by Maya Cross
I've been hiding it for the last few months, trying to figure some way out, but there isn't one. The hole is too big. I know you, Grace. I know how kindhearted you are, how selfless. I know you're probably saying to yourself right now that we could have worked it out, that we'd have found some way to pay it off, but the truth is that if we tried, it would have followed us forever. That future we wanted, your future, would have gone up in smoke, and I'm not willing to let you ruin your life for my mistakes. You're too special, and you've got too much to offer the world.
I'm going to miss you. I'm going to miss you so fucking much. I know that doesn't make any sense since once I'm gone, I won't be feeling anything, but when I think of the two of us not being together, it just rips me in half. I don't want to leave you. I want us to have everything we talked about. I want to travel the world with you by my side, waking up to your smile every morning. I want to buy that house with the perfect kitchen and the big back garden and watch our kids grow up in it. And I want to see you open the restaurant of your dreams and take the food world by storm. I want all of that more than anything. But I've ruined it for us now. This is the only way I can salvage even a little of that dream.
I need you to understand that this isn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done. I've made mistakes, and now I have to own them. I still love you with everything I've got. I love you so much it hurts.
I've got the pills in front of me. God, I'm frightened, but I'm happy that I won't be living under this cloud anymore. I know this is going to hurt like hell, but please, don't let this break you. Go and live the life that we wanted. Go and cook and travel and find someone else who isn't as weak and stupid as I am. You deserve the world, and the only solace I can take from this is that I'm still leaving you with a chance to have it.
I'm so, so sorry. Please forgive me.
-T
Tears stung my eyes, running hot down my cheeks. I wanted to rip that note into a thousand pieces. I wanted to burn it until it was nothing but ash. Anything to erase those words that condemned me so completely. He said there was nothing I could have done, but how could that possibly be true? I was his fiancé, the person closest to him in the world, and yet somehow I let the love of my life fall apart before my eyes without even realizing.
I'd known he was in a rut. I'd seen it in his eyes, in the tightness of his smile, but I didn't look any closer. He'd been down before. Poker players' lives are a rapid-fire series of highs and lows, and at the time I just assumed it was part of that rhythm. Now, it was so incredibly obvious that wasn't true. Since he died, I'd spent every spare moment agonizing over his behavior. No fancy dinners, no stupid spontaneous purchases, spending sixteen hours a day at the tables — how the fuck hadn't I realized something was deeply wrong? He was there for me through so much, but when he needed me, I was nowhere in sight, too stupid or blind to even understand that he was in trouble.
The worst part was, he did it for me. That hurt so much I didn't even know how I was still walking around. It was like a knife to the chest, jagged and ice cold. I would have done anything for him. I'd have lived in a shoebox for the rest of my life if it meant we were together. But instead, he took matters into his own hands without even giving me a choice.
I couldn't destroy the note. I deserved to be reminded, deserved to feel this for the rest of my life. I owed it to Tom. I'd deluded myself into thinking that Charlie's was a new start, but there were no new starts from this, no moving on. This was forever.
Careful not to crinkle or crease it any further, I folded the note and placed it back in the box. After stashing it back in its place, I moved out into the lounge and turned on the television. I used to love trashy reality TV as a means to escape, but at that moment it was just so much unintelligible noise in the background. It did nothing to cover the abyss that was opening up inside me, beckoning.
Was this really going to be my life now? Alone, afraid, working a meaningless job and pining after a ghost? I used to have so much to look forward to. I loved my work, I loved coming home to Tom and I loved all the plans we made. We had a whole future mapped out together, but now all that waited for me when I woke up was darkness. I had nothing.
It was only fifteen minutes before I was in the bathroom, calmly opening the cupboard under the sink and fishing out the bottle I'd stashed there. When I got the job at Charlie's, I poured every drop of alcohol in the house straight down the drain. Every drop that is, except for a single bottle of Smirnoff.
I cracked the top and took a long slug.
Chapter Four
Logan
I landed a long series of punches on the bag in front of me, letting it feel the full weight of my frustration. The leather cracked, a rapid-fire percussion, and my coach, Tony, who was bracing it, rocked backward with the force.
"Jesus, what's gotten into you?"
I shrugged. "Dunno. Just one of those days, I guess."
He nodded. "Well, keep it up. You punch like that next time you're in the ring, there ain't nobody gonna stand in your way."
"Ain't nobody gonna stand in my way anyway," I replied, mimicking his southern drawl.
"That's the spirit," he said. It was the sort of comment that should have been accompanied by a smile, but not from this man. Tony didn't smile.
Despite my reply, I did know what had me so fired up. Grace was drinking again. I'd spent enough time with Jack and Jim to know the signs. The red eyes, the pale face, the glazed expression; it was textbook.
I shouldn't have cared, she was nobody to me, but ever since that night out on the street, I hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. She was so goddamn beautiful, and the pain on her face had been so sharp, so raw. I could see terrible things etched on her future. I'd tried to help in some small way, but it was a ridiculous idea. One comment from a random stranger stacked up against whatever storm had hit her life. It just blew away in the wind.
