Bad Seed_A Brother's Best Friend Romance

by Rye Hart

  I watched her walk away, her hips swaying in the wind as her little paunch sat just beyond her dress. She had on these cute little boots that shone with the sunlight as she turned to look at me. Her flowing blond hair and her dazzling eyes beckoned to me as I rose from the couch, her hand outstretched for mine as I took it. Our fingers intertwined slowly. Naturally. Like two lovers who had known each other for years.

  I didn’t know if this was enough for her. But I knew one thing for certain.

  It was more than enough for me.

  CHAPTER 38

  Delia

  Nights bled into days, and days bled into weeks. I found myself going to my apartment less and to Drake’s house more. I spent time with Elsie on the weekends, getting to know her and her idiosyncrasies more each week. Tammy taught me things about autism and how to handle it, thinking if I was better equipped to handle Elsie at her worst, I could better enjoy her at her best. Drake had officially dubbed Pixie as ‘my horse,’ and because of that I was out on the farm more. Mucking her stall out and feeding her on a schedule. Riding her regularly and taking her for walks around the ranch.

  Gradually, I came to know the place very well as my pregnancy continued to progress.

  I spent my nights curled up to Drake, and my mornings making love to him in the shower. We ate breakfast together, talked during lunch, and always made plans for dinner at his house. Every time I had to wash an outfit of mine I was wearing, it got conveniently placed in a drawer in his room that suddenly didn’t have any clothes in it.

  Eventually, the apartment became almost a waste of money.

  Because of me staying over more, Drake had stopped harping on me about work. He accepted the fact that I wasn’t willing to slow down my life until a doctor told me I needed to. He still fussed over me and made me drink way more water than I would ever need, but it was a compromise I was willing to make. Every time he wrapped his arms around me, one of his hands would drop to my budding stomach.

  There were times when he wasn’t happy I was heading into work. Times when he wanted me to call out but I refused. Sometimes I looked ‘too tired’ or ‘like I was about to be sick’. Panic would wash over his face, a look of absolute fear. Every once in a while, he would try to exert his control, and I would find ways to calm his mind.

  Because that was what it was all about—those days when he was craving and needed to latch onto something he knew to be familiar.

  In the midst of all of it, at some point I had stopped fighting him. I stopped fighting my urges for him and started initiating sex. I stopped being embarrassed by my need for him and gave into more of his sexual demands. I enjoyed how he commanded me in bed. I enjoyed his knowledge of my body. I enjoyed the times he pinned me to the shower wall or bent me over the kitchen counter. I enjoyed the times when I woke up with his tongue between my legs.

  I also enjoyed the times when he would slide in from behind at three in the morning when he simply couldn’t wait.

  In stopping all of the fighting, I had also stopped trying to fight what I felt for him. I stopped trying to convince myself that this wouldn’t work. I stopped comparing us as a couple to my parents and started seeing the reality of the situation. I started seeing how hard he worked, how much he had grown, and how we both had changed for the better because of what we had been through.

  I started imaging what we would be going through together once this child was born.

  In the midst of it all, I stopped fighting against falling in love with him. I allowed my eyes to linger and my mind to wander during my workday. I acknowledged the flutter in my heart whenever he came in from the field and undressed me with his eyes. I stopped fighting the need to roll into him at night and toss my leg around his naked hip.

  But most of all, I stopped comparing him to my father.

  My love for him was there. Every morning when the sun rose and his morning breath woke me up. Every time he pinned me to a wall and pounded my imprint into the paint. Every time his hand migrated to my knee whenever we were eating dinner together—it was there. It was full and bright and shiny.

  And scary as hell.

  But I wasn’t backing down. Loving Drake was the most exciting thing I had ever done in my life. Being around him fulfilled a part of me I had long neglected. I had closed myself off to the notion that anyone could love me the way I needed to be loved. And it wasn’t until I met Drake that I understood how lonely I had become.

  “Thinkin’ ‘bout him again?” Stacia asked.

