Chapter 1
Drake
My legs are moving; I’m stepping with one foot in front of the other. The weight of my baby girl in my arms is keeping me in the present as I walk from the funeral home toward the Chevelle. My body is weak—my heart has been broken into so many pieces I’m finding it impossible to stand after the agonizing loss of Presley. There is nothing left inside to bust because every vital thing that keeps me alive has shattered.
The cool spring breeze connects with Mia’s face as she sucks in a breath then smiles, her grin stretching across her cheeks. I look into her eyes—Presley’s eyes—and get the small, rejuvenating bit of energy I need to keep going for just one more day.
The night Presley died, I saw Carter’s gun lying on the concrete. It took an act of God not to pick up the pistol and end all of my suffering. If I didn’t have Mia, I can honestly say I’d be dead. Nothing in that moment felt worth living for until Mia’s precious face flashed into my mind; the thought of abandoning my daughter snapped me back from the darkest thoughts of my existence. I know I can’t give up on life right now.
My mind is disconnected and my heart is an empty shell, yet this little angel needs her father. I won’t be like my parents. I won’t abandon my child because of my own selfishness. I have one more life to live for and she’s the only piece of Presley I have left. For Mia, I will go on. The road will be the hardest I’ll ever travel, but I’ve got to believe in the hope of my little Mia, and the hope my family will help carry me to a future.
I lean down and strap Mia in her car seat. I press my lips to her forehead and whisper, “I won’t give up on you, my sweet girl. Just be patient with Daddy, okay?”
I kiss her again on the top of her head and her small, soft hand touches my cheek. The water fills my eyes as this simple gesture from my one-year-old daughter tells me she understands. She may be a baby, however this little girl knows her daddy is barely hanging onto life.
I walk to the other side of the car and then drive home, wiping the falling tears from my face. As I pull into the driveway, I’m reminded of the night Presley died—that night four days ago that has stripped my soul raw and left me a hollow, empty nothing.
Mia has quickly fallen asleep on the short drive home, something she commonly does when she rides in the car. As gently as possible, I take her from her car seat and trudge up the stairs. This is the second time I’ve climbed the back stairs since Presley has died.
Will I always do this—connect every moment I have back to the night she was killed? Will this be how I’m supposed to measure time? The thought disgusts me and slices me open all at once. Will I ever escape the pain?
I kiss Mia before laying her down in her crib and then walk back to my room. I’ve spent the last four days holed up in this prison.
I stare at our bed. The night before she died, we spent hours making love in this bed. I held her as we connected ourselves inside and out. Now, it’s just an empty reminder of something I will never have again. I stand there, staring intently at a symbol of the happiness I once felt. It’s now the agony I will never escape.
I’m nineteen-years-old, and I’m almost completely dead on the inside. The smallest sliver of my heart that’s still alive is reserved for Mia. I will never love anyone as much as I loved Presley. And now, I have a lifetime of solitude to suffer through.
However, when I close my eyes, she’s still here. Everywhere I turn, Presley is there. I can smell her soft, delicate skin and taste her sweet cherry lips. If I close my eyes hard enough I can see her lying underneath me in our bed. I can feel her warm, tiny body attached to mine as I express every ounce of love I have for her through my kiss. She is my heart and the other half of my life, and now, that life no longer exists.
Tears break free once again and I allow them to fall down through the stubble grown across my face. The room is suffocating me. I’m choking on my own pain and need to leave. Just for a moment, I want to be numb of everything I’ve been through the last few days.
I storm from my room and numb the only way my family knows how. Booze. I need to get drunk, just like I needed it four days ago. The house is quiet and my thoughts are raging, I need peace. Solace and peace.
“God, just for a moment, can I please have that?” I beg into the open air.
I yank open the door and pull the half empty bottle of whiskey left in the cupboard. Unscrewing the cap, I tip the glass to my lips and allow a few more tears to fall down my face.
“Here’s to the rest of a useless life,” I toast to no one and chug down the whiskey. It instantly burns and calms my insides. The raging ocean of emotions I can’t seem to shake is finally subduing, and it’s welcome. Jack Daniels is always welcome to ease my agony. Always.