One Real Thing (3 page)

Nick hated that he could name most of the pills in a bowl on the table in one photo—propranolol, speed, oxy, sleeping pills, benzos, random antidepressants—and he’d eat his keyboard if the ones he didn’t recognize weren’t MDMA and DXM. He hated more that he could guess which ones Holly was taking. God knew they weren’t the ones he
needed.

Some of the pictures claimed to be of Holly buying drugs; an article suggested he’d been an addict for years, with quotes from Sierra about how she worried Holly might die of an overdose. Nick was right there with her. The photos and articles were overblown, but Nick could pick out the grains of truth, things the drama-mongering writers couldn’t manufacture. He could see them because, even now, he knew Holly like he knew the face in his mirror every morning. Another photo showed the front of the motel where Holly was staying, complete with the name emblazoned on a bright neon sign, and before Nick realized what he was doing, he’d booked a flight to L.A.

Staring at the confirmation email, Nick surrendered to the reality that he couldn’t let it go. Holly needed
someone,
and obviously Nick was the only one who gave enough of a damn to rein him in. He arranged for a rental car and told Max he’d be traveling to find another of Senator Ingalls’s former interns. The idea of another story on the scandal was appealing enough that Max didn’t ask too many questions. On his way home to pack, he called Caroline. Her phone clicked over to voice mail, and he left a message.

“I’m so sorry. I know I said I’d have a normal schedule for a while, but something’s come up and I have to go out of town. I’ll be back by the end of the week.”

The five-hour flight gave Nick plenty of time to use the in-flight Wi-Fi to email Rich a scathing thank-you. Fucker. If he’d kept his damned tabloid habit to himself, Nick would’ve been able to go on at least pretending to ignore Holly’s fuckups on the basis he was too far away to do anything about them. Nick had known—
known
—if Holly really hit rock bottom, he wouldn’t be able to leave it alone. Wouldn’t be able to leave
Holly
alone. Rich knew it too, which was why he kept sending Nick those emails, so Nick couldn’t even pretend.

He’d arranged for a hotel room, found a doctor in L.A.—just in case, he told himself, but didn’t think about just in case
what
—and given Rich the job of finding Holly a studio apartment within walking distance of the Gazette Building in New York. Might as well be able to check on Holly without raising suspicion from Caroline once they got back to the city—and Holly was definitely coming back to the city with him. Nick wasn’t about to leave him alone again.

His rental car had satellite navigation, and once Nick programmed in the address, it didn’t take him long—for some value of “long” that included the hell of L.A. traffic—to find the sleazy motel the article had said Holly was calling home. Nick hoped the photo had been recent enough that Holly was still there. Nick had no idea what he was going to do if Holly had already moved on.

The woman behind the counter in the dingy motel’s equally dingy office suited her surroundings surprisingly well. Nick slipped her a fifty to “jog her memory” regarding Holly’s location, and he was pointed down the long strip of doors.

“On the end,” she said. “I knew that one would be trouble. You a Fed? Lawyer?”

It was the clothes. Not many people wore suits in places like this. He didn’t bother to correct her, though. His heart was pounding; he could barely keep from sprinting the rest of the way. He’d come so far, so fast. Walking those last few yards seemed like the longest part of the trip.

Gold paint flaked off the uneven letters and numbers that identified the room: 9A.

What the fuck was he doing?

Before second thoughts—or third or whatever he was on by now—could stop him, Nick banged on the door.

“Just a minute.” That voice was not Holly’s. The door popped open as far as the chain allowed, and a scantily clad young man leaned against the frame. “You here to fix the AC?” Definitely not Holly.

Nick didn’t have time for this shit. “Yeah. I’m here to fix the AC.” That would at least get him past the goddamn chain. Fucking Holly.

“Okay.” The kid obviously wasn’t around for security. “Wait.” The door closed in Nick’s face. Nearly a minute later, the chain rattled and the door opened again. Inside, the room was gray with smoke and humidity, strewn with clothes and garbage. Whatever the kid had been doing, it wasn’t cleaning up. At least, it wasn’t cleaning up the trash. “Right there.” The kid gestured at the window and wandered toward the bed, tugging at the shorts threatening to slide off his hips. When he fell back into bed, he sprawled across another male body.

Holly.
Nick almost didn’t recognize him; he was so thin, so pale and sick looking.
Christ.

The fear ratcheted up Nick’s anger. He ignored the directions to the air-conditioning unit and headed for the bed instead. That mop of curly golden hair was exactly the same. Nick grabbed hold of it and dragged Holly’s head off the pillow. “Get up,” he snapped. Turning his attention to the kid, he said, “And you, get out. Ride’s over.”