That should have been the end of it. Vegas is a transient town — a temporary sinner's paradise — and even if she was local, the odds of seeing her again were astronomical, but then, out of the blue, she showed up behind the bar. She looked better in that first week. Not healed, but healing. I really thought I'd been wrong, and she'd made it past the trough, but it had been temporary. The deadness had returned to her eyes now. I don't know why that twisted me up so much, but it did.
I struck the bag again, a lethal blur of fists and elbows that would have sent a real person straight to the emergency room. Every blow eased the tension in my stomach a little more. I love the sensation at the moment of impact, that perfect transfer of energy that flows up from the soles of my feet, through my muscles and out into the world. It's kind of fucked up, but that's basically my therapy. Everything builds up inside me until I have no choice but to let it out through my arms and legs. I need that adrenaline now, that focus. It keeps me sane.
I had no idea about Grace's situation, and I had no right to interfere with her life — fuck knows I hated when people tried to do the same for me — but the thing was, I knew about seeking refuge at the bottom of a bottle. I'd been there myself, more times than I cared to count, and each time I only just managed to drag myself up again before I drowned. I also knew people who hadn't been so lucky, people I'd tried, and failed, to help, and the thought of her joining that number made me sick to my stomach.
I don't believe in God, but karma? The jury's still out on that one. I've been involved in some fucked up stuff in my time, stuff that there's no excuse for. I don't know how to moralize it. I'm not smart enough for that. Everything is a gray area these days. Maybe this life now is me being punished, or maybe it's just how the cards fall. I've got no idea. But either way, this was a chance to put something right, to help someone who couldn't help herself. It might not make up for my past failures, but it was worth a shot.
"High kicks," Tony said, shifting his grip on the bag.
I slipped into the zone.
*****
She never came into wor
k tanked. If she was anything like me, that didn't come until bed time, but I could tell she was starting well before her shifts. Soon enough, I figured out it was also continuing at work. Nobody leaves an eight hour stint looking as buzzed as when they arrived unless they've given themselves a little lift in the interim. That was a big problem. Charlie didn't spend a whole lot of time in the bar anymore — he had bigger fish to fry now — but he was bound to notice eventually and, when he did, Grace could kiss the place goodbye. I didn't know much about her, but I knew her job was important. You didn't get work tending bar when you were as depressed as she was unless you had no choice in the matter, and that meant she had everything to lose. Getting fired now would be the worst kind of trigger, the kind that could send her over the edge.
The following day, I traded with Louis to work the entire night inside. I hate being in that place for too long, especially on Friday nights. The people, the noise; too many threats, too many variables. It always feels like the walls are closing in around me. But it was the only way I'd catch her.
Even had I not been concerned, I would have found myself watching her. There was something so alluring about her; tiny, but with curves that seemed to go on forever. And that little pixie haircut, Christ, it made her look so fucking hot. I hadn't had this sort of reaction to a woman in a long time, not since my ex-fiancé.
For a while, when that relationship ended, I spent a ton of time fucking anything I could get my hands on. I was angry and hurt and it was the only outlet I could find to get any kind of rush, but ultimately it just made things worse. However you slice it, sex leads to attachment, and for a guy with the kind of baggage I've got, that's a really really bad idea. I don't do emotional conflict well, and things got ugly more times than I care to count. For that reason, I don't go down that road anymore, and for that reason especially, I couldn't even think about pursuing Grace, whatever her body did to me. I could offer support and try to help, but anything more was beyond me. Putting two people with our issues together was a fucking powder keg. I wanted to help her, not damage her more.
As usual, I caught her glancing at me several times when she thought I wasn't looking. Army training goes a long way when it comes to surveillance. You miss something out in the field, you're as good as dead. I still couldn't tell what that look meant. Was she suspicious of me? Curious? Afraid? They were probably all legitimate reactions.
She wouldn't be drinking in the bar. Too obvious. But all the staff got a short break every three hours, and I suspected that's where the crime went down. Sure enough, when her time came up, she excused herself and ducked out toward the back door. I went out the front and looped around the building, coming up on the alley from the street. No need to draw attention to her.
She was leaning up against the wall, shoulder slumped, head bowed. There was a glint of something silver in her hand, reflecting the moonlight. I watched as she raised the flask and took a short slug, her face twisting ever so slightly as she swallowed.
"Feeling a little on edge?" I asked.
She jumped. "Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing sneaking up on people like that?"
"Sorry."
She glanced at the flask as I stepped closer, but apparently decided it was too late to hide it. Instead, she opted for the defiant, angry approach. "What do you want?"
"To help," I said.
She blinked in confusion. "Help? What the hell are you talking about?"
"I know what you're going through," I said, nodding toward the flask. "Not the specifics, obviously, but I get it. I've been there."
She studied me for several seconds, and then let out a sour little laugh. "Trust me, you haven't been here. And you haven't got a clue what I'm going through."
I shrugged. "If you say so."
She glared at me, but didn't leave, so neither did I. Eye contact; I could work with that.