  “Sorry. Sorry. Um—what were you saying?” I asked.

  “Nothin.’ Just saw you starin’ off into space. How’s that paperwork comin’ along?” she asked.

  “It’s coming. Mr. Hart approved my four-month plan for my first patient, so I’m putting it in writing officially, so we can go over it in his session next week.”

  “Ya know, if that patient goes well, he might start givin’ ya more.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping. It’s what I want to do. I want to help people through this time in their life. I want to help them plant their feet firmly on the ground and feel like they can do this. I don’t want sobriety to be such a chore. Not if it doesn’t have to be.”

  “That Drake is one lucky man,” she said. “He’s got you helpin’ him with all that. And for free!”

  I grinned at the sentiment as I went back to typing.

  “Oh, that reminds me,” I said. “What are you doing Friday night?”

  “Cookin’ dinner, then snugglin’ in for a movie with the man. Why? What’s up?”

  “Think the man would let you off your routine for a night? Drake’s playing a small venue in town and I could easily get my co-worker in,” I said.

  “Ooh, he’s gonna have to, honey. I ain’t missin’ none of that,” Stacia said. “You can consider me there. What time?”

  “The concert’s at eight at the Mercy Lounge.”

  “Oh, girl. Are we dressin’ up? Nope. Not a question. We’re dressin’ up. Girl’s night, our boots and our dresses, and I’ll even stick to non-alcoholic drinks just for you.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I said.

  “Drake ain’t drinkin.’ You’re not drinkin.’ I’m not drinkin.’ But I am orderin’ food, and plenty of it, so make sure you’re hungry.”

  “Food, virgin daiquiris, and Drake. Sounds like a good night to me,” I said.

  “Now—if my man turns out to be a closeted Drake Blackthorn fan, how much are the tickets?” she asked.

  “I can get him in, too,” I said, with a wink. “Just let me know before Friday.”

  “I can do that.”

  I finished typing up the sobriety plan for my patient and turned it in to Mr. Hart before I packed up my things. Then it was time for me to head home.

  Home.

  That was what I’d been calling Drake’s house for a little over two weeks now.

  I dug out my phone as I made my way to my car. I turned the word over in my head as my fingers curled around the device. Home. It was a word I had hated in the beginning. I had seethed with anger whenever Drake referred to his house as my home, but now it only made me smile. Thinking about going home trickled warmth throughout my body instead of shooting pangs of fear. The concept of home was something that had been decimated for me. Something that was riddled with memories of fighting, depression and unsolved questions. Death and destruction permeated the idea of home for me.

  But not now. Not now that I was with Drake.

  With Drake there, home meant protection. A comfort. A relaxing environment. Home was sloppy morning kisses and sweet tea on the porch. Home was dinner with Elsie and Tammy and Paul. Home was waking up before the sun just to make love with Drake before he got sweaty on the farm.

  Home was then peeling those sweaty clothes off and tasting the saltiness of his skin.

  Home was so many things I could never have imagined with him, and as the phone rang in my ear, tears sprang to my eyes.

  “Hey there, beautiful,”
Drake said.

  “Hey, Drake,” I said, with a sniffle.

  “Delia. What’s wrong? Where are you? I’m grabbin’ my keys now, you just stay put—

  “I’m fine Drake. I thought I’d bring dinner home tonight,” I said.

  Silence descended on the other end of the line as that word hung heavily in the air between us.

  “Home?” Drake asked.

  “Yeah. Figured I could drive through somewhere. Pick up some pizza or some burgers. Bring them home for us to eat,” I said.

  “Home.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Home. You know, to your house.”

  I heard him chuckle on the other end of the line before he drew in a deep breath.

  “I’m actually in the middle of cookin’ us some dinner,” he said.

  “And you were just gonna abandon ship and run out the door?” I asked.

  “Yeah, if you were in trouble, without a second thought.”

  My stomach did flips as I relaxed into my seat and smiled.

  “You cooking dinner actually sounds mighty nice,” I said, with a grin. “I’ll be home soon.”

