Chapter 66: Smart Girls Combust

I love this song, Bulletproof Weeks by Matt Nathanson. I think in the love scene to follow you will maybe understand why I chose it. I think the only place Bodie feels bulletproof--safe, sure of himself--is in Marley's arms...

Marley

Three Weeks Later

The morning light, or maybe Bodie's wakefulness, pulls at me. I sigh as my eyelids flutter open, and I stretch into my hotel pillow. My eyes focus on Bodie's tatted bicep beside me. A pair of parallel drumsticks line his arm, wrapped in the tribal tats that ride up his shoulder and spill down his pec, encasing his Sixmob tatt.

Bodie is lying with his opposite arm tucked behind his head. He's staring at the ceiling calmly.

I trace his Sixmob tattoo. I don't know why. It's not a thing to be celebrated, but it's a part of him and I like to trace it to remind us both that I've accepted it.

Just like I've accepted that he's going to struggle with his sobriety, until Daemon and drugs and Cain Priestly are past and not present.

I think he's taking speed again. Not regularly, not for recreation, but only when he truly has nothing to put out there on the stage. Twice since he's been back from Thailand, he's gone from nearly comatose to vibrant and charismatic in half an hour. I'm pretty sure the change was not emotional but chemical.

I don't like it, but I am not devastated by this turn of events. I am a psychologist trained in addiction, and I am not naive. I knew when I signed on for this life that Bodie would likely relapse at times.

It is a very rare addict that goes from heroin to never touching another substance again in their life. There's a part of me—Dr. Watkins--that wants to stage an intervention, because I believe if I asked him, he would tell me the truth. But Jasmine keeps watching and waiting and trying to find a way to help him that lets him keep his dignity.

I know why he's taking speed. He's physically exhausted because he barely sleeps. Something happened on his trip that has resurrected Cain Priestly's ghost for him. He wakes from bad dreams. To the point that he dreads trying to sleep at all.

Right now, I don't ask him if he slept last night, because it's likely to start another argument. He's asked me over and over to get him a doctor that will prescribe him some sleeping pills, but I won't do it. I keep suggesting he try meditation, yoga, acupuncture, another analyst to talk about his dreams. I've even told him we could go back to informal therapy sessions between us, but he refuses that. He's tried some of the new-agey stuff, but he says it doesn't help. I don't think he gives it a shot.

I could get him a Hollywood doctor to prescribe him something, all right, but Kade and I have combed the literature, and there really are no safe sleeping aids to take while on methadone. It will put him at risk of severe sleep apnea. He might simply stop breathing and drift away. The thought makes me tighten my hand around his bicep.

My grip on him causes a  sexy grin to break his contemplation of the ceiling. He pulls my hand to his mouth and kisses my palm, then pushes it flatly down his eight pack. "Jasmine, if you are gonna squeeze a part of me, there are other, better, options..."

He keeps moving my hand until it glides over his velvety and very firm cock.

"What were you thinking about, looking at the ceiling, that got you this hard?" I smile, kissing up his shoulder.

He turns to face me, hoisting my right leg over his hip. "Loving you," he murmurs, kissing down my sternum. "Always...loving...you..." His mouth plants itself on my nipple and my thoughts dissolve into the ether that is us.

Always us. Only us. Supremely us.

He makes languid love to me, so slow it's nearly infuriating. An hour or a lifetime later I'm grabbing at his hips, begging him to speed .

He pulls my hands away, pinning them over my head, staring silently at me as he continues his too-slow assault on my body and the last remnants of my coherent thought.

Somehow I string together sounds.

"Please..." I gasp... "Now..."

He shakes his head at me, taking my will as he slides out, pulling me away from the edge, then returning me to the precipice as he slowly, slowly, presses across that spot inside that he will eventually spring for me, exploding my mind like a light flipped on in the darkest night.

But there's no explosion yet. Only the exquisite tension of the spring inside, coiling tight with pleasure, winding up to that outburst of ecstasy.

"Please..." I beg again.

"Shhhhh..." he mumbles, his stare never leaving mine, as if the words are a distraction to the soul-gazing he's undertaking with his body and his eyes. "Just...let...me...love...you..."

His gaze is so intense, so fantastically possessing, I just give in. I think I'm going to come hard—but I don't. I get trapped there, in the first second of free fall...suspended with too much everything rushing through me as he makes the moment last.

I let go and go and go. Floating, not exploding.

Then the world shifts as he lifts me up. I feel limp as a rag doll as he kneels, still making love to me, holding me with arms hooked around my shoulders from the back.

My orgasm is contagious because he's finally caught fire.

