Full Tilt (Full Tilt #1)(20)

“Scared of what?”

“The lifestyle. The partying. I feel like I do that so I don’t have to make any real decisions. I just follow the band, play really loud music, and drink a lot because…”

“Because…?” I asked gently

She shrugged casually, even if her words weren’t. “Because I have nowhere else to go.”

An image of the bodyguard carrying her out of the club last night flashed through my mind, juxtaposed with the promo shot of her giving the world the finger. Vulnerable and tough at the same time.

She seems lost…

Kacey sat back and waved a hand, as if her words were cigarette smoke to dispel. “Anyway, that’s my angsty hangover story.”

I knew that wasn’t all of it. I had the impression she had a ton more stories and a ton more songs in her.

Silence fell between us as I sipped my decaf that was growing cold. A half-dozen times I started a sentence, wanting to share something with her. Something deeply personal, as if there were some cosmic scoreboard that needed to be evened up.

But my most personal thing was too much. Too dark. Kacey Dawson was luminous and I couldn’t stand the idea of watching my deepest truth settle over her like a shroud, dimming her light with its awful finality.

I toyed with my medic alert bracelet under the table. I could at least tell her why I had to eat a f*cking salad instead of a burger. I started to, then the waitress appeared with her coffee carafe. She refilled Kacey’s mug, then started to fill mine.

Kacey’s hand shot out and covered my mug. “Wait! Is that regular? He can only have decaf!”

The waitress jerked the pot back with a small cry. “Damn, honey, I nearly scalded you.”

“I’m sorry,” Kacey said. “I just…it’s important.” She glanced at me.

“It’s not worth you getting burned,” I said. But the gesture touched me.

“I’ll get the other pot,” the waitress said, and retreated in a huff.

Kacey’s hand was back in her lap and her cheeks were pink. “Sorry. I got a little over-excited.”

“You go all the way up to eleven,” I said, figuring an eighties movie quote would smooth things over.

Her head shot up, a smile breaking across her face like the dawn. “This is Spinal Tap,” she said. “A classic.”

I held onto her eyes, felt the moment between us, warm and thick. “Thanks for guarding my coffee,” I said. “It’s important.”

Her eyes softened. “Will you tell me why?”

“I uh…I had a heart transplant,” I said.

“Oh,” she said, sitting back in her booth seat. Her eyes stared far off a moment, then she gave her head a brusque shake. “A heart transplant. But…you’re so young. Twenty-five?”

“Twenty-six. The virus that wrecked my heart didn’t give a shit how old I was.” I smiled ruefully. “Viruses are *s like that.”

Kacey didn’t smile. She pointed toward my wrist and the medic alert bracelet. “Can I see?”

I slid my arm toward her on the table. She flipped the rectangular tag over, from the red enameled cross to the words inscribed on the other side.

“Heart transplant patient. See wallet card.” Kacey looked up at me. “What’s on the wallet card?”

“My emergency contact info, my blood type, yadda yadda.”

Her gaze pressed me. “‘Yadda yadda’?”

“What to do in case I get in trouble.”

She nodded. Next she’d ask what kind of trouble I could get into, and I’d make up something about medication side-effects, which was a hell of a lot easier to hear than total heart failure.

Instead she asked, “Was it recent?”

“Almost a year and a half ago.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s really recent.” She let go of the tag and the heel of her hand settled on mine. A frozen, soundless moment, then her hand slid backward, palm to palm. Her fingers curled around mine and held still. I stared as my thumb came down on top of her knuckles and slowly moved back and forth.

The waitress came back with the orange-lipped, decaf pot. The look on her face was sour, until she saw our hands. She smiled as she topped up my cup.

“I’m sorry to hear all this,” Kacey said, when the waitress had moved on. She gave my fingers a final squeeze and let go.

I put my empty, bewildered hand in my lap. “So am I.”

Kacey toyed with her spoon. “Is it hard to talk about?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “Only the people closest to me know.”

“And I’m the newcomer busting into your personal space and asking all kinds of questions.”

“Yes,” I said, “you are goddamn nosy.”

She squawked and chucked a French fry at me. I laughed and plucked it off my lap.

“Wait, shit! You can’t have that!” Kacey reached across the table to snatch it back. “I did not just almost scald myself over your damn coffee so you could eat a fry instead.”

“Your sacrifice is duly noted.” I crammed the whole thing in my mouth, and nearly groaned in ecstasy. I’d forgotten how good a fried potato could be. Salty, greasy perfection. “Holy god, that tastes good.”

Kacey moved her plate out of my reach. “That’s all you get, buddy. I’m not going to be responsible for breaking your diet. I’ve already broken the routine you keep talking about, right? I’m a bad influence on you…”