I walked towards the door, but stopped when Dr Williams called my name.
“You don’t have to prove anything out there, Iggy,” she said softly. “Not to your parents or the world. Not even to Bodhi.”
Our eyes met.
“Just keep choosing yourself.”
I nodded, blinking hard.
“I will,” I replied. “Because I’m worth it too.”
I stepped through the double doors of the Willow, duffle bag in hand, and for a moment, the late autumn sun blinded me. Then it slipped behind a cloud, my vision cleared, and my face split into a grin.
Bodhi leaned against a bright red Vauxhall Corsa, black leather jacket catching what little light there was, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, legs crossed casually at the ankles. When he saw me, he pushed his black Ray-Bans up into his hair and grinned back.
“Iggy Pop.”
That was all it took.
I broke into a full sprint, flying down the stone steps and onto the driveway, kicking up dust and loose pebbles. Bodhi ran too, and we crashed into each other in the middle like something straight out of a cheesy rom-com.
I dropped my bag and jumped into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist, my arms tight around his neck. A sob tore out of me as I buried my face against his shoulder. The scent of his hoodie was long gone after wearing it for weeks, and I realised how much I’d missed the sandalwood that had become synonymous with him.
When we pulled apart, he still cradled me in his arms. I cupped his face, thumbs brushing away the tears tracking down his cheeks.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered.
Bodhi laughed softly. “You seriously thought I wouldn’t come pick you up?”
As promised, we’d spoken every Sunday during the Willow’s allotted phone hour. We traded rehab updates and tour stories. Sometimes Clara or one of the boys would steal the phone for a minute, until Bodhi inevitably took it back just to tell me he missed me. That he loved me. That he was proud of me.
He told me about Ghost and Thump getting so drunk they’d slept in the hallway after losing their room keys, Clara punishing them by refusing to help. About Mick finally admitting he liked Clara after years of pining, and how they’d started dating. About flying his mum out for their final show in Barcelona and spending the week after exploring the Spanish coast together.
I told him rehab hadn’t changed much. How, without his face as my canvas, I’d finally given in and started painting on paper. How the admin staff had banned me from their stash of Jaffa Cakes because I was eating them out of house and home. How I’d tried swimming in our favourite lake and nearly lost my balls because it was far colder than expected.
Still, when he’d told me he was staying in London with Riff until I finished my second stint, I hadn’t fully believed him. The insecure part of me whispered that he’d get bored. That he’d return to his beautiful life in LA and leave me behind in the Kent countryside.
Yet here he was. Smiling and crying because I was back in his arms. Holding me like he never wanted to let me go.
And I realised I felt exactly the same.
“I missed you so much,” I breathed, dipping down to kiss him.
I whimpered when his tongue brushed mine, and I was mortified to realise I was sporting a semi by the time we pulledapart to catch our breath. Three months without sex had been brutal, and after the way Bodhi had ruined me every single time, wanking alone had never stood a chance of measuring up.
“Well,” a voice cut in dryly. “As touching as this reunion is, I didn’t drive all this way to watch you two suck face for an hour.”
I snapped my head to the side to see Riff climbing out of the driver’s seat. I wriggled out of Bodhi’s arms, and the moment my feet hit the ground, I rounded the car and pulled Riff into a hug.
“Thank you for coming,” I whispered, squeezing him tight. “And thank you for taking care of him for me.”
“Always,” he murmured into my ear, just for me. “And you too, Iggs. We’ve all got your back, okay?”
He grabbed my duffle bag from Bodhi and tossed it into the boot. Apparently they’d rented the car just for today, and we were heading back to their hotel in Central London. I slid into the back seat, and Bodhi immediately followed, settling beside me. I didn’t ask why he hadn’t taken the front. I was too busy reassuring myself that he was real. That this wasn’t some elaborate fantasy my brain had cooked up.
“Have you heard from Sasha?” I asked as I buckled my seatbelt.
“Yeah,” Bodhi said with a nod. “She had the baby last week. A little early, but everyone’s healthy.”
