Chapter 5

5

Bodhi

Are you wondering what it tastes like to swallow your pride?

I wouldn’t know because I didn’t have any left.

When it came to my ex-best friend, any pride I had left ran for the fucking hills when I was presented with absolute and irrefutable proof that he didn’t kill my sister. When I realized it wasn’t him who wronged me but me who annihilated one of the two best relationships I’d had in my life.

The other one? The one I’d accused him of annihilating.

I was a shit person. Probably deserved to be locked up in this windowless dungeon, but truth?

I was scared. No. Not just scared. Terrified.

The second the bars at Two Towers locked behind me, all my wild bravado fled to wherever my pride already was.

I was born and raised in Malibu. My playground, the beach. My sidekick, a surfboard. I caught waves, gave no fucks, and never imagined the golden spoon I was born with might someday tarnish. I went to the best private school and then enrolled at Pembrook, the most prestigious college on the West Coast, where I swam for the Nobles. Life was stellarly copasetic.

Until it imploded.

And now I was here in a seventy-square-foot closet made of concrete with no window and a fluorescent light overhead that kept my eyes in a constant state of watering. My roommate didn’t just look like a hardened criminal. He was one. The way he stared made my skin crawl, and the more that time went on, the smaller I tried to make myself in hopes he would forget I was here.

My body ached all the way to the bone, and I stared at the walls through blurred eyes, wondering how the hell I got here. If there was any coming back.

I’d burned all my bridges and then swan-dived into the canyon between them. There was literally nothing left to lose, so I called him. The one loss I missed the most.

The one person who would have been my first call in the past but now was the last.

I’ll see what I can do. That’s what Rush had said. The words were grim. Sort of an empty promise.

To me, they were a light at the end of the tunnel. A tiny spark of hope flickered to life inside me. It was painful but would be even more so when he didn’t show up.

It had been over twenty-four hours since I’d called him. What did I expect anyway? He was clear on the other side of the country. He had a whole new life. A new family. A new best friend.

Frustration and anger welled up inside me, filling me so full that my chest ached with the pressure and the walls of this tiny cell felt even closer than before.

Impossible to sit still, I pushed off the top bunk where I’d been sleeping, my feet smacking against the hard floor and stinging in the shit shoes they made us wear. The orange jumpsuit was just as fluorescent as the overhead light, and the fabric was utilitarian and uncomfortable as fuck.

“Where you think you’re going, pretty boy?” my cellmate mused.

Ignoring him, I paced to the bars to look out into the narrow, bleak hall. Pivoting, I turned to pace back and slammed into a hard chest directly behind me.

I bounced off and nearly fell onto my ass. I didn’t know his name. I never asked because it didn’t matter. We all had numbers on our jumpsuits, impersonal identifiers that made us a little less human.

He laughed, the sound amused and low. I hated his eyes and the way he looked at me like I was prey. Like he was just biding his time until he did whatever it was he was planning.

And based on the nickname he’d taken to calling me… whatever it was definitely wasn’t good.

I moved to slide around him, and he threw his arm out, snaking it around my waist. With a hard yank, I fell into his chest, our bodies completely touching.

“You seem restless,” he said. “How about you let me calm you down?”

Bile rose in my throat, and I slammed my hands against his shoulders and shoved.

He went flying back, smacking in the wall. His nostrils flared, and he straightened. “I like it when they fight.”

My stomach clenched and fear had adrenaline pouring into my limbs, but I refused to show it. Narrowing my eyes, I widened my stance and brought my fists up.

He laughed. Like he thought I was cute.

My fist swiped that amusement right off his smug face.

His head snapped back, and he looked at me, incredulous. He couldn’t believe I’d actually decked him. Reaching up, he dabbed the corner of his lip, which was split, glancing at the blood smeared on his thumb.

Yeah, I might look like a pretty boy, but I knew all about ugly.

He rushed me, and I darted to the side at the last minute and shoved him into the lower bunk. He stumbled in head first and then let out a roar as he jerked back. His eyes were hot, cheeks red.

