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  Hey, Whiskey

  Copyright © 2018 Kaylee Ryan

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of Kaylee Ryan, except for the use of brief quotations in articles and or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, locations, businesses and plot are products of the author’s imagination and meant to be used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events throughout the story are purely coincidental. The author acknowledges trademark owners and trademarked status of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, sponsored or associated by or with the trademark owners.

  The following story contains sexual situations and strong language. It is intended for adult readers.

  Cover Design: Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative Covers

  Cover Photography: Golden Czermak, Furious Photog

  Editing: Hot Tree Editing

  Formatting: Integrity Formatting

  Model: Joey Berry

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  Twelve

  Thirteen

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  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

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  Twenty One

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  Thirty

  Thirty One

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  Thirty Five

  Thirty Six

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  Thirty Nine

  Forty

  Forty One

  Forty Two

  Epilogue

  Saylor's No Bake Cookies

  Contact Kaylee Ryan

  Other Works by Kaylee Ryan

  Acknowledgments

  Sitting on the edge of the mattress, I survey the room. Boxes neatly labeled surround me. I saved this room for the end; I didn’t know how to let her go. I still don’t. The pain in my chest from losing her is unbearable. She was the only family I ever knew. My phone rings from its place on the dresser; I stand, rushing to grab it before it goes to voice mail.

  “Hello,” I say my voice rough from tears.

  “Say.”

  I sigh at the sound of my best friend’s voice. “Hey, Tara,” I greet her.

  “You should have let me come over and help you,” she scolds me.

  “I’m good, really. It’s just so final, you know?”

  “Yeah, are you sure you want to do this? This is a big decision, and it’s only been a month.”

  One month—thirty days since the only mother figure I’ve ever known passed away. Elaine Phelps saved me from a world unknown. One of pain, hunger, and fear. When I was twelve years old, she became my foster mother. “It doesn’t feel right being here without her.”

  “That’s your home, Say. The only real home you’ve ever known,” she says gently.

  “It’s not home without her. I’m sure this is the right choice. Besides, Pete and I have talked about this. Our life is in West Virginia now.”

  “I know, and I’m happy for you guys. I just don’t want you to make a rash decision that you’ll eventually regret.”

  “No regrets. It’s not home without her. She was what made this place home. I was lucky to have her for eleven years. Her memory and everything she taught me, gave me, is all that I need to remember her. Not this house. Besides, I have a few mementos that she insisted were mine in her will.”

  “Is the sale final then?” she asks.

  “Yeah. I have until Friday to be out, but I’m leaving here in a few hours. They offered me more time, but it’s a young couple expecting their first baby. I’m sure they’re eager to get settled before the baby comes. I’ve donated the furniture and most of her clothes to Goodwill. There are a few things I’m keeping other than that, just my clothes and a few personal items.”

  “If you need me, you call. I wish you would let me help you.”

  “I’m fine, really. I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you before I left. This was just something that I needed to do on my own.”

  “I get it. I just worry about you.”

  “I’m doing as well as can be expected. Pete and I have dinner plans, so I’m loading up my SUV and heading back.”

  “Drive safe. We need to plan a weekend, and soon,” she insists.

  “I agree. I’ll call you in a few days.” Ending the call, I start the heavy lifting, moving my remaining boxes into the back of my SUV. I don’t have much, just some clothing I left behind and a few personal items of Elaine’s. My heart aches at the thought of what life is going to be like without her.

  I do one final walk-through of the house, making sure there is nothing I’ve missed that I want to keep and take with me. The house is almost empty, but it’s like a final goodbye as I make my way through each room. I let the memories of my time here wash over me. The first night she brought me home, our first holidays as a family. Although she never adopted me, Elaine was adamant that I was her daughter too. She always said I had two mothers who loved me more than anything. She saved me, made me who I am today, and I will forever be grateful for her.

  “Goodbye, Mom,” I choke on the words. “Thank you for all that you did for me. I miss you so damn much.” I pick up the one final item that I plan to take but couldn’t pack away. Her old gray sweater, the one she wore practically every day. Bringing it to my face, I discover it smells like her. Sadness tears through me. Life is so unfair. Why of all people did it have to be her? Why did I have to lose her too, the only real family I can remember?

  With one final fleeting look, I close the door, making sure it’s locked, and head home—my new home, the one I’m building with Pete. He and I met sophomore year, both attending the University of Cincinnati. I was working at a local pub, putting myself through school, against Elaine’s wishes of course. It was illegal for part of the time I worked there, being underage and all that. She offered to pay, but I couldn’t let her. She’d already given me so much. We compromised with me living at home rent free and hot meals each day. I busted my ass working full-time and earning my education. My time at the pub was worth it. I made great tips from all the drunk frat guys. Pete hated it, but he didn’t have a say in the matter. It could have been worse; I could have been stripping—not that there is anything wrong with that, it’s just not my thing.

