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  “What you’re doing isn’t recreational, Bodhi.”

  “Come on, Dad. I’m not doing anything that other people aren’t doing.” I glance at my now closed door, wishing Aspen was in here too. Instead she’s rushing down the hall with her drug bag over her shoulder, leaving. Fucking great.

  Dad sighs and picks up a folder that is sitting on the table. He leafs through the contents and hands me a stack of photos. I thumb through the images while my stomach turns. In front of me, in color, are pictures of me from the bar and other places I’ve been hanging out.

  I throw them back on the table and shrug. “So what? I went to a few parties.”

  My dad jumps up and yells at me, “Is that all you have to say?”

  The one person in the room that I don’t know rises more slowly from the couch and stands next to him, placing his hand on his shoulder.

  “Let me try, Roger. Bodhi, I’m Dr. Gordon. I’ve been a friend of your father’s for a while, and he, along with your mother and Ms. Van Zandt, have grown concerned for your health.”

  “I don’t need help. I’m not addicted.”

  “When’s the last time you got high?” the doctor asks. I lean back in the chair and ignore him. I don’t know him and I don’t have to answer his questions.

  “Bodhi, you need to answer him,” Rebel says. “Your spot with Virtuous Paradox hangs in the balance. You’ve known from the beginning that I won’t tolerate this type of behavior.”

  “Fuck you all,” I yell, getting up. “I’m an adult, and if I want to get high, I can.”

  My father pushes me down in the chair and looks me in the eyes. “You’re high right now.”

  I shake my head, hoping he’ll buy the lie.

  “He is, Roger. That’s what I caught him doing when I walked into his room.”

  “Fucking bitch,” I mutter as I look away from my father.

  “Can you give us a minute? I’d like to talk to my son, alone.”

  It takes only a second for the room to clear. Not that they’ve gone far; they’re probably just down the hall and can hear whatever he says.

  He pulls another chair over and sits down, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Rebel called. She’s been concerned for a while, but she couldn’t come out and accuse you of using until she saw you do it. It’s taken me some time to accept that you might be in trouble, but after witnessing what I did, I’m here to help. When’s the last time you used?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m not a fool, Bodhi. I’ve been in this business long enough to know an addict when I see one. So, let me ask you again. When was the last time you used?”

  I pause, trying to think of an excuse to counter his suspicions, but the look on his face tells me I’m fighting a losing battle.

  “Right before you got here.”

  “And before that?”

  I close my eyes and wish to hell that I wasn’t having this conversation with my father. He might not always have been around when I needed him, but he’s my dad and I respect him. I’m just happy my mom isn’t here to witness this.

  “I can’t remember the last time I was sober.” Once the words are out of my mouth I feel relief, but that is quickly washed away as my brain starts telling me I need more coke so I don’t have to feel like a failure.

  “Bodhi, what have you gotten yourself into?”

  “I don’t know, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  I feel something wet dripping from my nose. I swipe at it, only to find a red streak on my hand. I wipe again, but there’s more blood, and before I know it, it’s dripping down my face and landing on my bare chest.

  My dad hands me his hanky, only for it to become soaked with blood almost immediately.

  With the help of my father, I make it to the bathroom and sit on the toilet so he can help stop my nosebleed. He isn’t saying much, but I’m expecting him to rip into me any second. I tilt my head back and immediately gag on the blood that is dripping down my throat; I have to hurry over to the sink to spit it out. And right beside me is my dad, running the water so I don’t have to see the blood accumulate in the sink.

  “Put this up your nose.” He hands me a rolled wad of tissue that I cram up there, hoping to stop the bleeding. I make the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror, and what I see there is a drug-addicted deadbeat who used a drug that ate away his nasal cavity. That alone should be enough to make me quit, but it’s not. If there was a line to take, I’d do it right now just so I could forget all the fuckery that is happening.

