Chapter 31: Smart Girls Receive Their Karma

The song: i hate u i love u. I have a feeling that the events at the end of this chapter leave Marley feeling exactly like this song....

Marley, about ten days later

I'm home from my early Saturday morning donut run a little later than expected, having had to stop by the carwash and rinse the shaving cream penises off the Escalade's windows.

Bodie and Darius were thorough to make sure I couldn't escape their prank. They covered the windows of both of the identical trucks and my car.

Yes, I live with TWO thirteen year olds, it seems.

This week, we've had nerf-gun fights, water balloon wars, a GTA marathon—don't tell Pat—a karaoke contest, and a Fast and Furious movie marathon. We've made homemade personal pizza's, ice cream sundaes, barbecued ribs, and Bodie even called Trace and got the Gallant-famous chocolate drizzled popcorn recipe. Which I have to admit, was super easy and super good. That's my kind of "cooking."

Something incredibly wonderful that I've just learned this week:

My Babydaddy?

Sweetest man alive.

He's trying to make up for thirteen missing years of family life. I have to admit, he's doing a pretty damn good job of it, too. Within two days, Darius' reluctance to stay here with us had completely evaporated. He comes through the door from school with a huge grin on his face. Yesterday he even hugged me and asked Bodie, "What are we doin' tonight? You know what? It should be Mom's choice."

So last night we ordered tacos and taught Darius to play pool on the new table Bodie has installed in one-third of the basement.

I had the distinct impression that every time I leaned over to take a shot, Bodie was staring at my ass.

I have to admit, having your rock star Babydaddy giving you the sly up-and-down while he teaches your son to shoot a combo is a pretty fun way to spend a Friday night.

The only down side so far? I'm slightly worried about Bodie's energy reserves because he never quits.

He's full on fun in the evenings, and he's hired a personal trainer to work him out in the basement gym in the mornings.

I told him maybe we should work up to his pre-Thailand pace, but he assures me he's fine.

Uhhh...he's fine, alright.

He told me the trainer would work me out too, but after the first day of showing how unfit I truly am, the trainer put me on a three mile interval jog and some basic bodyweight exercises for now. Which means I spend my morning intermittently walking and jogging on the treadmill, then squatting and scrunching. All while ogling Bodie while he boxes and lifts and does cross-fit.

Thank god that either the trainer or Darius is here most of the time, because otherwise I might have already breached my employment contract.

The man has no idea how sexy he is, trying to knock out his trainer in our basement.

I wince at the pronoun I just used. It's not "our" basement, I tell myself. It's his, or as he insists, it's mine, but never ever has he said "our" about anything other than "our" son or "our" evening plans.

Well, and why would he, Dr. Watkins? You made sure of that, by signing a year long employment contract, didn't you?

It's what I want, what Bodie needs, and what's best for Darius, I remind myself. Sure, there's some flirtation and a couple of instances of really nice hand-holding in the car, but beyond that one small infraction I'm sure Riley would frown upon, both Bodie and I are managing to keep the situation from escalating.

That's a good thing, I tell myself as I pull into the garage.

I step back out into the driveway with the donut box, turning my face toward the sun. It's unusually warm in Atlanta for March. It feels so nice to be able to wear shorts and flip-flops. Without intent, I find myself strolling around to the front of the house to admire its charm. Is it wrong that I love this house so much? For its architecture and for the life we are living in it?

Bodie strolls out onto the upper balcony, shirtless, in athletic shorts. He's already been downstairs, because he has a mug of coffee in hand. He leans on the rail and looks down at me without even trying to hide the mischief in his eyes.

"Where you been, Mama?"

I hold up the donut box with a sweet grin.

"You have any trouble getting down to the donut shop?" His grin matches mine.

"Not at all. I was able to see right through the shaft of the penis on the driver's side."

He laughs. "Yeah, see...you have me to thank for that thoughtful placement. Darius, not being a driver, didn't understand the need for a proper girth that would allow for a safe viewing area. But I got you, girl. I know exactly where to put a penis."

I snort. I bet he does. Even his first time, he was shockingly confident. I can't imagine what kind of sex show the rock star and his penis can put on now.

"Hungry?" I ask, holding the box out.

