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.