Chapter 4 #2
“I’m sure there are a few songs that could use the flute, but no, I played the flute in middle school and high school.
It was the only way for me to be part of the band.
” I couldn’t help the bite in my tone, but those memories had never gone away.
What had entrenched me for so long and pulled me into the life I had today.
“You didn’t play drums in band? I know they have them. Especially since I know Houston, Texas, and marching bands are sort of a thing there.”
“They’re sort of a thing in Colorado, too, but yes, I did rhythm and marching band. I was a little blonde girl who liked to wear dresses, and therefore I was in the winged section.”
I started to put things away, suddenly far more nervous than I had a right to be.
He continued to study my face, but I didn’t say a word. “Who forced you?”
My shoulders tensed, and I knew he was talking about the band, not anything else.
I took a moment to find the saliva in my mouth in order to respond.
“My dad. The band leader was a sexist asshole, too, in middle school. He was an asshole. He was certainly set on girls being with girly instruments and boys with boy instruments, which was ridiculous, since there’s no such thing, but that was his mindset. ”
“And in high school?”
“I could have moved over to percussion, since I had already learned how to play on my own, albeit with pots and pans, and anything I could hit with sticks.” I rolled my eyes, a soft laugh escaping.
“Our high school band director hadn’t really minded.
My dad did.” I swallowed hard and then pulled out everything to make a Southwest chicken salad.
I wasn’t sure what Bodhi had been thinking of when he bought me the groceries, but I could make something with this.
Bodhi, in turn, leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. His short sleeves moved up, baring his forearms, and the ink and scars were silhouetted for the first time in full.
He had leaves and barren branches on one arm, with dark green and red flames on another.
Beneath the flames themselves were his scars from whatever fire he had been in, and he had a few other scars underneath the branches.
I wasn’t sure where else he had ink, but I really liked the look of those.
And I needed to back away from that. There was no way I was going to be attracted to this man. That would just be rude. For everybody.
“I know you said you had nowhere else to go, and that’s why I’m here. And you said that nobody would find you here. Hopefully you would be safe, but do I need to be worried about your dad too?”
My gaze shot to him as I dropped the knife I had been holding. It clattered on the cutting board, the sound echoing through the small cabin, and I swallowed hard. “My dad’s dead. He OD’d. Just like my mom. He’s not around to boss me around anymore.”
I quickly picked up the knife and went to dicing tomatoes, since I could easily use the rotisserie chicken without having to cook anything. It worked this way.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
I paused in the act of reaching for another tomato and turned.
“Thank you. I don’t really miss them. Which sounds like a terrible daughter, but they weren’t really great parents to begin with.
And they weren’t the drug addicts that you think of.
Not like many of the ones in my business,” I said dryly.
“No, they were the prim and proper set who golfed and played tennis and were part of the club. Dad wore his polos, Mom with her little twin sets, and they were aghast that their precious daughter had tattoos and piercings. Which was probably why I kept adding color to my hair and adding more piercings.” I shook my head.
“But Mom hurt her back playing tennis, and Dad broke his leg skiing when he was in his twenties, then he injured it again, doing some triathlon thing that he and his rich buddies wanted to do. They gave him OxyContin. And then Oxy turned to something else, because there was no way he was going to stop taking anything that made him feel in control, which I always found funny because it was a complete lack of control. Either way, that was my dad. Always lying to himself. Each of them found their way into drug addiction quickly, and then when they couldn’t get any more from their precious inner circles—because, of course, everybody is addicted to something in that set—they found a different dealer.
And that different dealer wasn’t as fancy with the drugs, and they ended up overdosing together while yelling at each other.
Fentanyl kills. My precious, rich, blonde, and privileged parents OD’d on fentanyl in their kitchen, the same kitchen they had just renovated, even though my mom hated to cook.
I’m not very good at it, but at least I try. ”
I wasn’t completely monotone as I spoke, but there wasn’t much emotion in the words.
The world knew about my parents. They had been famous in their financial circles, and I was decently famous on my own.
So, of course, the news had brought up my parents’ death.
It had happened before I had joined Wilder, but only just before.
Their deaths had finally kick-started me into finding a band that I could work with fully, rather than just working in different studios as a studio artist.
And now, here I was, traveling the world, or I had been. Now I was hiding in a cabin because apparently, daddy issues were not a new thing for me. Shocking.
“I’m sorry.” Two words. Such small ones. But I knew they were from the gut. They were truth. Not a sentiment faded in the uncomfortable.
“Don’t be. Therapy helped. But honestly, they hadn’t been part of my life for long before that. They cut me out the moment I decided to get the tattoos on my forearms since I couldn’t hide them anymore. And the brow ring and septum ring. Can’t hide those either.”
“I never did get a septum ring. I like the small hoop in mine.” He pointed to his nose, and I grinned. I couldn’t help it.
“It did surprise me that you had a nose ring of all things. I mean, you’re the mountain man, complete in flannel.”
“And they have piercings too. It’s sort of what we do.”
“So you say. But then again, you are an artist.”
“I make furniture,” he said dryly.
“And you’re brilliant at it. It is art. Not to mention you also keep bees? I didn’t even know that was a thing up here.”
He shrugged, not looking at me. “It isn’t easy, but it works. That honey in the cabinet there is from one of my hives, so treat it well.”
“That I can do. I’m honored.” My stomach tightened, butterflies threatening as he spoke. What would it be like if he cared for someone as much as he cared for those bees? What if that person was me?
He shrugged as if it meant nothing. I swallowed hard, wondering what the hell I was thinking.
It had been over a year since I had even kissed a man.
I had walked away from Jeremiah, yet he had found me, but I hadn’t been with anybody.
And my wanting Bodhi Ashford was not a good thing.
Just because he had a slutty little nose ring and showed off his slutty forearms didn’t mean that he wanted to do slutty things. I sure as hell didn’t.
I went back to cooking, not sure what to say.
As I pulled out another knife and cutting board to work with the chicken, shoulders finally relaxing as Bodhi went to the back of the kitchen to presumably look at a filter, I let out a breath and hummed a few lines of something that didn’t make any sense.
I didn’t know the words, hadn’t written them yet.
A melody, just a single verse, slid through my mind. One that didn’t make sense. I hadn’t been able to think of new lyrics in ages.
I swore off quiet nights and coffee spoons.
I shook my head at my passing thoughts, wondering what the hell that meant, and realized that I wasn’t alone in the kitchen anymore. Instead, Bodhi stood there, a dirty filter in one hand, his other fisted.
“Sorry. I’m not the greatest singer. I know your sister’s even better.”
He just glared at me before turning on his heel and walking away, and I looked down at what I was doing.
I was a part of his home. Cooking. Ready to share because he was kind to me.
Yes, I’d been singing in the kitchen, but that shouldn’t be anything new.
Then something small, cold began to slide through my system.
I knew Bodhi was a widower. That he’d lost something precious.
And here I was acting domestic as if I had a right to be here.
I shook my head, my stomach tight, my hunger gone. I needed to leave soon. To give Bodhi his space. I’d find another way to breathe again.
I didn’t think it was going to happen anywhere near Ashford Creek. Not when both of us were far too broken to let that happen.