“You better show him who’s boss,” someone from across the hall yelled.

He slammed into me, and I fell backward over the stainless-steel toilet with no seat and no lid. Landing in the corner of the room, he stepped over the toilet to crowd over me. Closing his fist in the front of my jumpsuit, he hauled me up, pinning me into the corner. I tried to buck him off, but the space was miniscule and he was twice my size.

His breath was hot and decaying like he’d never met a toothbrush. “I’ve been playing nice up until now, but I think we better get a few things straight.”

I spit in his face.

Shocked, he drew back, swiping the wet glob off his cheek, and I scrambled away. He caught my arm and pulled me around, swinging at the same time. Sharp pain radiated through me, the sound of his fist connecting with my cheek sort of a dull thud in my brain. I fell back, hitting the bars, and the men in the cell across the hall started to cheer.

“This here is my cell,” the man said, coming over me. “And everything in it is mine too. That includes you.”

He hauled me up and tossed me toward the bunk.

“On the bed. Facedown.”

I swung on him again, burying my fist in his side.

“Hey! Break it up!” a guard yelled from outside the cell.

My toes dragged over the concrete when my attacker grabbed my collar and pulled me forward. His fist rose, and I prepared for another blow, but he was struck in the back with a baton and stumbled to the side. I stumbled too, right into the wall.

The guard inserted himself between us, and his partner crowded the door.

“I said break it up!” he roared. He turned to me. “You. Let’s go.”

Swiping the blood trickling over my cheek, I stood and went the way he gestured. I didn’t care if I was getting punished. It was better than being in that cell.

“This isn’t over,” my roomie yelled as the door was shut and locked behind me.

“Move,” the guard said, poking me in the back to get me to move.

“Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer me. I didn’t ask again. I just walked until he told me to stop and another guard used the keys on his belt to unlock a black steel door with a window too high for me to see in. It swung open, and he gestured for me to enter.

I hesitated, wondering what fresh hell was waiting.

But then I remembered it didn’t matter and stepped inside.

A chair screeched across the floor. “Bodhi?”

The familiar voice sent a rush of powerful emotion through me, tears filling my eyes. Whipping my stare up, I looked through the curtain of my hair, completely astonished.

“Rush?”

He came.

“You look like shit.” His voice was grim.

I fought back the tears threatening to spill over. The sense of relief I felt at the familiar face was so overwhelming that I started to tremble. He hated me, but I didn’t care. In that moment, he was the best fucking sight I’d seen in so very long.

“He’s bleeding. Why the fuck is he bleeding?” The commanding tone of the deep voice robbed my stare, and I glanced from Rush to the man it belonged to. Quickly, I took in his buzzed dark hair, narrowed hazel eyes, and scruff-covered jaw.

I recognized him from the brief confrontation I’d had with Elite many months ago. This was their coach. Emmett Resch , he’d said on the phone. He was an asshole.

What the hell is he doing here?

“Well, this ain’t kindergarten,” the guard replied.

“If we could have the room,” a third man said. His voice was cool and calm as though all of this was a bore.

I recognized him as Rush’s lawyer. The one who got him off when he was accused of killing my sister. I’d hated this guy for defending him. For preventing my sister from getting her justice. More than one night, I plotted ways to make him pay for defending a murderer…

Except Rush wasn’t a murderer. And this lawyer had just been doing his job.

After reminding us that no contact was allowed and they would be right outside the door, the men left, locks clicking into place when they were gone.

I glanced back at my ex-best friend. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

Something passed behind his dark eyes, but then it was gone. “Brynne would want me to.”

I nodded. So this wasn’t for me. It was for my sister. Her memory.

Anger burned my stomach, making me feel like I had a sudden eruption of stomach ulcers. I told myself it didn’t matter why he came, only that he did. I could tell myself that all I wanted, but the anger scorching my gut said it did matter.

“Mr. Lawson.” The lawyer gestured to a chair on the opposite side of the table. “I’m Gordon Sabatino, a defense att?—”

I cut him off. “I know who you are.”

The man inclined his head. “I’ve been hired by Rush to represent you.”

