers to everyone. It was also drafty as hell.

And maybe it was a little traumatic, watching it all fall into the sink, letting go of a part of me that my sister knew and a part of me that made me… me. But I didn’t so much like myself, so was it really that big of a sacrifice?

Still stung. But I will never admit that again, so better highlight it for reference. Or better yet, don’t.

You know what I needed? A drink. Several of them.

Needed to numb the mind with good ‘ol Jack, Jim, and José. Maybe in that order. Once my mind was good and sloshed, I’d find someone to fuck the memory of Em right out of me.

Who needs a daddy anyway?

Me.

I pulled out my phone and swiped on the app to order a ride. Ten minutes later, I slid into the back of a black sedan with a driver who leered at me from the front seat.

“Where to?”

“There any gay bars around here?”

His eyes slid down to the crop top I was wearing and then back up. “Next town over.”

“Take me there.”

“I could show you a good time instead.”

I slid the baseball hat I’d stole from Emmett around backward and leaned forward. “I’m not looking for a good time. Drive.”

Two hours later, I was three shots deep and nursing a beer that tasted like dirty tap water, sitting at a bar I couldn’t even remember the name of.

At least I looked good. I could say that without being cocky because I had dressed to turn heads, and that was exactly what I was doing. My crop top was little more than a black lace racerback tank. It was see-through so you could see even what the fabric covered, not that it was much considering it ended well above my navel.

My black jeans were loose from the weight I’d lost in the past year and hung low on my hips. I’d stuffed the red thong I’d worn to the auction in Em’s toilet, so I put on a pair of black lace briefs, the hem of which was visible above my slouching jeans.

The only thing not black on my entire body was the hat I’d stolen from Emmett. It was white. The one he often wore to practice and looked sexy as hell in.

I planned to toss it in the toilet too, but then I felt the aforementioned draft on my head and changed my mind. It wasn’t at all because I gave up the whistle he’d entrusted to me and I wanted something to replace it.

Pushing off the stool, I turned to lean my elbows against the bar, kicking one leg out in front of the other, and stretched my bare torso out on display. I might not have a lot of muscles anymore, but my skin was naked. And the piercing drew a lot of eyes.

Like Emmett’s.

Nope. Not thinking about him.

A new song came on, one with a heavy beat and sexy tempo. One of the men who’d been eyeing me since I’d walked in set aside his beer and strolled over, eyes sweeping me from head to foot and then back again. I straightened, lifted the beer to my lips for a fortifying sip, and had to hold back a grimace when the warm liquid sloshed against my mouth.

“Hey,” he said, stopping just in front of me. His eyes were blue.

I preferred hazel.

“Hey,” I said back.

“Wanna dance?”

I put the piss masquerading as beer on the bar and followed him out onto the dancefloor. The lights were flashing neon, and when he turned, a strobe of yellow beamed over his face and shoulder. My heart clenched when I thought of Emmett and the way he looked onstage at the auction.

Anger replaced the hurt, and I slung my arms around my partner’s neck and started grinding to the beat. His sweaty hands felt small when they fell on my hips, and I found myself wrinkling my nose and looking down.

Emmett’s hands are so much bigger.

Shaking off the thought, I smiled up at the man, pushing closer so our bodies were plastered together and I could feel his dick through his jeans. His hands started roaming, leaving my hips to drag up my sides, across my back, and then around to my waist. His fingers dipped closer to the diamond in my belly button, and a sick feeling squirmed inside me.

Spinning, I put my back to him and shoved my ass against his front. He yanked me in tight, grinding against me, his rigid dick stabbing my ass as his fingers curled around my abs and tugged the piercing.

I gasped in surprise. He seemed to think that was a favorable response because he did it again. I smacked his hand away, feeling nauseous that he’d touched the piercing.

His chuckle in my ear made my lip curl, his hands moving up to rub my nipples over the tight lace top.

I forced myself to relax against him, leaning my head back against his shoulder as we continued to dance. When the song ended, he grabbed my hand and towed me through the strobing lights, pushing me into the bathroom and up against the door.