  I stare at the guy I am now, with my sunken cheeks, broken blood vessels in my face, and a wad of red-tinted toilet paper up my nose, and wonder how I got here so fast. It doesn’t take much, that’s for sure. Tears fall from my eyes and a rush of hatred comes over me. I hate myself. I hate my life. I cry while I look at the person I am with my dad standing behind me, his hand on my shoulder, not saying a word. He should yell, scream, and tell me how much of a loser I am.

  My father has to tear me away from the mirror. I go, unwillingly, only because I need to torture myself. He closes the door to the bathroom and leans up against the wall.

  “Look at me, Bodhi,” he demands.

  I shake my head, not wanting him to see me like this anymore. The tears haven’t stopped and I’m nothing but a blubbering mess.

  “Bodhi?”

  “I can’t,” I tell him through sobs. “I can’t.”

  He kneels in front of me, placing his hands on my forearms. “Bodhi, look at me,” he says again, this time softer. I do as he asks, expecting to see disappointment and rage, but what I see is only hurt. “What is it that you’re doing, son? Let me help you.”

  I shake my head again, not wanting to tell my dad how stupid I’ve been, but the words come tumbling out before I can stop them. “Cocaine.”

  “Is that it?”

  My dad pulls me into his arms, not caring about his thousand-dollar suit getting ruined with bloodstains. He holds me to his chest, cradling my head while I cry into his shoulder.

  “I don’t know whether to hug you or kick your ass for being so stupid,” he says. “The man I brought with me, he’s a doctor, a friend of mine. He owns a facility in San Diego. You’re going to check in tomorrow for thirty days.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can and you will. I’m driving you there. Get into the shower and clean up.” He says it so matter-of-factly that I feel like I have no say in my life. He takes one look at me and sighs before leaving me alone on the toilet. The irony isn’t lost on me how others have died sitting on their throne.

  As soon as the door is shut, I find a little strength and haul my ass into the shower. I want to burn the pants I’m taking off. Stained with my own blood, they mock my carelessness. I pull the toilet paper out of my nostril and pray that the bleeding has stopped; if it hasn’t, at least being in the shower is better than anything else. I gently run my hand under my nose and pull my hand back to see that it’s clear. A sigh of relief washes over me, but that does nothing to calm the storm brewing inside. I fucked up, and now I’m going to pay the price.

  When I get out of the shower, my soiled pants are gone and there’s a fresh set waiting for me on the counter. I don’t know who did this for me, but I’m grateful. I dry off as fast as I can so I can find out what my fate is.

  I step out into my bedroom to find my dad and Rebel deep in conversation. When she sees me, her expression is unreadable. I have no doubt she’s disgusted by me and probably ready to eliminate me from the group. It’s not like she needs me for anything.

  “I’m giving you all another month off,” she says at last. “What you do in that month is up to you, but I suggest you get help, because I won’t have you fucking up Virtuous Paradox.”

  I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop and wondering what my father said to her. I could ask him, but he’ll tell me it’s business, which means it’s none of mine.

  “Everything is
packed,” my dad tells me.

  “What if I hate it?”

  “Then you can leave. But Bodhi, if you leave, I will cut you off and you will no longer be welcome in my home.”

  His words stab me in the heart and rip my guts out. I know he means every single one of them too.

  Two

  Bodhi

  “Where are we?”

  The last thing I remember is rummaging through my dresser looking for cocaine while my dad dealt with an out-of-control Aspen. He was kicking her out of my apartment, and she was fighting him every step of the way. I don’t blame her, or him, really; all I wanted was for the noise to fucking stop. I searched my drawers, frantically looking for a fix, and that’s when it truly hit me—I was an addict, and either I was going to get high to cope with Aspen’s screaming or I was going to get help.

  It was my dad yelling at me that caught my attention, but it was the look in Aspen’s eyes—the one that was encouraging me to get high—that snapped me out of my trance. I closed the dresser drawer and told Aspen to get her shit out of my apartment. More screaming ensued, but we left her there to deal with my father’s security team.

