by Rye Hart
And in Elsie’s own way, I could tell she cared about Tammy, too.
But when Drake didn’t come back from downstairs, I left to go find him. It was nice to talk with everyone, but if I was no longer needed here, then there were things I had to do. I ventured up the stairs and walked down the hallway, dipping my head into rooms to see if I could find him.
“Drake?” I asked. “You up here?”
I heard a long sigh, and I followed it through the door it came from. I walked into a room that was dark and dank, with clothes scattered about and the closet thrown open haphazardly. There were doors cracked open, revealing a private balcony at the opposite end of the room.
And there he sat.
With a beer tipped up to his lips.
Navigating my way through the bomb that had gone off in his room, I crinkled my nose and made it to the balcony, then slipped out beside him to try and talk. But his eyes were glassy, and his stare was far off.
I wondered how much alcohol he had already ingested just this morning.
It was clear that I needed to work on a plan to get him clean. If I framed his sobriety in the right light, it would be an easy task. Tell him his sister depended on his income and that Paul’s job and the life of the ranch depended on his ability to keep doing what he was doing. It was clear to me that he didn’t feel he was worth anything, despite his fame and fortune.
That was my goal for the day.
“What?” Drake asked.
“We’ve confirmed the details of your tour. Is there anything else you need from me?” I asked.
His eyes turned up toward me as his breath fluttered up my nose. I could smell the beer and bourbon on his breath. I tried to keep my personal disgust at bay as I gritted my teeth, forcing a smile across my cheeks.
Being alone with a drunk was always a vulnerable position to be in.
“Nope,” he said, as his eyes raked down my legs. “That’ll be all.”
“Then I’ll see you on Wednesday. At the record label.”
“Yep.”
“Call or email if you need me before then,” I said.
“Sure.”
“And try not to throw yourself off this balcony.”
I watched his back straighten as he got to his feet, stumbling as he caught himself against the railing.
“Go,” Drake said.
“Not until you come inside and lay down,” I said.
“Like you give a shit.”
“Come on,” I said, as I stood by the door. “In to bed with you.”
He tossed me a look before he stumbled through the door. He tripped on all the shit on his floor as I closed the balcony doors. I locked them tight as I heard him fall into bed, face planting straight into the pillow. The beer bottle tumbled from his hand, rolling across the floor as he groaned.
I pulled the hair tie out of my hair and wrapped it around the doorknobs, trying to put whatever measures I could between his drunken ass and a fall from his balcony.
“June 16th,” Drake said.
“Yes, that’s today’s date. What about it?” I asked.
“That was Ava’s birthday. Today would have been her sixth year birthday,” he said softly just before passing out.
Suddenly his strange behavior today all made sense. I felt for him. I couldn’t imagine the pain of losing a child, and the last effect of something so tragic. This man was truly imprisoned by the memories of his past.
CHAPTER 11
Drake
I slept on and off all through Monday and woke up to the sun blaring in my eyes. My head hurt, and my body was sore. The stale smell of beer permeated my room. I groaned as I pulled myself upright, planting my feet onto the floor so I could get my bearings. I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes to try and rid them of sleep while my head pounded.
Fuck. I’d slept an entire day away.
I got up from the bed and took a step forward, but my foot caught onto something. I went tumbling to the floor, my hand smashing into something.
“Fuck!”
I could feel the blood trickling into the carpet as my eyes focused on what the fuck I’d just fallen onto.
A beer bottle. Fucking grand.
Pulling myself into my bathroom, I cleaned off the wound. This would put me out of the farm work today, which was fine with me. I had that damn mini-tour starting tomorrow, and the last thing I wanted to do was spend my last fucking free day mucking out stalls. I’d pay Paul his fair share and leave it at that, resolving myself to a shower and some fucking coffee.
I cleaned myself up and came out of the bathroom to find steam from the shower had filled up my room. I went over to the balcony doors to throw them open, but there was something holding them back.
“What the hell?”
I looked down and saw a ponytail holder wrapped around the doorknobs. I furrowed my brow as images of yesterday slowly bombarded my mind. Delia on the balcony. Cussing at her to go away. Her ordering me into bed.
Fuck. She had ordered me to bed? I remembered telling her the significance of yesterday’s date. It was Ava’s birthday. I had completely forgotten about her birthday until yesterday evening, while Delia was busy working on the itinerary for the tour. That was the reason why I was piss drunk all night. I was trying so damn hard to forget.
I threw on some clothes and pulled on my boots and went downstairs. I found my baseball cap and threw it onto my head, then dug around for some gauze. I got the bleeding slowed down, and taped it up so it wouldn’t bleed everywhere, and stuck the ponytail thing in my pocket.
Then, I found a note from Paul on the fridge.
Drake,
Gone to town with an interested cattle rancher. Might have two more heifers coming to live with us. Took the hauler just in case.
