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  “You’re hungry?” he says.

  I nod and smile. “I missed lunch.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you brought us dinner, then, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” I sit up and climb over his legs as he rolls over. He finally gets up and sits on the edge of his bed, taking one of the plates.

  “Thank you,” he says, and I look at him questioningly. “For this, but mostly for realizing the truth. I was contemplating leaving tonight after everyone went to bed.”

  My heart falls, knowing I put doubt in his mind. “Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t listen to you when you told me to go away.”

  “Yeah, good thing.” But Bodhi’s words don’t match the tone of his voice. He’s not okay. Fear starts to set in that the damage I did can’t be undone. I can’t risk staying in his room tonight, and there is no way he can stay with me in my apartment. There’s only one solution.

  “I want you to tell Dr. Rosenberg that you don’t feel well.”

  “Why would I do that?” he asks.

  “Because she’ll put you in a different room over in the medical area, and that means I can stay in there as long as I want.”

  “You want to spend the night with me?”

  I nod as I take a bite of my food. “I do, but we can’t do it here.”

  “We can’t do it in there either. What, are you going to crawl into my bed?”

  I laugh and shake my head. “No, I’ll sleep in the chair next to your bed.”

  Bodhi studies me for a moment before he smiles. “I’ll try to convince her.” He winks, causing my heart to skip.

  We finish our dinner, chatting about what life is like for him outside of Serenity Springs, and he tells me that he’s not excited about his parents coming in tomorrow. He says that right now things are good with his dad, but he fears that after tomorrow’s meeting with Dr. Rosenberg and his parents, they’ll brush aside his concerns.

  Once we finish, I take the dishes back to the cafeteria and hunt down Dr. Rosenberg to let her know that Bodhi isn’t feeling well. As I predicted, she rushes to his room, and he somehow convinces her that he’s in a lot of pain. She has an orderly wheel him down to the medical ward, and because it’s almost time for her to leave, she asks me to check in on him throughout the night, which I happily agree to.

  After everyone goes to bed, I go into his room and pull the chair up next to his bed. At first he wants to make out, but I convince him to let me read to him. There’s something sensual about watching him listen to me read as he holds my hand.

  Thirteen

  Bodhi

  I have a session with Dr. Rosenberg and my parents today. I would much rather be in the medical ward with Kim reading to me, but here I am sitting in Dr. Gordon’s office with Dr. Rosenberg, waiting for my parents to arrive, because I can’t stand to be in Dr. Rosenberg’s office. Just the thought of going in there freaks me out.

  When my parents walk in, we hug and take our respective seats. I don’t know how they feel about being securitized, but if it’s part of my healing process, it has to be done.

  “Good afternoon. I’m Dr. Rosenberg. I have been treating Bodhi since his arrival at Serenity Springs and have gotten to know him pretty well over the past few weeks.”

  Both my parents murmur a greeting. My mom sits with her hands neatly folded in her lap, while my dad sits as if he’s talking to one of his producers. He’s probably treating this like a business meeting.

  “One of the avenues we like to explore during therapy is home life.”

  “Bodhi has a great life,” my dad interrupts, but Dr. Rosenberg doesn’t miss a beat, even though I’m giving her the I-told-you-so look.

  “No one is saying otherwise, Mr. McKnight. During therapy we pinpoint and identify triggers. I called you both here today because Bodhi needs to feel safe when he tells you how he feels and he needs for you to listen. Go ahead, Bodhi.”

  “I don’t understand,” Mom says to Dr. Rosenberg before I can speak. “Are you saying we caused Bodhi’s drug problem?”

  I sigh deeply.

  “No one is saying that, Mom. What Dr. Rosenberg means is that since I’m moving home after I’m out of here, we, as a family, need to eliminate any potential triggers, so I don’t relapse.”

  “I guess I don’t know why we’re here,” she says again as she crosses her legs.

  “You’re here because you were shitty parents, that’s why,” I shout in a fit of anger. “You’re here because I did not have a normal childhood. While you were working all the damn time, I was raised by nannies, not you. You’re here because both of you are triggers.”

  “You’re saying your mother and I are responsible for your drug use?”

  “Dad, will you listen for one minute? What I’m saying is that instead of being parents, you put work ahead of nurturing your child.”

  I grab at my head and bend over to ward off the impending headache. “I have a lot of anger toward you both. I hear all these amazing stories about how my friends’ parents played catch with them in the yard or took them to football games. We never did that. I know you provided well for me, but the part where you’re supposed to love me feels empty. I know you’ve been here for me since all this shit went down, but part of me thinks you did that to ward off the negative press.

  “You have to understand,” I tell them, “that I grew up so fast. I started using pot at fifteen, drinking even earlier. I was fourteen when I had sex for the first time. All of this was happening under your roof, and you didn’t have a clue. I missed my chance at being a kid because no one gave a shit about what I was doing. Kids need structure, they need a path. I was given a credit card and a chauffeur.”

  I lean back in my chair, emotionally exhausted. I didn’t want to have this conversation, and now that I’ve said my piece, I feel like a complete shit. Did I miss out on a lot? Yeah, I did. Does it define who I am? Apparently it does.

