Max’s story rattles me right to the core. I’ve been through some low periods in my life, and some of those just tickled the edges of the darkness where suicide becomes an option. The darkness has never closed in far enough to make me sit down with a bottle of pills, though, let alone after one last hurrah to blow the last of my money.
I barely know him, but the thought of how close he came… It shakes something in me. He could’ve so easily been just another body found by another hotel maid. Those make the news sometimes if nothing else is going on, and even then they usually get tucked into a corner of the paper around page seven, between the road construction updates and clearance sale ads for a local sporting goods store. Chances are, if he’d gone through with it, his name wouldn’t have even been mentioned, and he’d have faded into the dust like so many people who come to this place to end it. I never would have known that the happy-go-lucky guy who’d tipped me two-fifty after livening up my table for a few hours had died. That when he’d been giving us all the night of our lives just by being there, he’d really been inching toward a ledge.
But he didn’t go through with it, and now he’s here in my kitchen, drinking coffee and watching my fish.
I swallow some of my own coffee. “So what are you going to do now?”
He gazes at the fish, and slowly shakes his head. “I have no idea. I honestly hadn’t thought past getting out of bed this morning.”
I gnaw my lip. “Well, we could start with breakfast. I make a damn good omelet.”
When he faces me, he has that same look he gave me when we met on the sidewalk. A little bit wary and a little bit curious. “I don’t want to keep taking advantage of you.”
You can take advantage of—
I shove that thought aside before it makes me blush. “Actually you’d be helping me. These eggs will go bad if I don’t use them.”
His lips quirk a little. I’m not sure if he believes me, but he doesn’t seem to have much fight in him. Just telling that story seems like it took a lot out of him. “Sure. An omelet sounds great.” He pauses. “And don’t let me leave without some way to contact you. I will make this up to you once I’m on my feet.”
I just give him a little smile, then start rooting around in the fridge to find everything I need. Turns out I still have some ham and cheese too, and the onions haven’t wilted after all, so it’s Denver omelets today.
As I nudge everything around the skillet with a spatula, he pours himself some more coffee.
“Listen,” I say. “I have to work tonight. Need to take off around four.” I glance at him. “You’re welcome to stay here again if you want to.”
“Are you sure?”
“Totally.” I nod toward the portable phone on the counter. “If you need to make any calls, that’s a Vonage phone. Doesn’t cost me a thing no matter where you’re calling.”
He eyes the phone, and something in him visibly relaxes. “Oh. Okay. Yeah, I… I might make some calls back home. See if anyone can help me find some kind of work.”
I turn the omelet, and as the cheese sizzles, glance at him again. “Where is back home, anyway?”
Without looking at me, he quietly says, “L.A. Not that I can afford to live there again unless I hit the lottery, but maybe some of my connections are worth trying.” He pauses. “That, and I have a storage unit out there. Paid up through the end of the year. I might as well see about selling all that shit so I at least have some cash to work with, because right now?” He laughs into his coffee cup. “I’ve got about twelve bucks to my name.”
The mention of the storage unit is a relief. At least that gives him something to work with, even if it’s just stuff he can pawn for a few hundred dollars.
“If there’s anything I can do to help—”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You’ve already done enough. Just letting me crash here and use your phone is huge.”
We lock eyes and both smile.
The omelet is done, so I carefully slide it onto a plate. I dig a fork out of a drawer and hand everything to him. “There’s ketchup and tabasco in the fridge if you want it.”
“No, this is fine.” He balances his plate on his forearm and slices off a piece of egg with the fork. “Thanks.”
“Any time.” I crack an egg to get my own breakfast going. “You need anything from town before I leave for work? We’re, uh, not exactly walking distance from anything except a 7-11. And you can help yourself to what’s in the fridge. I haven’t been shopping this week, but I doubt anything’s expired.”
“I’ll be fine. Just tell me how to get to the 7-11. I’ve got enough cash to get something there to tide me over for the evening.” He pauses. “Do you by chance have a washing machine?”
“Yeah. As soon as we’re done here, I’ll show you how to use it. The dryer is a little temperamental, but it gets the job done.”
“Sounds perfect.”
My brain is numb and my wrists are getting tired when my relief shows up. I thank the players, all of whom have been sitting there for at least an hour, and bow out while Jamie steps in to take my place.
