Still… I don’t know how I’m going to get over this rage I feel when I think of him with other men. I know it’s something I’ll have to figure out if I want to keep him in my life.
Another message comes in from Bodhi, but this time it’s a picture. My cock twitches behind my slacks, a smile forming on my lips as I take in the image on my phone—Bodhi lying on his bed, a pink cropped hoodie with a matching lace pink thong on, his cock pulled out the side, fisted in his hand, teeth biting down on his full, plump bottom lip, and eyes full of sex looking up at me. This is the first time he’s sent me a picture, and hopefully not the last.
Me: God, you’re fucking beautiful. Any chance I can talk you into coming down to my office so I can help you take care of that? ;)
Bodhi: Can’t. Got stuff to do today/tonight. :(
Setting my phone down, I force myself to focus and get back to work. I have several court cases next week I need to study up on, and I’ve barely gotten anything done today. Right as I’m starting to get into the groove of things, my phone rings. Flipping it over, I half expect it to be Ryan. True to his word, he’s made somewhat of an effort to talk to me a few times a week. It’s not anywhere near what I’d like it to be, but it’s better than it was.
The call isn’t from Ryan, though. It’s from Rosa. A chilling sense of unease buries itself in my gut as I bring the phone to my ear. “Rosa.”
“Hi, Mr. van der Meer. I’m sorry to bother you at work.”
“It’s not a bother. What’s up? Is everything okay?”
“Uh, no, sir. Lorelei has declined significantly over the last hour. Her breathing is labored, her temperature has increased, and I can’t get it to go back down. I… I think we should call an ambulance.”
Shit.
Rosa noticed a slight fever this morning when she was taking Lorelei’s vitals at the start of her shift. One of the night nurses came down with the flu earlier this week, so part of me knew this was a possibility.
Letting my head drop back on my chair, I run a hand down my face. “Okay, call the ambulance. I’m closer to the hospital than I am to home, so I’ll meet you there.”
We hang up, and I start packing up my things. My chest feels tight as I leave the office, going down to my car. The hospital is only about a five-minute drive, but it’s like I black out the entire ride, not coming to until I’m parking.
The next few hours pass in a blur. As soon as Lorelei got to the hospital and Rosa filled the nurses in on Lorelei’s state, I let her go home. There’s no reason for her to have to sit here and wait for God knows how long. The doctors did a workup on her, and her x-rays showed fluid in her lungs. For now, she’s hooked up to the ventilator, and they started her on a heavy dose of antibiotics. They told me that in her physically fragile state, she doesn’t have great odds at fighting off an infection that is this advanced, and the fact that it advanced so quickly is a sign of that. I just hope she’s able to hold on until at least Ryan is able to get here to say his goodbyes.
I called him about twenty minutes ago; told him he needs to get down here as soon as possible. I gave him my credit card to book a flight. One of the hardest calls I’ve ever had to make, aside from the one I made to him when she initially had the accident. Parents grow old and they die; it’s the way of life, but Lor isn’t old, she’s hardly forty, and it’s not a call I should have to make to our son yet.
One time, when Ryan was around eight, we took a family vacation to Hawaii. While we were swimming, Lorelei got stung by a jellyfish and had a gnarly allergic reaction to it. She had to be taken to the local hospital, and Ryan was terrified. She and I knew she’d be okay. She just needed some medicine, but Ryan was sure she’d die. I remember sitting with him in a room very similar to the room I’m in now, telling him that his mom was going to be fine. That he wouldn’t have to worry about her dying for many, many years.
It’s the one memory that hit the forefront of my mind when she had the accident last year. It felt as if I lied to him. He’s barely an adult and he’s already having to say goodbye to his mom.
I’ve been sitting here in the room with her for the last half an hour with my phone in my hand, debating whether to call Bodhi or not. It’s not his burden to bear, and calling him would be purely selfish. It’s also a bad idea because Ryan will be here either tonight or first thing in the morning, and now isnotthe time to explain to him that I’m in love with his old best friend—a fact that I didn’t even fully know, myself, until I let it slip the night Bodhi came over after my lunch with Ryan.
Butfuck, I could really use him here. My anxiety is through the roof. I’ve been pacing the length of her bed so much; I’m surprised I haven’t worn a hole in the floor. I always thought when this time finally came, I would be okay. I’d be ready to let her go again. But as I stand here, in this stark white, cold room, I realize I’m not ready. Not at all. I’m not ready for the sad, pathetic looks I’ll get, all over again, from people who know us or who know of the situation. The pity from everyone. I’m not ready to feel like I have to pretend to play the part of a distraught widow, when really all I feel is relief that it’s almost over.
I don’t need the pity, or the sympathy, or the quiet glances. I don’t need it all because I’ve already done this. I’ve already grieved the loss of her. And it makes me feel like shit. It makes me feel like a horrible person, a sick husband. The fact that the thing I’m most distraught about is how Ryan will handle it.
In the end, I make the call. Bodhi doesn’t answer, but I leave a voicemail telling him where I’m at and what’s going on. Kind of a shitty thing to leave on a voicemail, but can’t take it back now.
******
It’s almost midnight. Sleep has been evading me despite how exhausted I am. Ryan was able to book a red eye, but with the time difference and a layover, he probably won’t be here until at least nine or ten in the morning. It’s going to be a long night if I don’t manage to get some shuteye.
My phone vibrates on the table where it’s charging. I reach for it, thinking it might be Rosa or Ryan, surprised to see it’s a text from Bodhi instead. After the voicemail I left him, I hadn’t heard back and figured he must not check his voicemail.
Bodhi: I’m here. What room are you in?
Holy shit. He came.
Even though we’ve been talking more, and it seems like we’re going in the right direction, he’s still skittish. I didn’t think he’d feel comfortable coming here.
Me: Room 436. I’ll meet you at the fourth-floor elevators.
I’m not used to feeling this ball of nerves when I see people, the way I do with Bodhi. It makes me feel like I’m back in middle school with my first crush. Running a quick hand through my hair, which is probably darting in every which direction, I leave the room, heading toward the elevators. I only have to stand there a few moments before it dings, doors sliding open as Bodhi comes into view. His crystal blue eyes are filled to the brim with concern when he sees me, and his bottom lip is redder than usual, like he’s been chewing on it nervously.
Even so, Bodhi is a breath of fresh air. Standing four feet away from him, it’s like ten thousand pounds has been lifted off my shoulders and somehow, I just know, it’ll be okay.
