Page 19 of Survival Game

You don’t say.

Now that Kyle was feeling a little safer, his catty side couldn’t resist a parting shot. “I’m sure you two deserve each other.”

The guy nodded, a dreamy grin on his face. “We’re getting married in September. She’s gonna be Mrs. Lloyd Glasscock then.” He smiled proudly.

Despite his recent panic, Kyle smothered a giggle of hysteria. He thought perhaps he might have to send a sympathy card to the unfortunate Nancy having a surname like that. Poor kids if ever there were any.

“I’m sure you’ll be very happy together,” he managed between gritted teeth.

Lloyd nodded and left the office.

No sooner had he gone than Kyle closed and locked the door. He strode over to the desk and poured a stiff whisky then knocked it back. He knew that lately he was drinking more than he should, but by God, he needed this right now.

He was starting to feel a little buzzed. Between nearly getting beaten up, not eating anything substantial, and imbibing two hefty glasses of Ryan’s treasured ten-year-old Ardbeg, Kyle wasn’t surprised he felt his knees wobble.

His hands shook as he poured himself another, and then he closed his eyes, feeling the burn of the whisky as it traced a path down his throat. Perhaps it would wash away the taste of shame and self-loathing at the fact he’d fallen to pieces.

Again.

Light burnt his eyelids and seared into his brain. Kyle opened one bleary eye and looked around. He didn’t recognise the place he was lying in, so he closed his eyes again. There was a chuckle from somewhere above him, and once again he opened his eyes and stared about blearily. He vaguely made out the figure of Lucinda sitting curled up in the bench window overlooking the street below.

He was still at the club.

He groaned loudly and sat up. His head throbbed liked two ninjas were battling it out with nunchaku and flying stars. “Oh shit,” he croaked. “What did I do?”

“You drank nearly half a bottle of Ryan’s treasured whisky, passed out on the desk and spent the night here. As did I.” Lucinda uncurled her long limbs and strode over to where he lay. He now recognised the couch in the office as being his resting place.

“Jim and I managed to get your sorry arse onto the couch, and then after we locked up, he made up one of the private cubicles downstairs into a sleeping pad with blankets, and that’s where I slept.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pass out. I was just…” his voice tailed off.

Lucinda smirked. “Having a party for one, it looked like. Did you even eat yesterday?”

Kyle shook his head and wished he hadn’t. “I don’t think so. Fuck, my head hurts.”

Lucinda handed him a couple of tablets and a glass of water. “I thought you might need these. It’s Advil. Get it down you.” She frowned. “What got into you anyway? It’s not usual for you to overindulge like that.”

He didn’t want to tell her the truth—that a man had frightened him, made him think of his past, his inadequacies, his shame. He’d told her he was dealing with it, but there were those loitering pockets of angst and uncertainty when he found himself in situations he thought he couldn’t control; then it all came rushing back.

Kyle swallowed the pills with water then lay back on the couch and closed his eyes. “Everything caught up with me, I guess. Worried about Ryan. I just needed to blow off some steam.”

She regarded him and for a split second it was as if she knew he was lying. Then she shrugged. “We all have those times. But if anything is wrong, I expect you’d tell me about it, yeah? That’s why we’re besties.”

“Thanks, Luce. I know you’re always there for me.” He grinned wryly. “Like now. It can’t have been comfortable sleeping downstairs and I’m so sorry I made you do that. You could have taken a taxi back to your hotel and left me sleeping it off.”

She pulled a moue. “Nah, where’s the fun in that? Someone has to look after you.” She gestured at the half-full bottle on the desk. “Although you’ll need to replace that before Ryan gets back. That’ll cost you about fifty dollars.”

Kyle sniffed. “I know a man who’ll get it for me for much less.”

Lucinda frowned. “Unless it was his special bottle of whisky that was bottled in about the nineteen-sixties. Jim said he had one of those somewhere. In which case, it’ll cost close to three and a half thousand dollars. Can your friend get you one of those cheap?”

Kyle’s stomach rebelled and he felt the beginning of a retch. He desperately sought out the dustbin. Lucinda sighed and pushed it over with her foot. Bile left his stomach and splattered at the bottom of the wads of paper that lay there. He wiped his mouth and prayed to every god he knew.

“Please tell me it wasn’t that one?” he gasped. “I just picked the bottle from the top tier. Surely he wouldn’t keep something worth that much here in his office?”

Lucinda pursed her lips, eyes alight with devilment. “Let me see…” She picked up the bottle and tut-tutted.

He waited, mind racing.