He's not looking at the box. He's gazing at my legs. Then his eyes sweep lazily up my body and meet mine. "Like you wouldn't believe," he assures me.

I bite my lip. "I would be believe it."

He grunts in surprise. He leans both elbows on the railing and shakes his head at me. "You know what?" I can barely hear him now, he's speaking so quietly.

"What?"

"Pretty sure Darius is still asleep. Why don't you comein quiet-like and we can talk about your hunger situation. And how best to ease it."

I feel very sexy as I tilt my face to him and drink him in. He makes me feel that way, staring darkly down at me as he sips his coffee, all bare caramel perfection kissed by the rising sun. It's an incredible feeling, being desired by him.

Like time turning back.

Like being forever young.

Would it be so wrong? If we just made out? Or maybe gave each other an exchange of hand pleasure? Fifteen minutes...and then we can go back to being client and counselor.

No, no, no, no. That's crazy talk. Pull yourself together, Marley.

Shut-up, Dr. Watkins.

Just then, Darius jerks open the front door. His eyes light at the white box with red lettering.

"Donuts?"

"Donuts," I confirm.

He runs down the porch steps to take them from me. He looks up at Bodie, then again at me. "What are y'all doing?"

"Contemplating appetites," Bodie says.

Darius looks at me. "Does he mean sexual?"

"Darius!" I jerk the donut box back that he's trying to take from me.

"You should really stop flirting with her," Darius yells up to Bodie. "If she gets fired, she doesn't have a job to go back to, you know." He turns to me. "And it would kinda suck to have to leave here. It's pretty fun, hanging here."

"No one's getting fired. Get your mind out of the gutter, young man," I push him in front of me as I march him back in the house. I give Bodie a stabbing-mom-finger-and-a-withering look. He gives me the rock star face and drinks his coffee as he leans over the balcony to admire my backside as I climb the porch stairs.

In the kitchen, I fend off Darius' attempt to get at the box while I pour myself coffee. "No, sir. Wait for Bodie. We'll eat together."

"I'm here. I'm here," Bodie says, bounding down the stairs and snatching the box.

He and Darius are practically salivating as they open it.

"Yaaaaasssss, Boston Creme," Bodie moans, snagging his pastry.

"Wait...I like the Bavarian creme," Darius protests. "Did you get those?"

It takes everything in me to keep a straight face as I silently point Darius to his "Bavarian Creme."

He and Bodie touch donuts like they are toasting glasses and tear in with teeth.

For one split second, their expressions are priceless.

Then Darius leaps up and spits his bite in the sink. Bodie blows his mouthful onto the table.

"Gross!" Darius yells.

"What the fuck!?!?" Bodie follows, sniffing the oozing white filling of his bitten donut. He glares at me. "Mayonnaise?"

"Mayonnaise," I confirm gleefully. "Spray my windshield with penises and see what you get?"

For one brief instant, I am triumphant.

Then Darius and Bodie exchange glances, and I am streaking through the house with a shriek, trying to escape out the back door.

Bodie is fastest. He grabs me around the waist, flips me around and pins me against the wall. While I am laughing and protesting, Darius shoves the rest of his donut at my mouth and all over my face.

——————

I did in fact, have an edible back-up box of donuts. After mass quantities of fried dough and cream, Bodie marshals us into taking a bike ride on the Beltline—an old railroad bed that has been converted into a jogging and bike trail. Along the way, we stop at one of the farmer's markets and peruse the stalls. We don't buy any groceries because we don't want to bike them back, but to my complete surprise, Darius buys me a daisy from a floral vendor and puts it in my hair.

"Very nice," Bodie tells him with a squeeze on his shoulder. "Too bad they didn't have any jasmine."

Darius gives him a narrowing look. "Nobody calls her that anymore. She doesn't like it."

Bodie gives me an eye raise. "You shouldn't let bad memories ruin your favorite flower, favorite scent. The tattoo was first, wasn't it?"

"Yes." I smile at him. "I always loved jasmine. I actually got the tattoo before I ran away from home. I lied and said I was eighteen. My very first act of rebellion."

"How do you know about her tattoo?" Darius is all suspicion.

