Damaged But Not Broken

by Hearts Collective

  We’re stopped for lunch not far from our next stop in Wichita when my phone goes off. I see that it’s Becky, and I’m happy she’s calling because I haven’t been able to bring myself to call and ask her about my dad’s behavior.

  “Hey,” I say happily into the phone.

  “Hi Paige! How’s the tour going?”

  “Really well, thanks. How are you?”

  “Umm, I’m fine. I just wanted to check in with you.”

  Something is definitely up.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Well, it’s your dad. Does he have some personal issues or something going on right now?”

  I excuse myself from the table, getting a questioning look from Blake, and head outside to take the call.

  “There’s nothing that I’m aware of, but he was also acting strange while he was on tour with us. To be honest, Becky, I haven’t spent time with him in thirteen years, so I’m not really sure what is going on.”

  “I know, I know,” she says quickly, “I know you just came back to Nashville. It’s just that he’s missed some pretty important business meetings, and something doesn’t seem right. I just thought you might know something.”

  “I wish I did. We didn’t exactly leave on good terms when he left here. But maybe I’ll try giving him a call and see if I can get him to talk to me.”

  “That would be great,” she says with relief. “I can tell he’s getting pissed off that I keep calling him.”

  We hang up and I stay outside for a few minutes debating on what I should do. My dad and I had been getting along great, but I was hurt by how he acted when we had coffee.

  This tour was all he could talk about, and then all of sudden he wasn’t interested, and now he was acting weird at work. My dad had a reputation, not all of it was good, and sooner or later people were bound to start thinking he was drinking again, even if he wasn’t.

  I decide to start with a text before I call. I pull my phone back out and send him a quick text.

  Hi Daddy. I’m sorry how we left things in LA, and I didn’t mean to offend you. Is everything okay at home?

  I start to type that Becky said he missed a few meetings, but I quickly delete it, not wanting to make him instantly defensive.

  I hit send and head back into the restaurant. I slide back into the booth next to Blake, and he takes my hand before whispering to me.

  “Everything okay?” He asks.

  “No, but I’ll fill you in later.”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Your dad?”

  “Yep.”

  I check my phone all afternoon, but I don’t hear back from my dad. I don’t want to call him before the show because I don’t want to psych myself out, or get in a bad place before I have to go on stage.

  The show goes well, and we sell out of our CDs. I catch Liam outside, talking away furiously on the phone, trying to get more CDs for the rest of the tour. He’s arguing about how he wants copies of them tomorrow for our stop in Springfield.

  Ben, Ryan and Jack stay behind at the bar to hang out, but Blake and I are anxious to get back to the hotel. We always say we should stay out and have a few drinks, but being alone together is just too enticing.

  Two hours later, we’re lying in bed, my leg resting on top of Blake’s hip, while he circles my nipple with his fingers. I’m spent and satiated, and I feel like my entire body is glowing.

  “I never knew sex could be so amazing,” I murmur in awe, closing my eyes as I relive the way Blake possessed my body just moments ago.

  “Neither did I.”

  I swat at him. “Liar. I’m sure you and Savannah we’re going at it all the time.” We try not to talk about her, but her name just kind of slips out. I meant the comment to be funny.

  He gives me a serious look and props himself up to stare at me.

  “Hey,” I protest, when his hands leave my chest.

  “I’m serious, Paige. I may have slept with Savannah but it wasn’t like making love to you.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re just saying that because you think that’s something girls want to hear.” I give him a direct look. “What? We aren’t ‘fucking’ but we’re ‘making love’?”

  “Well something like that!” he says defensively. “I’m being gentle with you, baby, but if you want me to fuck you, I can certainly do that.”

  I feel a delicious thrill come over my body.

  “What do you mean?” I whisper, unable to hide my desire for him.

  “I don’t want to frighten you,” he admits.

  “I’m only asking for an explanation, not a demonstration,” I point out.

