“Yeah,” he said. “We were talking about my hip after the pizza class. You never mentioned he studied sports medicine, by the way. What the fuck?” He gave my shoulder a light punch. “Who knew he was that clever? I told you my brother went to Cambridge, right? Studying to be a doctor, and?—”
“Iggy,” I interrupted gently.
Part of me wondered if he was doing this on purpose. Trying to derail the conversation before it could get uncomfortable. But another part of me whispered that this was just Iggy. Tangents and chatter and noise. Usually if he kept talking long enough, he’d forget his point entirely.
Which version was true right now?
Iggy crossed his arms, jaw tightening. “I was in pain,” he said flatly. “You saw how I was in Milan. I could barely move. Ghost offered a solution.”
“They’re still an opioid?—”
He stepped back, and the distance hit me immediately. Cold and sudden. I fought the urge to reach for him again, reading the warning in his posture, the way his walls were going up brick by brick.
“They’re nothing like Oxy, Bodhi,” he snapped. “Haveyouever even taken it?”
I shook my head.
I’d taken a lot of things in my life. Mostly uppers. Things that kept me sharp and fast and loud enough to drown out the noise. Downers only came when exhaustion won but my brain refused to shut up.
“They’re strong as fuck,” Iggy said, voice tight. “One pill can make you feel high as a kite if that’s what you’re after.” His arms dropped to his sides, hands curling into fists. “Tramadol isn’t like that. And these weren’t even the highest dose. They’re stronger than paracetamol, sure, but they’re nothing like Oxy.”
He laughed once, short and brittle, shaking his head. “I was an Oxy addict. I overdosed on that shit.” The casual way he said it made something twist hard in my chest. “You seriously think I’d get re-addicted to something weaker?”
I opened my mouth, but he pushed on, words spilling faster now.
“There was barely anything left in the bottle. Six, maybe eight pills. You can take two at a time, up to four times a day. That’s what I did. Sometimes I didn’t even take two.” His jaw tightened. “It was just for the pain.”
“Ghost said he was worried,” I said carefully. “That you seemed... frantic.”
“I was tired, Bodhi!” His voice echoed off the walls, sharp with frustration. “I snapped because I was tired. Just like I snapped at you.”
He dragged a hand down his face, and when he looked up, his eyes were shining. One tear slipped free, then another, and my heart cracked right down the middle.
“I was hurting,” he whispered. “And those tablets took thataway. But I didn’t misuse them, I swear. I don’t—” His voice broke. “Oh god. You hate me now, don’t you?”
His frame started to shake as his fear took over.
“I’ve been good,” he pleaded. “I swear. I wouldn’t—I’m not—please don’t hate me.”
I couldn’t stand the distance another second. I closed it in two strides and pulled him into me, pressing his face into my neck. His arms locked around my torso, holding on like he was afraid I might disappear. I didn’t tell him to loosen his grip. He needed this.
“I don’t hate you,” I murmured, kissing the crown of his head. “And I’m not saying you relapsed.” I held him tighter. “I was just scared. I was worried about you.”
Iggy nodded against my neck, breath hitching. “I promise I’m okay. No Oxy.” He pulled back just enough to look at me. “I promise.”
“Okay,” I said softly.
Relief washed over his face, tension draining out of him all at once. He sagged against me, then reached up and pulled me into a kiss. I didn’t hesitate. I never did with him.
The kiss started soft, exploratory, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Iggy’s tongue brushed against my lips, tentative at first, asking rather than taking, and I opened for him without hesitation. I let him set the pace, let him lead, giving him the space to steady himself. To use me as an anchor while the storm inside him still raged.
He moaned when our tongues met properly, the sound light and breathy, and I felt the way his body reacted as he pressed against me. The heat of him. The stiffness in his shorts when he ground his hips forward. It shouldn’t have felt right to get hard then. I didn’t think I would. But my body had never beenparticularly good at ignoring Iggy, and blood rushed south before I could stop it.
He noticed immediately.
A low groan left him, and before I could process what was happening, I was being guided backward, the backs of my knees hitting the bed as Iggy pushed me down onto the mattress. I threw my hands out to steady myself, still a little disoriented from how quickly everything had shifted. I barely registered him dropping to his knees until his hands locked around my hips, firm and unyielding, his face pressing into my crotch.
“I love you, Bodhi,” he whispered, looking up at me through wet lashes.
