Page 48 of Endgame

Bodhi is one lucky son of a bitch.

However, the trauma from the accident and prison has done a number on his mental state. I’ve tried to be there for him the best I can, but I can’t help but think he feels alone. A loneliness I’m sure would feel consuming and screw with your head. That’s a step forward that he has to make for himself to let someone in and be open to it.

“Have you talked to her or seen her since your first hearing?”

From what I can recall, the last time Bodhi saw Gwendolyn was the day of the accident. A public defender told him that Gwen sustained substantial life-threatening injuries and left him with his imagination to figure out the rest. I’ve been hesitant to ask about the follow-up.

“I haven’t. My first year locked up, I wrote letters. It sounds fucking haunting, though, not knowing if you’re writing to a corpse or a living breathing human. I never heard back. She was my best friend, man.”

I remember all the times Bodhi used to run his mouth about Gwen in a way that best friends banter. In the handful of times I met her before, she seemed cool. With pink hair, bright blue eyes, and a curvy figure—Bodhi has always appreciated curves.

I remember her having a wild and untamed personality, which seems so drastic in contrast to Bodhi’s personality, but I guess that’s what makes people work sometimes, that difference.

One time, she showed up to a home game our first year in the Major League, and she was wearing a flamboyant lightning bolt costume. Where does one find a lightning bolt costume? I have no idea. She couldn’t have cared less about the people staring, but Bodhi’s face lit up like a Christmas tree at the first sight of her. It’s still up in question if they ever wantedmorefrom each other.

Now is not the time to ask that, so I stick with what’s fair ground. “Maybe you should go visit her, B. It might be good for you. It could give you some closure if anything.”

He looks at me hesitantly, “I think it’s a little late for that. Cal, I can still hear her blood-curdling screams. They torment me like a stone tied around my neck, dragging me down. How am I supposed to be able to handle seeing her if I can't even handle the sounds in my head?”

He’s been through so much. I want to take this weight from him and give him the fresh start he deserves. I, unfortunately, don’t have the power to do that, but I’ll help in any way I can.

“Why don’t you look into talking to someone? Someone in the professional sense. It might be a good place to start.”

I can see the relief leave his body once he hears I’m not pushing further on the topic of him visiting Gwen. He only knows she is healthy and safe from his sister, Penelope.Penelope is two years younger than Bodhi. After the accident and his imprisonment, Penelope stepped up and did everything to help care for Gwen while she recovered.

I know Bodhi has yet to ask her anything. He knows she is alive and well, so that must be enough for now.

He stares off in the distance, lost in thought. “Yeah, it might not be a bad idea. Listen, I think I’m gonna get out of here. I’ll call an Uber.”

I move to stand quickly but stop short as Bodhi holds a hand up, causing me to still as he pushes his chair in.

“Stay. I need to be alone. You’re a good dude, Hayes. I needed this, whether it seemed like it or not. I’ll see you at the house.”

His large frame saunters out the exit doors, leaving me alone.

I’m struggling to hold myself back from helping my friend. But I understand him wanting to be alone. Sometimes, fresh air and space help filter your thoughts.

I reach for my phone, planning on searching for psychologists in the Atlanta area who specialize in PTSD, when a loud feminine voice cuts through the club's noise before I can sit back down.

“Barman, pour me another.”

I hear more slurring than actual speaking, but I’d know that voice anywhere, which has my defenses rising.

“Ma’am, you’ve reached your limit. Is there someone I can call to come get you?”

Thankfully, he’s being respectful.

“Nope. I’ve got no one. I’m all aloneeeee.”

That’s my cue to get over there and see what's going on.

I turn quickly and swear to fucking God my heart breaks on the spot.

Dakota is seated alone at the bar, the upper half of herbody thrown across the bar top with her arms and head dangling out in front of her. Her hair is messy, hanging lopsided out of what looks like what was once a ponytail, and she’s twiddling with a stir stick.

She’s drunk and alone.Fuck.

Who would let her come here alone? Where’s my sister?

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