Drake planted both legs on the parking lot’s floor. He placed his head on his hands, his elbows on his knees. He was dry eyed, a far cry from when he had begged Bethany to stay.
He couldn’t think. Didn’t want to think. He could do with drowning himself in alcohol until it pickled his liver.
His feet shuffled into the lift. The upward movement was making him heave. He punched the lift button several times while his other hand covered his mouth. The lift hadn’t completely opened when he bolted out of it. He barely entered his flat before the force of his retching made him hurtle towards the kitchen sink. Nothing came out. Then again, he hadn’t anything to eat prior to leaving for Newcastle. He left the water running, splashing the cool liquid on his face, dunked his head under the spout, around his neck. He felt like shit, smelled like shit, and his life turned to shit.
Drake stumbled back and his knees buckled. He fell on all fours finally pulling in the first lungful of real air in hours. The level of guilt swamping him was worse than the strongest hurricane on record. He felt as though his head was going to explode with Bethany’s words tumbling over like dried leaves torn from a tree’s branches by a vicious wind.
He closed his eyes and blinked unable to stop the wetness from dropping to the floor. His body crumpled and curled. He shook, silent sobs filling the loft as his heart fell apart. Anguish tore at him for the lost time, for his separation from Bethany, for the horrors he had to face alone. He mourned for the boy he had been, the loneliness he had to carry by himself, for having to be brave in the face of his parents’ rejection.
He cried for the love he had for Bethany which now extended to Amara, letting out an anguished howl for the heartache he had caused the woman he loved and the nightmare she had to endure. He cried for liking the young girl whose father was the very person responsible for destroying his life and Bethany’s. He could no longer take it, could no longer bottle it up inside. He rolled on to his back, the ceiling above him swimming through his agony.
And he bellowed. Shouted as loud as he could. Roared like an injured wild beast knowing it was the only way to ease the pain slicing him to shreds.
Then he curled back once more, sobbing.
Wishing that Bethany was beside him.
Drake no longer had any notion of the day and time hours later. Outside, the sky was still dark. He sat cross legged on the floor, trying to get his bearings before events flooded his mind once more. There was a knock on the door.
“Get the fuck away,” he growled and flicked the finger when the knocking didn’t abate.
He went to the bathroom, shed his clothes, and entered the shower. The cold water shot into his system and cleared his mind. He cleaned himself thrice and by the time he was done, he was shivering. Towel drying his hair before throwing the towel on the bed, he dressed only in a pair of Levi’s before leaving his bedroom.
And froze mid-step. He scowled.
“I don’t want company, Cray.” He sauntered to the mini bar to pour himself a quadruple shot of Macallan. The light from the bedroom was the only illumination in the flat. “If I don’t answer the fucking door, that should be enough reason to not to piss me off.”
“That’s when the secret corridor comes in handy.” Oliver propped both his legs on the coffee table. “Pour me one of whatever you’re having.”
Drake bristled. He really wanted to be alone but complied.
“Lissie know you’re here?”
“She was the one who asked me to check on you when you were howling your guts out.” Oliver’s eyebrow rose when Drake handed him a full glass of scotch.
“Bottoms up,” Drake said with a sardonic smile.
One gulp, two and his throat burned. Three…four…By the time he was done he was heating up and the room was lopsided again.
“Easy, Rosen.” Oliver placed his glass hard on the table making it slosh. He stood and helped Drake sit.
Silence reigned between them. Drake leaned forward with his head in his hands.
“How are you holding up?” Oliver asked quietly.
“What do you think?” Drake expelled a breath. “Sorry, man. I’m not good company right now.”
“Aiden was worried about you.”
“Yeah?” Drake snorted before leaning back on the couch. “He didn’t have to. Thank him for me for getting me into my car.”
“He tailed you until you got back here safely.”
“I don’t remember a bloody thing.” Drake rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes. The pain on his face and his knuckles was nothing compared to what he felt inside.
“He said you drove very sedately. More like a Sunday driver in a flashy car.” Oliver smirked.
Drake snorted. “Yeah well…at least I didn’t thrash the car.”
“At least you didn’t die.” Oliver flattened his lips. “Newcastle is a big place. You could have checked into a hotel and drive back tomorrow.”
“No man. Bethany was there. I had to get away.” Pain lanced through him like he was one big infected pus. He rubbed his chest. “The things she told me. Bloody fuck, Oliver. I can’t get my head around it. What she went through and I was a fucking dick around her again. Told her she was a cock teaser.”
Oliver narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “And you’re a fucking asshole.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Drake closed his eyes and leaned back as he drowned in his guilt and shame. “I don’t deserve her.”
“I agree.”
Drake cracked an eyelid. “You’re supposed to take my side.”
“I don’t take the side of fucktards.”
Drake’s face hardened. “No…You’re right. I deserved that.”
“You definitely did.” Oliver snapped.
“What’s with the antagonism, Cray.” Drake scowled. “I already know I made a mistake.”
Oliver stood and walked around. He blew out a breath. “Yeah. Don’t need to rub it in, I know. It’s just that, I feel sorry for her, mate. Those choices she made were beyond her control.”
