by Emma Scott
I had to make him see. I held onto my brother, clutched him tight. He was solid and real, while I was already dissipating into the air, particle by particle. “Don’t let me vanish, Theo. Please. Help me…”
Theo’s eyes flared at my words, and his grip on my arms became painful. “I’ll help you,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ll help you. Anything you want or need…I’m here. And so are you. You’re not going to vanish, Jonah. Goddammit, you’re not.”
I nodded and sucked in several draughts of air.
“Okay. Okay, thanks. I’m sorry, I panicked but I’m good now. Sorry. Let’s go. We can go now.”
I started walking and Theo had no choice but to follow. I could feel him watching me like a hawk. The solidity of him calmed me more. Not his anger, that was a shield between himself and the world, but what lay beneath. His devotion to those he loved. Unwavering and unbreakable. Permanent.
The blood drained from my head and my borrowed heart settled down. Still it ticked away the time with each beat. I had a finite number of pulses that could be counted and measured.
Six months.
I can do this, I thought as we climbed into Theo’s pick-up truck. If I made a schedule and kept to it. If I worked as much as I could, no stops, I’d make it. I’d leave something behind. I wouldn’t vanish into thin air, I’d use my air to infuse and shape the molten glass, capture my breath within it, and when it hardened, a part of me would remain locked inside forever.
Forever, I thought, feeling a little of the heavy weight lift, a lessening of the dark shadow trailing me, even in the bright sunshine of the desert. A little bit of hope to carry me through. A purpose.
It was time to get to work.
The gather of glass on my pipe dripped back into the furnace, jerking me from my thoughts. Like the glass, my life had been molten and malleable and full of potential. Now it was solidified; fired and hardened. No re-firing. No starting over with someone new because there was no time for someone new to become someone significant. I had my installation. Something that endured, that wouldn’t wither and die. Something that lasted. The memory was more than a year old, but nothing had changed. It was time to get to work.
“Let’s grab some lunch and keep going,” I told Theo.
His eyebrows rose. “Yeah? I thought you were going to—”
“I’ll text Kacey and tell her I have to work through. She can order a pizza or something,” I said, ignoring the ugly feeling in my gut, the guilt that hung heavy in my heart for ditching her.
Theo rubbed his jaw, looking like someone who’d fought to get his way and now felt bad about it. “If you’re sure…”
“I’m sure,” I said, pulling out my phone. “I have to stay on schedule.”
And that was the truth.
End of story.
I took a shower to wash last night off of me. All of it: the show, the booze, and how I’d thrown myself at Jonah. After, I wrapped myself in one towel, made a turban over my hair with another, and stepped out of the steam. I swiped the foggy mirror over the sink to see my reflection. My hand lingered on the warm glass. On the other side were Jonah’s medications.
He trusted me with them, and that made me feel good about myself in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. But thinking about Jonah’s actual heart transplant made my guts twist, like I’d just tossed back something super strong on an empty stomach. Terrible medical catastrophes struck innocent young people every day, but this one seemed like some cosmic screw-up. A terrible mistake. I couldn’t work out why the situation felt so wrong.
I moved my hand to the bare skin above my towel. I tried to imagine what it would be like to have someone else’s heart beating in my chest. Did it feel like his own? Could he feel it wasn’t? Once, when I was a kid, I accidentally swallowed an ice cube. I felt the cold hard rock of it in my chest as it went down. I wondered if Jonah felt that way—not the cold, but the presence of something hard and heavy and foreign in his chest.
You’re being stupid, I told myself. I’m sure it doesn’t feel any different. Or it feels better. His old heart was sick. The new one has given him life.
The thought bolstered me a bit, though the suspicion of something being not quite right didn’t leave me.
I put on cut-off shorts and a tank top, and exited the bathroom. But for the AC churning on the window, the apartment was silent. Peaceful. I sat on the couch to admire Jonah’s beautiful glass on the coffee table. I picked up the nautical paperweight, the sea life forever suspended in a quiet ocean.
Worlds away.
