by Rye Hart
“Please, Delia. I know you don’t wanna see me and I know you wanna put all this behind you. But I—I need to see you. And I don’t admit that often. Or ever. I don’t usually need people. I’m a mess, Miss Delia. A fine and proper mess. Just come to the hospital before they pick me up for this damn rehab place. Please?”
He was begging me to come see him one last time. And even though everything inside of me told me to delete the message and forget about all this nonsense, I couldn’t.
Maybe I’d been wrong about him after all. Maybe he did care. Or maybe he just needed a friend.
As I pieced myself together and headed for the hospital, I began to get excited for him. He was going into one of the finest rehabilitation centers in the state of Tennessee, and he would get the help he needed. He would have group therapy and one-on-one counseling sessions. He’d meet people who struggled with the same type of addiction he did. He would be in the presence of people who could help him find his way to a road of sobriety he could’ve never achieved on his own.
I walked through the halls of the hospital and came upon his room. There was a security guard standing outside of it, but the moment he saw me he nodded and moved to the side. I clutched my purse tightly as I drew in a deep breath, my nerves getting the best of me. My heart was thumping in my ears and I could feel the blood rushing through my veins.
I was nervous to see him.
I stepped into the room and found him sitting in a chair. The security guard closed the door behind me, making sure no one would come in after I’d entered. The sun was illuminating Drake’s outline, casting a healthy glow on his skin as he turned his head.
“Well I’ll be,” Drake said. “Wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Can’t resist a begging man,” I said with a grin. “You look good.”
And he did. His eyes were clearer than I’d ever seen, and his skin already had a healthy glow back to it. I walked over and stood by his chair, placing my hand on his shoulder for comfort. He was dressed in his regular clothes and his legs were spread wide. He had a relaxed grin on his cheeks and for once, his hand wasn’t shaking.
“I cussed Hank out for you,” Drake said.
“No need for all that. He was right to be mad,” I said.
“Doesn’t mean you talk to a woman that way.”
“Well, thank you for being my knight in shining armor.”
His hand came up to mine and he wrapped his fingers around my wrist. He brought the palm of my hand to his cheek and I felt the three-day stubble on his skin. I bit back the urge to run my fingertips along his jawline. I bit back the urge to straddle his lap. After a few days of being away from him, he was still irresistible.
And I hated myself for it even more. He was vulnerable and I was thinking about sex. It was like I didn’t even know who I was anymore.
His face turned into the palm of my hand and he kissed it. The warmth spread up my arm, causing my grip on my purse to release. He guided me around his chair and tugged me into his lap, and my hands planted on his chest to push away.
But instead of pushing away like I was telling myself to do, my hands curled into the fabric of his shirt.
Our lips collided as my brow furrowed. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. I hadn’t come here to do this. I came here to see him off to rehab, but dammit, I couldn’t resist the pull of him.
His hands rushed up my skirt, squeezing my thighs tighter than I wanted. His fingertips pulled my panties off to the side, ripping the fabric as my hands fiddled with his belt buckle. I managed to free him from the confines of his jeans as his cock throbbed in my hand, and I worked to straddle his lap as he held his girth for me. I sank down onto him, our motions desperate and his touch hotter than even I remembered it.
My legs shook as they dangled around his waist, my toes not quite touching the ground.
“We shouldn’t do this,” I said as his cock throbbed within me. “We—we can’t, Drake. Not here. Not now.”
“Delia, I’m about to go to rehab. I won’t be able to call you or see you. It’ll be months before I see you again. And I want you. I need you.”
I looked up into his eyes as he rolled his hips into mine. His touch was raw. Rough. Rugged and callused. He gripped me hard and thrust deeply into me . I leaned my face into his neck, trying to stifle my moans of pleasure.
I clawed at his shoulders, my body trembling in his arms as his hips assaulted my own. His large hands encompassed the whole of my hips as his dick slid in and out of my warmth. Salacious electricity surged through my veins, forcing whimpers up my throat as I muffled them with his shoulder.
