A quiet voice in the back of my mind nudged me forward. He’d seen me at my worst and watched me change in rehab. Had listened without judgement when I told him about my injury. Bodhi had been my grumpy shadow from the moment we met, proof that maybe we weren’t as broken as we thought.
He’d stayed. Always stayed.
And suddenly, I wanted him to know the one secret I’d never willingly given anyone else.
The others were busy ferrying their pizzas to the massive oven in the corner of the kitchen, laughing and arguing about whose looked better. But Bodhi’s attention never left me. He waited. Patient and steady. I waved him closer, not wanting any accidental eavesdroppers. He stepped in without hesitation, leaning down until we were nearly cheek to cheek, and I lowered my voice until it was barely more than a breath.
“Ignatius.”
For a beat, he said nothing. Just stayed there, close enough that I could feel his warmth. Then he pressed a quick kiss to my cheek and straightened. I looked up at him through my lashes, bracing myself. Waiting for the jokes. The teasing. The same reaction I’d been dodging since I was a kid.
It never came.
Instead, he reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“I like Iggy more,” he said simply.
My chest loosened, something unknotted that I hadn’t realised was still tight. My mouth split into a grin before I could stop it.
“Me too.”
With everyone settled and happily demolishing their handmade pizzas, I slipped outside for a vape. I’d managed three generous slices before my stomach waved a white flag. The kitchen was stifling, heat pouring off the pizza oven like it was trying to recreate the surface of the sun, and I was desperate for air. Bodhi had offered to come with me, but he was only halfwaythrough his second slice, so I told him to park his ass and enjoy it.
The cool evening breeze was instant relief, drying the sweat that had been gathering at the back of my neck. Italy was warmer than the UK, but at least out here I could breathe. The sun had dipped below the skyline hours ago, and with Italians eating late, the Navigli district was alive. Couples wandered hand in hand along the canal. Groups of friends clustered outside restaurants, menus held up like sacred texts, debating their options.
I was watching two women leaning into each other outside a gelato shop across the street when the door behind me opened.
Ghost stepped out onto the pavement. He plucked a cigarette from behind his ear and fished a lighter from his pocket. The tip flared orange as he lit it, the glow reflected in the lenses of his square glasses. Smoke curled up towards the stars.
“You good?” he asked.
I nodded, taking a drag from my vape. “Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.” He exhaled slowly.
For a moment, I thought that might be it. I hadn’t really spent time alone with Ghost before. Even when he sat in my chair for makeup, there were always others around.
But then he spoke again.
“I heard Bodhi asking about your hip yesterday.”
My body stiffened before I could stop it.
“You got an injury?”
Sure, I’d opened up to Bodhi two days earlier. Told him everything. But that didn’t mean it was suddenly easy to talk about. The loss. The fracture it had left behind, not just in my body.
“Uh, yeah.” I nudged a stone away with my foot. “I used to do ballet.”
“Damn.” Ghost tilted his head back and blew out a stream of smoke. “Does that mean you don’t dance anymore?”
I wrapped a strand of hair around my finger and tugged. The small sting grounded me, kept the panic from blooming.
“No,” I said quietly. “I don’t.”
“I studied sports medicine for a bit before I joined the band.” He pulled off his beanie and dragged a hand through his messy hair. “What happened?”
“Displaced acetabular fracture with a labral tear.”