Bodie immediately realizes his mistake. My tattoo is visible in a bikini or underwear, but that's about it.

"One time the Sixers went to the lake and I saw your mom in a bikini. I was wanting to get a tat and noticing other people's. I asked her about it."

That is not how he learned about my tattoo. He heard the story of my name and tattoo during one of our many long afternoons in coffee shops. The night we conceived Darius, he planted sucks and licks on each flower. The same way he traced it last Labor Day.

I hope I'm not blushing as I kiss Darius on the cheek in thanks for my daisy and mount my bike.

The ease with which Bodie lied to Darius bothers me a little bit. But I know that lying behaviors are second nature to addicts, and I also know that Bodie is lying to Darius because he thinks I would want him to.

That doesn't mean Bodie would lie to me, does it?

—————

Darius cooks up a plan to spend the night at a friend's for Saturday night.

Bodie is very cute as he corners me in the laundry room.

"You know this kid? And his parents?"

"Yes. Will is on Darius' basketball team. I've known his parents for a few years now."

He nods, his dreads bouncing. "Okay. That's good. I just want to make sure it's a true friend." He grabs the other end of the sheet I'm folding.

He looks at the sheet between us like it's a foreign object "Why are you changing sheets? Shouldn't the maid change the sheets?"

"These are just the spare sets I bought to change them out."

"Oh. Ok." He matches corners and meet my hands, giving me all the top corners as he reaches for the bottom. "So, okay, listen. At some point, Darius is going to say something to one of his friends, or a classmate, or someone, about this. Us. Me. And that shit will spread like wildfire. At some point shortly thereafter, there's going to be some kind of issue with that. And maybe we should think about that, before it happens? I don't want Darius to experience...false friends and disappointment because of me."

We stack the sheet and begin another. "I can see where you are coming from, but I don't know that there is a way to protect him from that, other than talking to him about it. But not yet, okay? This is all so new. And so good. Can we please just..."

Bodie whips the sheet over my head and wraps me in it, pulling me close to him. "Play house a little longer? I hear you, Mama. It's real good."

He hugs me. I snuggle my face to his neck. "So good. Thank you," I croak, as tears start to come.

"I'm not gonna let you down, Marley. I know hard shit is coming with my first dose step-down in a couple weeks, but I'm not gonna let you or Darius down."

Darius footfalls approach and we rapidly separate, Bodie twirling me to unwind me from the sheet. I spin to a stop facing the door just as Darius jerks it open. He peers at me suspiciously.

"Will's dad is here. Wait. Why are you crying?"

"Because I'm happy you like being here," I say honestly.

Darius rolls his eyes, then throws his suspicious look Bodie's way. "I'm just folding sheets, dawg." Bodie snaps the cloth in Darius' face.

—————————

The mid-afternoon is dragging on as Bodie and I give each other heated glances between paragraphs of the book we are competitively reading.

After forty-five minutes of glances and lost places, the doorbell rings.

"Thank fuck! Let's see who it is!" Bodie yells and jumps up from the couch, grabbing me by the hand and towing me toward the distraction.

Ashlynn is on the other side of the door, in white jeans and a muted, intricately patterned tank top. A dark-haired guy stands behind her, holding an enormous gift basket.

"Sunny." Bodie grins.

"Hi, friend!" She's perfect grace and warmth as she embraces Bodie easily. No wonder Leed is head over heels for this bright spirit.

"Marley, so good to see you again," she beams at me.

Sometimes I find it awkward when casual acquaintances go in for the hug, but it's not like that with Ashlynn. She's perfectly natural. I've only seen her once a few weeks ago in Nashville, but she looks even more radiant now.

If I had to guess, I'd say she's in the bloom of love.

Leed's love.

The thought turns my head to the man behind her. I blink.

I recognize him.

"Cam! Cam Martin!"

He straightens to attention behind the enormous basket.

"Marley Watkins," he says with surprise. "Hey. What the hell are you doing here?"

There is a moment of confusion, as Ashlynn and Bodie stare at us and then each other.

"I'm working here...with Bodie." I explain to Cam. To the others, I add, "Cam and I know each other from Emory."

"Yeah. Marley had some of her clinical work for her program in the same facility where I did my Psych rotation. We worked together on some group therapy and some individual cases too."