Twenty-four hours ago, my residence had been one of five bedrooms in the Summerlin house, the halls echoing with dozens of voices, loud music, and drunken laughter at all hours. I wasn’t the only partier in our group—just the most dedicated. My room in that house was trashed: clothes strewn all over, makeup messes in the bathroom. The only glass around wasn’t delicate art, but overflowing ashtrays, or empty bottles littering the floors.
The peaceful quiet of Jonah’s apartment seeped into me. I absorbed it, tried to bank it, sock it away for later, when I had to hit the road again.
My chest tightened at the thought of saying goodbye to Jonah. I’d only known him for a handful of hours, but it felt like longer. I was different around him than I was with other men. Instead of engaging in a fumbling, grasping union of bodies in a drunken haze, we talked. It felt like laying the foundation of something more lasting. Jonah had some magic quality about him that let me feel like myself. I liked being around him and I think he liked hanging out with me. Given time, who knew what might come of it?
Only we didn’t have time. Anything we started was just going to be torn up again when I left on Tuesday.
“We can stay in touch,” I murmured to myself. The crazy, relentless tour schedule loomed in front of me like an endless road, but a text or call from Jonah might make it more bearable. Just thinking about it made leaving a little less daunting.
The ring of my cell phone broke the silence. I jogged to the bedroom and fished the phone out of my bag to see Lola’s number.
“Hey.”
“Hey, girl,” she said, sounding tired on the other end. “You still alive?”
“Yeah, but you sound rough,” I said. “How was the party?”
“Oh God, I can’t even…”
I heard the flick of a cigarette lighter, and it occurred to me I hadn’t smoked since last night’s show. Or wanted to.
“It was epic,” she said, exhaling. “Booze was consumed. Police were called. Sex was had by many, including yours truly.”
“Oh yeah?” I sat on the edge of Jonah’s bed. “Who?”
“Jason Hughes. The bassist from our soon-to-be former opening act. It’s too bad, really. He’s hot. You should appreciate the sacrifices I make for you.”
“For me?” Then I remembered Ryan Perry, the drummer, getting grabby with me last night. Jonah stepped in and Lola demanded Jimmy fire Until Tomorrow.
“Yeah, for you,” Lola said.
“Maybe we could—”
“We have twenty-five more cities and six months’ worth of touring left with those guys. You really want to take your chances?”
I glanced down at my hands in my lap. “I’m sure Ryan was just drunk and being stupid.”
“Yes, to both. Neither excuses him.” Lola exhaled, her voice revved up to lecture mode. “You get drunk and stupid too, Kace, and it would only be a matter of time before he took advantage of the situation. Hell, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet.”
“Wow, thanks,” I said, my cheeks burning. I almost told her I could take care of myself, but I had zero evidence to back that up. Lola had watched over me since I was seventeen years old, when the band’s success swept me up in a whirlwind of recording and non-stop touring. I’d never stood on my own two feet and hadn’t ever been sober long enough to try.
But I could try. If I had the guts…
“Sorry I’m grouchy, hon,” Lola said. “I don’t want anything
to happen to you. I don’t want anything to wreck this, Kace.”
“I know,” I said. “But getting a new opening act is a hassle.”
It might be easier for Rapid Confession to get a new guitarist.
The words rose suddenly on my tongue, shocking me. But I couldn’t spit them out.
“I don’t see an alternative,” Lola teased, “unless we assign Hugo to you twenty-four/seven.”
To babysit me.
I suddenly didn’t want to talk to Lola anymore. I had tonight and all of tomorrow before I had to be back on RC time, and I didn’t want to waste a second of it.
“I gotta run,” I told my best friend. “Talk later?”
“Sure, I’ll shoot you a text. Oh hey, how’s it going with the limo driver? He’s adorable. And hot. Not many guys can pull off that combination. Are you two getting along?”
I could practically see her knowing grin, and my irritation flared. She wouldn’t understand if I tried to tell her we were building a potential friendship, and she definitely wouldn’t believe I hadn’t slept with him. Hell, if Jonah hadn’t been the gentleman he was last night, I would’ve slept with him.
