Walking Disaster

Sunday. But when I do, I want you to leave me the
hell
alone. I won’t do this again, Mick. From now on,
you’re on your own, do you hear me? Stay. Away.”
    He pressed his lips together and then nodded. “Have it your way, Cookie.”
    Abby turned around and headed for the car.
    America sighed. “Pack your bags, boys. We’re going to Vegas.” She walked toward the Charger, and Shepley and I stood, frozen.
    “Wait. What?” He looked to me. “Like Las Vegas, Vegas? As in Nevada?”
    “Looks that way,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets.
    “We’re just going to book a flight to Vegas,” Shepley said, still trying to process the situation.
    “Yep.”
    Shepley walked over to open America’s door to let her and Abby in on the passenger side, and then slammed it shut, blank faced. “I’ve never been to Vegas.”
    An impish grin pulled one side of my mouth to the side. “Looks like it’s time to pop that cherry.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

You Win Some, You Lose Some
    A BBY BARELY SPOKE WHILE WE PACKED, AND EVEN LESS on the way to the airport. She stared off into space most of the time
unless one of us asked her a question. I wasn’t sure if she was drowning in despair, or just focused on the looming challenge ahead.
    Checking in to the hotel, America did all the talking, flashing her fake ID, as if she had done it a thousand times before.
    It occurred to me, then, that she probably
had
done it before. Vegas was where they had procured such flawless IDs, and why America never seemed to worry about what Abby could handle.
They’d seen it all before, in the bowels of the city of sin.
    Shepley was an unmistakable tourist, his head leaned back, gawking at the ostentatious ceiling. We pulled our luggage into the elevator, and I pulled Abby to my side.
    “You okay?” I asked, touching my lips to her temple.
    “I don’t want to be here,” she choked out.
    The doors opened, revealing the intricate pattern of the rug that lined the hallway. America and Shepley went one way, Abby and I the other. Our room was at the end of the hall.
    Abby shoved the card key into the slot, and then pushed open the door. The room was large, dwarfing the king-size bed in the middle of the room.
    I left the suitcase against the wall, pressing all the switches until the thicker curtain separated to reveal the busy, blinking lights and traffic of the Las Vegas Strip. Another button pulled
away a second set of sheer curtains.
    Abby didn’t pay attention to the window. She didn’t even bother to look up. The glitter and gold had lost its luster for her years before.
    I set our carry-on bags on the floor and looked around the room. “This is nice, right?” Abby glared at me. “What?”
    She opened her suitcase in one motion, and shook her head. “This isn’t a vacation, Travis. You shouldn’t be here.”
    In two steps, I was behind her, crossing my arms around her middle. She was different here, but I wasn’t. I could still be someone she could count on, someone who could protect her from
the ghosts of her past.
    “I go where you go,” I said against her ear.
    She leaned her head back against my chest and sighed. “I have to get on the floor. You can stay here or check out the Strip. I’ll see you later, okay?”
    “I’m going with you.”
    She turned to face me. “I don’t want you there, Trav.”
    I didn’t expect that from her, especially not the cold tone of her voice.
    Abby touched my arm. “If I’m going to win fourteen thousand dollars in one weekend, I have to concentrate. I don’t like who I’m going to be while I’m at those
tables, and I don’t want you to see it, okay?”
    I brushed her hair from her eyes, and then kissed her cheek. “Okay, Pidge.” I couldn’t pretend to understand what she meant, but I would respect it.
    America knocked on the door and then traipsed in wearing the same nude number she wore to the date party. Her heels were sky high, and she had put on two extra layers of makeup. She looked ten
years older.
    I waved to America, and then grabbed the extra card key off the table. America was already building Abby up for her night, reminding me of a trainer offering a pep talk to his fighter before a
big boxing match.
    Shepley was standing in the hall, staring at three trays of half-eaten food on the floor left there by guests across the hall.
    “What do you want to do first?” I asked.
    “I’m definitely not marrying you.”
    “You’re fucking hilarious. Let’s go