Full Tilt (Full Tilt #1)(99)

I’d quit my job at Caesar’s weeks ago, and was living off the last of the Rapid Confession money. Those funds were dwindling too, but there was zero chance of me leaving Jonah now. If I lost my apartment, so be it. For now, I was living at Jonah’s place and later—the nebulous later—I had plenty of friends in Las Vegas I could crash with until I got back on my feet.

As if the universe were testing me, Jimmy Ray called one afternoon and offered me everything I could possibly want: a new contract with RC, an additional solo contract to write and produce my own album, and an advance that would’ve left me set for years.

“The label is desperate for you,” he said. His voice was hearty but I could practically smell his desperation through the phone. “Elle is a good girl, but she’s not you. Have you been reading the press? The fans want you back. We want you back.”

I wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness. Jimmy schmoozing like a used car dealer or a carny at a fair. What he offered was so shallow and plastic compared to what I had with Jonah. For all the pain that was coming—and God help me, it was going to be an avalanche—it was worth it. Jonah was worth everything.

“No thanks, Jimmy.”

I heard a gasp and a stutter. “No thanks? You’re going to turn it all down for what? The limo driver?”

“Yes.”

“Listen, kitten, this is my Hail Mary pass. I don’t want to rub salt in a wound but Lola says he’s dying. And you’re going to choose him over everything we’re offering?”

“No,” I said. “I’m not choosing anything. There is no choice. There never was.”

Silence never sounded so good.

I hung up.

The next morning, I checked my bank balance on my laptop with one eye squinched shut, mentally preparing to see a bunch of zeroes, or red digits with a big fat negative sign in front of them. Instead my balance read an almost even $5000. A deposit had been made from a Wynn Galleria holding account.

I found Jonah resting on the couch, watching When Harry Met Sally—I’d fully converted him to the Church of Eighties Cinema. I stood in front of him, planted my hands on my hips and tried my best to raise one eyebrow without help from my finger.

He squinted at my feeble attempt. “You either have a really bad headache…or you’re trying to read something printed a mile away.”

“Five thousand dollars mysteriously appeared in my checking account.”

Jonah’s smile fell. “I’m sorry it’s not more.”

“More?” I sank down on the couch beside him. “What is it? Where’d it come from?”

“It’s what’s left from the gallery sale after I paid off my parents’ mortgage and gave Theo enough for a down payment on his own tattoo shop.”

“His own shop. Holy shit, you’re a rainmaker.”

“I believe in him,” Jonah said simply. “I believe in you. The five grand isn’t much, but it’s so you can keep living here, get a new job, and keep working on your album. Or whatever it is you want to do.”

“I don’t need it,” I said, my throat filling with tears. “I can figure something out…”

“I know you can,” he said. “You can stand on your own, but if I can make it easier for you, I’m going to do that.”

I shook my head, blinking back the tears. I couldn’t cry too much these days. Once I started, I feared I might never stop.

Jonah drew me down and I lay curled up with him, my back against his chest. On the TV, the ball had dropped on New Year’s and Harry rushed to the party, to Sally, to declare his love for her. Because he wanted the rest of his life to start as soon as possible.

“My life started on this couch,” I whispered. “The moment I woke up that morning.”

He nodded against my head. “Mine too, Kace. Mine too.”





That night, we lay in bed together, kissing softly. My hands roamed his skin, trying to memorize his every line and contour. Hoping, wanting the low flame of desire to spark and catch fire.

“Honey, I’m so tired,” he said.

“That’s no trouble,” I said, smiling wide, endeavoring to make my shaky voice seductive and playful. I ran my hands down his chest, toward the waistband of his sleep pants. “Perhaps, a little oral stimulation?”

Jonah shook his head against the pillow. “Not tonight, Kace.”

It was the tenth ‘not tonight’ in a row, and the smile slipped off my face like the flimsy mask it was.

Not tonight. But behind Jonah’s eyes, behind the warmth and sadness and the infinities of thoughts, I read what he was really saying.

Not this night.

Not any night.

Not ever again.

“Okay,” I said, my breath tight in my chest that suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. Tears burned my eyes and I was too slow to turn away and too weak to keep them from spilling over.

“I hate this part the most,” he said.

“Shh.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. Do not be sorry, Jonah. Being sorry means you wish we hadn’t happened, and I’m not sorry for that. Are you?”

He shook his head, his own eyes full. “These last months have been everything.”

“Everything. I have no regrets. But I’m going to cry a little right now, okay? I can’t help it. I can’t…”