  The three-hour drive home feels like an eternity. I don’t bother with any of the boxes, deciding to do it later. Instead, I grab my phone, keys, purse, and the gray sweater and head inside our house—well, Pete’s house. Sure I live here, but it doesn’t actually feel like home to me. Not yet. These last six months since graduation have been a whirlwind. I don’t feel like I’ve had the time to settle. I took a job at Pete’s families real estate firm as the human resources manager. I’ve been learning the ropes, and I was just starting to feel like I was getting a grip when I got the call that they were rushing Elaine to the hospital.

  Heart attack.

  Since that day, I’ve been reeling, trying to find something, anything to ground me. Pete’s been extremely patient with me, but even I’m getting fed up with myself. I need to snap out of it and move forward. She gave me
opportunities, which I would have otherwise never been given. She would be devastated to know that I’m drowning in my sadness and not embracing life. I know that, and still, I can’t seem to shake this feeling, this loneliness that has seeped into my bones. It’s just like the years pre-Elaine, where I bounced from foster home to foster home, never feeling grounded, never feeling safe. Of course, it’s ridiculous. Pete and I have been together going on four years. I have security in him, I know that, but there is this nagging feeling that says things will never be the same.

  Rushing up the stairs to our bedroom, I strip out of my dusty clothes and hop in the shower. Pete will be home within the hour, and if I know him, he has already made reservations. He’s a planner; every move is thought out, calculated. With my hair pinned on top of my head, not having enough time to wash it, I rinse off the grime of the day. Pulling a pair of leggings and a sweater from the closet, I quickly dress. I’m tempted to wear Elaine’s sweater, but I’ll save that for another day. She wore it around the house, just lounging. I can feel the smile tilt my lips as I picture her curled up on the couch, sweater wrapped around her, throw over her legs as she read. Along with the smile, a ping of sadness lays heavy on my chest. I miss her. Shaking out of the thought, I let my hair fall free and run a brush through it. Glancing at the clock, I see I don’t have time to add a few loose curls, so straight it is.

  I’m just grabbing my ballet flats when Pete calls up the steps for me. “Coming,” I yell, grabbing my shoes and rushing down the stairs.

  “Hi,” I say, hoping on one foot, trying to get my shoe on. Slipping the shoe over my heel before walking toward him. Leaning in, I kiss him. “How was your day?” “Good. You ready?” he asks. His tone is clipped.

  “You okay?” He seems… off tonight.

  “Yeah, just… we need to talk, Say.”

  “Okay, you want to do that now? Or wait until after we eat?”

  He sighs and runs his fingers through his dark blond hair. “At first, I thought after would be better, but now…” He closes his eyes. “Can we sit?”

  “Sure.” I agree and follow behind him into the living room. Pete takes a seat on the couch and pats the cushion next to him. “You’re scaring me,” I tell him.

  “I know, and I’m sorry.” He releases a heavy breath. “Listen, Saylor, what I’m about to tell you is wrong. It’s going to hurt you, and for that I’m truly sorry. I don’t even know how it happened, just that it did, and when Elaine died, I held on a little longer, but then…”

  “Just say it. Whatever it is, just say it.”

  “I’m getting married,” he blurts the words. His eyes hold mine, never wavering, never looking away.

  “M-married?” I look down at his hands, and he’s not holding a ring. “I’m going to need you to explain that statement,” I say, trying to keep my anger in check. Maybe he’s nervous, and he’s botching the proposal, but then he said it would hurt me. Oh God. I place my hand over my mouth to keep the sob from escaping. Instead, I swallow hard, fighting back the emotion.

  “I’m so sorry, Saylor. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Tabitha and I were working late, and one thing led to another. And, well, she’s pregnant and it’s mine, and I have to marry her. I have to take care of them.”

  “Pregnant? Married?” I mumbled the words as questions. I’m struggling to comprehend what he’s just told me. “How long, Pete? How long have you been fucking her while you were fucking me?” I ask through gritted teeth. My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. How did I miss this? How could I be so stupid?

  He lowers his head. “Six months,” he mumbles.

  I stand and pace back-and-forth in front of the couch. Pete keeps his head down, no longer willing to look at me. “Six months, you’ve been cheating on me? Six fucking months!” I scream. “The exact time we moved here. I fucking moved my life for you!” I pace back-and-forth, back-and-forth. “Is she clean? Jesus, Peter, do you realize what you’ve done? Thanks to you, I’ve slept with that slut too,” I seethe.

  “Saylor, come on.” He finally looks up, and to my surprise, he looks devastated.

  “What? You’re getting married to the girl you’ve been sleeping with behind my back for six fucking months. Six months. And thanks to you, I get to go have my lady bits poked and prodded to make sure you and your slut-of-a-fiancée baby mama didn’t give me the fucking funk!” I yell.

  “I care about you, Saylor, but she’s pregnant. I have to do this.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “What?” he asks.

  He’s clearly avoiding. “How long have you known about the baby?”

  “She just passed her first trimester, so about six weeks.”

  “You let me sell the only home I’ve ever known.” My mind is racing. The house is sold. I have no family. What am I going to do? “You knew, Peter. You fucking knew!” I can’t stop yelling at him.