Drake’s frown deepened. “Wait, how do you know that? Were you spying on her?”
“No.” Oliver shook his head. “At least not intentionally. When you asked me to dig up some dirt on Tabler the intel also touched on one Bethany Brooke.”
Oliver took a folder from his back and let it fall softly on the coffee table.
Drake sat upright. Did Oliver find out something more? If there was more to what Bethany had told him, he’d have a one-way ticket to the asylum.
“Inside is a copy of Bethany’s court case naming Tabler as the perp. And Amara’s birth certificate.”
Drake dry rubbed his face. “Take it back Oliver. I don’t need to see that.”
“Sometimes it’s all about choice, Drake. Breaking away from the thing that can drag you down should be something that mitigates the wrong you’ve done.”
“Whoa,” Drake fixed his gaze on his friend. He couldn’t help the snorting laugh that came out of him. “Speaking from experience?”
Oliver nodded. “And because I helped someone escape the sordid life she was forced to live. She’s okay now.”
“She?”
“Yeah and this shouldn’t reach Luke. I’ll know if you snitched and I don’t take kindly to snitches.” Oliver warned.
Drake raised his palms. “Yeah sure. I know you will. I don’t want to die just yet.”
Oliver nodded. “I’ll leave the folder.”
“You don’t need to.”
“When you’re done reading that, you’ll understand Bethany and maybe you guys can work it out.” Oliver pointed to the folder as though Drake didn’t object. “Amara also has nothing to do with what happened.”
Drake’s mouth lifted in a sad smile. “You don’t think I know that either?”
Oliver nudged his chin. “Just be glad the fruit fell very far from the tree. As in maybe the next county. If you really love Bethany, you’re going to find a way to get her back.”
; Drake’s mouth quirked.
“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Why? Because you don’t want it to happen?”
“No, because I think Bethany no longer wants to be with me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Four months later
Manchester
“Take five, ladies!”
The women on stage faltered in their dance steps when Cinzia meandered through the tables clapping. Beautiful Trauma by P!nk continued playing in the background.
“Bettina, you have a visitor.”
“Who?” Bethany gasped in between breaths. She walked around the stage waiting for her pounding heart rate to slow down. She placed her hand on her forehead like a visor as she squinted against the glare of the stage lights.
Cinzia went to the sound system lowering the volume.
“Hi, Bethany.”
Bethany froze at the voice.
“Lissie.”
Felicity emerged from the shadows wearing a floral summer dress in blues and red making her hair fiery. Her sunglasses were propped on her head. She had her hand over her stomach bump.
“You’re pregnant,” Bethany exclaimed. She jumped off the stage and embraced her friend. She was very happy for Lissie and Oliver. “Congratulations! How long gone are you?”
Lissie blushed, her smile widening. “Six months.”
“That means—”
“Right about the time you left town? Yes. I didn’t realise it until after my third month. Weird huh?”
“Can’t really say.” Bethany laughed softly, becoming wistful. “They call it morning sickness but I had mine in the afternoon at 4:30 on the dot.”
They both giggled before Bethany gestured to one of the tables.
“Sorry, I’m all sweaty. The girls and I were going through a dance routine,” Bethany said as she snatched her towel from a nearby table and wiped the perspiration off her face and neck.
“We never got to learn burlesque dancing and with my bump…” Lissie looked down with a rueful grin.
“There’ll be other times.” Bethany waved her hand, still puffing from the cardio she had just subjected to. “How’s Oliver taking it?”
“He’s ecstatic! He has more conversations with my belly than with me.”
Bethany’s shoulders shook with mirth, wiping her legs through her fishnet stockings.
“Your baby is going to be spoiled rotten.” Her smile dipped as she placed the towel around her neck. “Why are you here?”
“Is it wrong to want to visit a friend knowing she’s returned?” Lissie angled her head in curiosity.
Bethany’s mouth quirked to one side. “No it isn’t. But how did you know I was back?”
“We still get our flowers from Expectation Blooms.”
“Ahh…” She looked down at her hands. “Cinzia.”
“No, your dad, actually. I passed by and saw him so I asked where you were.”
“Dad couldn’t wait to get back and work.” Bethany’s mouth twitched.
She remembered the moment they decided to leave Newcastle. It was the day after they had watched the news and saw that Andrew Tabler was en route to the US to be tried for his involvement in money laundering for terrorism. The Drake’s gym was also mentioned but was cleared of any involvement. Bethany had breathed a painful sigh of relief. She was happy for Drake. Cora had smiled at her sadly, rubbing her arm and nodding. Her father had been happy to get back to Manchester and work. He became so excited even Amara started whining, asking him to chill.
Lissie reached for her hand across the table.
“How have you been? Are you alright? I mean, really?”
Bethany swallowed hard through the lump in her throat. She was suddenly nervous.
“I will be,” she said. “I’ve been here before…just a matter of returning to a different kind of normal.”
“Oh Bethany.” Lissie let go of her hand as she leaned back on her chair. “Would it matter if I told you Drake hasn’t been himself when he left Newcastle?”
Bethany refused to rise to the bait, but she was desperate for news of Drake.
