by Rye Hart
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 grabbed 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.
CHAPTER 21
Drake
One Week Later
After three weeks of being in rehab, I was finally at a point where I could have visitors. I got one phone call a day and could call anyone that I wanted to contact. The group therapist urged us to use this time to make amends, apologize, and see who would still be there for us. My first phone call was to Tammy. I wanted to talk with my sister and hear how she was doing. Elsie talked with me about the latest book she was reading and how it was helping her to understand me a little more. It was a book on addictions and how they began, why they spiral out of control, and what someone could do to help.
It made my heart ache that Elsie felt the need to do that. It was like a punch in the gut, knowi
ng I’d exposed her to a life like this one. I listened to her rattle off a series of facts, like what percentage of people never really pull through and how I had the odds on my side because the damn book told her the best thing I could have was a support system.
The second day I called Hank. I wanted to know how things were going and if I had any sort of career to come back to. I figured we would take the time to talk through things on the phone, but he was adamant about coming to see me.
So, later that day, I had my first visitor.
“Drake! Ya look good.”
“I feel like shit,” I said.
“Thought you were supposed to feel better after having all that shit out of your system,” he said.
“Not physical shit. Emotional shit. Mental shit. Too many different kinds of shit in here to name, Hank. I hate it.”
“Well, from here it looks to be helping. They feeding you good here? Got a nice tone to your skin and all.”
“What, are you hittin’ on me?” I asked, a wry grin on my face.
“Shut up. Damn. Just trying to tell you this place is doing you some good.”
“What do you got for me that you couldn’t tell me over the phone?” I asked.
“The media’s caught wind of you being in rehab, and for a while there it was touch and go. Some magazines and news outlets saw it as a good thing, but others were bashing you for it.”
“Figures. Now, give it to me straight. Do I have a career to come back to or not?” I asked.
“Your former record label dropped you. Didn’t wanna be associated with an addict. But another, better one picked you up.”
“What?” I asked. “Who?”
“Warner Bros. Records.”
I almost swallowed my tongue when he said the name.
“Are you fucking joking?” I asked.
“Not one damn bit. They heard you were dropped and called me immediately. Said they wanted to do a deal with the man clawing his way back to the light. They love your story. They wanna do a whole record that tells it from front to back,” Hank said.
“My story.”
“Yep. Which is why I’ll need your signature when you get out of here on the final paperwork. It means telling some hard stories. Like about the death of your wife and daughter and your struggles with your sister,” he said.
“What does Delia think?” I asked.
The conversation fell silent and I knew the look Hank was giving me. I was trying not to mention her. Hell, I didn’t wanna even call her. But she was on my mind and in my thoughts. Every time I did open up to talk in the therapy session, she somehow worked her way into the conversation. I kept her and my sister in the forefront of my mind every damn day. Every time it got hard or I started thinking about how much I wanted a fucking drink, they were there.
“Honestly, I don’t know much, Drake. I fired her when you went off the rails.”
“I still need to beat your ass for the way you were talking to her,” I said.
“You heard us fighting?” Hank asked.
“Hell yeah I did. You were an asshole to her. She didn’t deserve any of that shit. You had no fucking reason to fire her out from under me.” “She didn’t do the job she was hired to do. At the very least, all she needed to do was get you back to the bus and keep you sober after performances. She couldn’t even do that,” he said.
“No one can fucking do that, Hank. Not even you. I’m dealing with this shit in here, but you put Delia in a situation she couldn’t win. That was fucked up.”
“Okay. Fine. I hear you. But could we at least focus on the fact that your stint in rehab is single-handedly rehabilitating your image? That’s it got you signing with Warner Bros. Record Company? That it’s bringing you into a light you haven’t occupied since your career fucking began?”
“I guess that’s a good thing, yeah,” I said.
“It’s a fucking great thing, Drake. You’ve got endorsement deals and concerts coming out your ears when you’re ready. You’ve got some time off initially, then you, Landon and Stone can all get back out on the road. Sold out concerts. Money as far as the eye can see. And that’s only with the music you’ve done so far.”
“Can we talk about something else? Like how the ranch is doing? You’ve stopped by, right?” I asked.
“Ranch fine. Paul’s got shit under control. He always does. He told me to tell you that one of the new heifers is already knocked up or something. Got a vet bill coming that’ll have to be paid.”
“Tell him whatever he needs, to put it on the card. I’ll pay it once I get out of here,” I said.
“Oh. There’s also someone else that wanted to come see you. Picked them up as I was coming here.”