  “Alright. Well, what I mean is I could be rougher. I could sneak up behind you in the hall, bend you over and push your little skirt up-‘’

  He trails off, his hand running between my thighs and I let out a little moan.

  “What else could you do?” I ask softly, feeling things heat up between us.

  Blake licks his lip, and slides his finger through my wet folds. I moan again, closing my eyes.

  “I could take you in the shower when you’re not expecting it.”

  He slips one finger inside me.

  A lusty moan escape my lips.

  “Push you up against the glass door, and spread your legs.”

  He pushes a second finger inside me.

  I moan again.

  Louder.

  “Then what?” I pant.

  “I’d push your face up against the wall, pull your hair back, and then push into you. Hard.”

  Blake’s breath is coming quickly now, and I can tell he’s aroused. His fingers push in and out of me quickly, and his other hand is now rubbing my clit in fast circles.

  I don’t know if this is considered “dirty talk” but it’s turning me on.

  “Then what?” I ask, my eyes closed envisioning his assault on me.

  “Mmm, I’d drive into you as the shower rained down on us, filling you with long, hard strokes and make you beg for more.”

  “Ohh, yes.” I was writhing on the bed now, needy and wanton for Blake’s fingers.

  “I’d reach around and squeeze your tits and nip at your neck.” He pauses, and I can hear his panting. “And if you let me, I’d smack your ass.”

  “Argh!” I cry out as he pushes his fingers deep inside me, rubbing my clit with his thumb, and then I come hard, shaking and trembling on the bed as Blake’s fingers continue to work me. The orgasm is unexpected and intense and my skin is on fire as my mind fills with dirty images.

  I curl up to Blake, reveling in my post-orgasm bliss, but when I look up at him, I sit up with alarm.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, grabbing his arm.

  “Was that too much?” he asks worriedly, cupping my face. “I don’t want to scare you. I just got carried away with that fantasy.”

  His face is so torn with fear that I can’t help but kiss him.

  “Shh, it was fine,” I assure him.

  I rest back against his chest and think over his naughty tale. I wonder if I truly would have been as turned on if it had really been happening, or if I would have freaked out.

  Blake seems to sense my direction of thought. “What if that had been real?” he asks softly, stroking my hair. “Would you have liked it? Or would it have scared you?”

  “It probably would have scared me,” I say truthfully, “but I think I would have been able to calm down enough to really enjoy it.”

  He nods.

  “I want to enjoy it,” I insist. “And I was scared when we slept together on the first night of the tour. But I worked through it.”

  “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

  “You can’t. You’ve already done so much to help me.”

  “But I’ve hurt you in the past.” And I know he’s referring to his messy break up with Savannah. It seems like a lifetime ago.

  “Really, Blake. I don’t even think about that. And I promise to tell you when I’m ready for something rougher like you descri
bed.” I give him an impish grin. “Obviously I enjoyed it, or I wouldn’t have, you know…” I trail off and Blake chuckles.

  “Well, I’m glad I made you feel good.”

  “Always.” I assure him.

  “You know I love you, right?”

  We’ve talked about love before, but we’ve never come outright and said the words. I’ve said as much, but only in conversations that happened while Blake and Savannah were still together.

  “Yes,” I whisper. “I love you, too.”

  “I know.” He kisses me on the forehead, and pulls me under the sheets with him.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Paige

  Off The Wagon

  The next day dawns, just like it always does, and I hate parting ways with Blake, but I do enjoy the time alone in my room to get ready. I know that I need to call my father since he never returned my text, but I’m stalling for as long as I can.

  After I shower and blow dry my hair, and refold my entire suitcase, I can’t put it off any longer. We have to check out in less than an hour, and I need to make the call before we get in the van.

  We actually have off today, so we’re taking our time heading up to St. Louis, and then we’re all going to break off and do our own thing tonight. I’m actually looking forward to having a nice dinner alone with Blake.

  I dial the number and my Daddy answers on the second ring.

  “Hey Daddy!” I say brightly, trying to sound cheery.