He blazes and I am utterly consumed.

After, he repositions us. Him, resting against the headboard, me melted to his chest, my breasts pressed against his abs, his relaxing member lying against my stomach, his legs wrapped around me. He pulls my hair off my sweaty neck and tips a water bottle into my mouth.

Some new phoenix begins to arise from my oblivion and remake herself into me.

We lay mute in the afterglow for long minutes and then the half-drunk water bottle, resting in his hand on his thigh, topples sideways. I catch it before it splashes. I inhale with gratitude.

He's asleep.

Looking at the hotel clock on the nightstand I know the most I can give him is three hours and change, if he can sleep that long. Once I'm sure he's fully under the dominion of desperately needed slumber, I wiggle out of the bottom of the bed and grab my robe, heading to the bedroom on the opposite side of the suite, knocking softly on Darius' door.

There's no answer, but I can hear him talking. Laughing in a way I'm not used to. It's almost like...like his dad's sexy chuckle.

Then I hear a girl's soft peals.

I blink, for one horrific second wondering if Darius somehow snuck a girl into our suite last night. There are lots of teenage girls at the shows...and despite my strong objections, Trace and Leed—and even Adam—still point out girls to security for backstage passes.

I told Mac I can't believe she's okay with that but she just laughed at me and told me it's all for show. She said with Skid Marcs being on tour, the Soundcrush guys had a rep to maintain. She said it's the culture of a rock concert—that the girls get a thrill from being noticed, even if when they get backstage, the guys don't do anything more than show them to the drinks and take a selfie with them before foisting them off on the crew. She told me if I had a problem with it, I should pick out more hot guys to bring backstage that would probably pair off with the fangirls, because the few fanboys she chose couldn't keep up with them all.

To my knowledge Bodie was not asking security to bring him girls back, but I was horrified last week to learn that he told John Rourke to let Darius point out a few girls for backstage.

We had words about it. Pretty much everyone  of the guys and Skid Marcs got an earful from me about modeling the objectification of women to my son. Adam is the one that gave me food for thought, a day later, when his gaze raked over me, taking in my bodycon bandeu dress beneath a slim cut leather jacket and up to my styled hair.

He crossed his arms and shook his head. "You look amazing, you know that? You wear Doc Gorgeous' clothes very well. Every person that meets you in this industry remembers you, remembers your name, remembers you work for us. It's incredibly smart, how you've branded yourself."

"Thank you," I beam, "That's exactly the point."

He narrows his eyes thoughtfully, "So do you feel objectified that I was just appreciating your...package? All of it?"

"Nooooo, not really, but we're friends..." I tried to backpedal, seeing where he was going.

"So don't be a hypocrite. You got it, and you flaunt it, and you can't turn around and complain when men appreciate it respectfully.  I don't think Soundcrush is really in the habit of objectifying women because we invite a few enthusiastic, well put-together fans to party with us after the show.  If the kid is gonna grow up around this business, around LA, he has to learn confidence and how to interact with beautiful women."

"You just want him to be distracted from your niece," I had growled.

"No, I want him to learn the difference in a relationship and the game," Adam winked.

So at the time I could see Adam's point, but now I'm cussing all these damn rock stars again. Does my thirteen year old son have a girl in his boudoir?

As unbelievable as it seems, I hear another excited laugh.

"Darius...come on...don't make me wait..."

I bang on the door, then cuss, forgetting about Bodie's precious slumber in the next room.

"Come in," Darius says with a note of irritation in his voice. He tosses his phone aside.

I realize he was Facetiming with Gwen.

Of course he was. Gosh, being around these rock stars has driven my mind into the sex-crazed sewer. My sweet, thirteen year old son was just having a sweet, flirtatious phone call with his sweet, thirteen year old girlfriend.

Right?

"What's up?" he asks, sitting up straighter in bed.

It takes a lot for me not to ask Darius about the specifics of his phone call. Whatever it is she's waiting for, I suppose he's keeping it from her until tonight. I hope to god it's just the knowledge of her birthday gift.

It was her fourteenth birthday this week and all she wanted from Uncle Adam? A plane ticket for tonight's show. So she could celebrate with her boyfriend Darius. She actually announced he was her boyfriend to her parents, and asked them to discuss her rules for dating, which apparently were always vaguely stated as "something we will talk about when the time comes."

I guess it was time, because Bodie and I got a conference call from Alex and Luke, who wanted to discuss it with us.

After our group chat, we called the kids in on the chat, and we laid down the agreed upon ground rules to them.

