With a knock on my office door Dr. Rosenberg steps in, taking the seat in front of my desk. She’s a small woman with jet-black hair and always wears red nail polish. I asked her once why, and she said because it’s easier for the patients to focus on the same color. She, along with my father, are the only two doctors on staff.
“You’ve met Mr. McKnight?”
“I have. I’ve left him in his room. He should be waiting for you.” I unobtrusively shut my monitor off so she can’t see that I’ve been looking him up on the computer. I don’t think it would be an ethics violation, but I don’t need a lecture from my father.
“How was he when you left him?”
“Fine, I guess. I mean, he’s going through the beginning stages of detox, so he’s agitated and picking at his skin.”
She flips open his chart and makes a few notes. “Says here he experienced flulike symptoms last night. Did he mention anything?”
I shake my head. I try not to pry and ask only questions that pertain to what’s currently going on.
“Your father wants him treated with kid gloves,” she says, closing his file. I nod, remembering what my dad said earlier about being delicate.
“My dad and his father know each other. I’m not sure how, but they do. I guess that’s probably why.”
Dr. Rosenberg’s expression is unreadable as she takes in what I just said. She gets up and leaves without any further conversation regarding B
odhi. Once my door is closed, I turn my monitor back on and study pictures of the old Bodhi with his perfectly styled dark hair and electric blue eyes. He has the charisma to sweep women off their feet, and fortunately for all of his female fans, he hasn’t met anyone who’s made him take a second look yet.
Not that the thought of getting a second glance from Bodhi McKnight is on my to-do list. Neither is being tangled up with him in sheets, like the current picture I’m looking at from a photo shoot. But that doesn’t mean I don’t fantasize about having him on top of me.
I doubt he’ll find his match in rehab, but that is something I’ll have to watch for when he’s out with the general population. The last thing he needs is a romantic entanglement while he’s trying to recover from his addiction, and the last thing I need to do is give him one.
Chapter 4
Bodhi
It’s only a few minutes after Kimberly walks out that my clothes arrive. The guy who drops them off seems nice, but the second he’s out of my room I’m tearing into my things to see if all of my belongings are still there. My father is always cautioning me that people want to steal our clothes and sell them online. I was allowed to bring only clothes, and right now I’m throwing each piece I have with me over my shoulder and mentally counting.
When I’m done, I look around my room. Its looks like a five-year-old lives here, with clothes all over the floor, hanging off my bed, and haphazardly dangling from the chair. There’s something missing, I know it. That man, the one who searched my bags—he stole it; I just don’t know what it is.
So I start over. I pick up each piece of clothing, fold it, and put it back in my bag, zipping the case closed, only to unzip it again and repeat the same process of throwing my clothes all over the room.
My door opens as a shirt goes flying. It’s too late and my red polo has landed on someone’s face. A small hand appears and pulls the garment away.
“You must be Bodhi,” she says, folding my shirt and handing it back to me.
“Yes,” I say, slightly out of breath and agitated.
“Do you always treat your clothes like this?”
“Something is missing. That man stole my clothes.” I look around the room, trying to figure out what exactly is gone.
The woman steps in. She’s dressed in a white coat that stops about mid-calf, and I’d say she’s not more than five feet tall.
“I’m Dr. Rosenberg.”
“I’m not sick,” I tell her, even though I don’t believe it myself.
“No, you’re missing some clothes, right?”
“Yes! Do you know where they went? He stole them, didn’t he? I should report him. Get him fired. My dad, he knows the owner.”
The doctor picks up the shirts that I threw onto the chair and sits down, holding them in her lap. “I have worked here for a long time and can tell you that no one has ever been accused of stealing. The man, Terry, will take very good care of your clothes, but he will not steal them.”
“But he did,” I challenge.