"Oh!" Ashlynn's eyes are happy as she pats his arm. "Wow! What a small world!"

I refrain from asking them any questions. It's not too hard for me to put the pieces together. Bodie told me about Ashlynn's ex-boyfriend who has cancer and no one to care for him. I haven't seen Cam in more than a year; I had no idea that he was sick. If I hadn't seen him a year ago, I wouldn't know it now, but he looks pale and tired compared to the very vigorous med student I worked with.

Bodie and I both move aside at the same time to let them in. Ashlynn explains that she and Cam went to the nearby farmer's market, and she knows how much Bodie likes specialty salsas and hot sauces...so she wanted to drop by a housewarming gift of snacks.

Ashlynn protests that she only wanted to drop the gift by, but an hour later, we are eating the chips and salsa with them. Cam and I are reminiscing about a very unusual day on the psych floor where we met, and Bodie is fully caught up on everything SCIC that happened in his Thailand absence.

Bodie is cordial but not enthused about Cam, so I'm surprised when he asks Cam to step outside with him to see the back deck. I wonder what that's about.

It leaves me alone with Ashlynn for the first time.

"So how it's going? I mean...Bodie's sobriety?" She sounds very genuine and interested.

"He's really embracing it. Working hard on building a routine," I tell her. "I'm really proud of him."

She drops her head, like in a moment of gratitude. Then she's focused on me again. "That's so great. Bodie and I have been in the same place at the same time. Then he sobered up and I got worse. Then I sobered up and he got worse. I've been where he's been and it's so incredibly important to have support. I don't think I would be where I am today without Leed and Trace and my parents all encouraging me."

"I'm glad you had support. Bodie has more than he realizes. He'd like to keep his struggles separate from Soundcrush, but I can tell they are all behind him."

"They are. We all are," she reaches across the table and clasps my hand. "So, how are you adjusting? Being someone's sobriety companion...it's a big deal."

I smile at her. "I'm probably a little more prepared than Trace was."

She laughs. "So true. I forget...he's probably told you all about it."

I shrug.

"I completely understand that you can't talk about your working relationship with Trace," she says quickly. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't. But you are right, I can't talk about it."

She nods and takes a chip, dipping it generously in the salsa, eating it delicately. "No worries. I actually don't want to talk to you about Trace, or Bodie, or Leed. I was hoping..." she looks stealthily to the back deck, "Honestly? I was hoping maybe we could be friends? I burned all my bridges with my high school friends during my drug days. Cam is all I have left from my Atlanta life and...I want to take care of him while he's sick, but I'm going a little crazy here in Atlanta with only him and my parents in my face."

I stare at this strikingly beautiful girl who oozes elegance in every motion. I've never had a friend like her. I came from a middle class neighborhood in Boston and then I've lived in the gritty urban areas of Atlanta. Ashlynn appears to be a true Southern Belle. Beautiful, gracious, kind, but very, very privileged.

Then I think about the other aspects of her life that I'm aware of through Trace and Bodie. Her accident, her pain, her drug addiction.

I remind myself that I can't judge a person from their appearance or their Jack Rogers Sandals. This woman has been through it, just like I have. And she's surviving day by day, just like me.

"I would like to be friends," I say.

She laughs easily. "Awesome. Can we go to lunch tomorrow? Cam is recovering from his first round of chemo rapidly. Every day that he feels better, he's more and more flirtatious. He's driving me crazy."

"I know that feeling," I sigh.

Ashlynn squints at me. "I don't mean crazy in a good way."

"Oh, yeah. Right." I murmur sheepishly and she blushes.

"So...lunch?"

I watch Bodie gesturing with his hands as he talks to Cam on the porch. It's my job to stick with him as much as possible. If I were truly impartial, I would tell Ashlynn that I can't leave Bodie to go to lunch. But I don't want to be Bodie's vice cop. I want to be his support network. I want to be his friend. I want to be his partner. I want to build trust with him.

"Sure. I can go to lunch."

Ashlynn beams.

Bodie is waltzing back into the kitchen.

"I'll let you know as soon as I get it hooked up," Cam says.

"Thanks, man." Bodie says as he claps it out with him.