No matter how much he fucked up and no matter where the hell he went with his life, I would always want him. Even if this was the last time I’d be able to have him.
He was like a sickness within me. A virus I couldn’t shake. I felt his cock throbbing against my fluttering walls as my arousal poured over him. His hips were stuttering, and his body was thrusting shallowly against mine.
My lips found his as he exploded within me, triggering my own orgasm as I fell over the edge.
My pussy pulled him deeper. My arms snaked around his neck as our tongues collided and I memorized the sweet taste of him. A taste untainted by alcohol.
Our foreheads knocked together as we drank in each other’s breaths. His cock stayed sheathed within me until it dwindled, slipping from my body.
He gave my ass one last squeeze before I removed myself from him.
I watched him stuff his cock back into his pants as I fixed my underwear and skirt. I wanted to reach out to him, to cover him in kisses and to stay with him, all day. My heart pounded in my chest as I touched the stubble on his face.
“You should probably go,” he said, staring out the window instead of looking at me.
“Drake, I don't want to go,” I said. Tears filled my eyes.
“You deserve better than this, Delia. Better than me. I'll only fuck up your life,” he said. “I shouldn't have asked you to come here.”
“But you did ask, and I came to support you.”
“Why?” he asked. “Why do you care so damn much?”
I couldn't answer that. It was more than just him being an addict and needing my help. I didn't want to turn my back on him.
“I don't know.”
He nodded, his gaze flicking to me for one second before he went back to the window. His jaw was clenched tight, as if he was trying to keep himself under control.
“Probably for the best. We should end things before they go too far, you know?”
I knew he was right, but the pain inside of me was raw and real. I didn't want to end things, even though I wasn't sure we'd even started something to begin with.
“You're right. I'll go.”
The security guard opened it before I got there, and my cheeks burned hot with realization.
That was the plan. From the moment I had entered the hospital, that had been Drake’s plan, to get me on top of him. He had planned to fuck me one last time before he left.
My stomach rolled with nausea as I raced away from the hospital.
That was it. That was my last time with Drake. He was going to rehab, and I was going back to my life. I would wash him out of my system and bury these memories into the locked corners of my mind I never accessed. I was simply Delia, the college student. And he was Drake, the rancher-turned-music-star.
It was back to my normal life and back to my normal ways.
I should have never taken that damn job.
CHAPTER 19
Drake
Holy shit, I was about to climb the fucking walls. Detox was a mess and the medication they were giving me wasn’t helping. And on top of my withdrawal symptoms, I had to fucking talk to people. Between the time I spent on my knees dry-heaving, the time I spent sweating through the water I tried to chug before throwing it up, and the time I shook myself awake at night, they fucking expected me to spew my life story to them.
Even though I wa
s shaking so violently my teeth were chattering.
Strangers, wanting me to talk about my feelings. What the fuck was that about? I was here to get sober, not commune with ‘like-minded individuals.’ They thought they knew what I was going through? They didn’t have the slightest fucking clue was I was dealing with. I didn’t talk. I didn’t open up. I just went through my fucking detoxification shit, swallowed my medication even though it didn’t work, and tried to bide my time until I got the fuck out of there.
As I laid in bed, my teeth chattering so badly I was scared they’d shatter, I thought about all the ways to relieve the pain. A drop of alcohol. A pain pill. A razor blade to my fucking throat. If I had to talk to one more stranger in one more therapy session about my past and how it somehow haunted me, I was going to break someone’s nose.
I rolled over in my soaking wet bed and closed my eyes. I hated doing it. Just like I hated everything else in this damn place, I hated sleeping. Why? Because when I slept, she was there. With her bright, gorgeous eyes and her long, toned legs. I could hear Delia’s giggle knocking against my ears as her hand cupped my cheek.
