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19

BODHI

Who schedules therapy on a Saturday morning?

Evidently, I do.

I didn’t think about it being the only off Saturday I’ve had in forever, but here we are.

Thankfully, today was an easy day.

I see myself making progress in small ways that may not be noticeable from the exterior, but I see it.

After Dr. Banks put my personal penalty into perspective, I began to view the accident differently. Not that I’ll ever have an excuse for my actions; that will never change. But I am starting to not hate myself as much for it.

I’m not sure if that makes sense, but it feels simpler in my head.

I know I fucked up, and Gwendolyn paid the cost physically, but I also suffered a cost. I might not have been the one with an injury, but I see now that I served my time, and it’s unfair for me to continue to punish myself.

I still need to find a way to reconcile with Gwendolyn. Deep down, I know what I need to do, but the thought of it petrifies me.

What if she hates me and refuses to hear me out?

What if her condition is worse than I thought?

Although my sister was there to care for Gwendolyn while I was locked up, I refused to ask Penelope what injuries she had. Not that I didn’t care, because I did. I needed to be reassured she was safe and would be okay in order for me to serve my time without worrying.

That didn’t happen, clearly.

The one thing I can’t seem to shake, though, are the nightmares and anxiety of going out in public. The nightmares haunt me with the blood-curdling sounds from that night. They are in constant rotation in my ears and the image of Gwendolyn in distress.

After Dr. Banks suggested I get out and have some fun, I’ve been challenging myself to do that. The other day, I ordered a different protein shake from Smoothie King. It may not be a monumental step, but it’s big for me. Although I don’t think changing my smoothie order is exactly what she had in mind, baby steps, I suppose.

I know what I need to do.

I have to build up the courage to do it and stop being a fucking pansy.

On the drive home, I decided to go on a date today. I’m confident that’s the only way I will step out of my comfort zone, learn to have some fun, and allow myself to get over Navy.

Deep down, that’s the farthest thing I want, but it needs to be done to keep my friendship with both Navy and Callaway.

I don’t have a single clue who I’m going to date, though.

Pulling up to the front of the house, I’m greeted with a change.

I can’t quite figure out what it is, but a fresh exterior lightens the entrance.

Plants. Flowers. Vibrant black mulch.

That’s it.

This has Navy written all over it.

Did she really do this in the few hours I’ve been gone? When I left before everyone was awake, there was nothing but overgrown weeds and dirt in the front flower bed.

Now, vibrant green Cypress plants line the wall of the house, staggered with the brightest clementine orange marigolds between them. I only know the name of the unique flower because my mother had a green thumb. She would spend hours in the garden, bringing life to our home.

How ironic is it that she also ripped the life out of it?

Black mulch acts as a warm contrast to the brightness of the plants but ties into the cold tones of the exterior paint colors.

It looks incredible.

I’m slightly taken aback by the notion of Navy doing this for us.

From the outside, one would look at her and immediately assume the opposite—gardening looks beneath her. It’s no secret how beautiful she is, but she’s also so fucking humble and caring. She always considers the happiness of others before her own.

Take this, for example, it’s the smallest gesture of her nurturing side and the fact that it’s no burden for her to use her day off to better our home.

Fuck. Something stirs in my chest that shouldn’t.

I need to thank her.

I enter a silent house. Where is everyone? Their cars are out front, and Gus even texted me asking when I would be home.

I set my backpack down by the front door and stride through the house, scoping out my friends.

The sound of muffled music filters through the walls, and it sounds a lot like it’s coming from outside. Walking past the living room area, I stop short at the threshold of the French doors that lead to the pool deck. Gus, Kingston, and Mack are submerged in the hot tub while Navy is perched on the deck, her legs dangling in the steaming hot water.

Son of a bitch, she’s in her tiny silver bikini.

The bikini I became very well acquainted with months ago.

Fucking hell.

They’re my best friends; I trust them. Although they know nothing about what happened between me and Navy, I hate them seeing her like this.

Her little curves are on full display with a sexy heaping of cleavage. The triangular silver fabric barely covers her tits with those rosy nipples I remember so vividly.

I miss her.

I didn’t even consider them being out here. It’s January in Atlanta, and it’s still cold as shit. I guess, in this case, the hot tub isn’t the worst idea.

We never spend much time out here.

It’s a shame because the backyard is one of the main reasons we bought this house. Gus and King fell in love with the oasis vibe. I didn’t give a shit about anything at the time, so I wouldn’t have cared if there was a tiny porch and grassless yard.

But they were born to be entertainers, even Callaway when he lived here—the life of the party.

I’m the farthest thing from that.

I look around them, hoping they don’t see me yet.

The fence surrounding the yard is lined with seagrapes for optimal privacy, fake grass covers the ground, making maintenance easy year-round, and white-washed stones create a pathway leading to a rustic tiki hut located in the back corner of the yard. The tiki hut is equipped with a large bar and a fully stocked kitchen. Lights are hung across the patio, giving the space a tranquil and welcoming vibe.

