The miniscule victory of Ken—or, more specifically, thelackof Ken—was quickly drowned out by the screaming despair brought on by literally everything else. I could still feel the rough stranglehold of the panic attack around my throat, its weight on my chest, the hollowness of the flask in my pocket.
The itching void at the back of my throat.
Yes, I’d turned down Ken. But I hadn’t made it through the bloody play, or been able to help Robin and Skyler. Had all butpuntedmyself off the wagon, and just in time for the biggest event of my career. Just in time for ...
Lucas.
To not even show up.
And time was exactly what we were running out of. The con was Friday,tomorrow, and my flight out of Los Angeles was scheduled for Sunday.
If I didn’t conduct myself properly in front of the world tomorrow, Drake House would not renew my contract, and I and my weird little comic would fade into obscurity.
And Lucas and I would have fully missed each other. Missed the chance to even begin to find out what this was between us. If anything. If there had been the slightest chance that it was what I hoped it was—something I couldn’t fully articulate and hadn’t had the audacity to imagine for myself, to allow myself to fully want—that chance was long gone. We were too late.
How was a man expected to withstand this kind of pressure? Let alone sober?
I reached for the bottle near my bed, then at the last moment grasped my phone instead and did the unthinkable.
I called Lakshmi.
“Demetrio, pet? What is it now?” There were traces of sleep in her voice, but she was clearly trying to rouse herself, narrowing her eyes at me. “How high’s the water?”
My initial response was not much more than a whimper, but then I managed, “Well over my head.”
She studied my face over the grainy video and sighed. “On the lash?”
I wanted to lie. I failed. “Aye.”
My brilliant, endlessly compassionate agent rolled her eyes up at the ceiling in what initially seemed like a bid for divine patience, but then she surprised me. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re what?”
“I should’ve believed you when you said you weren’t ready.” She shook her head, glaring at the floor. She seemed furious, but apparently not with me. “I know you’ve been under the cosh, but I thought a month was long enough to prepare, and that the workshop would be good practice—”
“It was!” I choked. “The workshop’s been lovely! I just ...”Couldn’t handle it without a crutch.The shame and disappointment burned in my throat and chest—I swallowed painfully and wished I could argue. Tell her she’d been right to push me.
“I can call the organizers and tell them you’ve had an emergency. We’ll move up your flight—”
“No.” I ran a hand down my face and then left it over my mouth. She was right. I couldn’t do this—at least not on my own. “Does ... does that mean what I think it means? For the comic?”
Her silence—the moment of hesitance—was answer enough. “Forget that. If you’reharmingyourself, pet—”
“I’m not.” This lie came easily. “I’m just ... being a wonk. I—Iamcapable of human interaction. It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ve got it under control, I—”
“What time is it by you?” she cut me off. “How’s this for a deal? Take the next few hours to think on it, and if I don’t hear from you again by midnight, I’ll make the call.”
I swallowed again. Three hours. I could already smell the acetone stink of alcohol leaving my body via sweat glands. I couldn’t reasonably make the argument that a little nip would steady my nerves—anything more at this point would lead to a good old-fashioned blackout.
Accountability, Demetrio, consequences and bloody mindfulness.It was time to rejoin the land of the living and upwardly mobile, even if it was only as a second-class citizen. I wanted to reassure her that she wouldn’t have to make the call, but what left my mouth was: “I’m meeting someone there. At the con.”
Lakshmi raised an angular brow. “Hopefully, you’ll be meetingloadsof someones.”
“No, I mean—” WhatdidI mean? “Never mind.” The heat pulsed in my face, and I almost wished we were talking about me being a souse again.
“This is the mystery flatmate, Lucas Barclay, yeah?” She smiled.
I didn’t confirm it, but I didn’t need to.
