Full Tilt (Full Tilt #1)(91)

I froze in the living area, unable to speak.

“I thought…” Jonah bit off his words, swallowed, then spat the next ones out in a rush. “I thought it would be enough. But it’s just f*cking glass. It’s heated f*cking sand. Who gives a shit?”

“What are you talking about?” I said, finding my voice. “Your work? It’s beautiful—”

“It’s bullshit. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not important.”

“Of course it is.”

He gave a little laugh of disbelief. “No, Kace. No. You are important. You’re the most important thing in my life and I was so f*cking stupid to think…to hope…”

His words trailed away, and he shook his head, lips pressed together, eyes shining.

“Don’t talk like that,” I managed after a short silence. “You got tired, so what? You’ve had a draining week, leading up to a huge event. I felt the same way after my first big concert.”

I went to the kitchen and crouched down, picking up pills. They were everywhere, the tears in my eyes blurred them to little blue or white or orange splotches. I pried the container from where it had slid under the fridge and scooped the meds in. All the wrong pills in all the wrong days but I could fix that. I could fix everything. I knew his regimen. I knew what went where. I could fix this.

“You can’t just throw these away,” I said, sniffing and wiping my eyes. “You need these. They’re important.”

Jonah turned around to lean the heel of his hands on the counter behind him, his head hanging down, his words dropping to the floor. “They’re not working.”

“Yes, they are.”

“Kacey—”

“You don’t give up,” I shrieked, making him flinch. Making me flinch at the hysteria that was lurking just below the surface. I stared him down—full of the hostility that had just leached out of him. “You’re tired, that’s all. Go take a nap. Pile the pillows up on my bed and take a nap. I’ll clean this up and order dinner. We’ll watch that movie and laugh our asses off, okay?”

He didn’t reassure me or tell me I was right. He pushed himself off the counter and we went to my bedroom. I stacked the pillows up and he lay down without protest, sinking heavily onto the bed.

Because he’s tired and needs a nap, I thought, closing the blinds. That’s all.

He threw his arm over his eyes, saying nothing. I was at the door when he called my name.

“Yes?” I clung to the doorframe.

“I’m sorry,” he said from under his arm. Now he sounded genuinely wiped out. Exhausted to the bone. “So f*cking sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Just rest. You’ll feel better after a nap.”

I went back into the kitchen. There were still pills strewn all over. I chased them down, scooped them up and crammed them into the container however I could. The lids bulged. Pills fell out of my shaking hands to roll away again. Run away from me. Everything was getting away from me. I slid down the front of the fridge and hunched in a ball, sobbing into the hands clamped over my mouth.

I cried hard, great heaving sobs that strangled and smothered. I wept until my face ached. I knew it was red and tear-streaked, my eyes swollen. I had to quit before Jonah woke up and saw me like this.

I grabbed the last stray pills and got shakily to my feet. I set the container carefully on the counter, then washed my face in the sink with cold water. Patting it dry with a dish towel, I crept back toward my room.

Jonah slept now, his eyes no longer covered by his arm. His closed lids were smooth, his breathing deep and even. Only the tiniest furrow in his brow, as if whatever unsettled him went with him into sleep.

I went back to the living room and dug my cell phone out of my purse. I’d order a pizza. Vegetarian. That was better for him. Or maybe salads. Too much cheese on a pizza…

I opened up my call screen and hit a name. A deep, gruff voice answered.

“Teddy,” I whispered, tears flooding my eyes again. “It’s starting.”





A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time. –Mark Twain





The next day, Jonah checked into the Sunrise Medical facility for a myocardial biopsy. Someone told me—I didn’t remember who—that it was a same-day office procedure, but his doctor, Dr. Morrison, wanted Jonah to stay overnight for more tests. Kidney and liver panels, and an EKG.

“Are you his girlfriend?” Dr. Morrison asked in the hall outside Jonah’s room. Theo stood beside me.

“Yes,” I said, hugging my arms. “Kacey Dawson.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Kacey,” Dr. Morrison said. He was a lovely man, with a graying beard and sharp, kind eyes. I liked him at once, but all the while we exchanged pleasantries I screamed at him in my mind…





FIX HIM


MAKE HIM WELL.

GIVE HIM BACK TO ME.

Dr. Morrison explained what Jonah would need while recovering from a biopsy. “It would be ideal if someone were with him for the twenty-four hours after the procedure. Presuming he’s released tomorrow morning as planned.”

“Why wouldn’t he be released?” I asked.

“No reason at this time. We’ll let the test results come back and go from there, all right?”