  When we pulled into my parents’ driveway I hesitated. The last person I wanted to see was my mother. She’d never understand.

  “She’s out of town” was all Dad said.

  I tried to sleep in the bed that he shares with my mother, but sleep evaded me. He sat there and watched me detox, holding the puke bucket for me and helping me change my soiled clothes. All things a father should never have to do for his adult son.

  “Almost there,” my dad tells me now as I work the kink out of my neck. I must’ve fallen asleep against the window. This is the longest I’ve slept in a month, and coming down from my high is really starting to affect me. There’s an ache inside me that I can’t explain. It itches. I can’t reach the itch through my skin, even though I’m trying. My nails dig into my flesh, drawing blood. The pain is a relief and takes my attention away from whatever is growing inside me. It gets my mind off the drugs my body is craving, but only temporarily.

  “Stop that.” My dad slaps my hand away, but I go back to picking my at skin, unable to stop. He doesn’t get it. If I don’t get something into my system, I’m going to start freaking out.

  “We’re pulling into the ranch now,” he says as my legs start to bounce up and down. The shakes are back. I thought I had kicked those last night; apparently my body is a liar and wants me to go through that again.

  “Dad, I don’t know if I can do this,” I grit out, bent over at the waist as I try not to hurl all over the floorboard of his Benz.

  The car comes to a halt and his hand rests reassuringly on my leg, stilling it for the time being. “That’s the drugs talking. It’s going to take you some time to get over the urges, but that’s what Bruce is here for. He’ll help.”

  I’m beyond help. Thirty days isn’t going to be enough, but that’s the maximum time I have before the media starts asking questions. Brayden and Carson will be seen out in public, and we’re rarely apart. It’s part of the deal with Rebel: always be seen together. For a month they’re going to have to figure shit out without me and keep my name clean and out of the press.

  My car door opens and hands are there to help me out. I’m an able-bodied man, but my ass is set down in a wheelchair because my body is withering from the pain. I couldn’t walk right now, even if I tried.

  “Roger, sorry we meet again under these circumstances.” The voice is that of Dr. Gordon. My eyes are closed, my teeth are biting into my lips, and my stomach is rolling, but I’d know that voice anywhere. Even after one meeting, it’s burned into my subconscious.

  “I appreciate your help yesterday and for taking Bodhi on such short notice.”

  “It’s why we’re here. Let me tell you a bit about Serenity Springs, Bodhi. Here at the ranch we try to make everyone feel like they’re at home, all while providing supervision. The grounds are well over seven hundred acres, featuring pristine valleys, natural ponds, wildlife, and hiking trails that we use for therapeutic purposes. Most of the staff live here to make sure the patients are well taken care of if a need arises.”

  Dr. Gordon continues speaking, but my eyes are focused on the woman walking toward us. Fuck my life for being off my game and unable to make eye contact with her.

  “Let me introduce you to my daughter, Kimberly. Kim works one-on-one with patients. She makes sure they eat, shower, get to therapy, and have someone to talk to. Kimberly is going to be with you, Bodhi, for the duration of your stay. She’s going to be your friend, someone you can trust. We found that patients who are here for only thirty days do better when they have someone to talk to who isn’t necessarily a clinician.”

  I try to look up, but my neck hurts too badly to move. I can’t even imagine what she’s thinking right now. Probably Look at Bodhi McKnight—he’s a fucking loser. I wave, but that’s all I can muster. If I were high, things would be different. I’d cock my head, look her up and down, and tell her with my eyes exactly what I want from her. But I’m not high. I’m fucking dying from the pain, everything hurts, and I’m as useless as newborn. In my book, I’m fucking pathetic. And I did this to myself.

  “Kimberly, why don’t you take Bodhi inside and get him settled. Roger and I are going to chat a bit about his care.”

  “Sure thing, Daddy.”

