The Best Kind of Trouble (10 page)

Good Lord calls everybody home. Cowgirl don't cry.

~Brooks and Dunn

And then everything changed.

It was a Tuesday night, after midnight when my phone rang.  I didn’t know why, but my heart dropped to my freaking toes in that moment.  Like I just knew something horrible had happened.

“Ashley,” my aunt said on the other line.  “It’s your dad…he’s been in an accident.”

My whole world stopped and narrowed. I started shaking.

“I need you to come to the hospital.  Do you need me to send someone to come get you?”

I shook my head and then, remembering she couldn’t see me, I whispered, “No, I’ll be there.”

My tongue felt thick and fat, my throat swollen with unshed tears and dread swirled violently in my gut.

Everything was such a blur after that.  I vividly remember the stark white walls of the hospital.  That cloying smell of disinfectant and something else that filled up the hallways.

And him.  I held his hand firmly in mine and watched as he took his last breaths.  As his heart stopped.

The next few days were sketchy.  I couldn’t cry much.  I wasn’t sure why.  I felt like a zombie, or like I was in some messed up dream that I couldn’t wake up from, watching everything from a far. 

Katie was there making sure I ate.  And my mom and my aunt.  My Aunt Caroline, my dad’s sister took care of everything. All I had to do was show up to the memorial service on Friday.

It was heartbreaking and sad. Devastating.  I kept waking up every morning, panic clawing at my throat as I remembered my dad was gone.  Still my eyes stayed dry.

One Saturday night, almost two weeks later, I was lying in bed, clutching my pillow to my chest and staring blankly at the wall, when I felt the mattress dip.

Warm familiar arms encircled me, pulling me against a hard chest.  I froze.  I desperately wanted to push him away.  To tell him to leave me alone.  I was already so broken, and me and him—God, we were just as broken.  I couldn’t deal with that right now.

Instead, a choked sob caught in my throat and my vision blurred as tears filled my eyes, fell down my cheeks and soaked my sheets, releasing my heartache and grief into the quiet of my bedroom. Into the strength of his arms.

Nathan held me tighter, pressed his cheek against my head and brushed his lips against my ear.

“Shhh,” he cooed softly.  “Let it out, Ash.  I’ve got you.”

His voice was soft and deep. I cried harder. I cried until I was so exhausted, until my voice was scratchy, and my throat burned.  Until my eyes drooped and I fell asleep.  In Nathan’s arms.

~000~

The next morning when I woke up, he was gone.  I rolled over and stretched out on my bed, feeling slightly better.  My heart still hurt and I didn’t think this sadness and anger and grief would just vanish, but crying last night and having Nate hold me helped. 

A little. My chest still ached.  I sighed and forced myself up when I heard my stomach grumble.  I was hungry.  Good.  That’s a good sign.  I’m still alive.  Not dying.

My heart constricted at that thought.  My dad was dead.  But I wasn’t.  I knew I couldn’t wallow in my grief forever.  I knew I needed to at least go to class and try to rejoin the living.

I glanced at my messy desk and noticed a half empty pack of cigarettes laying there. I hadn’t even smoked one in weeks, but I had a sudden intense craving for the solace it offered.

After grabbing my pack and a lighter, I made my way out to the balcony and lit up.  I took a deep lungful of smoke and slowly exhaled. A dizzying rush of nicotine flowed through my system, taking the edge off the ugly emotions inside me.

I was on my second cigarette when Katie stepped outside.

“Hey,” she said, sitting next to me in one of the plastic chairs.  I tried to force a smile but it didn’t feel right on my face.  Katie gave me a sad smile and stole a cigarette from my pack, lighting up and letting the smoke curl around her.  “So, did Nate already leave?”

I coughed hard.  I’d almost forgotten for a moment about Nathan.  Everything inside me seized up for a minute.  I took two long puffs of my cigarette before I could answer.  “Yes. Did you…why did he—”

I couldn’t even finish a damn sentence.

“Drew told me he’d been asking about you and how you were doing.  I think he told him that maybe you might need him.  They got into a fight about it like a week ago,” she paused and took another drag.  “But then, last night he just showed up.  I wasn’t sure if I should let him in or not...”

She trailed off, searching my face to see if I was angry.  I wasn’t angry with her.  I didn’t know what I was.  I was a mixed up ball of emotions.  And too tired and broken to even try to make sense or analyze Nathan or my relationship with him. 

Instead, I closed my eyes, and let myself to think about his strong arms and his deep tender voice, his lips on my skin.

I shivered, as I remembered being with him.  The feel of his stubble on my sensitive skin, his rough calloused hands on my hips as he thrust—

I swallowed hard and opened my eyes, trying to blink away my sudden and inappropriate fantasy.