“Hey!” The kid launched a pillow at him. “Let go of him!” At the same time, Holly flailed and caught him in the thigh with an elbow, trying to shake Nick’s grip.

At least Holly was alive. That was something. He was too weak to do any real damage or to actually get away, though.

“Stop.” Nick got Holly mostly upright but didn’t let him go. Jesus. Holly looked like shit. “You’re not going anywhere. Not yet.” He looked at the kid again. “Didn’t I tell you to leave? Why aren’t you gone yet? Christ, Holly, if this is your idea of a bodyguard, it’s a damn good thing I came to get you before one of that TV bitch’s deranged fans actually tried to get rid of you for making her cry on camera.”

“Nick?” Holly stopped fighting. He was drunk. No question about that. Dead, stinking, fucking drunk. “Fuck, what did I smoke?”

“I swear, it was all good.” The kid was stuffing things in a bag. At least one of them was straight enough to know when the writing was on the wall. “Good luck.” Nick couldn’t tell if the kid was talking to him or Holly, but it didn’t matter, because he was out the door in the next breath.

“Is there anything you need in this dump?” Nick didn’t want to be here any longer than he absolutely had to be.

“Why are you here?” Holly wasn’t moving. “Fuck, Nick, go home. Or let me wake up.” He buried his face in his hands, elbows on his knees. The curves of Holly’s ribs were sharp under his skin, bisected by the ridge of his spine.

“You’re awake. If anyone’s having a nightmare, I’m pretty damn sure it’s me.” Nick let go of Holly’s hair, finally, and looked around. He couldn’t see anything, any damn thing at all, in all this mess of shit and smoke and trash. “I am going home. As soon as I get you cleaned up enough to get on the plane with me.”

“I’m not going.” Holly flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “Go home, Nick. I don’t even want to know what the fuck you’re doing here, how you got here, any of it. If this is some personal crisis you’re having, go buy a car, fuck a boy, get a tattoo. Leave me out of it.”

Rage hit, and Nick had dragged Holly from the bed by his hair before either of them managed to take another breath. His hand cracked across Holly’s face, leaving his palm stinging, and he snapped, “Shut up. Shut the fuck up. You don’t have a choice anymore. I’ve seen what you do with your life when you get to make the choices. No more. Shut up and get what you’re bringing with you, or I’m leaving it all here for the fucking tabloids to scour like a damn archaeological dig. Now.”

There was silence, and then Holly pushed to his feet. “Just find me something to wear,” he said icily. He looked brittle, and the only brightness in him was the red rising on his cheek where Nick had hit him. “None of it’s really mine. Did you miss that story?” It was only a few unsteady steps to the bathroom, and then he slammed the thin door with a crack.

Nick let out a slow breath and scrubbed his hands over his face, then looked around the room.
Christ. What the hell am I doing?
He found a pair of jeans that were just this side of walking on their own and a purple T-shirt with glittery butterflies on the front and put them on the chair in the corner. Apparently Holly’s bed was still equal opportunity.
Except for you,
said a voice in the back of Nick’s head, but he ignored it just as he’d ignored the same kind of internal taunting in grad school. It hadn’t mattered then and it didn’t matter now.

The shower ran for a long time, but when Holly came out, naked and dripping, the mark from Nick’s hand was only just fading at the edges. He tugged a twisted sheet from the bed and used it to towel off, then grabbed the clothes off the chair and got dressed without comment. It was like Nick wasn’t even there. Holly tugged the closet open and kicked away the crap that fell out. Somewhere in the mess he found a pair of sneakers and a denim jacket. “They’re not going to let me on the plane,” he warned. He dug inside the sneakers and pulled his wallet out of one, a pair of sunglasses out of the other.

“I’ll figure it out.” Nick had been making it up as he went along since he’d seen Rich’s second email, and it had been working for him so far. “At least you don’t smell like a brewery anymore.” He waited while Holly put on the shoes and the sunglasses, then herded him out the door. “We’ll go back to my hotel and wait out the high. What did you take?” At least then he’d be able to figure out how long they’d be waiting. And if he needed to call that doctor.

“Why?” Holly hunched up in the sunlight like it was beating him about the head. “I can’t remember. E and weed and whatever else was around. Vodka. Oxy. Does it matter? It’s not like I keep a list. I’d kill for a Xanax right now.”

“No.” The word was heavy with fear. He swallowed it and opened the car door. “Don’t throw up in the car. It’s a rental.”

