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NAVY

I tiptoe through the foyer, hoping not to wake anyone in the house.

It’s nearing eleven and all lights are off except for the diffuser I left running in the kitchen. The diffuser gives off a soft glow, providing visibility to see my way around without turning on any harsh lights.

I wasn’t planning on being out this late.

Time passed quickly, and before Briggs and I knew it, we were sitting at the restaurant for nearly four hours talking—forgetting about seeing a movie altogether.

It was a good night.

My mind feels like complete and utter mush, unable to process much of how I’m feeling. I need to sleep. Then, tomorrow, I’ll evaluate and let myself come to terms with how I’m developing feelings for a man who isn’t Bodhi St. James.

A hot shower and my bed call to me.

I hang my purse on the hook by the coat closet, and I’m instantly transported to a couple of hours ago when Bodhi had me pressed against the door, his large frame caging me in.

I had never been so pissed off and enamored all at the same time.

I still cannot believe the audacity that took over him.

In Fiji, Bodhi said he didn’t want me, but now thinks he can tell me how to dress and proceeds to act like he owns me.

It’s incredibly frustrating and confusing. Also, I don’t deserve that.

If he wants to be fickle, let him do it with another woman who isn’t me.

Before heading upstairs, I grab a water bottle from the fridge and confirm I locked the front door before I’m stopped short by a shriek of panic piercing the air.

What was that?

The hairs on my neck rise at the terrifying sound, and it takes me a second to realize it’s coming from close by.

My mind goes into fight or flight mode, preparing for the worst.

“Oh god, no. No, no, no,” a manly voice yells in panic.

Bodhi?

I’d know his deep voice anywhere.

With long strides, I drop my water and reach his sleeping form on the white sectional couch.

My heart drops to the pit of my stomach at the sight of Bodhi tossing and turning, visible agony rippling through him. I hesitate to touch him—not wanting to startle him and make it worse.

“I can’t breathe. Help! Somebody help! Where is she? Where is she?” Bodhi screams through heavy breaths, tearing at the collar of his shirt while sweat pours down his face from the forcefulness of his tossing.

My body trembles as if I’m experiencing the terror with him.

He’s having a nightmare—a really fucking bad one.

He’s searching for a woman in his dreams. But who? She’s obviously someone he cares for or once cared for very much, enough to be buried deep in his nightmares.

All of the questions I once had about Bodhi going through something traumatic are now confirmed. I don’t know what this quiet and sheltered, yet vulnerable man has gone through, but the sounds of his screams tell me it’s heavy.

I decide I can’t just sit here and watch his body convulse in pain without doing something—anything to help him. I need to approach him carefully to avoid an unconscious retaliation.

Bodhi’s heavy breaths begin to stabilize as his tremors subside; I take this as my sign to reach out. Moving as gently and quietly as possible, I run my hand from his forehead to his thick hair and back again—soothing him carefully.

He steals my focus as a stream of tears falls down my face.

As much as Bodhi and I have had our differences, I care for him deeply.

Before I developed feelings for him, he became my best friend.

My friendship with him differed from mine with Kodi or even Tenley.

Bodhi is a listener. He lends an ear and only offers advice if asked. I never knew how much I needed that—how much venting without a solution to follow helped me.

And then Fiji fucked it all up for us.

Either way, I’d sell my soul never to have to witness him writhing in this kind of pain again. His demons take over in the dark, and it’s a real-life tragedy for a man with the most beautiful heart.

A heart he prefers to keep hidden. A heart I can only wish he gave me unlimited access to.

My eyes find him cautiously as I comfort him. The sight of a lone tear trickles down the softness of Bodhi’s cheek.

My heart stammers slightly, noticing how the isolated tear broke through when our bodies touched.

We’ve both cried with each other, yet we’re both too stubborn to let the other see it.

Bodhi is tortured and distant, yet I’ve never wanted to connect with another human so badly in my entire life.

“B…Hey, it’s me. You’re safe,” I whisper in his ear.

He shifts but makes no effort to move.

Leaving his side, I rush to get a wet washcloth to cool him off and help relax him enough to hopefully go back to sleep peacefully.

Placing the cloth on his forehead, I resume my motion.

I’m not sure why, but the song my mom once sang to me as a little girl comes to mind. I perpetually had nightmares. Most likely minuscule ones that felt substantial at the time.

I remember her songs making me instantly feel protected and no longer alone.

I want Bodhi to sense I’m here and fall back asleep without another haunting thought—so I sing to him.

“Bad dreams, bad dreams, go away. Good dreams, good dreams, here to stay. Bad dreams, bad dreams, go away. Good dreams, good dreams, here to stay.”

My mind tells me to hate him, but my heart is confident enough to win the battle.

I can’t hold back my tears. What is so wrong with me that Bodhi would hurt me so badly? Why am I never good enough?

Will I ever be enough for someone?

I only want to be loved. Is that so much to ask?

I can’t not care for him. But I need to keep in place the boundaries I’ve created—actually, that he created. As much as I don’t want to, I know I need to make more significant efforts to get over him, or else I’ll find myself in an unhealthy cycle while he remains careless.

I never saw you that way… I recall him saying, and reliving it in my head feels like another gut punch.

Going on the date with Briggs tonight was a step in the right direction.

I owe it to myself and the man who wined and dined me tonight, as predicted, and seems admirably interested.

That is the kind of man I need to focus my attention on.

I’ll start tomorrow—as soon as I know Bodhi is okay.

Bodhi’s stable breathing tells me the nightmare has subsided, and he’s finally relaxed. Good.

Now, I can clean up from the night and get some sleep myself.

I toss the washcloth in the laundry room before heading to my room for the night.

I yawn to myself. You’d think I’m not used to staying up this late, but I am. The gravity of dating is exhausting. Although it was a great date, starting from the “get to know each other” stage takes a lot out of you.

I’ve never had to do that before.

My thoughts are too deep for the level of sleep deprivation I feel right now. A hot shower should relax and put me into a comatose sleep.

“Navy,” I hear Bodhi whisper as I’m halfway up the stairs.

I stop my climb and turn to him without a word.

His hazy eyes are on me; the sleepiness in them is heavy, but he’s still otherworldly handsome.

The house is silent, making even the quietest sound audible to the two of us.

“You called me B. I’ve missed it,” Bodhi admits in a soft whisper.

My heart beats out of my chest.

I was hoping he didn’t hear that.

I’ve intentionally not called him the more than friendly word I once associated with him.

It feels too personal now.

But watching him fight through a nightmare, nothing else came out.

I nod in still silence, choosing not to verbalize how I feel.

Now isn’t the time. I don’t think it ever really will be. He doesn’t need to know that it makes me sad to hear him say he missed something about me to the point I feel physically ill.

I’m sick over the loss of someone I never truly had.

“Thank you,” Bodhi whispers loud enough to hear him.

I’m not sure which he’s thanking me for: for calling him B or caring for him in a vulnerable moment.

I don’t need to know.

It’s better that way. Refusing to acknowledge something that feels so intimate is the best way I can ensure Bodhi stays in the friend zone.

Exactly where he put us to begin with.