Page 27 of All In
EIGHT
The next morning, she emerged from her room looking a million times better than she had all week. Her color was back, her hair brushed. It wasn’t bleached anymore—she said she’d been letting the natural color grow out, a kind of honey blond.
“I was too wasted to keep up with the peroxide,” she said, she put down her onion bagel to examine a lock of hair. “I haven’t seen this color since I was fourteen. Kind of blah.”
Kind of fucking gorgeous,I thought. The strange color of her eyes—light blue iris ringed in darker blue—was more vibrant against the brass-gold of her hair.
I shrugged over my coffee cup. “Looks good.”
Kacey smiled and chatted on. “How are Oscar and Dena?” she asked.
“Engaged.”
She sat up straighter. “Really? He finally popped the question?”
“Yep.”
“How did he propose?”
“He took her to Great Basin a few months ago. Not exactly a surprise, but it’s his favorite place.”
“It’s a great place.” Her eyes seemed to retreat, pulling inward. The gaze of someone falling back in time. “I think I blocked that entire camping trip to Great Basin from my mind. I had to. It was too perfect. The first time Jonah and I…” She glanced up through tears and sniffed a laugh. “Well, you know.”
I kept my face expressionless. “Yeah, I know.”
“It was the kicker though,” she said. “The memory that finally pulled me out of the withdrawals. I wonder why.”
“It was a powerful memory. Like you said, you'd blocked the entire trip out. Yesterday morning you let it back in. Proverbial floodgates.”
She laughed a little. “Literally and figuratively. I look like I lost a boxing match.”
“But better now,” he said.
“It still hurts. Really fucking badly. But it's a different kind of hurt. It's cleaner, somehow. Like I can cry if I need to, but I can stop if I need to, too. I didn't have that before. It's why I drank, I guess. To keep numb. So I wouldn't have to always be fighting back the pain. That was too exhausting.”
A short silence dropped between us.
“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked suddenly. “I’ve lived in this city for six months and still haven’tseenit.”
“If you’re up for it?”
“I think so. I feel better. And it doesn’t seem right you came all this way to just sit in the house.”
“I wouldn’t mind getting out.”
“Great.” Kacey slipped off the chair, still moving a little slowly, as if she were breakable. “I’ll get ready.”
We drove into the French Quarter and parked near Jefferson Square. Her arm linked in mine, Kacey pointed out various landmarks—the St. Louis Cathedral, a museum, an art gallery. Every other minute my eyes were drawn to her. She’d put on dark jeans and an oversize, dark gray sweater that left one shoulder bare—she seemed to like that style. Her hair fell like brushed brass, and she’d put on some kind of perfume that made it hard to think.
She was beautiful. Walking arm-in-arm with her, it was easy to pretend her bloodshot eyes, thin face and the hoarseness in her voice were because she was getting over an illness. Just a bug that had knocked her out a little while. All was fine now. We were out for a walk. We were…
Together?
Rein it in,I told myself.Before you do something stupid.
It was hard to be subdued in this setting. New Orleans was alive in a different way than Vegas felt alive. My city was wide open and filled with lights. New Orleans held you tight in the past. City center was a maze of old buildings with wrought iron lattices and French fleur-de-lis. We walked past clubs and cafés, restaurants, and bars. A bar on every block. A watering hole on every corner.
“Basically the worst part of town for recovering alcoholics to wander around in,” Kacey observed.