It looks incredible out here, and I’m kicking myself for not enjoying it more.

Yet, the sight that stops me from perusing is the evident elation radiating from Navy’s smile. She looks exquisite, high on happiness and independence. The sad part is that I know as soon as she sees me, that bright smile will drop.

We’ve done our best to be comfortable around each other, but the tension that has been hidden is undeniable.

Sometimes it feels sexual, and other times, it feels fueled by hatred.

I’m not sure which I prefer more.

However, the sight of her happiness diminishing because of something as simple as my presence guts me.

Fuck it, I’m going out there anyway.

If they get to enjoy the sight of her joy, then I do too.

At the sound of my entrance, all heads swing in my direction.

“Speak of the devil,” King greets me.

“Talking shit?” I ask. I’ve been comfortable all morning in my jeans, black T-shirt, and black Vans up until now.

I’m feeling slightly overdressed, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

The beauty I’m doing my best not to make eye contact with is very underdressed, and it’s making me all keyed up and twitchy.

Navy’s skin glistens from the water caressing her long, toned legs, and likely from the tanning oil I know she lathered herself in. Navy has always been anal about her skincare and protecting herself from sun damage.

Her flawless complexion is a testimony to that.

“You bet your ass we are. Where you been, man?” Gus asks.

I locate a patio chair by the side of the hot tub and pull it closer to take a seat. This puts me up close and personal with Navy on my left and Mack on my right. “Where do you think?”

I shoot Gus a look because he knows exactly where I’ve been. He’s trying to get me to talk about it. The other day, I finally confessed to the guys about my therapy sessions, and they took it surprisingly well. The only one who still doesn’t know is Cal.

The new husband has been busy.

“Banks make you cry today?” Gus teases, and King lets out a loud laugh.

Motherfuckers.

“Not today, but the jury is still out for next time. Hey, if you want to come and be lectured on wrapping it up, be my guest,” I retort, shooting him a smirk.

Anyone else would likely take offense to my comment, but Gus knows me better than that. We both fuck with each other because we’re exactly the same—but in a different way. I’m the only one doing something about it, though. He knows I see right through his mindless charades and the pain he covers up with a revolving door of women.

He shoots me a wild grin. “Tempting. I’ll be in touch.”

I chuckle under my breath. Despite it technically being winter in Atlanta, sitting directly under the heat is scorching. The air is dry, and the sun beats down on the concrete pavement.

A moment of silence stretches between all of us, and I take this as my chance to turn toward Navy. Her bright green eyes focus on the small tattoo that lines the arch of her foot, ghosting the water. I follow her sight and lock in on the white ink that holds her fascination.

The white color makes the tattoo look translucent and subtle, likely the opposite of what it symbolizes for her.

Embrace your mess.

She must have intentionally made it so that it’s only visible if you look hard enough, which I always do.

It’s a symbolic reminder for her.

There are many layers to Navy that I’m nowhere close to unraveling yet, and I likely never will, but I find the possibility of it captivating.

I’m enchanted by her—by the beauty and grace that saturates the fullness of her heart.

How tragically fucked up is it to long for someone so deeply and never be able to share the gravity of that adoration with them? With someone who deserves to hear every second of every day how perfect they are.

I get to live with that.

Reminding myself why I came out here initially, I steer my attention to meet her eyes. “The flowers look perfect.”

Only then does Navy direct her attention to me. A look of uncertainty comes across her face, and I take meticulous note of the smile lines I can number by hand that only exemplify her beauty. Her skin is porcelain, like a meticulously constructed and cared for vase, without so much as a blemish or imperfection.

Navy meets my gaze, and I can’t look away.

A small smile sneaks out of her solid composure. “It was fun. The guys helped too.”

I don’t give a shit what any of them did. They live here. All that matters to me is that Navy did this, and I appreciate it.

I turn my attention to the three idiots beside me. “How much did she pay you?”

King and Gus laugh hysterically while Mack does the predictable and shoots me an exaggerated look. I guarantee he and Navy did all the work while King and Gus fucked around.

“A lap dance and a night in the sheets,” King jokes.

He fucking wishes.

Over my dead body. I’ll riot until the feds show up.

Thankfully, Navy doesn’t miss his comment, and satisfaction washes over me at her backhanding him across the head.

“In your dreams, asshole.”

“You’re only the star of them, Navy girl. Always have been.” King puckers his lips as Navy shoves him away playfully. “You better go bleach your brain and find another cleat chaser to tickle your fancy, Kingston,” she snaps back at him.

“But for real, Navy summoned us to do some dirty work with her, and we gladly obliged,” Gus says boastfully.

“I can see that. It looks great,” I say before meeting Navy’s eyes again. “Feels like a home.”