I glanced at Rush. “You got me a lawyer.”

I knew he’d likely just flown across the country, but he looked fresh and rested. It was almost jarring. I wondered when was the last time I’d seen that look in the mirror.

“Isn’t that why you called?” he countered.

Yes. No.

“Have a seat, Mr. Lawson,” Mr. Sabatino said. “I’ve had the chance to go over your case and speak with the parties involved.”

The parties involved?

“These are some serious charges. The Cobalts are well within their rights to press?—”

The chair my ass had barely touched flew out from under me, skittering across the room and knocking into the wall. My palms stung when they slammed onto the tabletop. “Those people killed my sister! They have no right?—”

The door to the room opened, and the guard stuck his ugly mug inside.

Rush leaned over the table, inches from my reddened face. “Chill the fuck out, Bodhi. This is why you’re in here.”

I was beyond reason. Operating in pure survival mode. “They deserve everything they got!” I slammed my fist on the table, making the whole thing vibrate.

The guard pushed farther into the room.

My heart pounded so hard I wondered why it hadn’t burst, and I waited for the now-familiar slap of cold metal against my wrists.

Instead of handcuffs, something firm and warm grasped the back of my neck.

“No touching!” the guard demanded.

“Enough.” The voice was commanding but calm. The pressure clamped around my neck grounded me in a way nothing else had. Scared of that too, I rotated, the firm hold on me not at all dislodged.

My eyes collided with a steady pair that froze the air in my lungs. They looked like dual sunbursts, the irises a burnished brown that faded into molten gold.

“I did not fly all this way for you to throw a tantrum and get tossed back in a cell. You called. We came. Sit your ass in the chair and listen.”

My teeth slammed together.

The fingers at the sides of my throat tightened. I swallowed, reveling in the pressure. My heart began to regulate itself, no longer galloping in my chest.

“I said no contact.” The guard appeared over Emmett’s shoulder, and my muscles tensed anew.

His thumb slid up to my pulse point to draw a lazy circle. My eyes went back to him immediately, the guard suddenly unimportant.

Rush’s coach turned his head, the sharpness of his jaw matching his tone. “I’ll let go when I’m good and ready.” He glanced back at me. “Sit down.”

I sat.

The guard vacated the room.

A tissue appeared in front of my face. “Wipe the blood off your face.”

I took the tissue Emmett offered and held it up to my tender split cheek.

“Can we continue?” the lawyer asked.

I nodded once, and Emmett retrieved the chair I’d flung across the room and dropped into it on the same side of the table as me.

I eyed him, but he ignored me, turning his attention to the man in the suit.

“You’ve been harassing the Cobalts for months,” Mr. Sabatino deadpanned.

I stiffened.

“They’ve let it slide up until now because…” He paused, and I jumped on it.

“Because their precious son murdered my sister.”

“Yes. Because of that.”

I snorted.

“But I’m afraid you went too far this time. Their entire guest house was burned down.”

I said nothing.

“Harassment. Trespassing. Disorderly conduct. Underage drinking.”

“I’m twenty-one,” I said at the same time Rush said, “He’s twenty-one.”

“Oh.” Sabatino glanced down at his files.

“My birthday was a month ago,” I supplied. I’d turned a year older, but Brynne never would.

“I see,” he said, glancing up from the papers. “You have quite a rap sheet from the past year.”

“So?”

“So you’re even wanted in Mexico.”

Rush made a sound.

“No. My lawyer got me out of that.” I clarified. The lawyer who didn’t want to deal with me anymore.

This time, Emmett made the sound.

“How’d you get back in the country?” Rush wondered.

I smirked. “I have my ways.”

The coach’s body language changed, and suddenly, it was a little harder to breathe. God, I was tired.

“Given all of this, it was no easy task to work out a deal.”

My eyes snapped to the lawyer. “A deal?”

He nodded. “We have met with the Cobalts and the Malibu police and have come to an agreement.”

I turned to Rush. “You got me a deal?”

“Why do you think it took so long to get here?” he replied.

