Friendship, I understood. Desire, I understood. But this? Love?
This was something else.
And yet, it hadn’t arrived loudly. It hadn’t announced itself.It had crept in through late-night conversations and shared silences. Through holding each other steady in group therapy sessions and hotel beds. Through laughter and fear and a pact to keep each other alive.
Somewhere along the way, Bodhi had stopped being just my friend. And I hadn’t noticed, because the change hadn’t hurt.
It had healed.
Emotion crowded my throat too fast, too full. I didn’t trust my voice yet, not when the wrong words could splinter something fragile and beautiful between us. So instead, I reached for him.
My hands came up to his face, mirroring his touch on mine, grounding myself in the reality of him. He leaned into it immediately, like he’d been waiting for permission. Like he was bracing himself for whatever came next.
And I realised then I didn’t need to analyse it. Didn’t need to pinpoint the moment or dissect the how or why.
Love wasn’t always bouquets and perfect first dates and kisses in the rain. Sometimes it slipped in quietly, like a thief in the night, and took root while you were busy surviving. And by the time you noticed, it had already changed the shape of your life.
Like Bodhi had changed the shape of mine.
He stood in front of me with a split knee and a reckless smile, loving me without ever asking me to be smaller, quieter, easier to keep.
“I—” My voice cracked, and I let out a breathless laugh, blinking hard. “Christ. This is a lot for after a show.”
His mouth twitched, nervous and hopeful all at once.
I pressed my forehead to his, breathing him in. Sweat and spice and something unmistakably him.
“But yeah,” I whispered, finally letting the words free. “I love you too.”
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
IGGY
We fellinto Bodhi’s hotel room in a tangle of limbs. Our kisses were all teeth and tongue and raw, unfiltered want. The door barely had time to close before Bodhi was tugging my cropped tie-dye T-shirt over my head and tossing it aside.
He hadn’t changed after the concert. His leather vest hung open, his upper body bare, dark tattoos stark against pale skin. I leaned in without thinking, dragging my tongue over the vines etched along his collarbones. Down to the butterfly at the centre of his chest. Across the curve of the dragon’s tail brushing his pec. I only stopped when I reached his nipple, taking it between my lips, feeling it harden as I tugged gently with my teeth.
Bodhi groaned, low and rough, like the sound had been pulled straight from his gut. His hands flew to my hair, gripping hard enough to sting. It only spurred me on, made me bite a little deeper until my teeth left a red mark against his skin.
We’d had to wait for this. After the confession backstage, after the adrenaline, after pretending we weren’t seconds away from tearing each other apart. Now that we were finally alone, it showed in the way we moved, the way we clung to each other like we’d been starved.
When our little bubble had burst backstage, reality had come crashing back in fast. We’d barely made it to the green room before the questions started flying.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Why did Riff know before the rest of us?”
“How could you keep this a secret?”
“Is Iguana just as hot without clothes?”
That last one earned Thump a shove from Mick and a growl from Bodhi.
Clara had managed to rein them in eventually, but we both knew the teasing and interrogation would resume tomorrow once the post-show buzz wore off. After weeks of sleep, perform, travel, repeat, our formerly secret relationship was apparently hot shit.
But now, finally, we were alone.