  Daddy? She calls him Daddy? This time I fight the pain and look at the woman coming toward me. My tongue swells as the prettiest woman I have ever laid my baby blues on saunters toward me wearing a pair of those stupid Daisy Duke shorts and Chuck Taylor sneakers. I look down at my ratty Chucks and wish I was wearing something else.

  “I’m Kim,” she says in a voice that makes my insides twist even more than they already are. She doesn’t offer to shake my hand, or let me kiss the back of hers. Instead she tosses my bag into my lap and pushes my old-man wheelchair toward the brick building. The closer the door looms, the more I fear what is on the other side of it.

  “Stop,” I say, trying to get my feet to the ground to halt the momentum of the wheelchair.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I need my dad.” The words tumble out of my mouth, shaky and embarrassing. What grown-ass man calls for his daddy? Me, apparently.

  She turns me around so I can see him standing there in the parking lot with Dr. Gordon. “Dad,” I call out weakly, my voice nothing like it should be. God, I feel pitiful.

  He waves and tells me he’ll see me later, which, oddly enough, gives me a sense of calm. Before she can turn me back around, I slap at my legs and my arms, batting at the bugs around my head.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  “The bugs. They’re buzzing everywhere.”

  “There are no bugs, Bodhi,” she says, pushing me faster toward the door. “You’re hallucinating.”

  “I’m what?”

  “It’s part of the detox,” she says, maneuvering me into the building. “You’re seeing and even sensing things that aren’t there. Addiction is hard to combat, and your body enjoys the feeling too much to let it go, so it creates this realm to make you think something is wrong. Your body wants the drugs, and you want to make the hallucinations go away. Your body wins when you feed it. You lose because now your addiction is worse.”

  “I don’t think I needed to know all of that.”

  “Right.” She continues to push me down the hall, saying hi to the people passing by. “Here at Serenity Springs everything is laid back and you move at your own pace. Chores are assigned daily, and as long as things get done by the end of the day, my dad or Dr. Rosenberg won’t say much. This is a stress-free environment, and the staff is here to help you overcome whatever it is that brought you here.”

  “Coke,” I blurt out.

  “Okay, so you’re addicted to coke. We can help you with that.” She continues pushing me down the hall, not bothered by the fact that I have a problem. Why should she be? Celebrity addiction
problems are probably a dime a dozen.

  We stop at a window that opens up to an office. A man comes over to greet her, and she hands him my bag over the counter.

  “Everything gets checked before we put it in your room. Any mail you receive will also come through here to make sure your friends aren’t trying to hurt your recovery.”

  I don’t say anything. The only person who would sneak me some contraband would be Aspen, and because my dad took my cellphone from me, I can’t even tell her where I am.

  “You should know that there are no felons here or anyone with a criminal record. Everyone is here of their own accord and is free to leave when they want. You can also stay past thirty days if you’re not ready to leave.”

  “Do people stay?”

  She nods without turning around. “Yes, a few stay longer, and some return when their demons come back to haunt them. We have an open-door policy here.” We go down another hallway, and then Kim opens a door, flipping on the light switch and pushing me into the room. I look around the stark room with its four white walls and a bed with a nightstand. Nothing else.

  Kimberly steps in front of me and sits on my bed, leaving me nothing to look at except her. She brightens this room like a piece of commissioned art, and I’m struck by how beautiful and flawless she is. Her eyes are just as blue as mine, if not brighter, and when she talks, her face lights up as if every word she’s saying is the happiest one she’s ever heard.

  “This will be your room. You have a session with Dr. Rosenberg at five, dinner at six, and lights-out at ten.”

  I wonder what I’ll do after my session and before bed. It’s the downtime that will get me in trouble.

  “I’ll come get you and take you over to dinner tonight,” she continues. “Before your session with Dr. Rosenberg, we’ll take a quick tour and go over the rules.”

  “Right, the rules.”

  Kimberly places her hand on my arm, and it burns where she’s touching me. It takes me a moment to register the feeling as something good. “Bodhi, we’re here to help. If you’re bored and need someone to talk to, there is someone always available.”