Beautiful Disaster

by Rye Hart

  And maybe it was for the better.

  As hard as it was to resist him, maybe I was better off without him.

  I drove back to my apartment, collecting my thoughts and hoping Drake had left. I didn’t see the truck we had driven here in, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I wanted to have the weekend to purge him from my home and get myself ready for work. I wanted to take a couple of days and not focus on anything else but my budget, my new job, and how I was going to break everything to my boss.

  But when I got to the front door of my apartment, there something waiting for me.

  I picked up the box sitting in front of my home and fingered the satin wrapping paper. It was shiny and eye-catching. I removed the paper carefully and opened the box, and inside was the most beautiful bouquet of lilies I had ever seen. They smelled wonderful as I placed my nose up to their blooms, the box dropping to my feet. I held them close to me, losing myself in the smell of them as I smiled into the blossoms.

  I reached down for the box and picked it up. I fiddled with my keys to try and get back into my apartment, but something falling to the ground caught my ear. I nudged the box through the front door with my foot, then reached down and picked up the envelope that had fluttered to the ground.

  Opening the letter as I walked inside, my back falling against the door as I held the lilies close to my chest.

  I’m not done with you yet.

  Despite myself, I smiled. I knew that Drake and I together just weren’t a good idea right now, but his persistence made me a bit giddy inside. I wasn’t sure just what I was going to do about him, but I knew I needed to figure something out fast.

  CHAPTER 25

  Drake

  The wind whipped around my ball cap as I rode the fence line with Paul. The horse underneath me was galloping at high speeds as we chased down a few cows that had broken off from the herd. I could see them in the distance, funneling toward the edge of the fencing I was still in the process of replacing.

  I had missed this during my stint in rehab.

  Realistically, I hadn’t been enjoying this while I was a stumbling drunk, either. I hadn’t been this useful or productive on the farm in years. I had allowed myself to be consumed by the lazy haze of bourbon and beer and had settled for being a useless piece of shit in order to feel some sort of relaxation.

  But this—this was really relaxing. I reveled in the he horses, the thunder of hooves, the flaring nostrils, the flying mane as I hung on, my thighs clinging to the saddle underneath me. Adrenaline was rushing through my veins. My eyes were alert and the horizon was clear. The sound of Paul’s voice broke into my thoughts.

  “Break off, Drake! I’ll take the left, you go right!”

  Running my horse around the cattle, Paul and I started wrangling them back toward the milk house. I could feel the rib cage of my horse expanding and contracting beneath my legs, heaving massive breaths as it carried my weight. I’d never been so in tune with an animal before, so aware of his condition and the things he needed. It was amazing, the things I took in when I wasn’t drunk.

  I still couldn’t believe I’d traded years of my life for the bottom of a bottle.

  “Don’t you gotta get outta here and get back up to the house?” Paul asked.

  “Nah. My new therapist isn’t meeting me here until three,” I said.

  “So, you know it’s already past two o’clock, right?” he asked.

  “Shit. Are you fucking serious?” I asked.

  “Yep. Ten after. Better get a move on, otherwise someone’s gonna throw your ass back in rehab.”

  “You got the horse?” I asked.

  “Yep. Run your ass back up there. Can’t be late for this one.”

  One of the conditions of leaving my rehabilitation facility was getting in touch with a therapist to talk with regularly. I’d been late for our initial meeting. It had just been a phone call, but it was to help the man fill out paperwork. I had put Hank on the task of finding someone who could come to the house in order to keep my privacy, and he had come up with some English fucker whose accent was hard to understand. But, he was someone willing to sign an agreement to keep his mouth shut and not blab our business to the media.

  He came at a hefty price, but I didn’t care about what I had to pay to get that kind of treatment. I knew this was important and was a key component of keeping me sober.

  I knew this was the key to getting my life back on track.