  “I’ll see you when you get—home,” Drake said.

  Then I hung up the phone, started up the car, and drove home as fast as I could.

  CHAPTER 39

  Drake

  The standing room concert venue was riddled with tables and chairs. In a standing room, the Mercy Lounge could hold one thousand guests. But I didn’t want people standing for my entire concert. I had a pregnant girlfriend who would need to sit, and I was sure there would be others who wouldn’t appreciate having to stand for an hour with a drink in their hand. So I rented tables and chairs and made sure the bar was ready to have servers on standby for the people who were coming to the concert.

  But the best thing of all was Delia and her presence. She was at a table in the back corner with Stacy. Or Cindy. Or whatever the hell that woman’s name was. The woman she always talked about at work. The advice-giver. The one that reminded her of a mom even though she had Delia’s fire in her eyes. They were having their girl time and enjoying food before the concert, picking at things and sipping on brightly-colored drinks. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. How happy she was and how beautifully she was dressed. She had on this pair of boots I’d bought her, with turquoise and pink decorative detail riding up the sides. And the dress she had on clung to her bosom in a way that made me salivate as I stared at her from backstage.

  Delia was excited to introduce me to her friend. I hated that I couldn't remember her name, but in my defense, I could hardly remember anyone’s name. I fucking called Hank ‘Henry’ for the first two months he managed me.

  The only person’s name I had ever committed to memory right off the bat was Delia’s.

  Delia’s friend had been warm and down to earth when I met her. Full of life and very compelling. I could see why Delia regarded her as a mother figure, and I was glad she had someone like that in her life now. She needed that influence. That motherly advice that bordered on ‘let’s get real.’ Especially with what she was going through. She was blossoming with a life growing in her body and was changing in so many ways. Women needed their mothers during this time—during pregnancy and childbirth.

  I was really glad she had someone like Sidney.

  Sadie?

  Fuck.

  It was time for me to come out on stage and a warm applause was given. Delia and her coworker were both on their feet, as was the rest of the room. Drinks were high in the air as Hank glared at me from backstage. This was my first performance in a place like this, surrounded by alcohol, the substance that had almost taken my life from me. He kept telling me this was a bad idea. Telling me that I wasn’t ready to perform in a venue like this.

  But I told him I would be okay, and I would be as long as Delia was there. She was my strength. My rock. The reminder I needed as to why I was traveling this journey in the first place. I scanned the crowd and saw all the beers dripping with a condensation I could feel on my fingertips. I found Delia’s face in the crowd, and saw the worry reflected there. I could see her eyes counting all the drinks in the air as I stood there, waiting for her gaze to return to me.

  Then when she found me again, I threw her a simple wink.

  I did my first two songs and could tell the fans were really liking this softer side. Just me, my guitar, and a part-time drummer I had hired for a couple of numbers. He sat on this weird little box thing and had a soft rhythm going through a few of the numbers that were a little more upbeat. It was something I’d tried hiring Landon to do, but neither he nor Stone were picking up the phone for me right now.

  I figured it was probably for the best.

  The fans swayed and those who were sitting held the hands of the people they’d come with. Delia’s friend held her hand, providing comfort to the woman I loved, who I knew was worrying over me. I strummed my guitar and kept my eyes on her, trying to feed from the strength she had no idea she gave me. I allowed myself the time to breathe her in, even though she was all the way across the room—tucked away in a dark corner to try and give other people a chance to be nearer to me.

  It came to the end of my second song and I felt a sort of inspiration come over me. Inspiration I hadn’t felt since I’d first started this journey as a musical artist. I turned toward my hired drummer and waved him off, keeping him from ushering in the third song of the set.

  I had something I wanted to say. Something I wanted the crowd at this concert to know.

  “I wanna thank y’all for comin,’ tonight,” I said, as I slung my guitar around to my back. “It’s uh—it’s been awhile since I’ve performed in a place like this. This is the types of venue I started performing in when I was still gettin’ my name out. But these are also places that are forbidden for people like myself. People who struggle with things like I do.”