“Hey. West.” Kelly, the pit boss, nudges my arm. “Can I borrow you for a second?”
I’m itching to go get something to eat, but don’t let my irritation show. “What’s up?”
She moves in a little closer and drops her voice so only I can hear. “You doing okay today?”
“Yeah, sure. Why?”
“Don’t know. You’ve just seemed a bit preoccupied since you got here.”
I hesitate, but we’ve known each other for years, and Kelly’s good people. “I, um…” I glance around.
“You know what? Let’s do this somewhere else.” She cranes her neck and looks past me. With a gesture toward the office, she lets the other pit boss know she’s stepping out. Apparently there’s no objection, and we’re on our way off the casino floor.
In the back office, she drops into a chair and gingerly rubs her ankle. I do the same. As we both knead our tender feet, she says, “So what’s going on?”
“Well.” I gulp. “So I…might’ve taken in a homeless dude last night.”
Her hands freeze and her eyes are suddenly huge. “Come again?”
My face burns. I stare down, focusing on massaging the fatigue out of my left foot. “I can’t explain it. I was walking back to my car after my shift at the NightOwl, and… I don’t know. I just couldn’t walk by him.”
She sits back, her sore feet apparently forgotten. “So what happened?”
“I bought him dinner. And I was going to drop him at the homeless shelter, but I ended up letting him crash at my place instead.”
“My God, Adrian.” She clicks her tongue. “It’s one thing when you pick up questionable pieces of ass. Taking a bum home is a whole different thing.”
“He’s not…” I sigh. “He’s not just some bum. The guy hit some bad luck, and—”
“And just needs someone to take him in and help him until he gets back on his feet.” She rolls her eyes. “How have you been a dealer this long without knowing a con artist when you see one?”
“Except he’s dug his heels in every time I’ve offered something. I’ve had to talk him into everything. Even breakfast.”
“Well yeah. He doesn’t want to seem too desperate or you’ll catch on.”
Huh. Okay. She… She kind of does have a point.
I move to my right foot and focus on that. “The thing is, I’ve seen him before. He actually played at my table. Before he ended up on the street, I mean.”
“So he’s a gambling addict?” she sputters. “Honey, he’s—”
“No! No. He came to Vegas to…” I trail off, already anticipating her response, and now that I hear it in my head, I realize what a gullible idiot I am. Oh fuck, he’s probably robbing me blind while I’m here at work, convinced I helped someone in need. No good deed goes unpunished, right? “Aw, crap.”
“Oh my God, honey.” She covers her face with her hands and groans. Then she drops them into her lap. “You know you just got conned, right?”
I’m queasy all of a sudden. There is literally nothing I can say to reassure her that Max isn’t like that. Because he’s a stranger. And if he really is a con artist, I can’t take a single word that came from his mouth at face value.
But if he were a con artist, why would he be out on the street in an expensive suit and shoes? Because then he’d look even more like someone respectable who lost his shirt.
But if he were playing me, why didn’t he have a more elaborate tearjerker of a story to tug at my heartstrings? Because apparently he didn’t need one.
But nobody can fake that kind of shame, sadness, and desperation, right? Uh, just because they’re not doing it in front of a camera and hoping to win an Oscar…
I swear under my breath. Wow. I’ve never thought of myself as a gullible idiot, but here I fucking am.
“Where is he now?” Her tone is laced with suspicion. When I don’t answer immediately, she says, “Adrian?”
“Um…”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” She stands, groaning and wincing. “Honey, why don’t you take the rest of the night off. I think you need to go de-bum your place before he relieves you of anything valuable.”
I wince, but I can’t really argue. Fuck. Since when am I this stupid?
“Okay. I’ll, uh, go clock out.”
My hands are shaking as I open the storm door, and I almost drop my keys when I go to unlock the main door. In my mind, I can see my house ransacked, everything I own destroyed or stolen. He’d at least leave the fish alone, right?
The lock gives, and I push open the door so hard I stumble into the house.
Max is sitting on the couch, and jumps. “Oh. Hey. I thought you were working late tonight.”