  I look at Dr. Rosenberg and shake my head. “I don’t care what you say,” I tell her. “This doesn’t help my recovery.” I throw my hands up in the air, exasperated.

  “I . . . I don’t know what to say.” The quaver in my mother’s voice tells me she’s upset. She’s never liked confrontation.

  My dad is silent. I look over at him and can tell he’s stewing. He’s gnawing on his lower lip and likely listing the reasons my fucked-up life is my own fault. He may not say it here, but I suspect he will when I go home in a week. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat.

  “I can see where Bodhi is coming from,” he says to Dr. Rosenberg, much to my surprise. “My wife and I work a lot, and we’re often out of town. I’m the first to admit that I have failed Bodhi. However, when I was informed that my son was using drugs, I took the necessary steps to get him the help he needs. Bodhi is an adult and needs to learn to ask for help, or speak up when something is a problem for him. He’s never done that.

  “My wife and I will make sure that these triggers won’t be causing him any harm. He’s my son, and the last thing I want is for him to go back to the drugs.”

  “What changes will be made?” Dr. Rosenberg asks.

  “I’m not sure. I mean, I can’t go back in time to change the past. If I could, I would definitely change how I parented him. But we can do something about the future . . . providing he wants to make the change.”

  “I do,” I tell him.

  Dad smiles.

  “Dr. Rosenberg,” Dad says to her, “I can sit here all day and apologize for our lack of parenting, but that isn’t going to make Bodhi any better. He needs to focus on tomorrow and the next day. If there is a trigger, he needs to speak up so we can remove it and focus on his health. Going back over the past isn’t going to fix anything. We’re here now for our son, and that’s what’s important.” He grabs my mom’s hand.

  I glance at Dr. Rosenberg. She looks stunned.

  “I was a horrible mother,” my mom begins, her voice rough. “When he was born I never wanted to let him go, but I couldn�
�t work with him on the set. Nowadays, children are everywhere, but back then things were different, and I missed the opportunity to be a real mom to him.”

  I wipe away the tears that are falling from my eyes. I reach over and take her hand in mine, squeezing it tightly. She squeezes back.

  “Bodhi, what can your parents do to help you transition to living at home?”

  I knew this question would be coming, and I thought I knew the answer. But now I think the real answer is something different.

  “Weekly dinners, and we never go a month without spending time together as a family. We’re all busy, me included, and it wouldn’t be fair to my mom to make her lose out on her movie roles. If my dad is off, we’ll fly to her. I’ll make it work with my manager.”

  “I’d like that,” Mom says.

  “Very much,” Dad adds.

  We spend another ten minutes talking with Dr. Rosenberg before she rises to signal the end of the session. I offer to give my parents a tour of the grounds, take them out to the stable, but they decline. I get it. While I’m comfortable here, they’re not.

  I walk them toward the entrance and give them both long, lingering hugs. They tell me they’ll see me next week, when they come to pick me up.

  Pick me up. Words have never felt so good in my head. I’ll be out of here in a week, barring any unforeseen setbacks.

  Now I have to ensure that Kim will be coming with me, or at least agreeing to see me outside of here.

  Fourteen

  Bodhi

  This is it—my last group session. We’re sitting outside in the shade of some trees. If I’d been expecting something to mark the occasion, I would be totally depressed right now. Dr. Rosenberg hasn’t said a thing about me leaving today, and neither has Kim. I guess deep down I thought Dr. Rosenberg would at least announce in group that today is my last day, that I’m graduating from the program. But nothing.

  With Kim I’m hoping her silence is because she’s upset or busy and not because she doesn’t like goodbyes. I’ve never had a goodbye that has been meaningful. With my parents, they were always leaving, and it was something I was used to. Leaving Kimberly, though . . . I’m not sure how well I’m going to be able to cope with that.

  I have never spent so much time with one person. Almost every day for the past thirty days I have seen her and talked with her about life, and for the past three weeks I’ve snuck into closets, the woods, and even behind the shed to be with her, to hold and kiss her.

  But I have yet to find the words to tell her how I feel or let her know that I want to be with her when I leave Serenity Springs, that my life won’t be the same without her in it. Leaving tonight is not an option unless I know I’m going to see her, unless I know that someday very soon she’ll be walking hand in hand with me where the world can see that I’ve fallen for her. The drive from Los Angeles to San Diego isn’t that bad and one I can easily make to accommodate her schedule.

  Since Kimberly introduced me to the guitar, I’ve been practicing. It’s not much, but I’m trying to master the two chords she taught me. One of the changes I want to make going forward is to learn the instrument so I can contribute to Virtuous Paradox more. I think that when I tell Carson, he’ll be excited and want to teach me. I’ll be working with a voice coach too, because of something Dr. Rosenberg said in our last group session about being responsible for your surroundings. I know she was talking about drugs and alcohol, but I’m trying to apply it to my career as well. I already know it’s going to be a struggle to separate myself from the after-parties, because those are required for the job. I can already see myself sitting by the door with water in my hand, ready to make a quick exit.