  Dismounting, I started running back toward the house. The last thing I wanted was to meet this man covered in dirt. I dusted off my pants as I ran toward the house, trying not to track in any shit I’d have to clean up later. I rushed upstairs and kicked off my boots, shedding my clothes so I could get in the shower.

  After all, I wanted to make a good impression.

  When I first talked to the man, he had seemed obsessed with the ranch life and started talking about shit I didn’t expect him to know about: hook ups for heifers to milk them dry in the mornings and the difference between raising chickens for eggs and raising them for meat. He started rattling off farm equipment and asking me if I used it on my own farm. I didn’t know if he was trying to kiss my ass or make himself look good, but it had worked.

  If my therapist was so well-versed in ranch life, then maybe we could have our therapy sessions out on the ranch.

  As I ran my hands through my hair, I sighed with relief. It felt good getting dirty again, sweating up a storm and having hay stick to my back. I enjoyed this life, especially now that I could remember it. I enjoyed the hard work and the reliable income and the quiet pace of everything. I enjoyed drinking coffee as the sun came up and running the horses around the pasture in the mornings. I loved watching new life being born on this ranch and watching the baby calves and foals stumble around trying to get their legs under them.

  I enjoyed being able to repeat the same actions over and over again, then reap the rewards of the fruits of my labor.

  But there was still one thing missing, one thing I was still craving when I woke up in the mornings, that I still reached out for in the middle of the night. I missed having someone to share it with. A family to come home to, to eat dinner with. For years, it felt like I lost my only chance at ever having that, but now I wondered if I could have a second chance.

  With Delia.

  Her absence was painful.

  It still befuddled me how quickly she’d wound her way around my heart. I’d been so closed off after losing my wife, content with never loving anyone again. I’d been a total shithead to Delia, and she’d thrown it right back at me. Just like Shannon would have.

  She was being stubborn, but I had to find a way to get her back. She was trying to do what she thought was right for me, but I wasn’t going to quit her. Not by a long shot. She could be stubborn, but I could be even more stubborn. Owning a ranch and raising animals meant I had to be stubborn to my core and stronger than I ever thought possible.

  Delia was confusing, and that was part of her allure. Women fell at my feet every day. Hell, they gathered around my fence at the road just so they could throw themselves at me. They tossed their bras and panties at me during concerts. They hunted down Stone to try and become one of the groupies he brought back to the bus. Women were more than willing to take whatever small bone I would throw in their direction.

  But not Delia. She had a backbone and she stood up to me. And I loved her for it.

  As I washed the dirt and grime from my body, I focused my mind. In a week, I’d be back on tour. I wasn’t sure if the guys were going to be there, so we were advertising it as a surprise acoustic tour. Stone and Landon were complaining about my sobriety, bitching about how I didn’t have an issue and that my alcohol poisoning was a one-time deal. Stone said all great artists go through that moment and Landon flat out told Hank that the tour would be shit because I was at my best when I was drinking.

  It was a hard thing to digest, but I remembered my group therapist talking about something like this.
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br />   They called them ‘triggers.’ Things that happened in our lives or people we interacted with that endorsed or prompted our addiction. Landon and Stone were partiers, and Hank was worried that if they came on tour with me, I would slip back into my old ways. And by the way they were talking and the things they were saying, he had every right to worry.

  So when Hank made the decision to advertise it as an acoustic tour to usher in my sobriety and new relationship with Warner Bros. Records, I supported him on it. I was going to miss the guys if they didn’t show up for the tour, but I understood why this was all happening now.

  I was beginning to understand a lot of things now that I wasn’t in a drunken haze.

  Stepping out of the shower, I prepared myself for this meeting. I dried my hair and put on some decent clothes, shaved off my stubble and slipped on a pair of boots that weren’t caked in mud and cow shit. Just as I went downstairs, I heard a car pulling up into the driveway. Glancing outside, I could tell by the way the man was dressed that he was my therapist.

  “It’s now or never, Blackthorn,” I said to myself.