I could still conjure the touch of her skin. It warmed me to my core as I dreamed about her at nightHer smile and her laughter. The way her nose crinkled when she was pissed. The way her sweat-drenched shirt clung to her that first day on the ranch.
The way she was sleeping on the table as I stumbled into the bus.
She’d left a very serious imprint on me that I couldn’t shake. No woman, since Shannon, had ever stricken me the way she had. I knew I couldn't see her again, for her sake. I'd done too much damage to that poor girl already. I needed to suck it up and learn to move on without her, to fix my own shit instead of dragging someone else down into the abyss with me.
Still, I wondered if she would come if I asked. Jesus Christ, what was wrong with me?
I closed my eyes at night and saw us holding hands, lying out underneath the stars and just staring. I’d point out the constellations to her like my momma used to do to me and she’d giggle and move in closer. I saw her working on that rust bucket truck, bent over the hood of it with her jeans rolling down her hips. I saw myself taking her against that truck, her pussy squeezing my cock as her juices sprayed out at me.
I should’ve asked her so many things. Like why she was always so disappointed whenever I took a drink. That look was never just because I was drinking. I knew that look all too well. She had secrets. Deep, dark things she kept close to her chest. I dreamed of telling her about my knee, and about the accident that had ruined my life and taken everything I'd ever loved from me in one night.
I wanted to tell her how this entire cycle began.
Maybe when I got out, things could be different. Maybe I could actually do some of this shit with her that I was dreaming about. Maybe she’d let me take her to dinner or something. Or she could share a cup of coffee with me. Just a cup of coffee.
Anything to get around her again.
I woke up to someone knocking on my door and beckoning me to the common room. I’d slept the damn day away and it was time for group therapy. I groaned and pulled my aching body from bed, grimacing as the wet sheets squished underneath my skin. My head was swirling as I grabbed a bottle of water at my bedside, chugging it as best as I could before the nausea kicked in again.
But this time I was determined to keep it down.
No matter what.
“Hello, my name is John.”
“Hi, John,” the group replied.
“Um—so yeah. Haven’t really talked much here,” he said. “Don’t really see the point. Since this hasn’t worked the past two times I’ve tried it.”
Two times? This fucker had been here twice already? Not exactly a ringing endorsement.
I shivered and shook all the way through the group therapy session as people talked about their addictions. Pill addicts because of botched surgeries and heroin overdoses because of childhood abuses. Everyone had such terrifying stories, and slowly my understanding of the situation dawned on me.
I had terrifying stories, too. And I was allowing them to control me. Just like these people were.
I had to keep my dreams at the forefront of my mind. I had to keep Elsie as my top priority. Higher than alcohol. I had an entire life to live that would be drowned in my drinking if I didn’t get my damn act together. People were counting on me. My fans were counting on me. I couldn’t let the destruction of my life and the desolate waste of my past keep holding me underneath the river of bourbon I was hell bent on drinking dry.
It would kill me if I let it.
And then who would be there for Elsie? For Paul? For Hank, and for Tammy?
I had to let that be the fuel that lit my fire. I had to let that be the inspiration for getting sober. Because if I let it go, even for a second, my demons would come crawling back up my throat.
And I’d try to wash them away with the bourbon underneath the kitchen sink.
CHAPTER 20
Delia
Two Weeks Later
I hit the ‘submit’ button as I sighed with relief. Done. I was done with my classes. Over the past two weeks, I’d thrown myself into nothing but work and school. I turned everything in early, completed modules at the speed of light, and had my teachers commending me for my speedy work. In a few short weeks, I would get my diploma in the mail and all of this would be put behind me.
I had gotten invited to the school’s award ceremony on campus, but I didn’t want to go. I hadn’t been feeling well the past couple of weeks, and I couldn’t stop thinking of Drake, no matter how much I told myself to let him go.