“I thought you weren’t coming.”

“Well, I came.”

“And trust me when I tell you, Mr. Lawson, this is your last chance. It’s this deal or jail time.”

My stomach churned, and a sour flavor coated my throat. “What is it?”

“Upon agreement,”—the lawyer began, withdrawing a packet of papers and a pen from his briefcase—“you will be released and all charges dropped, pending the following conditions.”

Surprised, I glanced at Rush. He got the charges dropped?

“Pay attention,” he told me, gesturing to the paperwork.

Embarrassed I was once again letting emotion rule me, I turned back to Mr. Sabatino.

“You will pay restitution in an amount set by the insurance company for the damages to the guest house you burned down.”

“Sure.” I agreed. It was just money. I had a whole pile of it. My parents might have written me off, but I still had my trust fund. Maybe it was how they justified kicking me out of the family.

Maybe they don’t want anything associated with your name. Even money.

“You will be served a restraining order that you will meticulously heed that requires you to stay at least two hundred and fifty feet away from Maeve and Rick Cobalt for the period of no less than one year.”

I snorted. “Whatever.”

“Finally…” The lawyer continued, then hesitated. Something shifted in the air, and it raised the hair on the back of my neck. “You will agree to see a therapist twice weekly to work on anger management and deal with your grief over the loss of your twin sister.”

My tongue slid over my teeth.

“The therapist will be chosen by me. You will have a minimum of one year of sessions. After the one year, if the therapist decides you need more, you must agree to attend.”

“Fine.” I conceded. I’d go sit in the stuffy office. I’d even talk about Brynne if that was what I had to do to get out of here. I didn’t bother pointing out that no amount of talking would ever bring her back.

You’d think my agreement without any sort of protests would’ve improved the mood—at the very least, relaxed the tension trying to suck the oxygen right out of the room.

It didn’t.

It was almost as if they expected me to explode. And okay, fair.

“Is that it?” I said, attempting to dispel the knot in my intestines.

“One last condition.” Mr. Sabatino cleared his throat. “Your therapy sessions will take place in Virginia… where you will attend Westbrook University to complete your degree.”

I blinked. Blinked again.

I shot out of the chair like a rocket, but this time, it didn’t fly backward into the wall because Emmett caught it.

I rushed across the room and spun, glaring at the three men. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“These are the terms upon which your release is contingent,” Mr. Sabatino stated.

“You can’t just order me across the country!” I spat. “You can’t force me to attend college.”

“I can assure you that this is in fact a binding, legal agreement. Both parties are agreeing to voluntarily settle a dispute outside of the court.”

“Dispute!” I roared. “They murdered my sister!”

“Their son did. They did not.”

“It’s the same damn thing!”

Suddenly, Rush was on his feet and coming around the table toward me. “Come off it,” he snapped. “You’ve been blaming everyone since she died. First me, now his parents. I agree they’re shitty people, but they didn’t kill Brynne. The person who did is in a cell. He got what he deserved. And if you don’t pull your head out of your ass right now, you’re going in a cell too.”

He was right. I had been blaming everyone for my sister’s death. Most of all… me.

Maybe I belonged in jail. Maybe going there would actually make me feel… better.

But then I thought about the cell I’d just come from. About the way my cellmate stared. Pretty boy. Yeah, maybe I belonged in jail, but I didn’t want to be there.

My shoulders sagged. “I can’t agree even if I want to,” I said. “I’m not enrolled at Westbrook. Pretty sure this late in the year, admission for fall is closed.”

A throat cleared. “If you’re Elite, exceptions will be made.”

Incredulous, I swung around, pinning Elite’s coach with a look. “You want me to swim for you ?”

“Not me. Elite.”

I barked a laugh. “Same damn difference.”

“If Coach recruits you for the team, admission will be fast-tracked and you’ll be able to start classes next week with the rest of us,” Rush explained.

Next week? My head was swimming. “No.”

