Losing Enough

by Helen Boswell

  Flight from San Antonio (SAT) to Las Vegas (LAS) delayed. Est arrival 30 minutes.

  A fraction of my stress dissipates off my shoulders as I blow out a breath, and I silently thank whatever forces in the universe are intervening tonight. Luck doesn’t always make a habit of being on my side, but when it is, I try not to take it for granted.

  I circle around and drive a little too fast until I get back to the service entrance – luckily there are no cars coming. None of this makes sense, nothing that I’m feeling or doing right now. Not the urge to call Neil to sub for me or the need to make sure Alex gets to her room. But I’m operating only partially on logic right now.

  I grab my keys from the ignition and run to the service entrance, beating myself up for being out-of-my-head insane.

  When I catch up to them, Jordan doesn’t give me my fifty back, but he does give me access to the right service elevator.

  “She said she was in the Platinum Tower.” He shrugs and gives me a questioning look that I ignore.

  I manage a brief smile, though it feels like my jaw is going to crack. I also want to punch him for touching Alex before. “Thanks, man.”

  “Sure thing, Connor. See ya around.”

  Alex walks into the elevator without saying a word, seeming not to register or care about the change in guard. She crouches down on the floor and buries her head in her arms, and I give her a shrewd look. She was coherent in the car, enough to be a smartass. Probably just dealing with the effects of the drugs wearing off. The best thing for her right now is to go to her room and sleep it off.

  I say to the top of her head, “You’re going to have to at least tell me the floor you’re on. Unless you want to sleep in the elevator.”

  She slowly raises her head to look at me.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she mumbles. She puts her hands on her knees and gets up to a standing position, staring at the elevator buttons for an interminable amount of time before stabbing one of them. “Can’t stay away from me, huh?”

  “Apparently not,” I say drily. “I had to make sure you got to your room.”

  If she says anything in response, I miss it. I’m staring at the lit-up button on the elevator display.

  We’re heading up to one of the VIP floors.

  I check her out again but with more scrutiny than I’d done on the drive over. She’s playing with the ends of her hair with fingernails that are even but not particularly well-manicured. Black dress is a good cut but doesn’t look expensive. No jewelry to speak of except for a leather wrap bracelet set with cheap crystals. Sandals are scuffed and not new.

  I’m guessing not a high roller, though some of them can definitely be quirky, and others dress down on purpose so they don’t draw attention, especially when going out. But I’ve never seen one go out to someplace as seedy as QE2. And her personality… I’m still on edge, but I can appreciate the attitude she put out tonight, even in face of all of the shit she went through.

  She’s probably the daughter or niece of the VIP guest. A slimmer chance that she’s the girlfriend. And now my curiosity is piqued as to who that VIP might be.

  The elevator stops and the doors open, but Alex doesn’t move to leave. Her keycard is already in hand, but her forehead is furrowed, a few messy strands of long hair falling over her face as she digs around in her purse.

  “All you need is your key right now,” I point out. “Go to your room and sleep it off.”

  Her gaze lifts and locks onto my face, and I read anger in her expression. “I was trying to tip you, Mr. Impatient Bossypants. But someone took all of my cash. Probably that douche canoe I was with,” she grumbles.

  I laugh, the sound surprising myself and from the looks of her glare, pissing her off. I explain. “The name-calling. And you don’t have to tip me.” The elevator doors start to close, and I stick out my hand to stop them as I look at her more seriously. “How much cash did you lose?”

  She sighs. “About two hundred.” She steps out of the elevator and starts to walk away. “I know it’s not a lot,” she tosses over her shoulder. “Not in a city where everyone gambles.”

  “Two hundred is a lot,” I disagree. “And not everyone gambles.”

  She hesitates, and I watch as she turns to face me. I see an emotion flash in her brown eyes. Anger at her situation. Something that makes me think that this girl has fire in her.