I kept wondering how he was doing, despite the distractions I kept for myself. I kept wanting to call the facility and check up on him, even though I knew that was unprofessional. My work with him was done and my contract had been successfully terminated by Hank. The money had been dumped into my account, I had paid off my education, and the rest went into a savings account to help me start my new life.
I spread out on the bed as my headache returned. For the life of me, I couldn’t get rid of it. There was an ache in my bones that began to settle again and my frustration continued to mount. I was done with the shit the memory of Drake was putting me through. If I wasn’t relieving myself in the shower, I was nauseous with worry over him. It was hard to eat, it was hard to think, and there were times where all I wanted to do was sleep. I feared the worst. I feared slipping into the same depression that ultimately killed my mother.
But what was there to be depressed about? Drake was just some guy, wasn’t he?
My head pounded so hard that my nausea got worse. My stomach began to cramp and my chest began to ache. Great. On top of everything else, I was about to start my damn period. I rolled myself from my bed and shuffled to the bathroom, then dug around underneath the sink for a pad.
I sat down on the toilet, ready to clean myself up. I rubbed my chest as I went to the bathroom, trying to ease the ache underneath my skin. My nausea was getting worse and I could taste my own stomach bile rising to the top of my throat.
But there was no evidence of my period anywhere.
I closed my eyes and tried to settle the panic in my stomach. Shit. The couple of times I’d been with Drake, neither of us had used any protection. The last time we’d had sex was only a couple of weeks back, but our first encounter was almost a full month ago.
That didn’t seem right. Symptoms like this didn’t arise until, like, eight or nine weeks.
Right?
The more I thought about it, the more panicked I became. I grabbed the trash can next to me and heaved into it, vomiting up the breakfast I’d managed to eat. My head was swirling, and my chest was aching. I cleaned myself up and headed for the grocery store. I gathered four different tests and purchased them on the spot. I raced back home and sat on the couch, waiting for the urge to pee. I sat there with my head in my hands as my television droned on in the background. The moment the sensation hit me I g
rabbed the grocery bag and darted for the bathroom.
I took every single test. Four different kinds, seven different sticks. I set them all on the bathroom counter and paced my small bathroom floor, hoping and praying to any God that would hear me that this wasn’t happening. I had the flu maybe. Or mono. Surely someone like Drake could pass on a kissing disease, right? Or maybe he had an STD. I never thought I’d pray for an STD before, but now I was. Anything seemed better than what I was fearing.
The required three minutes ticked by very slowly. It was agonizing, but once it was done I raced over to the bathroom counter. I picked each one of them up as my eyes grew in size, tears streaming down my cheeks.
My worst nightmare was coming true.
Gathering up the positive pregnancy tests, I sat down on the edge of my bed. I cried, my tears dripping into my lap as each one of the sticks sounded off the word ‘pregnant.’ I was pregnant by a man who couldn’t care less about me if he wanted to. The tests clattered to the floor as I sobbed into my hands, my body trembling as I curled up on the mattress of my bed.
What the hell was I supposed to do now?
Abortion was off the table. But what now? Did I tell Drake? He had the right to know, but how would he feel about it? How would he react? He was battling his own demons right now. And what if he didn’t care? How would I feel then? I didn’t know what to do. Every step I made from here on out affected a growing child in my womb. Every emotion I felt, my child would feel too. Every piece of food I ate and every drink I consumed, would fuel my child, or not. I curled up on the cold bathroom floor, my tears silently dripping along my skin and pooling at my cheek.
This was a true crossroads in my life that would not only determine the trajectory of my life, but the trajectory of Drake’s and my child’s. What the hell was I supposed to do with that? How was I supposed to carry that weight on my shoulders? I had to figure out how I was going to support this child if Drake wanted nothing to do with it or me. I had to figure out my next step. As I heaved into the toilet, emptying the remaining contents of my stomach, I knew what I had to do. I couldn’t think about Drake right now. The only thing that mattered was where I went from here. The first thing I needed to establish was a source of income.