Paul
Great. No one was here. I fucking slept through lunch, so Elsie and Tammy were gone. Paul probably thought I was a lazy ass fuck. I had Delia’s damn hair tie in my pocket. I couldn't work on the damn ranch because of my hand, and I was still hung over from last night’s pathetic drunken mess.
What the hell was I supposed to do with my day?
I pulled my flask from my pocket and unscrewed the top. I tossed it back, draining the rest of its contents before I filled it back up. The only thing I could think to do was return Delia’s hair tie. It was dangerous for me to see her, and I was sure she didn’t want to see me, but I just couldn’t stay away from her. Returning a rubber band was lame as fuck, but it was either that or drink myself stupid.
So I plugged her address into my phone and took a walk.
Soon, I’d figured out how the hell she got here so early in the mornings. She didn’t live that far away. Only a couple miles in the opposite direction of my sister’s.
Thirty minutes later, I found myself on Delia’s porch. I noticed her porch light was on as the sun beat down on my back. I raised my hand to knock on her door. Three hard knocks and a kick with my boot resounded on the other side of the door, and I heard someone coming down the steps.
I could’ve just left the damn hair tie in her mailbox. Or put it around her doorknob. I didn’t have to knock on her door and see her. I didn't have to bother her this way. But I wasn’t able to walk away. There was something deep down inside of me that wanted to see her. I wanted to see those sparkling eyes and those luscious lips and feel her warm skin radiating against mine.
“Drake?”
I whipped my head up and found her eyes, but not before I saw what she was wearing. She had on this short robe that was tightly wrapped around her. Light green and yellow, with her shining legs bare and her arms glistening with water. Her hair was damp, falling down her shoulders as water dripped down her neck.
Holy fuck. This was a bad idea.
“What are you doing here?” Delia asked.
“You left his,” I said.
I pulled her hair tie out of my pocket as her eyes dropped to my hand. She took it and nodded her head, slipping it effortlessly around her wrist. H
er movements were so fluid. Graceful and petite, despite the fire I knew raged in her soul. She was just the right amount of sass and sexy that tugged at my cock. It made me want to pay attention as my eyes found hers again.
We stared at one another for what seemed like ages before I lost control of my actions.
I stepped forward and grabbed her face, crashing her lips against mine. She tasted divine, like wine and oranges and grapes. I slid my tongue along her lips, hoping to God she wouldn’t push me away. I wanted to taste more of her.
She didn’t pull away. So I sank myself into the kiss.
Her lips parted, allowing me access as my cock grew against her bare legs. Her hands cupped mine before they slid up my arms. I could feel her feeling me. I could feel her fingertips curling into my muscles. I could taste how tentative her kiss was. How new all of this was to her. It stoked a fire behind my pelvis as my tongue raked across the roof of her mouth.
She shivered at the motion, so I did it again as she leaned into me.
I prayed that she would let me in so I could shut the door. Everything fell to the back of my mind. My fame. My fortune. The ranch and the flask in my back pocket. The reason I had walked here and how sweaty I must feel underneath her touch.
I even forgot about all the people in this fucking town who recognized me.
Until I heard my name.
“Git it, Drake! Whoop whoop!”
I heard clapping and hollering as the moment broke. I felt Delia jolt, like she had just woken up from another dream. Her hands raced to my chest, pressing me backwards as I stumbled onto her porch. Her eyes were fiery as they looked around her apartment complex, trying to figure how who the hell had made all that noise.
Then she shut the door in my face.
Fuck.
Whoever the fuck had ruined that for us was gonna die today.
I thought about knocking again, about pursuing her like I knew women enjoyed. but the sound of the deadbolt flipping closed was a definite no. So I headed back to the ranch.
I didn’t see anyone in my path that looked to be staring, but I kept an eye out. I’d had a moment with Delia. A moment where she almost let me the fuck in. I didn’t know why I wanted to be let in, to assume the responsibility of being her first in anything. There was something about her fiery spirit that seemed familiar. There was a look in her eye that seemed almost kindred, and I wanted to figure out why.
Plus, I wanted to taste her again. Because holy hell, she tasted good.
I got back to the ranch as Paul was driving up. The hauler was full with two more heifers for the farm and I helped him unload them. I walked both of them into the pasture, feeling Paul standing next to me. I could feel his eyes on my hand as I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to hide my accident from him.
There was no reason to be ashamed of it, but I sure as hell wasn’t ready for one of his fucking lectures.
“Get it cleaned up good?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“Got the glass cleaned up?”
“Sure did,” I said.
“Need anything else?” he asked.
“Nope. I’m good.”
“Glad we had this talk.”
“Sure,” I said.
I stalked back up to the house and made for my bed. I passed out face first, ready to sleep off this entire day. I slipped in and out of sleep for what felt like ages, but when my stomach woke me up with hunger the sun hadn’t even set. I rolled back out of bed and went downstairs to rummage around in the fridge for something to eat. I fixed myself a sandwich and felt the urge to sit outside, so I headed for the porch and opened the door.
But when I did, I saw a gaggle of girls giggling at my gate.
