Full Tilt Duet Box Set

by Emma Scott

  My porch lights—the beautiful whiskey-bottle lamps Jonah had made for me—were burnt out. Had that just happened, or had I not noticed until now? My cheeks burned as I struggled to get the damn key to find the lock. Inside, I strode toward the kitchen to make a nightcap, leaving Theo to shut the door and pick up my dropped purse.

  I poured vodka over ice. “You want one? Or a beer?”

  He shook his head. He stood with his arms crossed, his dark-eyed gaze unwavering. I sipped my drink, self-conscience of every movement. “You wanted to talk, right?”

  “I didn’t fly all this way to listen to bullshit.”

  My eyes flared wider. “Bullshit? I haven’t said a word.”

  “Yeah, no kidding.”

  “You’re the one stalking me.”

  “People are worried about you, Kace,” he said, his voice softening slightly.

  “Oh, it’s a guilt trip then. Do you get frequent flyer miles for those?”

  Theo didn’t laugh and his eyes didn’t leave me. My cheeks burned. I slammed my drink on the tiled kitchen counter.

  “Look, I don’t need you coming here and…humiliating me.”

  That seemed to throw him a little. His shoulders hitched. “Humiliate you? How?”

  “By being here. By seeing me like this. Why do you think I left? To hurt Beverly or Henry? Or you? No, I left Vegas because he was everywhere, Teddy. Jonah was everywhere and I couldn’t take it.”

  “What, you think he’s invisible to me?”

  “I’m telling you why I left.”

  “You mean bailed.” His handsome face was stoic but his voice was filled with pain.

  “Fine. Bailed. Snuck off in the night and left a note. I could’ve stayed but for what? So you all could watch me fall apart?” I shook my head, raised my vodka to my lips and took a long swallow. “It’s better this way. It’s fucking awful but it’s also better. In the long run. For everyone.”

  “It’s killing you.”

  I snorted into my glass. “I can handle it.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Is that why you’re here? An intervention? Get me into rehab?”

  “No.”

  I looked up, studied this man in my living room, his arms still crossed and his feet planted apart. Like a bouncer. Or even Hugo, Rapid Confession’s bodyguard, who’d scooped me drunk off a stage and put me in the back of Jonah’s limo, changing my life. Too many memories. Too many coincidences circling back to memories.

  “So.” I drummed my fingers on the counter to hide how they were twitching. “You’re going to throw my booze away? Force me to quit?”

  “No.” His tone stayed even and hard, while mine edged toward panic. I slapped my hand on the counter. “So what, then? You wanted to talk. Talk.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “For what?”

  One of his shoulders rose and fell, that was all. He looked so strong and solid and heavy; a boulder of muscle that had planted itself in my living room with no intention of moving.

  “You’re waiting.” I ran my hands through my hair, and clasped them behind my neck, trying to stop the room’s spinning. “Well, you can’t wait here. Get out.”

  Theo didn’t move.

  “Did you hear me?” I said. “You can’t stay.”

  Not a blink. Not a breath. He looked paused. Like a robot with the switch flipped to off.

  My arms dropped and I planted my hands on my hips. “Are you deaf, Teddy? I said get out.”

  He drew a deep inhale then. With the exhale, his booted feet seemed to imbed deeper into the floor.

  I lanced my finger at the door. “Get. Out.”

  Silence.

  Frustration mounted in me, tinged with something else. A bone-deep certainty this was it. My one chance at salvation.

  Help me…

  “Goddammit, get out of my house,” I cried. “Leave me alone.”

  When he didn’t budge, I seized my cell phone. It was a burner phone, the kind you buy at a convenience store. It had nothing in it except contact numbers for the clubs I sang in. I’d thrown my other one away into the Nevada desert months ago.

  “I’ll call the cops,” I said, brandishing the cell in front of me like a gun. “I’ll have you arrested for trespassing. Is that what you want?”

  He didn’t move. I felt something start to crack in me. The eggshell-thin barrier I’d erected against the grief. A levee against the river of soul-deep pain.

  “I swear to God, Teddy, I’ll call the police,” I said, my voice trembling.