  Her words pour out of her in a rush. “Not that I care what you think of me, but I don’t do this. Get all drunk and hook up with some random guy whose name I don’t even know. If I want to hook up with someone, I do it because I really want to, you know?”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it,” I say brusquely. “Tonight wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yeah…I guess. See ya.” She walks away just as the elevator doors close.

  I don’t know why she bothered saying all of that to me. I don’t know why I’m not immediately pressing the button to get back down to the first floor. I don’t know why I’d gotten out of my car in the first place.

  But I do know that I didn’t do any of this for Elle. Or for her friend.

  I did it for Laura.

  5

  Alex

  I wake up with my heart in my throat and an army of evil minions going at my head with jackhammers. I bolt up to a sitting position – ugh… way too fast – before flopping back into the fluffy bedding.

  What happened to me last night? Something. Something bad, but I can’t remember what. My emotions are slippery, and I press my cheek into my pillow and try to figure out why I feel so out of control.

  The scent of crisp linens permeates my fog, and I realize I’m lying in a field of pillows that aren’t mine and that I’m not in my own bed. I sit up again in a panic, swiping my hair out of my eyes and feeling relieved when I see that I’m in my hotel room. No army, no jackhammers, just my pounding head and mounting horror as I realize how much of last night was a blur, much of it a total blank.

  Crap. I do remember getting a ride back to my hotel room, riding in the elevator… And I have a faint recollection of making out with some guy at the bar last night. But I can’t remember how far we went. Like, at all.

  I slide my hands down my body. Still wearing the same dress I’d gone out in last night. Still wearing my bra, which is godawful uncomfortable. But my underwear.

  My underwear. Is. Missing.

  Oh my God. Really? Why can’t I remember that?

  I press the heels of my hands to my forehead and moan as my ears start to buzz. I’m not a total lightweight. I’ve been hungover plenty of times. But not like this.

  My phone rings loudly from somewhere in my bed, and I grope for it under the sheets. The display says it’s Elle. It also says it’s just past nine in the morning, which is way too early to be calling.

  “Hey,” I croak, rubbing my eyes. The drapes in my room are still shut, my room in mostly darkness. Thankfully. My head feels like it might split into a billion pieces.

  “Oh, thank heavens you’re alive, woman!” Elle shouts. I wince and hold the phone away from my ear as she goes on. “I mean, okay, so I did hear from my cousin last night, but I was worried you died in your sleep when you didn’t answer any of my calls this morning!”

  Cousin? I have no clue who she means. Yet another thing on the list of what I don’t remember about last night. I grimace as I rub my forehead. I don’t like things being taken out of my control like this.

  “Sorry. I’m okay,” I say, though that’s still up for debate. “Sort of okay. Still in bed… What’s that about your cousin?”

  She makes a choking noise. “Omigod. Okay. How much do you remember about last night?”

  She’s speaking carefully, like she thinks I might freak out if I do remember what happened. Not good. But her cousin? The sea of people Elle’s introduced me to over the past two summers is infinite. Lots of musicians, people she works with, random acquaintances. I think I do remember meeting one of her cousins once, a woman with glossy dark hair that se
emed ditzy. But I don’t remember if she was there last night.

  Elle is talking a mile a minute, so it winds up being much easier to puzzle this out in silence than to try to think of a response.

  She goes on. “… so Tucker beat down that guy for dropping that shit in your drink…”

  I sit straight up, ignoring the protesting throb in my temples. “Wait, what? What?”

  My horror compounds as the memories began to trickle back. Elle giving me a challenge. Going up to those two guys and getting surfer boy to dance with me. And then what? The blood rushes to my face, burns my cheeks with anger as I realize why I can’t remember anything. Why my underwear is missing…

  “Hold up, Elle,” I interrupt. “What did Tucker say? What was I doing when he found me?”

  She quietly swears to herself before sighing. “Oh, hun. You sure you wanna hear this? Okay. He said you were in the back hallway by the stockrooms. That you were flopping over like a rag doll with that guy all over you with his jeans undone.”