"What's that about?" Ash asks with a curious grin at Cam.

"Just a public service thing," Cam says vaguely. He looks twice as pale and tired as he did an hour ago.

Ashlynn stands at once and moves to him. "Hey, let's get you home, okay? You don't want to wear yourself out if you are going back to work in a few days..."

"Yeah," he says grimly, but he gives me a warm smile. "It's good to see you again, Marley."

"Take care of yourself, Cam. Please call if you need anything."

"Thanks," he grimaces.

Bodie stands behind me with a hand casually upon my shoulder as we watch them enter the Mercedes parked on the curb and drive away.

It feels so normal and good-like we are a couple. Until Bodie mutters "Fuck," and drops his hand. He immediately whirls and stalks inside, leaving me bewildered on the porch.

"Come inside," he barks, he's already on the phone.

I come in, not understanding his sudden change in mood until he says, "Marcy, it's Bodie. A paparazzi just got a shot of me and Marley. Might look like something it's not." He listens.

"No, I didn't see it. I'm on frickin' sober living lock down here. Why didn't Riley tell me?" he snaps. His jaw tenses as he listens some more. "Well, Leed shouldn't have to answer for that shit alone. It's my fuck-up. I'll come out to the meeting...maybe we should conference Bells in from her rehab—"

She cuts him off. He listens some more.

"Why the fuck did no one tell me? Goddammit Marcy, I'm back. I'm fine. Prescribed smack is so fucking great I could run a goddamn marathon and then play a show and still have a head clear enough for studio work. I'm not an invalid, and its my ass in the game, too. Somebody should have told me!"

He hangs up, stabs another number, and has a similar argument with Riley. Then a third with someone else...Varrick Von or maybe the Soundcrush security lead, because his emphasis is on the security fail, in that call. Then to my surprise he calls Leed and yells at him, too—for not mentioning the paps that barred his entrance when he came to visit.

Leed is the only one that yells back. I can clearly hear what he says through the phone. "Jesus Bodes, the way Marley handled the paps like a pro—I assumed you had coached her! I thought you knew they were there! Now stop fucking yelling at me!"

"I'm coming out there for the meeting!" Bodie yells back.

"Like fuck you are! You blow up like this at Moran and we are done! Sit your ass down and meditate and don't fucking move from that house until I find out how much fucking bullshit we are in for with the label! For chrissakes, just be cool and let me handle this! And don't yell at your...sobriety companion for this, either! It's not her fault, she's inexperienced with the fame shit. You should have already had Marcy down there to give her the crash course! Get your shit together, man!"

Leed hangs up on him. I guess the Lion is not used to being roared at.

Bodie tosses his phone on the couch and puts his head in his hands, smoothing back his dreads.

The vibe coming off him is anger. Real and red hot.

I sit down on the opposite couch, waiting for the outburst.

It doesn't come. He just sits there, breathing. Finally he sighs, visibly forcing himself to relax.

"I just did one of those mini-meditation things you taught me so I don't blow up at you," he says.

"That's good."

"But I'm still angry with you," he says.

I blink. "Me? Why?"

"You should have told me there paparazzi here when Leed came to visit last week."

"I handled it. They left. I didn't want to stress you out."

He sighs. "You didn't handle it, Marley. Paparazzi aren't handled by threats of trespassing. They just hid better. Marcy has spent hundreds of thousands of dollars this week managing the situation. Buying up photographs of us playing nerf guns and water balloons in the backyard and killing stories about how I got Arabella Burns addicted to drugs and have now dumped her for my live-in sobriety companion."

"I didn't know. I'm sorry, I didn't realize—"

"You should have told me, Marley. Paparazzi on our ass alters everything. Just because you and I don't look at TMZ and celebrity gossip doesn't mean other people don't. It's not just about my public image. It's about us, here, what we are trying to build. Daemon, Darius' friends, even Darius himself, will see that shit and there will be questions and tension."

He continues his rant.

"Jesus, how many times have I touched you this week that could look like an intimate moment in a still-shot? Marcy is not a god. She can't kill everything. The discreet security I put in place are failing because this place can't be secured. I should never have bought this place in the middle of a busy, crowded neighborhood, but I wanted to give Darius as close to what he was used to as I could.