“I, um…” I look around. As near as I can tell, nothing has moved. My leather jacket is still hanging on the coat hook. The fish are still happily swimming in their tank. The old pickle jar that’s three-quarters full of change is still sitting on top of the fridge, a box of crackers leaning precariously against it just like I’d left it this morning. “I got off early.”
“Oh.”
I drop my keys and gaming license on the counter and pause to feed the fish. Then I go into the living room. He’s got a spiral notebook in front of him with some notes—names and phone numbers, by the looks of it—and a pack of red licorice. The handset for my Vonage phone is sitting beside the notebook.
“So what are you up to?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Made a few calls. Nobody’s making any promises at this point, but it’s a place to start.”
“Oh. Good. Good to hear. That’s…” I’m not sure what to say, but I seriously feel like an asshole. Kelly was right that taking in a random stranger was incredibly stupid. If I’d come back here and found the place ransacked, I’d have deserved it. But did I really think that was Max?
“Hey.” He draws me out of my thoughts. “Something wrong?” His brow is pinched, and I can feel his apprehension from here. Like he’s bracing himself for me to tell him he’s overstayed his welcome and would he please show his sorry ass to the homeless shelter. Because I don’t already feel like a gigantic bag of dicks.
Sighing, I sink onto the couch beside him, but don’t look at him. “I…told one of my coworkers about this. About taking you in. And she got me all worked up and paranoid that you’re a con artist, and she basically sent me home to make sure you hadn’t robbed me blind.” I cover my face with my hands. “I was actually buying that right up until I got home and realized you’re just…” I motion toward his notes and the phone.
“Well, she’s partly right.”
My head snaps toward him.
A smirk plays at his lips, and he holds up the pen he’s been using. “I did steal this from you.”
I stare at him incredulously, then laugh. “You’re a dork.”
He chuckles. “I also did a small load of laundry and swiped a Coke from the fridge.” He holds out his hands, wrists together. “So, if you want to cuff me and place me under citizen’s arrest… I’ll understand.”
Our eyes lock, and we both burst out laughing.
I sigh and shift my attention to the coffee table to avoid his gaze. “I’m sorry. I…feel like an ass for thinking the worst of you.”
“I can’t really blame you. You don’t know me from Adam.” He pauses. “I was a little nervous about taking you up on your offer, to be honest.”
I turn to him again. “Really?”
Max nods. “I don’t know you. How could I know what your motives really were?”
I swallow. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he might think I was the shady one. Looking him up and down, I say, “I think you’ve got the physical advantage.”
“Not when I’ve eaten the equivalent of one tiny meal over the course of a week.”
“Oh.”
“And if you’d had some kind of weapon or something…” He shrugs. “So I was nervous, and I could tell you were too. I’m not insulted by it.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” Exhaling slowly, I lean back against the couch. “I guess this means we were both stupid to some extent.”
Max leans back too, and slings his arm across the cushion between us. “Risks are part of life. I’m just really glad we both took this one.”
I meet his gaze and smile. “Yeah. Me too.”
It’s weird—all the way here, I was convinced I was going to come in and find I’d been robbed. Now that I’m sitting here looking at him, that thought seems absurd. I barely know him. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I couldn’t walk away from him by the Bellagio fountain. But in some way I can’t explain, I feel like he’s been here all along. Like I’ve known him forever, and expecting him to rob me while I was at work makes about as much sense as expecting Mrs. Hawthorne, the sweet old lady next door, to do it.
I break eye contact and clear my throat. “Well, since I’m home—are you hungry?”
Max gives a quiet, self-conscious chuckle. “I think I’m going to be in a constant state of ‘I could eat’ for a while.” He pauses. “But I don’t want to eat you out of house and home or—”
“Don’t worry about it. You like pizza?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“My younger sister, but she’s strange.” I wave a hand and get up. “Want me to order something?”
Max sighs, and I already know that sigh well. “Adrian, I—”
“Chill. I’ve got a two-for-one coupon for a place that delivers here. So yours would be free anyway. And they’re big enough we’ll have leftovers for breakfast. If, uh, you’re good with pizza for breakfast.”
He studies me like he’s completely baffled by my offer. “I’m… Yeah, I like pizza for breakfast.” Another self-conscious laugh. “It’ll be just like my college days.”
“Perfect.” I take out my cell phone. “Let me get the coupon off the fridge and order.”