  Scanning the crowd, I found Delia’s eyes, her brows stitched together in confusion.

  “Before we get into more of my set, I wanna tell y’all a story. A story that’s near and dear to my heart. A story that changed my life. I think it’s appropriate, especially with findin’ my roots again like I’ve been doin’ these days.”

  I tossed Delia another wink before my eyes scanned the crowd again.

  “This story is about a woman. A stubborn little woman who found herself at the side of a broken man. She was a bright, shining beacon of innocence and hope, and this man? Well, he was drownin’ in the river of bourbon. This stubborn woman, with her powerful voice and her tiny little frame, came swoopin’ in on a job she had no business bein’ employed to. He threw everythin’ at her to get her to quit. Shovelin’ shit outta stalls and tryin’ to repair tractors. Workin’ up a sweat by doin’ all sorts of things her job didn’t require. And when that didn’t work, he turned to flirtin’ with her. Crossin’ that forbidden line his manager told him he didn’t need to be crossin.’ Figured an innocent little light like hers would flicker and fade the moment he got his hands on her. But it didn’t. She didn’t.”

  I drew in a deep breath as the crowd focused on my every word.

  “This stubborn little woman and that broken man went through a lot. Poisonin,’ fightin,’ arguin,’ and tryin’ to figure one another out. And in all of that turmoil and all that—that bullshit, somehow that shinin’ beacon of hope and that broken, dark man somehow found love again. This beautiful woman and the man she took in somehow found a home with one another, even though they were both frightened of what a home would bring. Both had experienced great loss in their homes. Great trials and great—amounts of—well—shit,” I said.

  The crowd chuckled while some held their beers up to cheer on what I was saying.

  “But they found one another,” I said. “And they clung to each other. Even though rehab, hesitations, and fears separated them, that broken man was prepared to pursue her to the ends of the earth. And when that stubborn woman decided to let her light shine instead of tryin’ to snuff it out, some
thin’ wonderful happened. Uh, yeah—whoever’s runnin’ the lights, could you toss one over to the back right corner? Yep. Right there. Thanks.”

  The spotlight illuminated Delia as tears streamed down her face. Everyone turned to take her in, watching her shoulders shake as she cradled her growing stomach. I felt my hands beginning to shake with nerves as I slid my hand into my pocket. I pulled out my momma’s wedding ring, a ruby in the center, surrounded by diamonds. I looked down at it as the crowd gasped, and I knew this was it.

  This was the moment I had been waiting for.

  “I want y’all to know that I fell in love with that stubborn woman. Despite the darkness that consumed me and the addiction that threatened to tear my damn world apart, it’s her light that keeps me focused. It’s her light that keeps me on track. Without her—without you, Delia—I know for certain I’d be dead.”

  I heard a quiet sob escape Delia’s lips as I got down on one knee on stage.

  “Delia Jakobson, you saved my life. The doctors said it, Hank said it, and now I’m sayin’ it. There’s some old sayin’ or whatever that explains a very basic truth—that no one understands the kind of darkness they’re walkin’ through until a light shines on their path. I had no idea of the darkness I’d allowed to surround me until your light tried to penetrate through it. It took a long time, but it found me. Your light found this stubborn, broken man, and it is your light that drew him away from that darkness. Delia—mother of my child—will you marry me?”

  I heard boots rattling across the floor as Delia’s body appeared in my vision. I jumped up from my knee just in time to catch her in my arms. I swung her around on stage, feeling her tears of joy soaking my neck as she held me tightly. The crowd erupted into applause and cheers, not bothering to hear her answer as I dropped her down to her feet.

  Her hands gripped my shirt and tugged me toward her, our lips colliding fiercely as my hand founds hers. I slipped the ring onto her finger, our tongues dancing like licks of fire before I intertwined our fingers.

  “Yes,” Delia said, into my lips. “I’ll marry your stubborn ass.”