"Now, it's only a matter of time before there's pictures leaked to go along with the rumour stories that Marley can't suppress. I knew things would have to change on tour, but I thought we were safe here. We aren't, and you didn't tell me. Now Leed is the only one of us in LA and he's being called into label by our boss to answer for my PR nightmare. They are very unhappy that I'm playing house here and not promoting Arabella's image, taking her out to LA clubs and events."

"But you...you can't do that right now. You're just adjusting to sober living. She's in rehab."

"I'm fine and she's not. She signed herself out and no one knows where she is. Which is another problem that's my fault. I knew she was struggling there. She asked me to come visit her, go to a therapy session with her, and I blew her off. I told her it was better if we worked on our problems separately."

"It is better. That was the right approach, Bodie..."

"No, it wasn't. Bells is a twenty year old girl and she's got big problems besides her drug addiction, which I contributed to. And I abandoned her."

"You didn't—"

Bodie looks up at me sharply. "I did. She did not want to go home to Nashville. She did not want to go to rehab. She wanted us to get sober together. I lied to her in Thailand...told her we could do that. Do it together. Just to get her on a the plane. Then Varrick and I...we changed up the plan on her. Marley...she and I...we went through some shit together in Thailand. There was a time I thought maybe we were going to die there together. I am...responsible for her."

"And you are angry at me because you think...I made you choose? Between me and Darius and her?"

He shakes his head. "No. I'm angry at you because you didn't tell me about the paps and now that's caused a media crisis that affects my public shit with Bells."

"Shouldn't your publicist have told you?" I counter.

"I expect my publicist to handle me," he snarls. "I don't want that from you. You have no idea what you've done. There will be fallout from this and Bells is in no shape to handle pressure from the label right now. You should have told me paps had made our residence. All of my choices would have been different this week, if I had known the paps were on us. Jesus Marley—Arabella is my girlfriend as far as the world is concerned. I told you it had to stay that way until I get the word otherwise.

"This shit—rumors of me and you—it can tip the situation. Professionally for me, and even worse for Bells. This is fucking bad, Marley. Bells is going to have a hard time, coping with rumors of my cheating, even if it's not a real relationship anymore. The press will be all over her. She's not stable and she's not strong. She could overdose again, just from the stress of the situation. Don't you understand that?"

My heart is racing at the same time the rest of my body seems to be sinking into inertia. I try to push away the hurt, the feeling of rejection I feel from Bodie's anger and accusations.

I  summon the therapist. Dr. Watkins is just a wall right now, and I know it, but I can't stop myself from saying coolly, "Of course I understand that, Bodie. But maybe you should examine if the true nature of your relationship with Arabella. You seem awfully upset on Arabella's behalf. Maybe she means more to you than a professional obligation."

"Of course she's more than a professional obligation!" he snaps. "Her stepfather is fucking dead because she's more than a professional obligation! I don't love her, but I don't just walk away from women I get involved with who need me. As evidenced by all this...with you and Darius," he slings his arms wide, to encompass this house.

The sound that escapes me is as completely unintentional as is the way I clutch my chest.

Bodie must read the hurt on my face. He sighs. "Shit. I didn't mean it like that. This is more than an obligation to me. That came out wrong—"

"No need to apologize," I rise. "You've been more than generous and cooperative, trying to forge a relationship with our son, and you are right. I behaved unprofessionally as a member of your hired entourage, not apprising you of a situation that impacts your career. That's the whole point of our relationship. Me helping you repair damage to your career. Not me protecting you, like a family member. Like a loved one. Clearly, already, I've lost sight of my role..."

His expression looks pained. He closes his eyes wearily. "Baby, don't do that. Don't go all Dr. Watkins now that we are having a fight."

"We are not having a fight. We are having a professional discussion about how I failed to perform adequately in the job I was hired to do. And anyway there is no we..." I say without emotion.

"Jasmine, we are definitely having a fight and I just said some shit I don't mean—"

"Bodie, you should call Arabella. Clearly, the two of you are going to be tied to each other for some time. I was wrong in my approach. Your relationship with her is going to impact your sobriety, so clearly...her sobriety is my concern, too."