“I’ll try not to make a mess of anything in your life.” Holly crumpled into the car, face turned away. “It’s easier when you mind your own goddamn business, though.”

“I can see how well that turned out.” Nick leaned into the car to strap Holly in with the seat belt, then closed the door and got in on the driver’s side. He keyed the navigation to direct him to the hotel. He hadn’t even checked in yet; he’d come straight from the airport. His luggage was still in the trunk. He wondered if he had anything that would fit Holly, or if he should buy him new clothes before they flew back to New York. He didn’t even know when Holly would be ready to fly, thanks to Holly’s complete disregard for…for everything. Nick looked over at Holly, huddled in the passenger seat. Tomorrow maybe.
Fuck.

Holly woke up in hell. A nice hotel, sun slanting in the windows, Nick showering just feet away. Fucking Nick. Years with nothing but postcards and holiday cards, glimpses of Nick’s perfectly organized life, and then this. Like Holly had fallen down and needed rescuing. He didn’t. Holly pulled a pillow over his head and willed himself not to go looking for a drink.

He’d gotten where he was deliberately; he didn’t blame anyone but himself. He’d be damned if he’d give that away like he was some kind of puppet other people played with. Apparently Nick had missed that fucking memo. Now Nick’s interruption prolonged this continued failure to thrive that stretched in front of Holly like the Sahara. Christ, why did Nick have to pick now to give a damn?

Holly wanted a drink. He wanted not to be here, waiting for Nick to realize Holly was a mistake that didn’t belong anywhere near his life. Again. Yet, as desperately as Holly wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to blow Nick off.

Nick walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, his dark curls waterlogged and his skin still beaded with moisture. He was across the room and digging through his suitcase before realization hit and his head came up. He stared at Holly for a long moment and then said, evenly, “Good morning.”

“Glad it is for someone.” Holly pushed up to sitting, trying not to whimper at the pain in his head. His own fault. He dragged the blankets up to hug them against his chest. He was tired of being looked at. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can’t sit back and watch you kill yourself in slow motion anymore.”

“You’re doing this because you saw some pictures? Don’t fucking look.” Holly needed to shower, to get the stink of himself out of his head. He took a breath and moved to get out of bed, biting his lip when his stomach lurched. “It wasn’t like you were bothered before.”

Nick grabbed his arm and jerked him closer, then let go again, leaving Holly off balance. Holly managed to stay standing, because he’d be damned if he’d grab Nick for help. “You have no idea what bothers me and what doesn’t. You never did.”

“Hard to tell when you never talk. Or did you think I was fucking everyone to fuel my amazing powers of mind reading?”

“I don’t pretend to understand your motivations.” There was that distance again. Nick always had tried to keep him at arm’s length, as if letting him get too close would upset some delicate balance in the universe.

“Yet you’ll judge my actions. Nice. Remind me why we were friends?” He stalked toward the bathroom. “Or were we? Did I get that wrong?”

“I’m not judging your actions,” Nick said. “Only the results. Jesus, Holly…” Nick sat down in the spot he’d just vacated. “I don’t want to open an email from Rich one day and find out you’re dead. I can’t keep watching, not like this. But I can’t stop either. I never could.”

Way to not answer the question.
Holly turned around to look at Nick; for a moment, Nick looked young and afraid. Maybe that was answer enough. “What the hell are you thinking?” Holly leaned against the bathroom door frame, arms crossed over his chest to hide the way his hands kept shaking. “Don’t tell me Caroline knows you’re here. I mean…here, here.”

“She thinks I’m on a story. My editor thinks I’m on a story. The only person who knows what I’m doing is Rich. So if you fuck up again, you’re fucking up my life too.” Nick looked up and said, calm as you please, “So don’t fuck up again.”

“Christ. No pressure, Nick.” Holly was so tired, and he was so angry. “So, when you feel better about things, what happens to me?”

“I’m not leaving you alone again.” Nick got up, towel slipping, and pulled clothes out of his suitcase.

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think you’re going to babysit me for the rest of my life.” Holly turned away so he wouldn’t watch Nick dress. “Actually, you’re just out of your fucking mind. You shouldn’t have come.”

He escaped into the bathroom and closed the door. His chest hurt like he wanted to cry. It had been years, but Holly still remembered how Nick smelled, the feel of the sharp ridge of his collarbone through his wool sweater when Holly rested his cheek there, the way he looked so confounded and irritated when Holly touched him. It had been years, but Holly still couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling that if he could just crawl into Nick’s arms, the world would fall into place around them.

“But I did.” Nick’s voice came through the closed door as clearly as if he were standing right next to him.