“I’m afraid these are the conditions. You are to report to Westbrook University upon release, where you will carry out the rest of the terms. You are also required to maintain a three-point-oh average. Coach Resch will send a quarterly report with your grades, attendance, and team participation, which will be reviewed and filed with the court. Your appointed therapist will also send a report.” Mr. Sabatino informed me. “If you do not agree, the offer will be rescinded and you will go to jail.”

I couldn’t breathe. My lungs were frozen, brain totally wiped of basic function, including how to survive.

My fingers felt cold. The room around me tilted. The only actual sensation penetrating my meltdown was the pain suddenly in my cheek.

It hadn’t hurt at all before, but now? Now it was screaming.

“Stop that,” someone demanded as my body was engulfed by a larger one.

Even being restrained, I remained rigid as rough, hot fingers enclosed my wrist and forced my hand away from my face. My skin tore one last time as I clawed at it before my hand was pinned to my side.

“Hurting yourself is not the answer,” a quiet voice told me. “This is not the way.”

“Yeah?” I heard myself answer. “Well, I’ve tried all the other ways. None of them work.”

“There’s one left you haven’t tried.”

My mind was still spiraling. Reeling as if it could somehow careen itself right out of my head. But even as it whirled, my body was anchored. Wrapped tight in something solid and warm, something big enough to engulf me.

I wanted to hide here. Let my mind spin out while the rest of me rested. Maybe my mind would eventually rest too.

I didn’t even know where here was… just that it felt safe.

“What’s that?” I asked even as I settled into the embrace.

“Come home with me.”

The words rattled me, stole the comfort I’d been so happily imbibing. I bolted up, but the arms around me tightened. Lifting my chin, I stared wide-eyed at the man who held me. It rattled me that it was with him I’d just felt so secure.

Sneering, I said, “Aren’t you the one who told me to get the hell out of your pool and never show my face there again?”

Shock rippled in his eyes, light scattering in the golden hue.

“Yeah. I remember.” I confirmed. I remembered exactly what he said to me the day we met. “So why would I come home with you?”

His expression pinched, the golden hue of his eyes deepening like a storm was rolling in. “Not me. ” He corrected. “With the team. To Westbrook.”

“Where you’re the coach.”

“That’s right. Where I’m in charge.”

I sputtered, stiffened, and pulled out of his vise-like hold. “I know I just got hit in the face, but am I hallucinating?”

He moved fast, hand tangling in my hair. Hair I hadn’t washed in days. Fingers tugging, he brought my face around as awareness prickled all the way down to my toes. “Who hit you?” he asked, voice dark while his stare studied the split in my cheek.

“My roommate. He thinks I’m pretty.”

His eyes flared. The ire in them made me giddy and, deep down… relieved. His hands twisted in my hair, almost causing pain before releasing me, pushing me toward the table.

“Sign the papers. We’re leaving.”

“I’m not coming to Westbrook. I’m not swimming for you.”

“You don’t have a choice,” he growled.

Shivers raced along my spine, and goose bumps rose over my arms. For so long, I’d been causing chaos and fighting. Always fighting.

No one ever fought back.

No one ever tried to control me.

I liked it. I liked it so damn much.

Rush stepped up to my side, He smelled the same as he used to. That scent wreaked havoc on my system, starting a war in my head between then and now.

“It’s Elite or the slammer, Bodes.”

Bodes. He hadn’t called me that in so long.

“You called me. Here I am. This is a one-time offer. Sign the papers or go back to your cell with your new bestie.”

Behind us, my new coach made a sound.

My teeth sank into my lower lip, and I glanced down at the paper, the line already marked where I needed to sign. Mr. Sabatino slid a pen in front of me.

“How long do I have to stay at Westbrook?” I asked the lawyer.

“Until you graduate.”

I was two years away from finishing my bachelor’s in business. I could do two years at Westbrook or five years in jail.

I don’t want to swim.

Worry about that later.

With a burst of bravado, I snatched up the pen and scrawled my signature on all the places the lawyer pointed to. When I was done, I sank into a nearby chair, completely and utterly drained.

“You made a good choice, son.” The lawyer congratulated me.

Then why did it feel like I’d just signed a deal with the devil?