  A muscle in Theo’s jaw twitched but his gaze was unbreakable.

  My breath started hitching, getting no deeper than my throat, and my hands were shaking so badly, I nearly dropped the phone. I threw it at Theo instead.

  “Get out.”

  He inclined his head slightly, didn’t even flinch as the phone sailed to the right of his ear and smashed against the wall.

  “I mean it, Teddy. Get the fuck out!”

  I grabbed a couch cushion and hurled it at him. It landed at his feet. The second cushion hit him square in the chest and bounced off. I was screaming now, as I dug through my purse for objects to throw at him. My wallet, a compact, a wad of tissues. Everything missed or fluttered to the floor. Finally, with a hysterical cry, I swung the purse itself, like a shot-put. It careened across the room, the force swinging me halfway around. I lost my balance and fell to my knees. The impact against the hardwood crackled through me, and I hunched over, hugging myself to keep from breaking apart.

  He won’t leave.

  “I’m sorry,” I cried, my face aching with the strain of holding back the river. “I’m so sorry, Teddy, but go. Please go. I don’t want you to see me like this…”

  He won’t leave.

  He won’t ever leave. He’s strong and healthy and well and he won’t leave…

  I heard the creak of floorboards, felt them shift under my kneecaps. Theo’s booted foot appeared in the murky blur of my vision. When he spoke, his voice was a mountain.

  “I’m staying here.” He knelt beside me and picked up my head. His large hands held my face, brushed the hair from my eyes and made me look at him. His hard gaze implored me to give in. Let go. But the terror of jumping in the river and confronting my grief wouldn’t let me. I needed to drink. I needed to stay drunk, or I’d die.

  I’d drown.

  I opened my mouth to tell him that, and the words came out all wrong.

  “I need help.” I whispered. The words were cool in my mouth. My skin felt feverish, my tears were scalding as they streamed down my cheeks to his fingers that held me. Everything hurt. Except the words.

  “Help me,” I said, swallowing it like cool, clear water in the desert. “Please. Help me.”

  Theo’s hands spread wide on my face. His eyes shone. “I will,” he said. “I’m here and I’ll help you.”

  I searched his eyes, desperate to believe him, clutching his black t-shirt and twisting it in my hands. He was telling the truth. There was nothing about Theo that wasn’t solid and honest and fiercely loyal. I’d seen the same conviction in his eyes when he’d held Jonah’s hand through that awful biopsy. And now he was offering the same to me.

  But I couldn’t quit the booze. I couldn’t survive it. I collapsed against him, sobbing hard but not turning myself inside out. Not yet. The urge to drink was furious and malevolent. It had sunk its teeth deep into me, and wouldn’t be purged so easily. But I’d begun. I clung to Theo and he held me tight, the solidity of his presence bolstering me, as if he were lending me some of his strength. After a few minutes, he shifted off his knees to sit on the floor. I wiped my eyes on his sleeve.

  “I’ve been drunk every day for six months.”

  I felt him nod against the crown of my head.

  “It’s going to hurt bad, isn’t it?”

  The nod grew bigger. “Maybe you should see someone. A doctor…”

  “No.” I hauled myself off the floor. Theo rose too, steadying me when
I wobbled. “I looked it up a month ago, when I had a bad night and thought about quitting. Hospital rehab programs give you drugs to cope with withdrawal. Drugs that make you feel nothing.”

  I looked up at him, clutching his forearms, still needing his strength.

  “I have to feel everything, don’t I? Feeling is the whole damn point. Because it’s not just the booze I’m getting out of my system.”

  He nodded. “You can do this, Kace.”

  “It’s going to suck for you too,” I said. “If you’re sticking around to watch.”

  “I can take it.”

  “What about your job?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “I can’t ask you to—”

  “It’s fine, Kace,” he said. “I’ve got it covered.”

  His hard tone and stony expression left no room for argument. I hugged my sides and rocked back on my heels. “If you’re sure.”

  His face softened. “I’m sure. And it’s late. You should probably try to get some rest.”

  “What about you?”

  “Once you’re sleeping, I’ll get my stuff from the hotel. Crash on your couch.”