“I wouldn’t know,” she said instead. “Like you said, he left.”
“No, Bethany. He didn’t,” Lissie replied gently. “Did you see him leave?”
She shook her head. “I told him things, Lissie. Things that has destroyed the way he looks at me should we happen to bump into each other. I didn’t wait and see how badly I broke his heart.” She chuckled. “Cowardly, huh?”
Lissie kept silent, her eyes filled with sympathy.
After their blow-up, Bethany never heard back from Drake. Not once did she receive a phone call from him. He didn’t text either. It was as though he wanted to close that part of his life with her. Bethany understood why yet she had been tempted so many times to call him. She didn’t. How could she face even talking to him after what she’d done? The oceans of the world couldn’t compare to the distance that had risen between them. She had eventually told Amara about Andrew Tabler but not that he was her father.
For about a week, Amara had been quiet and Bethany knew her daughter had been crying in hiding. And then it was gone. Amara started talking again but her humour was drier, more subdued. She buried herself in books and home schooling.
Every night since she and Drake broke up, Bethany cried in the bathroom before going to bed with Amara beside her. It didn’t take long before Amara was comforting her as her tears started patching up the painful cracks of her heart and soul.
“How did you know?” Bethany asked taking the edge of the towel to wipe her upper lip and brow.
“Oliver told me. My husband is at his wits end trying to stop Drake from killing himself.”
“What?” Bethany’s eyes rounded. “What do you mean?”
“He’s gone back to the ring. Fighting.” Lissie shook her head. “Oliver has gone to the gym several times trying to talk him out of it but Drake can’t be dissuaded. He doesn’t even rest in between fights. He just keeps training.”
Why would Drake do that? Worry burned a hole in her gut churning acid.
“Can you talk to him?”
“Sorry?”
“Talk to him Bethany.” Lissie urged. “He will listen to you.”
Bethany shook her head. “I don’t think he’ll listen to me. I broke his heart remember?”
“But you’re the only one he loved.” Lissie said.
“And you know this because…”
Lissie flushed. “He’s been to our flat so many times and gets roaring drunk. That’s when he starts talking until Oliver has to help him to his own flat.”
“Oh my God.”
“He isn’t over you, Bethany.” Lissie’s smile was soft. “I don’t think he ever will be.”
“I don’t know…”
“Are you over him?” Lissie peered at her.
Bethany lowered her chin. “I think you know the answer to that.”
“Then go to him.”
Bethany exhaled looking around to find the words. “I don’t know, Lissie. I’m afraid of what he’s going to say. What can happen.”
“Bethany.” Her friend leaned forward and squeezed her hand again. “Isn’t it high time that you stopped running?” She paused. “I can understand why you ran the first time. I would too if I were in your place. But this is the man you fell in love with. And he loves you. Why would you run away from something that just so right?”
Bethany kept quiet.
“If you love him, if you want to have a life with him, fight for both of you. You’re a strong woman, Bethany. You brought up Amara on your own despite what was thrown at you. This is just another obstacle course. A harder one but the rules are the same.”
“And if it fails?”
Lissie smiled. “I don’t think it will but if it does, I’m giving Drake a dressing down.”
Laughter spurted from Bethany’s throat.
“Felicity Cray, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Lissie arched a brow. “I just don’t show it often.” She grinned then sobered. “I’ll leave the decision to you but I hope that you speak to him before he kills himself in his next fight.”
Bethany’s stomach plummeted.
“When is his next fight?” her voice croaked.
“Tonight.”
* * *
Adrenalin pumped through the audience’s chatter. The make-shift bar at the back of the warehouse saw brisk business. Plastic cups were passed as fast as money exchanged hands. Seats surrounding the empty cage looked like the benches in a Roman amphitheatre.
Overhead was a large screen zooming on the still empty cage for the viewing pleasure of those seated far away. Blood sport, 21st century style. It wasn’t any different from the time of the gladiators fighting for their lives during the Roman Empire.
Bethany shuddered as she inched her way to her seat. Lissie had given her an envelope with her ticket to the fight. Oliver had paid for it. The seat was close to the ring, all the better to see Drake.
Apprehension was like sludge through her system, tricking her mind to believing she was slower than a turtle. She just hoped that whatever she was about to do was worth it. Her heart drummed a beat enough to cause her to lose her breath.
She had to admit, though, that a bit of the excitement and anticipation of those waiting for the fight to begin was contagious. It was also diluting her anxiety like some IV drip to take her out of lethargy’s grip. She clamped her lips together stifling her grin.
“You’re in my seat.”
Bethany looked up, her face sobering. Three men crowded the aisle making her suddenly claustrophobic. They had bulk, more fat than muscle. One of them looked as though he had a smaller shirt that couldn’t cover the bottom half of his huge belly poking out beneath the shirt’s hem. She checked her ticket.
“Oh…but my ticket says this is my seat number.” She showed the man her ticket.
He snatched it instead, tearing it.
“Hey!”
He leaned forward, his breath smelling of stale alcohol and old gum.
Slow Dancing (The Second Chances Series Book 4) Page 29
