Chapter 11 #3
First, I needed to let him know I was here. That he wasn’t alone. That he didn’t have to white-knuckle it by himself.
“Bodhi,” I said again, a little louder this time.
His breathing didn’t slow, but his hands stilled. I latched onto that.
“Bodhi, it’s me,” I said softly. “Iggy.”
He curled in tighter, like the sound of my voice had cracked something open. His breathing was so fast I worried he might pass out. I wanted to touch him, but my first attempt had gone badly.
So I changed tactics. Maybe I had to touch him somewhere else.
I slid my ass onto the floor and straddled his space, legs on either side of him, inching forward until my toes hit the wall behind his back. It was awkward. Uncomfortable. Murder on my hip. And if he kicked, my balls would be in serious trouble.
But I stayed anyway.
Leaning in, I gently wrapped my hands around Bodhi’s wrists, thumbs pressing against his pulse. I remembered reading something about pressure helping anchor people.
He flinched again. But this time, he didn’t pull away, and something in my gut told me he knew it was me.
I whispered his name again and again, my thumb circling the skin of his wrist. His pulse hammered beneath my fingers, wild and relentless, but I didn’t stop. And when he finally lifted his head, I felt it. The smallest shift.
His breathing slowed by a fraction, barely noticeable, but it was enough. His eyes found me without really seeing me. Still, progress was progress.
I gently tugged on his wrists until his hands slipped free from his hair and fell to the floor on either side of him. His dark hair stuck out at odd angles from all the pulling. In any other moment, I would’ve laughed. Teased him. Run my hands through it just to fix it.
But his shoulders were still rising and falling too fast. His chest still struggled for air. His eyes were glassy, distant, locked somewhere far away from me.
“Bodhi.”
I cupped his face, warm palms against his cheeks. “Are you with me?”
Nothing.
I stroked his cheekbones with my thumbs, slow and deliberate, like I was drawing him back into his body.
Then he blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. And I knew he was back.
“Ig . . . gy . . .” he breathed.
I smiled, relief blooming in my chest. “Yeah. It’s me.”
“Ig . . . gy . . . Pop . . .”
My eyes burned. “I’m here, Just Bodhi.”
God, I wanted to hold him properly. Wanted to kiss his face, his hair, his eyes. But his knees were still drawn tight between us.
When I pulled my hands away from his face, his panicked whimper cut through my heart.
“Don’t . . . go . . .”
I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his knee. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I stood up and leaned over, wrapping my hands around his ankles and easing his legs down until his legs straightened out. He let me move him without resistance, pliant like an oversized doll.
Then I sank back down, settling my ass on his thighs, my weight grounding, solid. Not sexual, not right now. Just there.
His hands latched onto my thighs instantly, fingers digging in like anchors.
I kept some space between our chests, mindful of his breathing, and brought my hands back to his face. Then I leaned in until our foreheads touched.
“Breathe with me,” I whispered.
I inhaled. Held it. Exhaled.
Again.
He lagged behind at first, his breaths still too fast. Too shallow.
“Come on,” I murmured. “In.”
This time, he followed.
Out.
Again.
Over and over, until his breaths began to match mine. Until the shaking eased. Until his body slumped forward, heavy and spent, the panic finally bleeding out of him.
My cheeks were wet and I wondered when I’d started crying.
But when I leaned back, I realised it wasn’t me.
It was Bodhi.
He looked up at me, eyes bright and wrecked in the pale wash of moonlight from the tiny bathroom window. His lower lip trembled, and I leaned in, kissing him softly.
“You’re okay, Just Bodhi.”
His grip tightened on my thighs, fierce and desperate. I didn’t care if his touch bruised me. I’d gladly wear them. They were proof that he’d been here. That he’d made it through.
“Th-thank you,” he whispered.
I kissed him once more, then rested my hands over his heart, feeling it pound steadily against my palm.
“Are you okay?”
He shrugged, which was fair enough.
Talk about a stupid question, Iggy.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
He stretched his arm out towards the toilet, feeling around on the floor until he found what he was looking for. The brightness of his phone screen pierced my retinas after sitting in the dark, and I winced.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’ll just never see your pretty face again.”
A weak huff of laughter escaped him. I took the win.
After lowering the brightness to something that didn’t feel like the sun, he turned the screen toward me. An article. I took the phone and skimmed.
Someone had died and it was breaking news. The picture of a young man told me who.
“No way,” I breathed. “Jake Gibson died?”
The man in question was an actor, and he’d been in more than one blockbuster over the last few years.
Bodhi answered with a nod, flipping his phone face down on the floor.
“Overdose,” he rasped, voice still hoarse. “He was o-only twenty-nine.”
“Jesus.” I tilted my head. “Did you know him?”
Bodhi nodded again, rubbing at his eyes. “We used to go to a lot of the s-same parties,” he said, voice trembling. “I wouldn’t call us f-friends exactly, but w-we were always friendly.”
“Still,” I said. “It must’ve been a shock to see.”
“My m-mom sent me the article. She obviously didn’t expect it t-to hit like this.” He waved a hand towards himself.
“What do you think triggered it?” I asked, careful. The news was sad, sure, but that alone didn’t seem enough to set him off like that.
He sighed and leaned back against the wall, utterly drained now the panic had eased.
“The last time I s-saw him was just before I went to rehab,” he said. “H-he told me he wanted to get clean, a-and—” He closed his eyes, inhaled sharply, as though reminding himself to breathe. “I laughed it off. L-like it was a joke.”
He rubbed his thumb over my thigh in a slow circle.
“At first I thought it w-was ironic,” he continued. “I went to rehab, and h-he . . .” He cleared his throat. “Then I s-started spiralling. Thinking how e-easily that could’ve been m-me if Clara and the label hadn’t s-stepped in.”
His breathing started to hitch again.
“That I could’ve d-died. Left everyone b-behind. The guys. My m-mom—”
I leaned in and kissed him. A grounding kiss, a tether. His breath steadied, and his hands found my neck, curling into my hair, pulling me closer.
Our kiss deepened, gentle yet insistent. Not for pleasure. Just to remind us that we were alive.
When we finally pulled apart, his head flopped forward against mine.
“You tired?” I asked, running my fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck.
He opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by a yawn.
“I guess that answers that,” I chuckled.
Bodhi gave me a small, tired smile. I grabbed my phone to check the time.
“We’ve got about an hour left on the bus.” I rose, wincing at the stab in my hip. “Let’s go to bed.”
I held out a hand and he took it, letting me pull him to his feet. Leaving the bathroom, I guided him down the aisle, and he leaned against me without complaint. Didn’t protest when I led him to my bunk instead of his. He just crawled in and buried his face in my pillow.
Before I joined him, I shot Riff a text since he’d likely be up first. I warned him that Bodhi just had a panic attack and was in my bunk, trusting him to shield us from prying eyes when we arrived at the hotel.
Task done, I climbed in beside Bodhi. I’d barely settled in when he pulled me close. Burying my head under his chin, the scent of sandalwood and spice enveloped me, familiar and grounding.
“Thank you,” he whispered, soft as a breath, pressing his lips to the top of my head.
I said nothing, because nothing needed saying. I just squeezed him tighter, letting him know I was there. Pressing my ear to his chest, I let my eyes fall closed, eventually drifting off to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Soothed. Content.
Bodhi was here. He was okay.
We were both alive.