  In my bedroom, I kicked off my boots, peeled off my leather pants and sweater, and exchanged them for baggy sweatpants and a plain T-shirt. I crawled onto the bed and curled up around the universe orb, my eyes already starting to droop.

  Theo came to the doorway. He stared at the glass a moment, then cleared his throat. “You have a stash in here?” he asked.

  “The drawer in the nightstand,” I murmured. Sleep was already coming for me. Behind closed eyes, I heard the drawer open and close. My morning flask of brandy confiscated. A pang of fear and doubt shook my shoulder, begged me to get up and save the stash. But I was sinking too fast.

  “Thank you, Teddy,” I said. “I know it’s so much to ask. Too much.”

  He pulled the covers higher. I smelled the clean scent of his cologne. “It’s not too much,” he said.

  “Liar.”

  He grunted what might have been a laugh. “Goodnight, Kace.”

  For one short second, his hand rested on my shoulder. I wanted to take it and hold on all night, but the dark kept me limp and motionless.

  Still, I knew Theo was there. I wasn’t alone anymore

  And that was enough.

  That was everything.

  I woke in the morning with my stomach twisted in painful knots and a craving in my blood, roaring like a hurricane.

  I found Theo asleep on the couch. He wore gray flannel pants and a white wife-beater revealing the inked muscles of his arms. I wandered into the kitchen with the idea I’d make coffee. Like normal people did.

  The trash had been taken out and a fresh, empty bag lined the can. I knew then I could check every cabinet, drawer and hiding spot in the entire house and I wouldn’t find one drop of liquor.

  I stood in my kitchen, my mouth dry as the Vegas desert, my heart pounding. I didn’t want coffee. I wanted my morning brandy. Or a Bloody Mary. I wanted something hard to drink the way a starving lion wanted red meat.

  I tried to muster my courage. No going back now. I had to do this. For Beverly and Henry. For Oscar and Dena. For Teddy, who was giving up so much to stay here with me. Far more than he let on.

  For Jonah, I thought. For you, my sweet love. I’ll do this for you.

  And though I felt utterly worthless, and the task in front of me seemed impossible, I dared to add myself to the roster.

  For me, too. To live.

  “Teddy?” I called to him in a tiny voice. He came awake at once, sitting up and glancing around until he saw me. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, clutching my elbows. My skin already felt itchy.

  “It’s okay, Kace,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and nodding. “I’m right here.”

  Theo

  It didn’t take long for the addiction to torture her.

  She had no real food in the house. After leaving my hotel the night before, I’d bought a bunch of healthy foods and bottles of water at a 24-hour grocery store. Mid-morning of the first day, I found Dirty Dancing on a cable channel and coaxed Kacey to the couch to watch. She had a thing for 80’s movies. She sipped water as the movie played, but didn’t eat. Her leg bounced and she constantly wrung her hands together.

  By afternoon, watching movies was abandoned. She paced her small living room, her face dampened with sweat, her eyes wild.

  By early evening, she alternated cursing me out with begging for a drink. Soon, dry-heaving was added to the rotation. Rage. Plead. Retch.

  I stayed out of her way. I gritted my teeth through her tearful begging. I held her hair until she regained the strength to start the cycle again.

  Rage. Plead. Retch.

  Occasionally she fell into short, exhausted sleeps that gave me ten or fifteen minutes to catch my breath. They didn’t give her anything. She woke up more angry, more desperate, more wretched. Thirstier.

  By midnight, she was in free-falling anxiety. There were short fits of uncontrollable tears as she paced—she never stopped pacing, pulling at her hair and glancing around with frantic eyes, as if she’d lost something precious.

  I watched helplessly, unable to do more than block the front door and coax her to drink water. Sometimes she clawed and hit me. Sometimes she curled limp into my arms, her body trembling as if she were freezing to death.

  It was a long night. The second day dawned and we were already exhausted. Withdrawal, however, was just getting warmed up.

  Day Two nearly killed her. And it nearly broke me, too. By afternoon, I wanted to call it quits. Resign and take her to a professional.

