Free Lost Avalon: A Finding Nolan Novel by K.S. Thomas Page B

had always been a match. The addict and the enabler.
                  Guess, Derek had been right on. Blaise and I were perfect for each other.
                  When I finally came back into the bedroom, Blaise was lying on the bed staring at the TV, a glazed look in his eyes.
                  “You should get some sleep,” I said quietly.
                  “Uh-huh.” He didn’t even turn to acknowledge me.
                  Too exhausted from the last twenty-four hours to bother with him, I climbed into bed beside him. He was laying on top of the covers, which made it hard for me to get comfortable. I shifted myself around, tugging at the blanket trying to get enough of it to at least cover me all the way, but it was pointless.
                  Meanwhile, Blaise seemed completely oblivious while he sat there mesmerized by some re-run of Jackass. He started laughing at something I was glad I missed when I caught a whiff of him. It was the final straw and I slid my leg up, aligned my foot with his hip and kicked him hard, sending him flying off the bed.
                  Befuddled, he scrambled to his knees, shooting daggers at me through his eyes. “What the fuck was that for?”
                  “You fucking stink. Go take a shower and brush your goddamn teeth. You know I hate the smell of tequila.” It was one of the reasons he’d usually stuck to vodka. Bourbon on occasion, but rarely tequila.
                  He shuffled his way to his feet and then staggered from the room, not saying anything else. I listened closely for a long time, tracking his progress based on the sounds I could hear. Then, when the water turned off, I finally rolled over and went to sleep. The next two weeks were going to be murder. If I wanted any rest, I’d have to get it beforehand.
                 
                  The following morning we all headed to the private airport where we all had flights taking us in different directions. Angel and Royce were headed back to L.A. while Derek who thought he was headed to San Francisco, was taking off to Hawaii to meet his wife. Of course, Blaise and I were traveling farther than any of them.
                  Getting to Bora Bora would take nearly twenty hours of traveling and I was counting on Blaise to get shitfaced once on the plane. I had zero desire to deal with him detoxing while we were up in the air and all at his mercy. The crew on the plane didn’t deserve it and while I had technically signed up for it, neither did I.
                  To ease my guilty conscience, I repeatedly told myself that one more day of drinking was nothing at this point and that it made no difference now. That getting on him about drinking that moment would be half ass-ing the long-term mission and be pointless in regard to the big picture. Rehab would officially start once we were in Bora Bora and not a minute sooner.
                  With the change in time zones, it was just after midnight when we arrived. The resort I had booked for us was on a private island and it took a twenty minute boat ride from the airport before we were finally able to drop our bags and settle in.
                  Still buzzing from the booze on the trip, I sent Blaise to shower and then to bed while I stepped out onto our ocean front patio. Our bungalow was at the very end, completely isolated from everyone else and we had total privacy. Perfect for calling Royce.
                  “So, you guys made it?”
                  “Yeah, checked in a little while ago.” Somehow turning my dream vacation into Blaise’s secret rehab didn’t seem like that great of a plan any more. Way to ruin Bora Bora, Ava .
                  “How did he handle the flight?” Royce sounded tired. It was almost four a.m. in LA, so I guess that made