A sense of déjà vu assaulted me. And I got lost in the memory of Em fucking me in the bathroom just hours before.

Lips latched on to my neck, and I jerked instinctively, shoving the body away.

Bar guy blinked at me and then smiled. “Playing hard to get?” he murmured, moving back with grabby hands and a wet mouth.

Ew.

The same panic I usually only felt when near the pool surged inside me like a tsunami and punched the air out of my lungs. I shoved him back again, much harder this time, and his eyes turned hard.

“What the hell?”

“I changed my mind,” I said, grabbing the door to leave.

“Yeah?” he intoned, slamming his palm against the wood over my head. “Well, I didn’t.”

Heart pounding, I spun in the small space he crowded me in, looking up through lowered lashes and pursing my lips. “Is that so?” I purred.

“Yeah.”

Dragging my finger over the front of his shirt, I continued until almost reaching his fly. He groaned, and I moved fast, slamming my knee up into his balls. His eyes went comically wide, face ashen, and then he curled in on himself while grabbing his knockers with his too-small hand.

Stumbling back, he fell into the wall with a whimper.

“No means no,” I barked and then fled the bathroom before he could give chase.

After a quick glance to confirm he wasn’t following me, I went to the bar and leaned across it, my feet flying up in the air behind me as I swiped my hand around beneath it.

“Can I help you?” the bartender asked.

I glanced up. “I want a bottle of vodka.”

The man lifted an eyebrow. “You used to getting everything you want?”

“It’s the Elite way.”

Recognition flickered on his face. “As in Westbrook Elite?”

“You ever seen a swimmer who can’t swim?” I cracked, finally leaping off the bar and onto my feet. Lifting my arms, I showed myself off. “Now you have.”

“I think you’ve had enough to drink.”

Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out two one-hundred-dollar bills and tossed them on the counter in front of him. “I’ll take that one,” I said, pointing to a bottle on the shelf.

He pursed his lips, dividing his stare between me and the cash. With a sigh, he grabbed the partially empty bottle and slammed it down on the bar top.

“Where is he?” someone roared, and I turned to see a red-faced man stumble out of the bathroom.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” I said, grabbing the bottle by the neck and racing for the door.

“Stop him!” roared the man whose balls I’d bashed in, and I darted around a half-assed attempt to do just that.

Outside, the air was cold compared to the crowded, hot interior of the bar. I didn’t slow down, though, and ran around the side of the building, pressing up against the brick and clutching the bottle against my chest.

“Where’d he go?” a voice around front hollered. “Son of a bitch!”

“C’mon, Jones. Let him go. I’ll buy you a drink,” someone else said.

A moment later, a door slammed, and everything went quiet. I waited a few more and then peeked around the corner, noting that the lot was empty. Taking the path between a row of cars, I walked toward the street I’d arrived on and tilted the bottle to my lips.

The vodka created a fiery path down my esophagus and made my eyes water, but I drank another swig. I could still feel that guy’s hands all over me and the way he tugged at the diamond. Lurching to the side, I hit my hands and knees and puked up the alcohol still swimming around in my belly, the retching drowning out the memory of hands that were not Em’s.

Sitting back, I swiped my mouth and stared up at the dark sky, wondering how the hell I used to live like this.

Party after party. Drink after drink. Guy after guy. It all blurred together like one long, endless orgy, and it made me sick.

I’d lived like that so much longer than I had here at Westbrook, but it was unfathomable now. The idea of drowning my insides in alcohol and letting random men fuck me seemed like hell.

Probably why I’ve hit rock bottom.

All these weeks, I thought I was just serving a sentence, doing what I had to do to get by. I truly believed that nothing really changed… when, in fact, everything has.

Including me.

How did I not see it when I looked in the mirror?

Because some change is more than skin deep.

All this time, I’d been growing. Changing. Healing. I couldn’t go back to my old ways because I wasn’t that man anymore.

Where did that leave me?

Pushing to my feet, I snatched the bottle and walked on, gravel crunching beneath my shoe.

I didn’t know who I was anymore or where I was going. But one thing was the same. Something that seemed would be a lifelong affliction.

I was on my own.