  “I did. The night I was going to tell you, Elaine died, and I just couldn’t.”

  “You’re a fucking coward, that’s what you are.” I stop and look at him. My glare is menacing. “I can’t be here,” I say, turning to look for my purse.

  “Saylor, come on. I want us to be friends; I care about you.”

  “Seriously? Do you hear yourself right now? You’re fucking delusional if you think I want anything more to do with you.” I spot my purse, keys, and phone sitting on the table beside it. Elaine’s sweater is laying on the same table. Stalking toward them, I gather it all in my arms, hands shaking uncontrollably. “I have to get out of here,” I mumble to myself.

  “Don’t be like that,” he pleads.

  I scoff. “I’m leaving. I’ll be in touch with a time to gather my things. I would appreciate it if you were not here when the time comes. I won’t touch anything that’s yours. I just need my clothes and what few personal items I have. I’ll leave my key on the table, and you can forget you ever knew me.”

  “I’ll call you. Once you calm down, you’ll see this is what I had to do. It doesn’t matter what I feel for you; I have to take care of my kid.”

  “That’s admirable, Pete, really it is. But you’re missing a big piece of the puzzle.” He stops in front of me, waiting for the missing piece. “If you would have kept your dick in your pants, this wouldn’t be happening. You’re a coward and a cheat, and I never want to see you again. Have a nice life,” I say, stalking toward the front door. He’s there in an instant, but the look I give him halts his steps. Opening the door, I step onto the porch, slamming the door behind me.

  “Saylor, we’ll talk soon,” he says, standing in the now open doorway.

  “Fuck off!” I say, climbing into my SUV, the one that is still packed with my life from Ohio. My mind races with what I’m going to do. Tonight, I’ll be going to a hotel, and then after that? Who the hell knows. I have no family, my heart is shattered, and now I’m homeless. Still clutching my phone, I’m startled when it starts to ring. I assume it’s Pete, but a quick glance at the screens tells me I’m wrong. It’s Tara.

  “H—” I clear my throat. “Hello,” I finally say.

  “Saylor?”

  “Yeah.” More throat cleaning.

  “Why do you sound funny?”

  “I’m fine. What’s up?”

  “I just called to make sure you made it back okay.”

  Her words cause the dam to break, and the tears fall from my eyes. I can’t fight back the sob that breaks free. “Yeah,” I choke out.

  “Say, what’s going on?”

  “It’s been a shit day,” I tell her, avoiding the question.

  “What happened?”

  “Pete—” A sob breaks free from my chest.

  “Did he hurt you?” Her voice rises, and I know she’s about to panic. My best friend is a worrier.

  “No, not physically. Listen, I’m okay.” I take a deep breath. “I’m going to check into a hotel, and I’ll call you once I’m settled in the room. I need to drive, and I can’t do that and tell you at the
same time. I need to focus on driving.”

  “I’m on my way—” she starts, but I cut her off.

  “No. Tara, it’s fine. I’ll call you in about twenty minutes. Let me just get settled. I promise I’m not hurt physically.”

  “Is Pete?” she asks hesitantly.

  I laugh. “He’s perfectly fine with his baby mama,” I say without thinking.

  “Holy shit,” she whispers.

  “Yeah, so let me call you in a few. I’m good, I promise. Don’t come here. I’ll explain it all soon.”

  “Drive safe, and if I have not heard from you in an hour, I’m heading your way.”

  “Okay. I’ll call soon,” I say meekly. Dropping the phone in the cupholder, I rest my head against the steering wheel. Six months, pregnant, married, his words keep flashing through my mind. How could I be so stupid? How did I not see it? Needing to be away from him, away from this house, I lift my head and buckle my seat belt, place the keys in the ignition, and back out of the driveway. I let the tears fall freely. I cry because I miss her, I cry because my heart is aching from deceit and lies, from the loss of my family. When I arrive at the hotel, a glance in the rearview mirror tells me I look like hell. My eyes are red and swollen, my makeup smeared. Grabbing a few napkins from the glove box, I try to make myself a little less scary before going in and securing a room.

  Room key in hand, I watch the elevator door close. My reflection staring back at me has me closing my eyes. So much for looking less scary. I keep my eyes closed until the door opens. A quick glance up tells me this is my floor. Stepping off the elevator, I follow the signs until I reach my room. Inserting the key, I step inside and place the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. I drop my purse, keys, and room key to the small table and fall back on the bed. Taking a deep breath, I lift my phone, unlock the screen, and dial Tara.

  “How are you?” she asks in greeting.

  I scoff. “You mean before my cheating boyfriend decided to drop the bomb on me that he has a fiancée who is pregnant?” I ask, fighting back another round of tears.

  “Holy shit! Start from the beginning,” she says. I can hear her moving around, no doubt settling in to listen to my nightmare. Tara has always been there for me since that first day of eighth grade. I was the new girl in school, and she took me under her wing. We hit it off and have been inseparable ever since. “Saylor,” she says, reminding me she’s ready for me to tell her what happened.