  I blow out a furious breath. I was drugged. I got freaking roofied. I don’t know whether I want to scream or to storm out of here and hunt down that chickenshit who did this to me so I can tear him a new one. But I’m angry and terrified at the same time. And grateful, so grateful that I walked away from that. I press my hand over my eyes and try to get control of my breathing. I owe Tucker, big time.

  “I’m so sorry. The challenge… I had no idea.” Elle says, her voice suddenly quiet. “Hun, you okay?”

  “No, I’m not okay.” My head pounds as I struggle to sit up in bed. “I’m mad about being so stupid, and I’m still kinda wrecked.” In the midst of all of the emotions churning inside me, I feel a bit satisfied that it had been Tucker to find me. Favorite bartender to the rescue. “Did Tucker mess him up pretty bad then?”

  “Enough to teach him a lesson,” Elle sighs. “But Trey walked in on them and broke it up before it could go too far.”

  Trey is the owner of the bar. “Okay, well…” Elle sounds really upset, like she’s blaming herself for this. I clear my throat. “Hey. You had no idea that he was a creep and was going to do that. Maybe we should always use the buddy system from now on. For future challenges, you know?”

  She barks out a laugh. “Girl, you’re insane. That you’re even thinking about future challenges.” Her voice registers relief. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Elle’s starting to say something else, but I hear a soft knock, and I groan. “Hey. I think my mom’s at the door. But I’ll call you later.”

  She huffs into the phone, maybe out of relief. “Yeah, cool. Go, go have fun with your mom and call me later. Heart you, dude.”

  I’m not sure about the having fun part, but I climb out of bed, my head threatening to explode. I wobble over to the door, almost tripping over my sandals in the middle of the floor. I need to get my act together. And I need coffee. Plus ibuprofen. Not to mention a do-over on my first night of summer vacation.

  I’m a big believer in signs from the universe, and if last night isn’t a huge flashing neon sign, I don’t know what is. Part of the reason I’m here is because I want to see what’s going on with my parents, not to party the whole time and get wasted. Granted, my current state is not totally my fault. But still, the universe is obviously reminding me of why I’m here.

  I open the door, and Dad’s eyes widen at me in undisguised shock. I probably mirror his expression with mine – I hadn’t gotten to see him last night because he was on the clock when I first got to the hotel. When he’s in Vegas, he works the floor like it’s his job because for the time that he’s here, it is. Dad may be a professional gambler, but he isn’t one of those high rollers that flies in by chartered plane and has a winter home in the Caymans. He works hard all year to pay for this trip. He comes here not to impress strangers but as an escape from everyday life.

  He’s wearing his lucky blue button-down shirt with a simple blazer jacket and basic Dockers, and I notice right away that his hair, once dark brown, is peppered with more grey than last time I saw him. That was what, right before spring break?

  “Morning, Dad.” I try on a smile, glad that it doesn’t feel too unnatural.

  “Alexis.” He doesn’t smile back. “I’m glad you made it in last night.”

  I’m not sure if Dad means last night after going out or my flight last night. I realize how I must look dressed like I just came back from a club. And my makeup and hair must be totally destroyed. Not exactly what a father wants to see in his one and only daughter in the morning. I hope my cheeks aren’t flaming red.

  “Was your flight okay?” he adds, and I feel absurdly relieved.

  “Yep. Only one short layover. Thanks for making the reservations and all that.”

  He finally smiles, and the awkwardness between us seems to clear. “Of course. I wanted to catch you this morning before I go back to work. I have something for you.”

  His eyes show an excited shine in them, and he beckons for me to follow him into the living room part of the suite. He sits on the couch, and I perch next to him.

  Dad reaches into his inner jacket pocket, and I open my mouth to object – I don’t expect spending money from him anymore. But he holds up his hand before I can say a word.

  “It’s for the whole trip. Don’t argue. It’s my winnings from last night. I want you to have it.”

  “Dad…”

  “You’re twenty-one now, Alexis.”