A sudden, pleasant shiver raced down my spine at the thought and I crossed my legs.
No. This is different. Jonah is different. He’s not a guy I fuck at random. He’s…
“He’s wonderful,” I said. “Goodbye, Lola.”
I hung up, and jammed the phone into my bag, all the way to the bottom.
Not an instant later, I heard a text come in. I dug it out and my heart rose to see Jonah’s number. It sank when I read the words:
Have to bail on you for the day. Too much work, then family dinner. Maybe order pizza? Sorry.
“Shit,” I said. My hand let the phone drop back into my purse. Disappointment bit deep, not just from him cancelling, but the terse, dry text itself.
I typed, No prob. CU later, and looked it over, satisfied it was casual and unconcerned. As it should be, I reminded myself. He had a schedule to keep and he was keeping it.
I hit send.
The hours passed slowly. I didn’t know how you could miss someone you’d only known a day and a half.
Around noon, I did what Jonah suggested and ordered a pizza—vegetarian, in case he wanted some later—and a six-pack of Diet Coke from a local place that delivered. I channel-surfed while curled up on Jonah’s couch. When I got cold, I went looking for the green-and-orange afghan, finally finding it balled-up in the hall closet.
I had seconds on pizza for dinner, and found When Harry Met Sally on a cable channel. One of my all-time favorites, but I found myself drifting to sleep around nine o’clock. My own sleep patterns were a mystery, since I usually stayed up until whatever party was over, and then crashed out after. But nine seemed early as hell. I guessed I had a lot of catching up to do.
I nodded off some time after the ‘stupid wagon wheel coffee table’ and woke up at the end of the movie, when Sally and Harry were at the New Year’s Eve party. Sally was in the midst of declaring how she hated Harry, with the echo of the word ‘love’ resounding behind every ‘hate.’ I teared up, like I always did. It took a long time for those two to find their way to each other, even though they were right there all along.
My fantasy was the opposite. I’d always dreamed my true love would swoop into my life, sweep me off my feet in one heroic gesture. I’d know him at once—a flame would burn between us immediately. No doubts or games. Love—and lust—at first sight. He’d rescue me from all the hurt and loneliness, and I’d never doubt I was loved.
I thought Chett had been that guy. I was the proverbial moth to his flame, drawn to his light, only to be burned to a husk when it proved to all be a fucking lie. And then I had nothing. No job. No money. Not even a high school diploma. God knew what would have happened to me had I not met Lola.
I went from hanging on Chett’s coattails to hers, and even now I was taking shelter under Jonah’s roof. It had never bothered me before but it did now.
It bothered me a lot.
I shut off the TV. Now the only light came from one little lamp. I thought about going to bed, but my eyes grew heavy and I was too tired to…
“Kacey?”
A gentle hand on my shoulder.
“Hmm?” I blinked awake. Jonah stood over me, and then crouched beside the couch. “You’re back,” I said.
“I’m back.” His expression was pained, his rich brown eyes heavy. “I’m sorry I left you alone all day. It was a shitty thing to do.”
“No…” I sat up, more awake now. “You have work and your family.”
“It was shitty. You’re only here for a little while, and I should’ve come back for lunch.”
A warmth spread in my chest, and I became so aware that only about a foot separated us. “I survived. I ate pizza. A lot of pizza.”
He smiled a little. “I was thinking maybe you’d like to go get dessert. Ice cream or something. I know it’s late…”
“I’d love to,” I said, and that warmth deepened to a flush that colored my cheeks. “Can you have dessert?”
Jonah’s bright smile returned, a slow tilt of his lips to a full-blown grin that made his eyes light up. “I’ll figure something out.”
I drove us to Sprinkle Cupcakes and parked along a back street. Harrah’s Casino rose up on our right and the Strip was a straight walk west from the little cupcake shop. It was closed at this hour, and Kacey’s face fell until I showed her the ATM.
“This is a cupcake ATM?” she said, staring at the bright pink square built into the wall of the closed shop. “Oh my God, that’s the best thing ever.”
