Page 167 of Whistle

Bodhi

I shaved my head. Buzzed it all right off.

I didn’t regret it. I wouldn’t. It was an act of defiance. A declaration of war.

Em loved my hair. Even nicknamed me for it. Why should he have something he loved when I got nothing?

That’s right. Nothing.

From here on out, if it wasn’t everything, then it was nothing. Nada. Zilch.

I was starting over. How? I wasn’t sure. You think I’d be good at it by now, but no. Technically, I never really started over. I just free-fell through hell, hitting every branch and rock along the way.

Sure, coming to Westbrook was supposed to be a fresh start, and I tried.

Look where that got me. Broken-hearted and bald.

I had no idea what to do or even who to go to.

I miss Brynne. Having a twin was a built-in partner. A guaranteed support system. At least it was with us.

And then she fell in love with Rush, and it ripped everyone apart. And now I had no one. Not even any hair.

Yes, I will continue to make comments about my buzzed head. I’m processing. Shaving it off was cathartic. A giant fuck-you and two middle fingers to everyone. It was also drafty as hell.

And maybe it was a little traumatic, watching it all fall into the sink, letting go of a part of me that my sister knew and a part of me that made me… me. But I didn’t so much like myself, so was it really that big of a sacrifice?

Still stung. But I will never admit that again, so better highlight it for reference. Or better yet, don’t.

You know what I needed? A drink. Several of them.

Needed to numb the mind with good ‘ol Jack, Jim, and José. Maybe in that order. Once my mind was good and sloshed, I’d find someone to fuck the memory of Em right out of me.

Who needs a daddy anyway?

Me.

I pulled out my phone and swiped on the app to order a ride. Ten minutes later, I slid into the back of a black sedan with a driver who leered at me from the front seat.

“Where to?”

“There any gay bars around here?”

His eyes slid down to the crop top I was wearing and then back up. “Next town over.”

“Take me there.”

“I could show you a good time instead.”

I slid the baseball hat I’d stole from Emmett around backward and leaned forward. “I’m not looking for a good time. Drive.”

Two hours later, I was three shots deep and nursing a beer that tasted like dirty tap water, sitting at a bar I couldn’t even remember the name of.

At least I looked good. I could say that without being cocky because I had dressed to turn heads, and that was exactly what I was doing. My crop top was little more than a black lace racerback tank. It was see-through so you could see even what the fabric covered, not that it was much considering it ended well above my navel.

My black jeans were loose from the weight I’d lost in the past year and hung low on my hips. I’d stuffed the red thong I’d worn to the auction in Em’s toilet, so I put on a pair of black lace briefs, the hem of which was visible above my slouching jeans.

The only thing not black on my entire body was the hat I’d stolen from Emmett. It was white. The one he often wore to practice and looked sexy as hell in.

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