  I’m at Serenity Springs not because of booze but for coke. No one has said that I can’t drink, but I feel like alcohol and drugs go hand in hand for me. If I have too many drinks, I may crave coke or get so blitzed out of my mind that I do it. I’m not saying I’m cured. I’m not saying I never think about the exhilaration I get from snorting. I’m saying that my life is important and there are things I want to do with it. Drugs don’t mix with that.

  Kimberly walks by our group session and our eyes meet. I can’t even begin to describe what the sight of her does to me. Just the vision of her blond hair and blue eyes stirs my insides, and when she’s near or we’re touching, it feels as if she’s burning herself into my being. The feeling is indescribable. She alone has been worth the stint in rehab.

  When she’s out of sight I focus my attention on Dr. Rosenberg, who says we’re going to talk about our relationships waiting for us back home and the repairs we have to do. My parents have been here and we even had that session together, so we’re good. Brayden and Carson, as far as I know, don’t have a clue where I am, although I’ll probably tell them. The only other person I need to see is Aspen, but I’m not strong enough for that yet. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hide from her, but I’m going to try. Being at my parents’ will help, though.

  “If you were single when you arrived, it’s better to stay single for a while when you return home.” Dr. Rosenberg’s statement catches me off guard. I know there’s no way I heard her correctly. Why would we stay single?

  “I’m sorry, but can you explain your statement?” I say, only to have everyone turn and look at me.

  “It’s simple, Bodhi. Even though you’re no longer here, the healing process isn’t done. Let’s take you, for example. When you leave, you’ll be returning to work, which is a high-stress job with long hours. It’s that stress and workload that had you looking for help in the first place. You’ll need to learn to function with a clean mind and sense of being, and in order to do that you should refrain from getting involved in a relationship.”

  “But what if I like someone and want to date them?”

  “Were you dating before you arrived at Serenity Springs?”

  I shake my head. “No, I wasn’t, but I’m hoping things will change starting tomorrow.”

  Dr. Rosenberg sits back in her chair and looks at each member of the group before finally setting her eyes on me. “New relationships can be stressful. There are expectations and demands when everything is new. Those can be triggers, and for that reason I don’t recommend them, especially in your situation, Bodhi.”

  And there it is, my doom, because standing right behind her is Kimberly, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. She recovers quickly, but not before I see her features change from shock to sorrow. I dig into the ground and grab clumps of earth to keep from calling out to her. I should get up and chase her, tell her that I don’t give a shit about what Dr. Rosenberg says because the way Kim makes me feel is a million times better than any drug.

  I become antsy, waiting for our session to be over. Unfortunately, today seems to be the day when everyone wants to fucking share. My eyes keep wandering, trying to catch a glimpse of Kimberly. The first place I’m going to look is her office, and then I’ll try her apartment, even though I haven’t been back there since our fateful day in the closet. After that I don’t know where to look, because honestly, she knows more about me than I do about her, and that is something I need to rectify the moment I’m out of here. Not to mention that she knows this property better than I do, plus she has a car and could leave.

  Would she leave and not say goodbye? My heart tells me no, but after what I just witnessed I’m not so sure. She feels something for me. I know she does. I can tell by the way she brushes her hand against mine when she thinks no one is looking or by the way she has spent every day with me. I can tell by the way she kisses me, the way she touches me. You don’t do that with someone you don’t have feelings for.

  Do you?

  Fuck, I used to. I’ve treated so many women like shit just to get laid. Maybe that is what I have to repair when I get back to L.A.—sit down and write each one of them a letter explaining how sorry I am for being such a douche.

  Dr. Rosenberg calls an end to the session, and I am up and walking briskly toward the door. She c
alls my name, but I ignore her. There isn’t anything she can say to me that will change how I feel. Kimberly and I deserve a chance outside these walls to see if what we have is real. That’s all I want—one chance to be someone that she can count on, since she’s been mine for the month. I want to be able to show her that I can take care of her and not be this stupid, ignorant, pompous ass who thinks the world is his for the taking.

  I hesitate at Kimberly’s office door, praying she’s in there. I knock twice before opening the door. She has an open-door policy, and if she wasn’t working today, her door would be locked.

  Except she’s not sitting at her desk when I step in. And she’s not waiting for me in the closet—I had to check, just in case. I knock on the door that leads to her apartment, and when she doesn’t answer, I try the knob. It doesn’t open. Not that I expected it to, but I’d hoped. I rack my brain, trying to come up with an idea of where she could be before I lose my shit and end up confined to a room with another needle in my arm.

  I pull my hair in aggravation. I want to kick and destroy everything in sight, but I refrain. Today is my last day. I don’t need to give them an excuse to keep me.

  The woods.

  I walk briskly toward the exit that will lead to the woods where we made out. There are a few employees hanging around, so I can’t take off at a full sprint. The last thing I need is for someone to see me running and think I’m doing something I shouldn’t be. I need for my last day to be today, regardless.

  When I get to the edge of the clearing and step onto the dirt path that will lead me to our spot, I look back over my shoulder to see if anyone is watching me or coming my way. Confident that I’m alone, I continue down the path, holding my breath with each step I take. She has to be here. I can’t leave Serenity Springs without saying goodbye. I step out into the clearing and find her sitting there.