  As I stepped out onto the porch, I offered my hand for the man to shake. It was a firm handshake, but one that caught me off guard. Instead of being weak or threatened, the man shook my hand like an equal. I could feel the warmth of his skin and the comfort he was trying to communicate.

  Fuck. Even handshakes felt different when I was sober.

  “Mr. Blackthorn. Wonderful to meet you. I’m Dr. Robert Ainsley.”

  “Nice to meet ya, Dr. Ainsley. Welcome to the ranch. I gotta say, the only tea I got here is sweet tea, but I can put on some coffee if you’re a coffee drinker.”

  “Coffee will be just fine. Would you like to do the paperwork now or after the session?”

  “Let’s go with after. I’m ready to get this shit on the road,” I said.

  “I like that type of attitude, Mr. Blackthorn.”

  I ushered the man into my home with hopes of getting my life back on track. Somehow, he brought a reassuring comfort with him. Comfort I hadn’t experienced since my father died. I watched the man walk down the hallway, heading straight for the kitchen. I grinned as I made my way to the coffee pot, preparing us a strong batch as the man got himself set up at the kitchen table.

  The kitchen table Delia used to sit at.

  CHAPTER 26

  Delia

  I doubled over at my desk, my abdomen rolling with pain. I laid my forehead on my desk as I breathed deep, my hips aching like they were squeezed in a vice. It robbed me of my breath as tears sprang to my eyes, and I felt a hand come down onto my shoulder as I began to panic.

  “Miss Jakobson? Are you okay?”

  I tried to breathe through the pain, cradling my tight stomach. Something was wrong with my baby.

  “No. No—I-I-I’m not. Can you? Get um—get Mr. H-Hart?” I asked.

  “Hold on. Keep taking deep breaths.”

  My body was under a lot of stress, juggling two jobs. I worked nine to five with Mr. Hart at the counseling center, then wrapped up things with my clients at the P.A. company during my spare time. Early morning counseling sessions, late night schedule toggling, phone calls planned for the weekend. My boss had accepted my resignation with a smile on her face as I explained to her the job I had been hired for. The only condition was that I wrapped up contracts I already had open with other clients.

  The money was nice, but the lack of sleep was rough.

  “Come on, Miss Jakobson. Let’s get you to the hospital,” Mr. Hart said.

  “What if—what if something’s wrong?” I asked. “I don’t know if my health insurance has kicked in. I can’t afford those bills yet, Mr. Hart.”

  “We’ll figure it out. Right now, you need a doctor. Come on.”

  I had informed Mr. Hart of my physical condition on my first day of work and he had been very supportive. He applauded me for taking on the responsibility of being a single mother and offered to help in any way he could.

  As my boss raced me down the highway, the cramping got worse. I held my stomach, fearing the worst as my mind began to swirl. If this was it, Drake had a right to know. If I was about to lose this child, Drake needed to know what was going on. Even with Mr. Hart at my side, I was scared and alone.

  All I knew was that I had to tell Drake.

  I had to tell him everything.

  “Sir? Sir, what’s going on?” a nurse asked.

  “Um—she’s a twenty-five-year-old female. One of my employees. She’s pregnant and experiencing some pain,” my boss said.

  “Do you know how far along she is?” the nurse asked.

  “About—seven weeks or—or so,” I said.

  “Let’s get her in a wheelchair. Ma’am, if you could just sit back for me, we’ll get you into a room,” the nurse said.

  “I need to call someone. Please. It’s urgent. I have to—have to call—um—”

  I couldn’t get the words out. As they pushed me down the hallway, something warm was trickling between my legs, and the only thing I could think about was Drake.

  “We need to get her a phone,” Mr. Hart said. “Now.”

  My hand was trembling as I dialed Drake's number. The nurses were hooking me up to I.V.’s and preparing me for ultrasounds. There were monitors beeping and lights flashing and the room was so cold. My feet were numb and my hips were aching and my stomach was rolling and I felt like I was going to vomit.