“I wish you hadn’t.” Holly let his head fall back against the door. Everything hurt. He needed a drink so badly, needed something to take to make everything make sense. How the hell was he going to survive the flight without losing it in midair? “Go find me some fucking Xanax.” There was no way he was getting on the plane without it. He had this vision of himself laughing hysterically, capering, singing, mad as a fucking hatter, going all the way crazy until someone shut him down.

“No.” The answer was flat and uncompromising. “I’ll drive us back to New York if you can’t handle flying.”

“Jesus, Nick.” Holly lifted his head and let it thud against the door again. “It’s not like I’m asking for a bottle of whiskey.” His skin squeaked against the metal as he slowly slipped down until his knees wouldn’t let him go any farther.

“It’s going to be fine. I’ll get you a window seat.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” And why couldn’t Holly just throw him out or get out, just leave? Fuck’s sake, Holly, just
leave.

“Because I can’t not. Not anymore.” Something thudded over Holly’s head. “I used up all my ‘don’t give a damn’ already.”

“Should have gone into another line of work.” Holly tried to get to his feet and nearly fell over. The counter was there to hold him up, or he’d have gone down with a crash. “Just get me something for the plane. Dramamine. I’ll settle for that. Benadryl’s good too.” He made it over to grab a couple of towels. Clean towels. They felt so good.

“Dramamine. I’ll pick some up for you on the way through the airport.”

“You’re a fucking saint.” Holly cranked the shower to hot. “If you loved me, it’d be the fucking Xanax, though,” he called. Not like that was going to happen, on any front.

Holly tugged the frosted glass door closed behind him as he stepped into the spray rushing out from every angle. Not that he was surprised. Wasn’t a lot to love about him these days, less than usual, and Nick wasn’t the type anyway. Holly couldn’t even be offended about it. If he were going to get offended about that, he’d’ve done it ten years ago.

***

Nick checked the directions on the Dramamine yet again to make sure he knew how many Holly should have at a time, mentally dividing the blister pack into doses. Two compartments were already empty. The closer they got to boarding, the twitchier Holly became, but Nick didn’t relent. He couldn’t. He’d given in, let go, looked away too much already, for far too long. When their seat numbers were called, Nick stood and held his hand out to Holly.

“Come on. It’s time to go,” he said gently.

“I can’t do this.” In spite of that, Holly pushed to his feet and got moving, ignoring Nick’s offer of help. He’d refused to eat as well, saying it would make him sick. The sunglasses were off now, hanging from the collar of his shirt. His face was dull and sallow and hollow, tight around the mouth and eyes. “Just give me a couple more Dramamine so I can sleep. I might as well be eating fucking candy. I used to take a dozen at a shot when I was a kid.”

Nick trailed along behind him. It was a familiar situation, at least on the surface. Underneath, though, this was nothing like anything he’d ever done for Holly in college. “You can have another dose once we’re ready to taxi to the runway,” he said, checking his watch. That would put them just before the four-hour-minimum window. Close enough.

“Damn it, Nick, you’re not my fucking mother. I want to sleep.” Holly’s shoulders were rising and falling too fast and Nick realized his taut posture wasn’t so much from anger as it was fear.

Nick and Holly shuffled in line to show their boarding passes to the flight attendant at the gate, then followed the rest of the passengers on board. “Look at me,” Nick said, when the line stopped for people ahead of them to shove their luggage into the overhead compartments.

Holly stood still a moment, back rigid, and then he turned enough to look at Nick. His jaw was clenched, his dull eyes hard like blue stones.

“You’ve had two,” Nick said. “Once we’re in our seats, I’ll get you four more. If that doesn’t work, let me know, and I’ll get you another two.” Eight was the limit in a twenty-four-hour period, according to the package. The last thing Nick wanted was to hurt Holly while he was trying to help.

“Thanks.” Holly’s expression softened a little before he turned away. The passengers ahead of them were finally on the move. When they got to their seats, Holly fell into his and reached to do up the belt. The tongue clattered against its slot as he buckled up; his hands were shaking enough that he barely managed to get the two ends to meet. That done, he turned to look out the window and hugged himself, trapping his hands under his arms like he was fighting to hold still.

Nick pulled the vial of Dramamine out of his pocket and sat down. Once he was strapped in, he shook out the promised four pills and asked, “Do you need me to get a bottle of water from the flight attendant, or can you take them dry?”

“What do you think?” Holly let one hand loose to reach for them. He wasn’t even looking at Nick, like that would be too much. “Wouldn’t say no to vodka, but I know you will.”

