Keeping Stella

Ash

I’m a total hypocrite when it comes to drinking and partying, and I know it. I love being in big clubs surrounded by all kinds of people who are drunk, or high, or both. The pounding music and loss of inhibitions is a rush that I crave.

Or I should say, craved. Since I met Stella, I haven’t had the urge to board my jet on a Friday night and escape reality inside the bottle of Crown Royal. Her smile and her sweet disposition fill the hole I used to fill with alcohol.

Seeing her like I did last night made me angry for a number of reasons. First and foremost, her safety was at risk. It’s a miracle she was able to press the answer button on her phone when I called her. Anyone could have taken advantage of her. She could have fallen and cracked her skull open or passed out and aspirated on her vomit and died.

The second thing that bothered me is why the hell was she drinking in the first place? I’d just dropped her off at her parent’s motel room after dinner. What made her head across the street for a dozen shots of whiskey instead of going to bed?

And last, I couldn’t help thinking that if she has eliminated my urge to get messed up and escape life, why is she doing it? I understand she lost her home, but like she said, she doesn’t share her family’s grief over that loss, so why? Why obliterate yourself for no reason? Addiction or escape, those are the only reasons people get that wasted.

She did tell me she loved me, though, but how reliable could that proclamation be in her condition? I’ve probably pledged my love to hundreds of women when I was drunk, but I don't remember doing it, will she?

I pull her back close to my front under the pile of blankets and comforters. She’s warm and naked, the towel I wrapped her in is stuffed somewhere around our feet after a fitful night of sleep interrupted occasionally by a bout of vomiting into the trash can next to the bed.

She won’t be providing any family members moral support today. She’ll be lucky to get out of bed before the ten p.m. news tonight. I sent her mother a text telling her that her daughter was safe with me after twenty frantic messages between midnight and three in the morning.

I spilled the beans about our relationship and shut off her phone. Not my finest moment I’ll admit, but I wasn’t about to lie, and I couldn’t stand to listen to the damn thing vibrate all night.

It’s early, the sun is rising, and I need to get out of bed and check on Cannon. Pulling myself away from her naked body isn’t easy. If she weren’t in such shitty condition, I’d shove my jeans down and give her what’s what.

She groans, fidgets, and leans over the bed to dry heave in her sleep. I’m starting to feel sorry for her now. It’s been hours of this, and nobody deserves a hangover this bad.

“Darlin’, how about a warm bath?”

She flops back against me and groans again. “What, no cold shower this morning?” She remembers, that’s good.

“Nope, I think you’re past that. I’m not made of stone, well, not most of me,” I say pushing my rock-hard cock against her ass. “I’m starting to feel kind of bad for you. I’ve never seen somebody so sick from drinking.”

“I’ve never been this sick from drinking.”

“Remember how many shots you had?”

“Nope, don’t wanna either.”

“So, warm bath or breakfast in bed?”

“Oh God, neither. Just let me lie here and die, please.”

“Sorry, honey, no can do. Got a son out there who thinks a lot of you and I can’t let ya die.”

“Holy shit, Cannon. He saw me all messed up, didn’t he?”

“He did. Do you remember any of the ride home?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I can even remember my name right now.”

“Stella Marie Deardon.” If I’m lucky, Stella Marie Deardon Pride someday.

“Thanks. Shit, my mama’s probably freaking out. I’ll bet she’s got the Redwater police department, all five of ‘em, searching everybody’s house for miles.”

“About that.”

She rolls onto her back, and I turn away from her whiskey-barf breath. She covers her mouth but talks under her hand.

“What do you mean about that? Please, tell me you didn’t call my mama.”

“I didn’t call your mama.”

“Oh thank God. Wait, then what did you do?”

“I text her after she repeatedly text and called you for hours, and then I shut your phone off.”

“Aw shit, so what did you text her exactly?”

“You can turn your phone back on and see for yourself.” I take her phone from my back pocket and toss it onto the mattress between us. “I’m going to draw you a bath, you smell bad.”

