Page 13 of Crossroads

“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.

Chapter 5

BODHI

I lifted the beer to my lips and took a sip, before setting the bottle down and studying the label. Teagan and Callum had put a lot of effort into the artwork for the most recent beer at my brother’s brewery, and the amber didn’t taste too bad. Honestly, it tasted like the best beer I’d ever had in my life, but I wasn’t about to tell Callum that. I had to give him shit for something. And as always, giving Teagan shit because she was the eldest daughter and that was what little brothers did.

I was the perpetual middle child, though if you looked at the lines in my skin, sometimes I felt like the oldest. Only the twins were younger than me. Well, the other twins. It was odd that I wasn’t sure that I felt like I was a twin anymore. When you lost your other half, did that leave you as a twin? Or a shell of a person who’d once shared a womb, a motion in time, and a semblance of life.

I took another sip of my beer and pushed that thought from my mind. Nothing good could come from allowing my mind to go down that path or wondering about the great secrets of the universe when it came to a dead brother.

“It’s good to see you out tonight,” Callum said as he took the seat next to me. I grunted and sat back in the soft leather seat. The corner booth at the Summit Grill was my favorite place to sit. I could lean back without having to worry about anybody behind me. It was also covered in shadows enough that nobody could truly see me unless they were focusing on the place. Of course, with the number of people surrounding us, it was a little harder to hide than usual.

I didn’t come out with the guys often—especially at the Summit Bar & Grill. If ever. I went to the brewery for certain events because I loved my brother, and he had been there for me during the worst of it. And whenever Teagan needed help with inventory and shit at the store, I did what I could for her. After all, she kept my ass organized. I went to hockey games in Denver whenever Atlas came near, and that was a bit easier. Nobody knew me in the giant sea of fans. Sure, I got a few looks—they couldn’t help it when they looked at my scars—but it wasn’t the same.

But I hadn’t been to Sterling’s restaurant, The Range, yet. Nor had I been to the grand opening of the latest bakery since Fiona had moved out of town and sold the place to Bronwyn.