I turned around in my chair and saw Tammy walking through the door. Elsie was at her side, her eyes darting around everywhere. I saw how uncomfortable she was and how deeply she was pressed into Tammy’s side, but the second her eyes connected with mine she took off running.
I got up from my chair and held my arms out for my sister as she barreled into my grasp.
“Drake,” she said, with tears in her eyes. “You’re okay.”
“I’m always okay, sis,” I said, as I rubbed her back. “I’m the big brother. It’s my job to be okay.”
It was the first time my sister had ever hugged me. If there was one thing she hated, it was people touching her. She always made the comparison to gravel. She didn’t like the feeling of being caged, of not being able to see the other person’s face. Reading faces was how she tried to decipher social situations, and not having that face in front of her made her even more uncomfortable.
But as she buried herself into my grasp, tears sprung to my eyes.
I held her for what seemed like an eternity. Twenty-two years of taking care of her and this was the first time she’d allowed me to hug her. I soaked in the moment before she backed away from me and tucked her emotions in.
A tear made its way down my cheek as she finally pulled away from me.
She stepped back to Tammy’s side and I drew in a deep breath. Elsie looked good, like she was eating and keeping herself out of trouble. Tammy lifted her hand toward me and handed me a bunch of mail, and I took it from her as I nodded in her direction.
“Things have been good. The bookstore gave Elsie another day to work, so she works Fridays as well as Saturdays and Sundays now.”
“They like my organization and my ability to recall where things are,” Elsie said. “Said I was an asset to their business.”
“That’s good,” I said, as I wiped the tear from my face. “I’m proud of you. Moving on up in a company is a good thing.”
“I just hope they don’t make me come to the front very often. I like it in the back. It’s quiet.”
“I’m sure they won’t make you do something like that,” I said. Regular donations to the place gave me the ability to check on how Elsie was doing. I made sure they were treating her exactly how Elsie would want to be treated, normal and like everyone else. She didn’t like people making exceptions for her or trying to make things easier on her because she was autistic. I made sure those standards were adhered to.
“There are a couple of bills in there as well as something from a record label. I figured you’d want it,” Tammy said.
“Thanks for bringing this,” I said.
“You can call in payments if you want. I’m not sure if you have computer access here, but you can do it there as well. I don’t have the authority to make these payments. Trust me, I’ve tried,” Tammy said.
“Thanks. I’ll take care of it.”
“There’s also something in there from a college? It looked official, so I stuck it at the back of the pile,” she said.
I started flipping through the mail until I came to what she was talking about. It was a letter from Vanderbilt University and I pulled it from the stack. I dropped everything else into the chair as I ripped it open, my eyes scanning the letter as her name popped out at the top.
Th
is was information on Delia’s graduation ceremony.
“What is it?” Hank asked. “What’s it for?”
“It’s an invitation to Delia’s graduation ceremony,” I said.
“When it is?” Tammy asked.
“Two weeks,” I said.
“You should be out of here by then,” Hank said. “Are you wanting to go?”
I scanned the letter again, noting the formality of it all. Why would Delia send me an invitation to her graduation? This wasn’t a personal letter from her. This was something sent from the University. I guessed it was because I had been listed as her boss in the past month.
I wasn’t sure what to make of it all, but I knew what I wanted.
“Tammy, could you RSVP back for me on this? Let them know I’ll be coming,” I said.
“Sure,” Tammy said, with a grin. “I’ll let them know.”
“Could I go?” Elsie asked.
My eyes drifted over to my sister as my heart sank. I knew this would happen. She had gotten attached to Delia somehow. I could see the curiosity and hope running through my sister’s eyes as she fiddled with her fingers. Tammy was eyeing me carefully, trying to figure out how best to approach the question she had thrown my way.
“It was sent by the University. Not by Delia. For all I know, they sent it without her permission. To try and rope me into somehow making a donation or something because she was working for me,” I said. “But if I do go, I’ll take you with me. How does that sound?”
“Will there be a lot of people there?” she asked.
“Probably. Vanderbilt graduates several thousand students every semester.”
She looked a little uncertain now, as if she was having second thoughts.
“You know they'll probably have a live feed you can watch,” I said.
“That might be better,” Elsie said.
We all talked for a few more minutes before it was time to lock the place back down. I hugged everyone and chanced a kiss on my sister’s cheek. She recoiled a bit, but I could see a light sparkling in her eyes. I couldn’t wait to get out of this place and spend more time with her. I missed her more than I could stand some days.