Page 23 of Beyond Redemption

He scanned my face for something—an answer, a warning, maybe instruction. “Is she okay?” he asked before stepping inside.

“No,” I said. “But she’s home.”

That was all he needed.

He moved past me and crossed the kitchen slowly, not rushing, careful not to startle her. Livvy saw him approach before I could announce him, and she stood, immediately falling into his arms.

He caught her and pulled her tight against his chest. “Hi, baby. Hey. Hey, I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

She burst into tears. Her sobs were jagged, ripped from a place she’d buried long before today. But Bodhi’s expression was of someone who somehow recognized loss intimately. Not only loss of people or things, but of part of the soul.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair.

I watched, unable to stop the corner of my mouth from curving upward. He loved her, and not the temporary kind. Bodhi held her like a man who’d prayed every mile from class to our driveway.

I backed a step but stayed close, watching the way her shoulders shook, watching Bodhi sway her instinctively the way someone calms a child after a nightmare. His cheek rested against her temple. He didn’t try to hush her or fix her or tell her she was strong. He was just… present.

And damn if it didn't hit me square in the chest, Bodhi carrying the same weight and devotion I'd recognized in every Maddox man when he'd finally met the woman who snapped his world into place. I'd seen it in Trenton the day he looked at Cami in the hospital; in Taylor the first time he brought Falyn home; in Tyler when he realized hell itself could burn before he'd lose Ellison; in Shepley when America gave him something to fight for; and in Travis's eyes across Dad's table the first time he watched Abby beat us all at poker. I'd lived it myself the moment Liis walked into my office and dismantled me without even meaning to.

And here it was again in Bodhi. Young, yes. But real and unmistakable.

“Sunny?” Livvy managed.

He eased her back enough to look at her face, brushing an errant strand of hair from her cheek.

“Sunny is safe at home. She’s going to call you later when you’ve both had a minute to process everything.”

She nodded through tears, breath hitching as she tried to gather herself. The panic sat under her skin, still thrumming.

Bodhi squeezed her. “I hate it that you had to go through that alone. I wish I could’ve been there. I swear I’d have—”

“I’m glad you weren’t,” she whispered hoarsely.

He gave a gentle, aching smile. “I figured you’d say that. But all I could think about was that I should’ve been there, to stand between you and anything that moved.”

She broke again, sitting and hiding her face in her hands.

I returned to the table and sat, giving them space but making sure she knew I was still there. Liis would be home soon with Stella, and I needed Livvy grounded before the house filled again.

Bodhi pulled out the chair beside her and scooted it close. He kept one arm around her shoulders, his free hand on her knee.

“Sunny was off campus,” he said quietly, looking between us. “She’d gone to the café down the street to meet her study group. The manager locked the doors as soon as the alerts came through. She’s shaken, but she’s home in DC with my parents.”

Livvy let out a shaky exhale. “Good… that’s good.”

“But…” Bodhi swallowed. “She said a girl you both had in class, Kendal Cross, and another you both knew, Keisha Williams passed away on the Green. Two professors, Dr. Lipton and Mr. Stein. Holden McDaniels was shot but made it to the hospital. He’s in stable condition.”

Livvy’s face twisted—grief, guilt, disbelief all at once. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Dr. Lipton?”

I reached across the table. “You couldn’t have known, Livvy. Don’t torture yourself.”

“I said so many bad things about her,” Livvy whimpered.

“It doesn’t mean you think she deserved to die,” I said.

“No,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“Exactly. Please don’t do that to yourself,” Bodhi said.