Nick let that one go. He dropped the tiny pills into Holly’s hand, and Holly clamped his hand to his mouth, threw his head back and swallowed them all at once. It was going to be a long flight; hopefully the pills would make it a little easier on Holly. “I’ll get you some ginger ale and crackers when the flight attendant goes by.” If Holly was even awake by then.

“Yes, Mother.” Holly tucked himself up in the narrow seat as best he could, keeping his face turned toward the window.

The flight attendant droned and waved through the explanation of seat belts and exits, and finally the Fasten Seat Belts light flickered to life. Nick glanced at Holly as the plane backed away from the terminal. It was going to be a very long flight.

Holly shifted, hands on the armrests. Even keeping a tight grip didn’t stop the shaking. It was hard to tell if it was all fear or if something else was wrong, the lack of alcohol, the lack of some other drug.

Nick put his hand on Holly’s. Christ, Holly was cold. “Holly?” He should’ve driven. At least then he’d have been able to pull over and find a doctor if he needed one.

“I hate flying,” Holly said flatly. He didn’t pull his hand away at least. “I can’t breathe. There’s nowhere to go.”

“I told you we could drive if you couldn’t handle flying.” Nick pried Holly’s hand off the armrest and flipped the bar up so there was nothing between them. “It’s too late now, but next time I offer something like that, tell me.”

“You think I want to be stuck in a car with you that long?” Holly’s thin fingers dug into Nick’s hand, twitching with the tremors running through his body.

“You used to like spending time with me.” In grad school, it seemed like every time Nick had turned around, Holly was there. Holly had been younger, an undergrad in the Communications department where Nick was a grad student, but age hadn’t made a difference to their friendship.

“You weren’t trying to fix me back then. You didn’t give much of a damn, that I recall.”

“Your memory of events differs greatly from mine,” Nick said dryly. He’d spent an inordinate amount of time wrangling Holly from self-destruction back then. As for giving a damn…Nick pushed the thought away. That wasn’t what this was about.

“At least you kept it to yourself.” Holly’s death grip hadn’t loosened; he hadn’t gotten any less contradictory over the years.

“Maybe you were more accustomed to it then because it was so constant, and now you’re out of practice.” The dull hum of the engines turned to a high whine as the plane rolled down the runway. Nick hadn’t thought it possible, but Holly’s grip tightened and his face paled even more.

“I’d remember.” Holly’s voice was so thin.

Damn it, Holly was never afraid of anything. That was what made caring about him such a living hell. He was always flinging himself headlong into any situation that might kill him and laughing the whole time, bouncing out of it as shiny as he’d gone in, while Nick was left trying to stuff his heart back down his throat. Taking the plane was about as safe as taking the subway—safer in some neighborhoods—but Holly looked like he was going to throw up.

“Obviously you don’t.” Nick tried to keep the conversation natural, normal, hoping it would help distract Holly as the plane lurched into the air. “I lost count of how many times I dragged you out of frat houses and off rooftops.” The Seat Belt light hadn’t gone off, but the man on Nick’s left adjusted his tray table and seat, shifting until his arm and leg pressed against Nick. Nick slid closer to Holly.

“You must be exponentially more fucking irritating when I’m sober. Which explains a lot.” One of Holly’s knees was bouncing, energy leaking out of him to release the pressure.

“I suppose you’re going to have to get used to it.” Nick popped open the Dramamine and offered two more from his palm. “Try to breathe, Holly.”

Holly picked up the pills and dropped them in his mouth. “Don’t worry. If I stop, you’ll just nag me about that too.” He wasn’t as taut as he had been, though. Maybe the first four pills were having some effect. On an empty stomach, Nick couldn’t imagine how they wouldn’t.

Holly turned away once he’d swallowed. After another ten minutes, his grip slipped, and he relaxed into his seat. He still twitched and shivered sometimes, like he was cold or dreaming, but finally he seemed to be sound asleep.

Nick kept hold of Holly’s hand. Just as a gauge of how Holly was doing, he told himself. Seeing Holly relaxed and sleeping was more of a relief than he’d thought it would be.

The raucous laughter from a man several seats ahead startled Holly into sitting up, his grip on Nick’s hand clamping down. Before Nick’s irritation at the jackass could peak, Holly sagged back into his seat, his head lolling over to Nick’s shoulder. Holly sighed deeply, then snuggled closer. He’d never really woken, Nick realized. The pills must have been doing their job. Holly’s awareness of what he was taking and what it did was as good as Nick could have hoped for. Knowing that made Holly’s situation so much more infuriating.