  “Hey sweetie,” he says warily. “How’s the tour coming along?”

  “Great! We just played in Wichita last night and it was a packed house. We’re on the road today and then we hit up St. Louis and Chicago!”

  I hear a lot of shuffling and noise in the background.

  “That’s nice,” he says gruffly. There’s silence.

  “Daddy , is everything alright? I’m worried about you.”

  “Everything’s fine,” he says, but this time his words slur together a bit.

  “What are you doing?” I ask suspiciously, feeling my heart rate speed up. I know the way my Daddy sounds when he’s been drinking.

  “Nothing,” he says defensively, “just picking up the house.”

  “When do you ever pick up the house? And shouldn’t you be at work?” I can’t help it now. My father is acting completely out of character.

  “Damn, Paige,” he sneers, “Are you my momma?”

  “This isn’t funny, Daddy,” I whisper. “I talked to Becky and she said you’ve been unprofessional, and if memory serves me right, it sounds like you’re drinking again!”

  “Well, God damn!” my dad crows, “ain’t my little girl a smartie!”

  I feel my eyes fill with tears because now I’m certain my dad is drunk. He hasn’t acted like this since I returned to Nashville.

  “I don’t get it, Daddy,” I say softly, “You wanted me to come home for thirteen years. You lamented to Momma for years and years about how you wanted a relationship with me. You say you cleaned up your act, get me down to Nashville and we finally start fixing our relationship. Then you start drinking again. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  The tears are coming now, and I desperately wish Blake was here to hold my hand.

  “Paige, I can’t do this now,” my dad says, and I can hear the hurt and anger in his voice.

  “Don’t you dare hang up on me!” I say suddenly, “I didn’t come all this way, uproot my whole life to have you go back to drinking!”

  But the line goes dead.

  “Fucker!” I cry, grabbing my bags and lugging them out of the room. I grab my phone and dial Blake. “I need you to meet me in the lobby!” I say quickly and hang up before he can ask any questions.

  I drag my bags into the elevator and out into the lobby. Blake is there a minute later.

  “What’s going on?” he asks, worried.

  “My dad is drinking again. I’m not going to let him ruin his life or our relationship. I’m catching a flight to Nashville now. Can you make sure my bags get in the van? I’ll make sure I’m back in St. Louis tomorrow night for the show.”

  “Hang on, Paige. Slow down,” he says, running his hand through his hair. “Let’s think about this. Let me at least come with you. I’ll make sure you’re okay.”

  I stop and look at his handsome face. “I appreciate that, Blake, I really do. But I need to do this alone. Can you just make sure my stuff gets on the van? And explain to Liam what’s going on.”

  Blake looks torn, and I can see that he doesn’t want me to go alone. “Okay. But I wish you would let me go too.”

  I give him a quick kiss on the lips. I hate leaving him, and I’m angry with my father because this means I have to miss my night off with Blake tonight.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize, “I really wanted to spend time alone with you tonight.”

  “Don’t be silly, Paige. We have all the time in the world. Go help your Daddy.”

  I nod and then head outside to find a taxi. It’s my lucky day because one happens to be dropping someone off out front. I get in and ask for the airport.

  Two hours later, I find myself settling into my coach seat, feeling lucky that I was able to get a flight so fast. I spend most of the nearly four-hour flight biting my nails and freaking out over how I’m going to deal with my father. It brings back horrible memories of being a kid, and of course the night of my attack when my dad was passed out cold. By the time the plane lands, I’m emotionally careening between wild anger and paralyzing fear.

  I catch a cab to my dad’s house, and it’s about dinnertime when I jam my key in the door and let myself in. The kitchen and family room are an absolute mess and beer cans are littering almost every surface and a bunch of empty pizza cartons are lying about.

  “Daddy!” I holler, “Where are you?” His truck is in the driveway so I know he’s home.

  I hear no answer, but I hear the sound of furniture being bumped into.

  “Good lord,” I mutter, stomping into his office.