“Gee thanks, I didn’t get drunk on purpose you know,” she calls to me when I step into the bathroom. I lean back and ask, “Why did you do it?”

“I just told you, it wasn’t intentional. I got to the room with my parents and needed a cigarette, it was pouring so I ran across the street to Drink, and Gus hooked me up. I don’t drown my sorrows in whiskey, Ash, I swear. It just happened, and I’m sorry for so many reasons. Obviously, it upset you a lot and I don’t like that. I also don’t like that Cannon saw me that way, and then there’s the feeling that I have one foot in the grave today, that’s not so peachy either.”

“Why did you need a cigarette so bad?”

“I don’t know, I had trouble finding my key in the rain, and then mama was all the Lord will provide, and I felt trapped in that tiny room. I bolted, and I think Gus was trying to be nice because he knows the ranch blew away, so he fed me free drinks until I couldn’t see straight. Why are you so bent out of shape about this anyway? Don’t you go to big clubs and get wasted on a regular basis?”

I return to the bed and sit down facing her. “I used to. The urge to lose myself at the end of every week was addictive. I’m not an alcoholic, though, sometimes I didn’t even drink. It was the need to escape life that I craved, but I haven’t felt that way for one second since I met you.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I wasn’t trying to escape you if that’s what you’re thinking. That is what you’re thinking, isn’t it? I’m not your mother or your ex, Ash. I’m not going to leave you for that kind of life, hell, I can’t even hang for one night let alone a lifetime of that shit.”

I reach out to cup her cheek in my hand and say something I’m not known to say often. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That my hang-ups made this into a bigger deal than was necessary. You’re stressed, you lost your home, you got drunk, shit, most people would do the same in your situation.”

She tilts her head pressing her cheek into my hand.

“I see things differently, darlin’. When someone uses alcohol to deal with a problem I automatically think addiction and the next thing on my mind is abandonment.”

“The only thing I’m addicted to here is you, and Cannon, and… cigarettes. And I’m not a runner. I’ll be around until you don’t want me to be.”

“You sure? Because I’m getting attached to you, I might want you around for like… forever?”

“Forever sounds great to me.”

“Yeah? You sure?”

“I’m the one with puke-breath smelling like cigarette smoke, are you sure?”

“Nobody’s perfect.” I shrug and go back into the bathroom. Nobody’s perfect, but she’s pretty damn close. One thing I don’t wanna do is fuck this up by being overbearing and judgmental.

I turn on the faucet and plug the standard sized bathtub. Watching the water rise I feel the lack of sleep catching up with me. Stella’s going to need to rest today, but Cannon is another story. I’m surprised he hasn’t bounced into Stella’s room yet.

“Daddy?” Speak of the devil, or angel as he has been since Stella entered our lives.

“Hey, buddy, did you get some good sleep?” I ask motioning for him to come closer to me.

“I think so. You havin a bath?”

“No, Stella is. She’s still not feeling well.”

“She’s sleepin.”

“She is? She was just awake a second ago.” I stand up and lean back to check on her. Yep, she’s out like a light.”

I look at the water filling the tub, “You wanna bath instead?”

“Okay,” he says with an unenthusiastic shrug.

“What’s wrong, buddy?”

“Tella’s sick.”

“She’ll be okay, she just had too much to drink last night, that’s all.”

“You were mad at her.”

“I was, you’re right.”

“She’s gonna leave me.”

I close my eyes and sigh. Poor kid thinks like his old man. I sit down on the toilet lid and pull him in between my legs. “You know what? I was thinking the same thing this morning, but I talked to her. I told her I was sorry for getting so grouchy last night and you know what?”

“What?”

“She forgave me, and she said she’s staying with us for a long time.”

The wrinkle in his brow relaxes, and the corners of his mouth turn up in a relieved smile. “I won’t mess this up, buddy, I promise. Now, bath?”

“Yay! We get to keep Tella!” he yells, and I shush him with my finger on his lips.

“Yes, we do. We’re lucky guys; we get to keep our Stella.”