Full Tilt (Full Tilt #1)(52)

I left the club and hailed a taxi. The ride to the hotel felt like ages, minutes ticking by, more time spent out of touch with Jonah. Not a word in nine days, or even a text. My muted phone lit up with texts galore from Lola, from Jimmy, and then phone calls from both. I ignored all of them.

In my suite, with the door shut and locked, I sat on the bed, my heart pounding. Phone in hand, I looked to the purple glass bottle on my nightstand. It now held a few ounces of my favorite perfume.

I inhaled as my finger picked out Jonah’s number, but my finger hovered over the call button. It was two in the morning on a Friday.

He might still be at work. He might not be able to talk. I could text instead.

What if he was doing better now? Maybe he’d moved on, gotten back to his schedule, focused and on-track without me to distract him.

Maybe he meant what he said about it being better if I didn’t contact him again?

My gaze returned to the perfume bottle—a tiny little blob of glass, but it had been my talisman of strength and will power these last nine days. I had to tell Jonah I quit the band, but I’d give him an out: a text was easy to ignore, and if he did, I wouldn’t send another.

I quit the band. I hope you are well. <3 Kacey

I hit send before I could rethink the heart emoji. I watched as the text’s status read ‘delivered’ then ‘read.’ No little rolling dots of an answering text came in.

“Okay. That’s fine,” I said, my voice shaking, and then I let out a startled cry as my phone lit up with Jonah’s number.

“Hi,” I said, blinking through the strange and sudden tears in my eyes.

“Are you okay?” His deep voice full of concern and—I was sure of it—happiness.

“I am. I’m really good. I did it. I quit the band. Just now. Tonight. Jimmy tried to pimp me out to the Pony Club guy—”

“He what?”

“—but I threw a drink in his face. For real. It felt amazing.”

“Good for you,” Jonah said, but I could hear the anger coloring his words.

“So now I might be ruined for life, or I might’ve gotten out by the skin of my teeth. I don’t know yet, but I know it was the right thing. I can feel it. And I wouldn’t have had the strength to do it if not for you.”

“No,” he said. “You would’ve gotten there. I knew you had it in you.”

A teary laugh burst out of me. “I didn’t.”

“I’m really happy for you, Kacey,” Jonah said quietly, and I thought I could imagine him standing outside his limo, waiting for a fare, his back turned on the world so he could talk to me. And he was smiling.

“Me too,” I said. “But now I’m a homeless vagrant bag lady.” I drew in a breath as tears filled my eyes again, pushed up on a tide of emotion I could hardly contain. “Got any hot real estate tips?”

Jonah said nothing for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was thick and gruff. “I hear Las Vegas is nice this time of year.”

My hand flew to my heart, and I needed a second before I could manage a whispery reply. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

“I’m still scared I’m going to fail you like Audrey did.”

“You won’t fail me,” he said. “You’re nothing like Audrey.”

The intensity in his words struck me right in the heart and sent a tingle skimming over me. I wiped my tears, bolstered by his belief in me.

“There’s no failing, anyway,” Jonah said. “You’ll be my friend and I’ll be yours, and we’ll take it day by day. Okay?”

I nodded against the phone. “Day by day. Moment by moment. Okay,” I said, and heaved a breath. “I can do that.”

“Me too,” he said. “My fare’s coming out. I have to go…”

I felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders, and whatever doubts I had about quitting the band were blown to ash.

“I’ll see you soon, Jonah. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Kacey.”





We do not remember days, we remember moments. –Cesare Pavese





I was home. 212 Banks St, Apt. 2C, Las Vegas, Nevada.

From my living room window, I had a view of Flamingo Avenue, and a few blocks beyond was the Strip. I could just see the red of Harrah’s enormous sign. I had one bedroom, one bath, a tiny kitchen and postage stamp balcony. It was all mine.

And three blocks from Jonah’s place.

I’d left the Rapid Confession tour four days earlier, with two suitcases of clothes, my acoustic guitar and a $30,000 settlement.

Jimmy—with the inadvertent help of a very pissed off Jeannie—had been able to get me out of my contract. An executive at our label had a niece who could play guitar, and they booked her on a flight before the words “I quit” had left my mouth. The powers-that-be crunched some numbers and came up with $30,000. It was what was left after my advance was paid back, minus fees, damage costs to the Pony Club and projected royalties on tour sales so far.

Jimmy said I was lucky to get anything, but I had a feeling I’d been robbed six ways from Tuesday, broken contract or not. Lola confirmed it. She called while I was hanging around my new place, waiting for my last piece of furniture—a couch—to arrive.