  “No, Teddy,” she begged. Her face was blotchy red from crying, her clothes drenched in sweat, her voice hoarse from screaming at me. “Don’t give me to strangers. Please…I can do this. I can. I will.”

  What could I say? If she could, I could. I held her close until she pushed away to pace more, to vomit the water I’d managed to get her to drink into the kitchen sink.

  I didn’t think it could get any worse. Then delusional tremors—the DTs—started.

  Kacey’s hands shook as if she’d been doused in ice water, and it scared me to the bone.

  I answered a knock on the door in the late morning to an African-American woman in jeans, an orange shirt and wielding a baseball bat. She jumped back when I opened the door, and readied her bat for a swing. Turned out she was a nurse who lived next door. She heard Kacey’s screaming and thought something criminal was happening.

  I let her in and she helped me check Kacey’s vitals. Her pulse was fast, but not too fast. She wasn’t hallucinating. She wasn’t convulsing beyond tremors. The nurse—Yvonne—okay’d me to keep her home unless it all escalated, and I felt a little calmer after she left. The ordeal still tore at my goddamn heart, but I was less terrified.

  We spent the second night on the living room floor. It must’ve been eighty degrees in that small house with no air conditioning, yet Kacey bundled herself in blankets, crying at how cold she was. She didn’t sleep more than a handful of minutes.

  I didn’t sleep at all.

  Day Three.

  Kacey burst out of her blanket cocoon and sat up, ramrod straight, as if she’d remembered what she’d lost and knew where to find it. She kicked her legs free. Her T-shirt stuck to her skin with sweat, all down her back to darken the waistband of her sweatpants.

  When she glanced at me, her eyes had a clarity I hadn’t seen in days.The terrible fever had finally broken and hope rose in me. This fucking nightmare was almost over.

  “How do you feel?” I asked.

  “Hot,” she said in a croak. “It’s so hot in here.”

  She scrambled off the floor and hurried to the bathroom, stripping off her shirt. Her tattoos were dark blotches against her pale skin. I followed.

  “What, you don’t trust me alone?” she said, turning on the shower then stripping off her sweatpants, leaving her in nothing but her underwear.

&nb
sp; “No.” I averted my eyes from her almost-naked body, and busied myself getting a clean towel from underneath the sink.

  Kacey stepped under the stream of water and shivered.

  “Cold,” she murmured through clenched teeth. “It’s like rain. Cold rain.”

  The water fell over her tangled hair and pale, goosefleshed skin. Her face crumpled, and her hands clutched her chest between her bare breasts, over her heart.

  Here it comes, I thought. The worst. The lowest. The most excruciating. The demon king of pain. What I was too fucking scared to face myself.

  “The rain,” Kacey whispered, the water dripping off her lips and chin. “Up at the Basin. I danced for him in the cold rain. I danced for him…”

  She slowly slid down the tiles, collapsing to the shower floor. Pulling her knees to her chest, she rocked back and forth under the water. Great howling wails filled the small stall.

  I stood frozen a moment, my chest tightened, my own grief trying to well up in an echo of hers.

  I shut off the water, took a towel and bent into the shower to wrap it around her before lifting her up. She felt like nothing in my arms, yet she clung to me hard as I carried her into the bedroom and laid her down on the bed. I lifted Jonah’s glass orb out of the way and set it on its stand on a near-empty bookshelf.

  I’m not going to let you down, bro, I vowed as I set it down, and curled up next to Kacey. I wrapped my arms around her and she clung to me.

  She cried forever. Hours, maybe. I lost track of time, but just held her, stroked her wet, tangled hair, and rocked her gently.

  “Is it over?” she said.

  “Almost. You can sleep.”

  I tucked her blankets tighter around her, watching as her breathing deepened. Her chest rose and fell in long, even waves. Even though her face was splotchy red and her closed eyes puffy, the tense edges of her expression had relaxed.

  I exhaled from my bones, eased off the bed and left her to sleep. Leaving the bedroom door ajar, I staggered down the arrow-straight hallway to the couch. I could hardly keep my eyes open. Every muscle howled in protest as I sank into the ratty cushions.

  “Holy shit,” I muttered, and then I was gone, but only for a few hours.