  He places the bills in my hand and practically jumps up off the couch before I can say anything. That’s typical Dad. When he decides on something for anyone in the family, there’s no further discussion on the topic. Especially when it comes to money.

  I watch him walk over to the door to the master bedroom on the other side of the suite, seeing a spring in his step that always means he’s doing well at the tables. I wait until he disappears into his room before checking out how much is in the stack.

  It is a stack, and it’s almost ten grand.

  Holy crap.

  There’s some myth out there that casinos pump pure oxygen into the air to give players more energy. The myth itself is complete bullshit, but right now, I kind of wish it was true because I’m feeling light-headed. Ten grand is about nine and a half grand more than he’s ever given me for spending cash, and he hasn’t given me spending cash since I was seventeen. I know it’s probably chump change compared to how much some players drop at the tables, but… Ten. Freaking. Grand. He’d said it was because I’m twenty-one, like that was all of the explanation that I needed. But what does that mean exactly? Is he expecting me to go out and gamble with this?

  My first impulse is to immediately call Elle and tell her we need to ramp up the plans for the summer. The possibilities are endless in a city like this. But my more reasonable voice points out that this is not totally in character for Dad.

  I’ll stick the cash into my room’s vault until I figure out what’s going on.

  “Oh, and Alexis?” Dad pokes his head out of his room. “I passed your mother on her way downstairs, and she wanted me to see if you were up for a swim. She tried knocking before she left, but you were still asleep. If you’re still tired…”

  Mom and I both love to swim, and when I was younger, our summer days would start off with us getting up early and doing laps in the hotel pool. We’d go until we were famished and then treat ourselves to a giant room service brunch. But she and I haven’t done that in a couple of years, probably not since I was nineteen.

  They don’t call this city “The Capital of Second Chances” for nothing. The universe is speaking, loud and clear. My parents need me today.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I say. “I’m not tired. I’ll head down in sixty seconds.”

  Saturday morning, and the lap pool is mostly empty except for a guy doing some hardcore freestyle in one of the far lanes and two elderly women chatting as they do a slow frog-style stroke in the middle. Mom is lying in one of the lounge
chairs reading a Vogue, huge sunglasses on and her strawberry blonde hair swept up in a perfect twist. I saw her briefly last night right after I got to the hotel and as she was getting ready for bed.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say to her hair.

  She looks up, a smile on her face as she sets the magazine down and reaches for me with outstretched arms. I sit down and hug her, and a faint mist of Chanel engulfs me.

  “Alexis! So glad you came down, baby girl. Did you have a nice time with Elle last night?”

  “It was fine,” I lie. Only Mom gets away with calling me baby girl. I squeeze her but let go when I feel her wince. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. A little sore from my swim yesterday, I guess. I’ll stretch out better today.”

  I throw my towel and bag onto the chair next to her, and we both start our stretches. Whatever that jerkwad put into my drink last night feels like it’s still clinging to my bones. But I vaguely remember someone telling me that I was lucky, that it could have been a lot, lot worse if I hadn’t puked my guts out. I bend my leg back and grab my foot, gently tugging to stretch my quads, and I know this must be true.

  Mom’s body is all grace as she reaches up to the sky and arches her back. If Dad has some more gray peppering his hair these days, Mom is the opposite. Her hair shines in the high morning sun, her eyes sparkling as she looks over at me and smiles. She turns forty-nine this year, but everyone says she looks like she could be my older sister. I’m good with that.

  Her hazel eyes sweep over me and miss nothing. “You’ve put on a little weight.”

  “Thanks a lot.” I roll my eyes. I could be as skinny as a twig and she’d probably say the same thing. Ever since I could remember, she’s been on a strict diet to counteract the influences of her own mother. My maternal grandmother is originally from England and is famous in the family for her hearty food.

  “Well, you look great,” I add, which is totally true.

  “Why, thank you.” She smiles serenely, looking pleased. “This is lovely, isn’t it?” she sighs.