by Rye Hart
“Has he proven to you so far that he is anything but a dumb teenager?” Hank replied.
“Look, Hank, I’m sorry –” she started to say before Hank cut her off.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it. Not now. Not standing here in the damn hospital because that asshole drank himself stupid”,” Hank said.
Hospital. I was in the hospital.
I felt my body being moved as my back landed on something strong. I heard echoes of Landon and Stone’s voices as my eyes fluttered shut. When I woke up again, the smell of disinfectant wafted up my nose. I was cold and my feet were exposed and I felt a needle piercing the top of my hand.
I tried to yank it away, but someone’s grasp was tight on my wrist.
“Hold still, Mr. Blackthorn. I’m almost done.”
Another voice I didn’t fucking recognize.
“Is he gonna be okay?”
It was Delia again.
I tried to reach out to her, but I couldn’t move my body.
Why the fuck could I not move my body?
“We gotta get him hydrated and do a full work up of what he’s got in his system. But we’re in the process of setting him up to have his stomach pumped.”
“Holy fucking shit,” I heard Hank say.
I passed out again as I was being rolled down a hallway. The passing lights were mesmerizing and they lulled me to sleep. I saw my mother’s face again, with her raven black hair and her dark brown eyes. She had a beautiful smile on her cheeks and a rosiness to her features I hadn’t seen in years. I lifted my hand to try and touch her. To try and feel the warmth and comfort only a mother could provide.
But the illusion was busted when someone else took my hand.
“Drake? Can you hear me? Please tell me you can hear me.”
I heard Delia sniffle as my eyes finally pried themselves open.
“Holy shit. Drake. Hi. Hello there. How are you feeling?” she asked.
Her hand cupped my cheek and I mindlessly nuzzled into it.
“What happened?” I asked.
I coughed when I tried to swallow. My throat fucking hurt.
“Here, drink some of this. It might help,” Delia said.
I felt a straw dancing around my lips as I parted them to drink the water she offered me.
“You um…”
My eyes cleared long enough to find Delia’s. They were puffy and red, swollen from all the tears she had cried. The hospital bed was uncomfortable, and I tried to shift, but all of a sudden, I felt someone’s arms underneath mine.
“Easy does it,” Hank said. “Let us help.”
“I’ll—deal with you in a second,” I said. “I heard how you were—talking to her.”
I cast my gaze back to Delia as she sat on the edge of my bed. Even though I’d done my fair share to get her to quit, I didn’t like hearing Hank talk down to her. It didn’t sit right in my gut. Especially when this one was all on me.
“What happened?” I asked.
“You gave yourself alcohol poisoning,” she said, looking at me with sad eyes.
“Doctors had to pump your stomach and fill you with fluids to get your body put back together again,” Hank said.
“It was just a few drinks,” I said.
“Your blood alcohol content was 0.41, Drake. That’s almost six times the legal limit,” Delia said.
“You almost killed yourself,” Hank said. “You’re lucky Delia woke up when she did. If she would’ve slept any longer, she would’ve found you dead.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to clear it. It felt muddled. Like I was moving through Jell-O with cotton swabs in my ears. I couldn’t focus on anything.
Not even Delia’s beautiful eyes as they gazed upon me.
“Where are Landon? And—uh—and Stone?” I asked.
“Heading home,” Delia said. “Your last concert’s been canceled.”
“No, no, no. We can’t cancel that one. My sister’s favorite city is Dallas. We gotta do this Texas show.”
“You can’t. You have to go to rehab. No one can deny you have an issue anymore. Not even you,” she said.
“I’m doing the fucking concert, Delia.”
“No, you’re not,” she said sternly. “You’re going to rehab, and I’m going back to being a regular remote personal assistant until I can get my degree completed.”
“So—you’re gonna quit on me. Just like that?” I said. But wasn’t that what I’d wanted all along?
“I was hired to do two things; keep you on schedule and help you start your journey to sobriety. I failed to do both of those things.”
“You didn’t fail shit. I heard you and Hank arguing, but I was the one who snuck out. It wasn’t your fault.”
Alcohol poisoning? Had I really drunk that much? I was usually so careful.
“I failed you, but I can do some good before I get out of here. I’ve already called a rehab facility in Nashville. They’re expecting you. Landon and Stone are on comfortable flights to their hometowns to spend some time with their families. This thing with you has really done them in,” Delia said.
“And you’re just going to walk away? Just like that?” I asked.
Delia looked at me with genuine sadness in her eyes.
“Goodbye, Drake,” she said. “And please take rehab seriously. If you do, it’ll get you on a good path.”
I tried to keep her hand within mine, but she slid too easily from my grasp. My eyes hooked onto her as she picked up her things, and I watched her walk out of the room, leaving me alone and cold in this fucking hospital bed with some dumbass gown on and a needle in my hand.
The pain in my chest was heavier than I’d ever felt it before, and I found myself wanting to drown the sensation in bourbon, even now. How fucking sick was I?
CHAPTER 18
Delia
“Hey, Delia. It’s me. Drake. I just wanted to make sure you got home okay. The hospital's transferring me back to Nashville for the rest of my seventy-two-hour hold. Then I’m off to the rehab facility. Figured you’re probably right. Anyway, gimme a call if you can.”
“Delia, it’s Drake. My calls are being monitored, but I figured I’d try you again. Got one more day on my hold, then I’m out and off to rehab. Hank’s escorting me there, but I was wondering if you’d come along, too. Landon and Stone are enjoying their families, and I don’t want them to see me like this.”
“Delia, come on. I don’t even know if you got home okay. Would ya tell someone? Please?”
Phone call after phone call poured in from the hospitals as Drake bounced around. The seventy-two-hour hold was mandatory within these types of situations. The hospital would automatically assume it was a suicide attempt in order to have time to coordinate his drop off with the rehab facility here in Nashville. He called me when he left New Orleans, he called me when he got back to Nashville, and he called me during his last day in the hospital.
Then, he called again. But this time, it was different.
“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 achieve
d 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 was 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 ey
es 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.