They were pretty far away, but it was enough to ruin the mood. The wonderful town of Nashville had listed my house on its fun little tour stop list. Now, every fucking person in the world could just drive by my ranch without any fucking repercussions whatsoever. They could stand at my damn fence and take pictures, ogle over my property, and bargain for a few more minutes to see if I would walk out onto my porch.
And the moment I did, they always started screaming.
I backtracked into the house and went up to my room. It was the only place in the house where the screaming didn’t penetrate the walls. I slammed my door behind me and sucked down my sandwich, hardly tasting it as I shuffled toward my closet. I reached for the shelving unit above my clothes and grabbed a beer, then brought it down and opened it with the palm of my hand.
Guzzling it, not caring that it was warm, I washed the sandwich down as I made my way to bed.
I was trapped.
Trapped in the home I’d grown up in and the place I was supposed to be able to seek solace. A place that was supposed to be safe for my sister and be a home to comfort me after tours. A place that held so many memories with Shannon and Ava before the accident. So many jokes, so many stories, and so many moments of laughter filled the walls of this house.
Before that fucking accident.
Before they died.
Before everything fell apart.
I was trapped in the one place that should always be safe. It was the one place every hard-working man should be able to walk into and hang up his hat. The one place that should put a smile on his face. With a good woman in the kitchen and kids to keep him warm on the couch. Family to come bustling in with more food than a man would ever be able to stomach, and enough sweet tea to last a lifetime.
That was what a home was supposed to be. Not some prison to keep me cut off from the world.
The only thing I had to help me relax was my beer.
And I figured another one wouldn’t hurt.
CHAPTER 12
Delia
If I closed my eyes I could see him, feel him leaning forward to kiss me. I could feel his arms. I could feel his muscles twitching underneath my fingertips. Had I just let all of my rules go, I would’ve had him. I would’ve known what it felt like to have a man between my thighs. I could’ve eased my ache with his body had I just pulled him into my apartment.
But no. We had to be interrupted.
I had already had to masturbate to the thought of him. Slamming the door in his face did nothing to quell the want that had surged through my body. It was dripping down my thighs as I spread my legs for my hands, moaning his name and writhing on the couch. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough just to see him. To imagine him.
I wanted to feel him, to feel his muscles against me and underneath my tongue. I wanted him to open my eyes to the world of sex, no matter what that meant. I wanted that beautiful, broken man. I came to him twice that day. Twice to the memory of feeling of his tongue raking against the roof of my mouth.
But now I had to see him. Now, I had to talk with him. I had to follow behind his damn tour bus and stay in a hotel across the hall from him, all the while trying to deny the fact that I wanted him, even though he’d already caught me once in the act. God the look in his eyes that night. They were hungry.
He showed up in my dreams. My mind concocted all of these scenarios that left me breathless every time I jerked myself awake. I saw him taking me on that balcony, my body turned out for the world. I saw him taking me on my couch, his face planted between my thighs. I woke up moaning his name, feeling my body shaking and contracting like his cock was buried deep inside me.
But he wasn’t there. My mind was so focused on him that it was conjuring his aura around me. Like a ghost or a phantom residue I couldn’t scrub from my skin.
I got out of bed and readied myself for the day. I took as cold of a shower as I could manage, but it didn’t do anything to stop the pulsing of my clit. I flipped the water back to warm and slid my fingers between my folds, feeling myself already dripping at the thought of him. I closed my eyes as I slid to the shower floor, my conditioner dripping down my face. I bucked into my hand as my fingers pressed into my aching clit and I imagined his tongue there. His tongue that had so languidly licked my mouth.
Oh, the things that tongue could do between my legs.
My chest heaved and my toes curled. My eyes rolled into the back of my head and my body shook. I came on my hand for a third time since I’d seen him, and my chest heaved for breath. I was dripping with want for him. I felt tears rising to my eyes as I succumbed to the reality of the situation.
Despite my best intentions, I was lusting after my client.
Cleaning myself up, I tried to push the thought from my mind as best as I could, reminding myself that he was a client, a client that needed my help. I had worked on the outline of his plan to help him get sober and sent it to Hank for approval. I would need a go ahead from him before I started implementing anything.
And it started with watching him on this tour.
I got dressed after the shower and got ready for the day. I met Drake at his record label and he looked drunk. His eyes were glassy and his stance was sloppy. I could smell the alcohol coming off his breath, and his clothes were wrinkled and musty-smelling. Which meant he was drunker than he usually was.
That should’ve been enough to derail the need he elicited in me. Seeing him like my father before he drove away that day should’ve been enough. But it wasn’t. I wanted to reach out to him and help heal all it was that plagued him.
His record producer was going over some final things before they cut the last rendition of his latest album.
Hank was there paying attention, and I was grateful for it. My eyes were on Drake the entire time, studying his body and his reactions. His reaction times were especially slow. I could see his flask sticking out of his back pocket, but the cap wasn’t even screwed on. It was empty, and it made me wonder how much he’d had before coming to this meeting.