“It’s fine,” I told her, stubbing out my cigarette in the small glass ashtray.  I sighed.  I’d always been able to talk to Katie about anything.  And I needed to do that now.  To talk.  To let some of this out.  “It was nice, actually.  I finally cried.”

Katie reached over and squeezed my fingers.  “I’m glad.  It’s good to let it out. I know this is tough for you. Are you going to go to class this week?”

Her question was soft, tentative, but not judgmental.  I knew Katie wouldn’t let me stop living, eventually she’d kick my ass into gear, but for now, she understood.  “I don’t know,” I replied honestly.  “Maybe.”

~000~

A couple of nights later, I was sitting on my bed crisscross, a notebook with scrawled poems and lyrics laid in front of me as I fingered my guitar.

I remembered vividly the day my dad had given it to me. My mom had wanted me to take piano, but I had begged for a guitar.  Something about it called to me even as a twelve year old girl.

I closed my eyes, remembering his face and the way the skin crinkled around his eyes when he smiled.

I hadn’t attempted to play in months. Maybe longer. But something about writing out my pain and trying to put it to music was soothing.  Just the physical act as I struggled to remember the chords, as my fingers slipped over the strings and became sore and bruised was a distraction. 

It reminded me that I was still alive.

And wouldn’t that be what my dad wanted? To not stop living.  To remember I was still alive.

With my eyes still closed, thoughts of Nathan suddenly popped into my mind. And how alive his kiss, his touch, and how being totally and completely wanted by him had made me feel.  

I strummed the strings and adjusted my left hand on the neck.  I thought about what Katie said.  About him and Drew fighting.  What were they fighting about?  Did Nate only show up out of some misplaced sense of obligation?

That thought made my stomach turn. 
God, I hope not.

A sudden intense pressure seized my chest, making it hard to breath.  My gut clenched.  I strummed hard, letting my emotions out in a flurry of sound.  I missed Nathan.  In that moment I wanted nothing more than to see him.  To kiss him.  To lose myself in his arms, in his eyes, in him.

My fingers slipped and I stopped playing, covering my face, I began to cry into my hands.  When I opened my eyes and looked up, he was there.

Nathan looked different.  And the same.  It was weird.  His dark hair was slightly longer, curling around his ears.  His eyes were different.  I didn’t even know how to describe what I saw there. 

Was it defeat or regret or pain swirling there? 

Or indifference?

A choked sob worked its way up my throat, spilling out into a startled, mournful wail. 
Why was he here?

Nate crawled across my bed, moving my guitar aside and kneeled between my legs.  He gently took my face in his hands.  For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me.  His blue eyes darted to my lips as I licked them. 

Despite all the grief and pain, my stomach flip flopped.

Instead, he pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around me and cradling my head against his chest.  My legs automatically wound around his middle and my arms curled around his broad shoulders. 

I clung to him, and cried. Hot ugly tears streamed down my cheeks, wetting the taut white t-shirt that stretched across his chest.

My tears began to slow and I readjusted myself onto his lap, pulling myself closer and wrapping my arms around his neck.  His warm breath tickled my skin.

Everything changed. All the ragged, raw-edge emotions inside me exploded. Lust and desire flooded my system.  A pulsing hum that started low in my gut and spread like wildfire through my limbs.

I needed him.  In that moment, something carnal and primal and instinctual took over, erupting inside me like a volcano and whipping my thoughts and mind into a cloud of lust.

I turned my head and without hesitation pushed my lips to his neck.  Once. Twice. Nathan froze.  But nothing could stop me.  I needed him. I craved this form of comfort. Desperate for this connection, I slid my tongue up the side of his neck, tasting his salty skin and inhaling the spicy clean scent of his aftershave.

“Ashley,” he warned, but there wasn’t a lot of fight in his voice. It was low, full of gravel and restrained passion. 

I smiled and kissed his ear, then his scruffy jaw.  He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back, holding me away from his body.

I looked up into his conflicted eyes.  “Please? I need you.”

He furrowed his brow and I watched his Adam’s apple strain against the skin of his throat as he swallowed hard.  His grip on my shoulders was weak. Taking advantage, I surged forward, pulling his bottom lip between mine and rocking my hips against his.  The hard bulge in his jeans pressed firmly against me and he groaned.

“But, Ashley, we—”

I pressed my lips more firmly to his and rocked my hips again, finding a rhythm and silencing his half-hearted protest. I didn’t want to hear about how broken we were or how maybe this wasn’t right. Maybe it was entirely inappropriate. But I didn’t care.  I needed him.

His mouth opened, one hand fisted in my hair, the other cupped my ass, holding me firmly against him.