  I dialed the phone and Drake picked up on the second ring.

  “Delia?” he practically shouted into the phone, sounding surprised.

  “Drake --,” my voice broke.

  “Delia? Delia, what’s wrong?” he sounded panicked now.

  “I’m in the hospital Drake, can you please come?”

  I barely remembered the rest of the conversation as the activity around me increased. I dropped the phone from my hand and listened to it clatter on the floor. The nurses had shoved my boss out of the room and wrapped me in heated blankets. I couldn’t stop shivering. I felt the room spinning. My vision was blurring, and my legs were freezing and there were so many monitors trying to lull me to sleep.

  It was so hard to keep my eyes open.

  I laid on the hospital table as nurses gathered around me. The doctor examined me and noted his findings in my chart. I felt so lost. So alone.

  My eyes flew open as a ruckus grew outside my door. A voice was yelling, and people were shrieking. I heard footsteps trampling as my hospital door burst open. Tears were running down the side of my face as I felt someone’s hand slip into mine, and the moment I felt those calluses rub against my skin I knew who it was.

  Drake.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you, woman?” he said, into my ear.

  I was so relieved to hear his voice that I giggled.

  “What the hell were you thinking, not telling me about this? What the hell am I gonna do with you?”

  I turned my face toward him and saw how red he was, inflamed with anger as tears of worry pooled in his eyes. His skin had a healthy glow and his lips were fuller than I remembered.

  Sobriety looked good on him.

  “I’ll give you two some privacy,” a nurse said.

  I heard my hospital door shut behind him as my eyes held Drake’s.

  “Why the fuck would you not tell me something like this?” he asked.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, with a sob. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

  “How the hell could you think that?”

  “Your sobriety. I didn’t want to be a—a trigger.”

  I fell apart into a fit of sobs as Drake gathered me in his arms. He held me against him and stroked my back. I felt his heart beating rapidly, filled with the fear I was experiencing in my own body. His hand stroked my hair as he whispered soft words into my tresses, kissing the top of my head and trying to get me to calm down.

  “I’m sorry for fussin’ at you,” he said. “It’s gonna be all right. We’re gonna get
through this.”

  “I’m losing our baby,” I said.

  “Whatever’s goin’ on, we’re gonna get you straightened out. And we haven’t heard from the doctor yet. Maybe there’s an explanation for it.”

  “Something’s wrong, Drake. Something’s really, really wrong.”

  He rocked me in his arms as I went limp against him. I sobbed as the pain continued to ricochet up my back. I felt Drake’s hand migrate to my stomach, his hand splaying across the tightness of my abs. I wasn’t far enough along to be showing, but I was far enough along for him to feel the change in my body.

  I felt him pause, his fingers fluttering over my stomach as he digested the scenario he’d been thrust into.

  “I knew somethin’ was different,” Drake said.

  “What?”

  “This past weekend. When we were together. I knew something was different about your body. Your breasts were swollen and your stomach was tight, I never figured—”

  I pulled my face from his chest and gazed up into his eyes. I lifted my hand to cup his cheek, feeling his soft skin underneath my fingertips. I could tell he had been getting some sun. I allowed my fingers to trace his jawline, taking in the whole of him as he laid my body back down onto the bed.

  “All right, Miss Jakobson. I have the results of your—”

  I looked over toward the doctor, but her eyes weren’t on me, instead, her eyes were fixed on Drake. She swallowed thickly, and her cheeks began to flush, and that telltale shuffle many women had in Drake’s presence started.

  What the hell was wrong with this woman? Could she not be professional?

  “Ma’am?” Drake asked.

  “Yes, sorry. Um—the results of your tests, Miss Jakobson. Your hCG levels are—”

  Her eyes flickered back over to Drake and I sighed as I closed my eyes. I felt Drake’s hand tighten around mine as he cleared his throat. I wanted to know what was going on and the woman couldn’t focus long enough to tell me. I would’ve laughed at her had I not been so damn scared.