If they want to date, they have to do it with oversight and with integrity. We just want to know where they are when they are together. No sneaking around, whether we are visiting at the farm or Gwen is visiting with us on tour or in Atlanta. No lying. No sampling alcohol from shows or after parties and no experimenting with drugs when they are together.

And Luke was blunt with Darius about his other expectations, too.

"My daughter is an amazingly mature young lady. Gwen and her mom had a talk, and she has very clear ideas about what her own romantic boundaries are, so you better do your part to talk to her about them and find out what they are, too. You push up on those boundaries and make her uncomfortable, you are gonna be out of a girlfriend. Firstly because she won't tolerate that kind of behavior, and secondly because I won't, either."

Darius had nodded solemnly at Luke and replied. "Yes, sir. I respect Gwen a lot. I don't want to mess that up. I just...really like being around her, is all. Thank you, for letting us spend time together. I know you are putting a lot of trust in both of us. I won't mess that up either."

Gwen beamed. Alex bit back a smile and Luke just blinked, surprised at Darius' composure, I think. "Good. I'm glad we had this talk, Darius."

Adam was a little miffed he wasn't included in the chat but Trace took him boxing and they both came back smiling. Nothing like alpha males bashing each other to raise their oxytocin levels.

Darius is looking at me expectantly. Oh, right. I did just barge into his room, didn't I?

"Are you excited about seeing Gwen tonight?"

Darius and Jace, his "minder," who is actually just a youngish, super cool security guard, are riding ahead in one of the Suburbans to pick her up at the airport. This will be the fourth show she's been to this tour. She came with Brett, then she came with her grandparents, and then she came with her own mom. This will be the first time she's come without her own personal chaperone—her and Darius' first official date.

They will have free reign of the backstage and the arena floor at the venue, plus they can come to the "sober" after party at the hotel if they want...but not the Skid Marcs Barn Burner that happens in Jax's suite after nearly every show. Of course, Jace will keep an eye on them, but he's not supposed to report on his principal, unless he does something that endangers himself.

I figure they will end up watching TV in either Gwen's room or our suite long before their 1am curfew. Hopefully with emphasis on the Netflix and less focus on the "chill."

"Sure," he grins. "But you already know that, and that's not why you came in here."

"I just wanted to let you know we need to pack up quietly because your dad is sleeping. If he's still asleep at checkout time, I'm probably going to stay behind the bus, and let him sleep as long as he can. We'll rent a fast car and catch up," I grin at him.

"He didn't sleep at all last night?" Darius asks quietly, folding his legs and looking at me intently.

"Not much, I don't think."

"Mom."

"Sometimes people can't sleep, Darius. It's not a big deal."

I move to collect some dirty clothes into a laundry bag.

"Mom. What's wrong with him? He's always tired, except when he's about to go on stage. Is he using again?"

I shake my head. "He's not sleeping well and touring is very hard on a drummer. Both are reasons why he's tired. That's not...drugs. That's exhaustion."

"He was fine until his super secret trip. Did something happen there? Wherever he was?"

I shake my head.

"Mom."

"I don't know, Darius."

"Well, don't you think you should find out?"

"You have to trust me, Darius. That I know how to navigate my relationship with your father. You know...it's been less than six months since your dad and I have been together. We are still learning how to communicate, how to trust, how to respect it each other. Kind of like...you and Gwen."

"Nothing like me and Gwen," he huffs. "Gwen and I just chillax and have a good time. You and Dad are like always on each other like it's the end of the world and the last time you'll ever have sex or always having some kind of dark drama--like it's really the end of the world."

I sigh.

You're not wrong, Darius.

God I need to find a way through the drama.

"I just wish you guys could...relax," he says.

"We're working on it. I swear."

As Darius moves off to take a shower, my mind spirals out in a dozen directions, seeking a path forward that doesn't involve more nightmares, more insomnia and more speed and more drama in Bodie's future. Darius is right. Something happened to Bodie in Thailand. He was beginning to lay guilt over Cain Priestly to rest, but something triggered him and brought it back with a vengeance. Was he threatened at gunpoint? Or did he threaten someone? Did he see someone killed, maybe?

Then I realize, it's perhaps less important what triggered him and more important that he process Cain Priestly' death differently than his past attempts. Obviously denial and time are not healing that wound.

Of course. There's only one person that can help ease Bodie's bad dreams.

Someone who has lived them herself. The only person that can ease his guilty conscious.

I pull out my phone and dial. Hard to believe I'm about to ask Arabella Burns for help.

So there's only maybe a couple more chapters on tour, but some significant things will be happening before we wrap the tour up! Lookout for a cameo from one of our Soundcrush Superfans coming up soon!