The smile she sends me lights up my insides with something similar to glee, and I can’t help but smile in return.

The sound of a phone ringing breaks our trance.

“Oh, that’s mine,” Navy announces as she exits the hot tub to collect her phone. As much as I want to, I won’t turn around to watch how the globes of her ass shake with every step she takes.

It’s criminal for her to look this good. Sexy as hell in the slinky silver bikini my cock would never let me forget.

“Must be Briggs,” Mack says loud enough for us to hear.

My head swings in his direction, trying not to give away my obvious panic.

“She seems excited, at least,” Gus admits with a chuckle.

What the hell am I missing?

Mack and Kingston share a nod as they watch Navy talk on the phone near the outdoor table.

I’m too curious at this point not to ask, but I need to play it cool.

“What’s Navy excited for?” I ask hesitantly, hoping it’s not what I think it is.

“Her date with Briggs tonight.” Gus shares the worst news of my life with me.

Fuck. My stomach sinks, and I feel my anxiety crumble beneath me.

She’s going on a date with Briggs.

My friend and former teammate.

That means she used the number I forbade her to keep and reached out to him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I chose this. I have no right to be upset with her, but Navy has always felt like mine. The idea of her going out with another man makes me unable to breathe. I feel a gut-wrenching panic I know I’m not authorized to feel.

This is the final shred of hope between us, and her falling for a guy as decent as Briggs feels like severing the last string.

I don’t want another man touching her. I don’t want another man to know her favorite things or the different laughs she has for separate occasions.

The laugh she saves for me.

That could potentially be for him someday soon.

“You good, St. James?” King asks me, showing genuine concern.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” I choke out.

“No reason,” he answers back, trying to be subtle.

I have to be okay. It’s fucked up of me even to be bothered by this. It was inevitable; I just didn’t realize how badly it would sting.

“Anyone heard from Cal?” I ask them, trying to shift the conversation to my best friend and remind me why I can never have Navy to begin with.

As the words leave my mouth, Navy makes her way back over to the hot tub. Once again, I’m a coward and can’t look at her. I’m ashamed to feel so enraged over something I practically set up.

If I had taken her like I genuinely wanted and dealt with Callaway later, Briggs would be nothing but a blip in the rearview.

But Callaway has been my boy for most of my adult life and did me a solid favor when I was locked up—I couldn’t betray him like that. Other than my minor slip in Fiji that he never needs to know about, and one I’ll never forgive myself for.

I’m still firm on the fact that I never should have touched Navy.

But fuck if it wasn’t the best moment of my life.

And that’s all it will ever be…a brief moment.

It’s one thing to want to fuck someone and an entirely different thing to long to be intertwined with their soul. Navy was my friend first, making the foundational roots there.

“Sorry about that,” Navy says, directing our attention to her.

“How’s Briggsby? He got big plans for our roomie tonight?” Kingston asks Navy.

Please say no. Maybe it’ll be a quick one. They’ll get a bite to eat, see how incompatible they are together, and call it a night.

Navy stands near the perimeter of the hot tub, a short distance from me, yet she’s never felt farther away. “We’re starting with dinner and a movie to see how it goes. It’s been so long since I’ve been on a proper date, don’t be surprised if I text you guys for help,” she jokes.

Navy is perfect, and if Briggs can’t see that, then he’s not worthy of her.

“Fuck him if he can’t see how special you are.”

I didn’t mean to say that out loud but she needs to hear it. Navy needs no coaching or help. All she needs to do is be herself and I’m confident he will fall at her feet.

The same way I did.

A subtle gasp leaves Navy’s lips, and I can tell my impulsive response shocked her. “Right,” she says, exhaling deeply and cutting me a look.

“It’s true.” Gus and King both chime in together before Mack joins in. “Yep. You don’t need us, Navs.”

A look similar to appreciation crosses her face in response to them. “Thank you.” Navy focuses solely on Gus, Mack, and Kingston—avoiding me altogether.

I fucked up somehow. Add it to my list.

There’s an edge of agitation to her tone. I’m trying to be kind.

I send King a silent thank you for contributing to my outburst at the perfect time, but I can see the notion was not lost on Navy.

She saw it and felt the meaning behind it.

We nod in response, and I absentmindedly try to move on from my obvious word vomit.

Navy moves to grab a towel from the rack beside her. “Well, I should probably head inside and start getting ready. Thanks for all your help today, guys.” She sends Gus, King, and Mack a small smile before turning her attention to me. “See you.”

I nod. “Thank you again.” Showing my appreciation for the flowers even if she doesn’t want to hear it. “Marigolds were my mom’s favorite.”

She halts her departure and nods without facing me, showing her acknowledgment.

I finally turn at the sound of her soft footsteps retreating as she walks through the back doors and into the house to get ready for her date—with a man who will never be me.