“I thought you might like it.” I slipped my actual ATM card into the payment slot and the menu screen lit up. “Go ahead.”
She punched her order into the screen. A machine inside the ATM hummed and a little door slid up to reveal her cupcake: a red velvet with cream cheese frosting.
“That is so cool.”
I ordered a plain vanilla cupcake. I turned from the ATM, juggling my wallet and dessert, just as Kacey broke off a frosted piece of red velvet and offered it to me.
“Want to try?”
“Hold on…” I tried to stuff my wallet in the back pocket of my jeans but the damn thing wouldn’t go. Kacey stood on her tiptoes and held the little piece of cake to my mouth. I had no choice but to eat it off her fingers.
Her head cocked, her eyes bright and electric underneath the amber streetlights. “Good, right?”
I nodded, though I wasn’t tasting any cake.
“You have a little frosting…” She reached again, and her fingertips brushed the corner of my mouth. A whisper touch that crackled like a little current of electricity, straight down to my groin, where is sat heavy and warm.
I offered her mine. “Taste?”
That’s all I could manage. Taste. I scoffed inwardly. Me Tarzan, you Jane.
Kacey took a small bite of my cupcake, and I watched as she licked her lips, staring at her mouth.
“How is it?” I said, a split second before my stare would need an explanation.
“Good.” Kacey stepped back and flashed me a smile. “You have excellent taste, Fletcher.”
We headed west, toward the Strip, ambling along a walkway between shops and restaurants, lined with potted plants and trees. It was after eleven on a Sunday, but Vegas was wide awake. Couples, groups of laughing friends and tourists speaking other languages walked past us or parted around us. We strolled and ate our desserts, heading across the boulevard toward Caesar’s Palace. Then I turned us south.
I wanted to show her the Bellagio Hotel.
“Let’s stop here,” I suggested. We leaned our arms on the white cement wall that buffered the pond in front of the Bellagio. Across the water, the hotel was lit up in gold and pink, curving toward the smaller structures of the casino below it like an open book.
“It’s beautiful,” Kacey said. She turned around to face the Strip. The small-scale Eiffel Tow
er glowed in front of the Paris Hotel and Casino across the street. “Italy on one side, France on the other,” she said.
“You’ve really never been inside a casino?”
She shook her head. “Our tour schedule is so crazy, we haven’t had any free time until after the show last night. That’s why we’re here until Tuesday—so Jimmy can hit the strip clubs and do some gambling. The last time I was here, I was too young to be allowed anywhere fun.”
“Did you come here with your parents?”
“No,” Kacey said, turning her gaze to the still, dark water in front of us. “I don’t see them much anymore.”
“Too busy with the band? Will your tour take you through San Diego?”
I took a bite out of the cake, and when I looked up, Kacey’s entire demeanor had changed. She hugged herself though the night was warm with a soft breeze, and the light in her eyes had dimmed as she cast her gaze over the dark water.
“No, it’s not on my schedule,” she said. “I haven’t seen my parents in four years. My dad kicked me out of the house when I was seventeen.”
I nearly dropped my dessert and the bite in my mouth was like a jagged rock. I swallowed with difficulty. “He kicked you out of your house? At seventeen?”
My tone was far too loud and hard. I was demanding an answer from her bastard of a father, not her. But Kacey didn’t flinch or retreat. I think she understood my outrage, maybe even felt a little boosted for it.
“I snuck my twenty-two-year-old boyfriend home through my bedroom window one night. My parents caught us…in a compromising position, and that was it. My dad had never approved of anything I did; he hated my playing electric guitar, but that was the last straw. He let me pack a bag and locked the door behind me. I hadn’t even finished high school.”
I chucked what was left of my cupcake in a nearby trashcan, appetite lost. “What kind of asshole turns his daughter out on the street? And what about your mom? She didn’t help you?”
Kacey’s shoulders jerked up in a shrug as she picked at her cake. “She didn’t say a word. She never has. She’s quiet and meek. My dad isn’t abusive to her, not physically. But he can turn off like a faucet. Cold, bone-dry silence for days if he’s really pissed, and my mom can’t handle that.”