"Marley—"

"I'm serious, Bodie. I can't force you to call her, of course. But as your therapist, I recommend you reaching out to her, in the effort to make a repair. I think your long-term sobriety might be dependent on reaching stability in your relationship with her."

And confessing what happened to her stepfather. And asking for her forgiveness.

But I don't say that. He's not ready to hear that.

I'm not ready for Arabella to return to his life, but I know I don't get that choice. He's not finished with her. He can't be. She's part of forgiving himself for what happened to her stepfather.

I walk to the kitchen, my hands shaking as I grip the counter and look out the window. There's a part of me that wants Bodie to follow me in here and pull me into his arms, and say that he can't call Arabella. That he won't bring her drama into our home. That Darius and I come first. That Soundcrush concerns come second.

But the part of me that truly loves him, knows he's not finished with her. He doesn't have closure and he needs that for his mental health and for his future happiness.

I wait. And wait.

Finally, I hear Bodie moving towards the basement. Before he closes the door I hear him leaving Arabella a message. "Bells, it's me. Where are you, Sweetheart? I need you to call me. Wherever you are, I'll come get you. Just call me."

Six hours later, Darius knows that TJ will pick him up from his sleepover, and Bodie and I are on a private flight to New York with two burly security guards named Jason and Vance. Bodie hardly speaks to me the entire time, except to tell me that Marcy will be in Atlanta by the time we get back to give me a crash course in media relations and being "a part of the entourage."

Bells is high when we get to her hotel. She staggers around, hurling accusations at Bodie. "God, Bodie—if you were going to fuck somebody, did you have to choose an old, plain nobody? Do you know what that makes me look like in the media? Dumped for a fucking soccer mom?"

"Bells, just shut your mouth. I know you are just trying to piss me off and make me leave. It's not gonna happen. We're still in this together. The fight for sobriety and the fight for our jobs."

Arabella dissolves into a puddle of tears and apologies and clings to Bodie like she might collapse. With a growl of frustration, he picks her up bridal style.

"Bells, you're coming to Atlanta. But we have to get through the paps. We gotta clean you up, get you ready."

"Okay," she whimpers. "Okay. I'm so sorry, baby. I've missed you. I really have. I didn't mean to be rude to your...your handler or whatever she is...I know all the rumors are bullshit, she's so not your type...and I know you wouldn't fuck your employee with her kid in the house..." She looks at me. "I'm so sorry...uhhhh...what's your name?" She looks up at Bodie. "What's her name?"

"Marley. Dr. Marley Watkins." Bodie sighs. He turns to me, holding another woman like a lover and calmly says, "Marley, please wait in the car? You shouldn't have to listen to this..."

Watching Arabella cling to his neck, smearing her mascara on his white shirt, jealousy like I've never felt in my entire life floods me. I feel like I might vomit. I want to run away at the same time I want to grab Arabella by the hair and pull her out of his arms and deliver her a prison yard beat-down. I want to pull off my shoes and throw them at Bodie's head while I scream and cry and make a scene far worse than Arabella Burns could ever imagine.

I have the sudden realization that the way I love Bodie? This is how much Mac loves Adam.

She loves him like crazy. This is why she absolutely hated me at first. She was jealous of me.

The thought somehow helps me detach from my own jealous rage.

I guess I deserve this. Leed and Mac would probably tell me my karma has returned to me.

Get it together. Hold yourself together. Remember prison? Think of this like prison. Like a punishment for the heart.

"I'm not leaving you here with pills on the table," I say neutrally.

Bodie glares at me. "Are you fucking kidding me? You really don't trust me?"

"It's not about trust," I tell him. "You have less than three weeks sober. It's my job to hold you accountable in high-risk situations."

He shoots me a look like he almost hates me and carries Bells toward the bedroom of her suite.

I follow dutifully, to help him clean her up.

I'm pretty sure every situation from now that involves Arabella, will be high-risk.

For Bodie's sobriety.

And my sanity.

Well, this chapter is really a mountain-top then valley experience for Marley isn't it? Thoughts?

You guys knew we weren't done with Bells, as much as we would like to forget about her, right? How do you think this is all going to work...or not work...?