"If Charlie catches you, you're done. You know that, right?" I said.
She shrugged, almost petulantly, like she was suddenly sixteen again. "Are you going to tell on me?"
"No, but he'll work it out. He runs a business with the sole purpose to get people drunk. You think he can't tell when someone is on the sauce?"
Her expression slipped a little, and her teeth grazed over her lip in a way that turned my insides to jelly. She didn't seem to have a response to that. Instead she gazed down at the ground for a few seconds.
Then her eyes whipped up again. "You tried this before, that night we met," she said. "You said, 'It doesn't help.'"
I nodded slowly. I hadn't been sure if she remembered that. She'd been well on her way to a total blackout that night.
Her eyes narrowed fractionally. "Why do you care what happens to me?"
"I dunno. Maybe I just don't like sitting by and watching somebody else drown."
She let out a sick little laugh. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"
"Maybe. If not, I think you're on your way. And if you lose this job, I think that will seal it." I took a step forward, and she shrank into the wall. I couldn't blame her. Six foot five with a motley collage of scars and ink, I wasn't exactly the friendliest looking guy, but I felt this overpowering urge to be closer to her, like I could just scoop her up in my arms and that would make everything alright. Fucking ridiculous.
"Look, I get it," I said. "You don't know me from Adam, and I don't know shit about what's going on with you. Quite frankly, I don't want to know." That was a lie. For some reason I was curious. But asking someone in her position to throw all their problems out in the open, to a virtual stranger, was a fast track to having them close up for good. "But you aren't going to beat this thing alone."
I stepped closer again, leaving less than a foot between us. She gazed up into my eyes looking ready to bolt, but all I could do was stare at her lips. Such a tiny, insignificant part of her, but they held me in a trance. I desperately wanted to know what they'd feel like; against mine, against other parts of me. It took all of my willpower not to lean in and find out.
I gave my head a little shake. Christ, what was I doing? "That chaos that's raging inside you," I continued, "you need to do more than just douse it in booze. That puts it to sleep, but it doesn't get rid of it. And later it comes back with a vengeance. There are ways to beat it. You just need a little help."
Her expression softened ever so slightly. I could see a yearning in her eyes, a powerful desire to believe that I might be telling the truth. Nobody with an alcohol problem really wants to drink. They just don't know how else to handle whatever is eating away at them.
That hope only lasted a second, however. Her face tightened and she swallowed hard. "There's no help you can offer for this."
She really believed that, which made me incredibly sad. "Maybe that's true, but isn't it worth a shot? When I was where you are now, Charlie reached out to me, and that changed everything."
"Charlie?" She seemed surprised.
I nodded. "He saved me. Alcoholics need support, someone to talk to."
She blinked sharply. "I'm not an alcoholic."
I let out a short laugh. Like I said: textbook. "You think regular people take hip flasks to work?"
It was the wrong thing to say. Her lips twisted into a sneer. "Fuck you. Who are you to judge me?"
"I'm not judging—" I began, but it was too late. I'd lost her.
"That's exactly what you're doing." Shoving me backward, she slipped out under my arm and headed for the bar. "Do me a favor," she said, pausing at the door. "Keep your nose out of my business."
Then, she was gone.
I exhaled slowly and let the wall behind me take my weight. Great fuckin' job, Logan.
That hadn't gone how I'd hoped, but then again, was I really surprised? I hadn't exactly been receptive when people tried to pry into my shit. Why should she be any different?
Maybe the whole idea was just straight up ridiculous. Even if I did get her to listen, what good would it really do? Yeah, I'd gone through something similar, but I handl
ed it my own way. I had no idea if that would work for anyone else. But try as I might, I couldn't convince myself to throw in the towel just yet. She needed someone.
I breathed in deeply and caught the faintest trace of her scent on the wind, and tried to convince myself that was the only reason.
Chapter Five
Logan
The next night, Grace was working the closing shift. Joy had decided she was ready to handle the cleanup alone, and this was her trial run. Once two o'clock rolled around and the bar was officially shut for the night, I usually took off, but tonight I had other plans.
The middle of the night is the only time I really like the city. By day it's too much to bear; a roiling, cacophonous circus that makes it almost impossible for me to function. The closer I get to the Strip, the more under assault I feel. If it weren't for Charlie and the cage, and the fact that I liked the desert so much, I'd probably have moved to the middle of nowhere a long time ago. Instead, I just spend my days holed up in the gym, doing my best to lock all those threats outside.
When the last red-faced customer staggered out of Charlie's and off into the electric Vegas darkness, I moved inside. Grace was alone behind the bar, mechanically wiping down the benches and staring off into space. She didn't notice me until I was just a few feet away.
"Jesus," she said with a start, "what is it with you and sneaking up on people?"
"That would be my ninja training," I deadpanned. "Sorry. Old habits die hard."
That actually generated a ghost of a smile, but then she caught herself and her expression quickly darkened. We hadn't spoken since our confrontation in the alley. In retrospect, it was clear I'd made a mistake charging in head first. She was strong-willed and stubborn, just like me. Getting through to her was going to take some work.
