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1
BODI
PROLOGUE
ONE YEAR EARLIER
Iwalkoutsideof the police station with my phone pressed against my ear. A heavy breath leaves my lungs as I listen to the dial tone, feeling like there’s a rock in the back of my throat. The knots in my stomach make me clench my jaw, and I know there isn’t anything that will make it disappear.
“Hey, buddy.” A little twang of comfort rushes through me when my Uncle Lucas answers the phone, his voice sounding soothing for just a second.
“Hey.” I try to keep a steady voice, but can’t hide the hitch that still slips through.
“What’s wrong?”
I let out a grunt that comes from deep in my chest, running a hand through my brown hair. I’ve tried to prepare myself for this moment, but it’s one of those things you can never really be ready for. You can see it coming, but it still hits you in the face with a flat palm.
“They found him at Venice Beach.”
“How the hell did he end up there?” Worry replaces the laid-back tone in his voice. “That’s like fifteen miles out of the wrong direction.”
“I know.”
“Shit, Bodi.”
“I know.”
We wallow in silence for a minute, both avoiding bringing up what comes next, which is completely out of my character.
I like to be in control. I’m financially independent, with a successful publishing company, and I’ve got everything figured out around that. Except for this part. This is the one part I’m not ready, or capable, to make a decision on.
So, like a child, I wait for the ‘adult’ in my life to start talking, to decide for me, and when he does, I release a sigh of both relief and despair.
“He can’t live by himself anymore, Bodi.”
“I know.”
“We need to find him a home.”
I swallow away the huge lump in my throat, trying to keep it together. My chest slowly moves up and down, taking deep breaths through my nose, exhaling through my mouth.
“Okay, where? Money isn’t an object.”
“I’m sure we can find a good home somewhere in L.A.”
“No. I want the best in the country. I don’t care what it costs. I don’t care where I need to move to. I just want the best care, specialized in his condition, possible.”
Now that my uncle made the decision that my father can no longer take care of himself, I feel a need building inside of me to find him the best home there is. To take control of the one thing I still can; making sure he’s safe and well cared for.
“You’re willing to give up your L.A. life?”
“I don’t give a shit about my L.A. life.”
A light chuckle comes through the line, and I imagine him in his waterfront house in Maine, the one where I spent most of my teenage years when I wasn’t at boarding school. An Australian bloke now completely established in the cold winters of the northeast. When I first went there, I thought he was nuts, and it took me a while to settle in, but now I can imagine the lighthouse near his place and it feels more like home than Australia ever has.
“I figured you’d say that. It’s why I have already been in contact with the best facility in the country.”
“Where is it?” A small piece of me is scared he’s going to say something like bum-fuck Montana, but the bigger part really doesn’t give a shit.
I’ll make it work.
“It’s in Atlanta.”
“Georgia?” I feel how my brows lift, not even hating that destination. I’ve always liked the southern states.
“Sure thing.”
“Well, I guess we’re moving to the south.”