  There’s my daddy, looking worse than I’ve ever seen him, drunk as a skunk, with red-rimmed eyes and dirty hair.

  “Daddy, what the hell is going on?” I cry.

  “Get out of here,” he yells angrily, waving his hand and accidentally knocking over a lamp.

  “Daddy, let me help you. Come on. Let me take you upstairs.” I realize there's no sense trying to talk to him or reason with him right now, so the best thing I can do is get him to bed and wait for him to sober up.

  “No,” he argues, stumbling and flopping down on his couch.

  “Daddy,” I say softly, sitting down next to him. The stench of beer is overpowering. “I’m going to be really tough right now. Either you get on upstairs, take a shower and get into bed, or I’m packing all my stuff this instant, and I promise you that you will never see me again.”

  My dad looks stricken, even in his drunken state but he finally seems to make sense of my words.

  “Fine. I’ll go up,” he says like a stubborn child.

  “Thank you.” I stand up. “I’m going to make you some coffee and I’ll bring it upstairs in a few minutes.”

  I head back to the kitchen and hear my dad lumber up the steps. Ten minutes later, I’m in his bedroom with a steaming cup of black coffee. My dad is wet but clean, and he’s dressed in dark sweats and a t-shirt. I motion to the bed, and he climbs in obediently.

  I hand him the coffee. “Drink,” I order, sitting on the edge of the bed. He takes a few sips and I stare at the wall, wanting to speak, but knowing it’s not going to make any difference. “After you finish your coffee, I want you to try to sleep. We can talk when you get up.”

  "How the hell am I supposed to sleep if I'm hopped up on fucking coffee?" He sneers.

  "You better figure it out I guess." I snap back.

  I go and draw my daddy’s blinds and quietly close the door behind me. I’m exhausted, but I go downstairs and get out a giant trash bag and start filling it with all the empty bottles and pi
zza boxes. I fill three bags and carry them out to the trashcan. I then spray down every surface. I finally sit once everything is clean and smells fresh again.

  It’s just after eight and I haven’t heard a peep from upstairs so I figure my dad is sleeping. I lay down on the couch, and within seconds, I’m fast asleep.

  I stir a while later when I hear a sound. It’s my daddy coming down the steps. I glance at the clock and see that it’s after midnight. I jump off the couch and stumble into the kitchen and switch a light on. I’m starving and I figure my dad is too. I open the refrigerator and see there isn’t much to choose from. I end up finding some spaghetti and a jar of sauce, so I start boiling water.

  “Hi,” my dad says quietly, seating himself on one of the bar stools at the counter.

  “Hi,” I say awkwardly, “I’m making spaghetti. Would you like something to drink?”

  My dad gives me a long stare.

  “Your choices are Fresca, orange juice or water,” I say pointedly.

  My dad sighs. “Fresca.”

  I open two Frescas and put one in front of him. I start to sip the other.

  “You can start talking whenever you’re ready. I’ve got all night,” I say.

  “Didn’t you have a show?”

  “Not tonight. We’re in St. Louis tomorrow,” I swallow another sip. “I told you that earlier on the phone.”

  My dad shrugs as if to say he can’t remember.

  “Daddy, I want to help you, but I’m really struggling here. Was it all bullshit about being clean? Did you lie to get me to Nashville?” I try to keep the emotion out of my voice, but fail miserably.

  My dad shakes his head sadly, and puts down his empty Fresca can. “No, it wasn’t a lie. Why are you giving me so much crap, Paige?”

  I lose it. “Seriously, Daddy? You have a lot of nerve saying that to me. I was raped by two of your redneck friends because you were too damn drunk to notice!”

  My dad winces in pain, and buries his head in his hands.

  “I’m sorry,” he moans.

  “You sure don’t seem like it! I didn’t speak to you for thirteen years. That never would have happened if you hadn’t been so irresponsible and a lousy drunk!” I don’t want to be yelling at my dad, but I can’t help it, I need to say it and he needs to hear it.