One to Keep (One to Hold 2)

My eyes closed as my arms tightened around her. Whatever happened between us, in that moment, I knew the truth. She was my heart and my soul. She was the one I’d never get over. She was the one I would always keep.

Chapter 16 – Fucked-up Logic

Raleigh was not on the way to Wilmington, but as soon as I finished my business there, all I could think about was spending the night in Elaine’s arms. She didn’t know about this trip—nobody did. I was making the drive south to wrap up an unpleasant chapter in my life she didn’t need to worry about. It was the last possible obstacle to our happy future.

The “Skinny” biker bar was about what I expected—a low dive with the standard dark-wood exterior. It was happy hour, and several hogs were lined up out front. I parked the Charger around the corner and walked to the entrance. My blazer was in the backseat, so all I had on were jeans and a short-sleeve black tee. For once, I wished my hair was darker. If I’d cut it shorter, it would be more brown, but Elaine liked it shaggy.

We were close enough to summer that the natural highlights still had me looking like the surfer walking into the biker bar. It was a stupid cliché, but I should be okay. Derek and I were still working out pretty regularly, and the ink on my arms was exposed. Along with the deeper cut-lines. I might look young, but I could kick ass if I had to. And anyway, trouble wasn’t what I wanted. I was after information.

Inside the place was dim-lit with neon signs scattered around the walls. A few big guys sat at the dark-wood bar that had metal plates lining the front. They all wore standard denim and leather biker outfits, and in addition to their long hair, they had bandannas around their heads. All of them had full beards, and none of them paid any attention to me.

A game was on the small television hanging in the corner, holding their gaze. At the pool table in the back, a few younger guys were cuing up. I took a seat at the wooden booth across from the jukebox, which was silent. I’d give it a few drinks before trying to mingle.

It only took a minute before a stacked waitress wearing frayed denim shorts and a white tank top came to my table. Her dark hair was tied in a ponytail with a red bandanna, and she wore too much black eye makeup around her brown eyes.

“What can I get you?” she asked, allowing her gaze to travel over my body. Her confident assessment of my physique gave me an idea.

“Vodka. Up,” I said, sitting back and

flipping out a twenty. “And some info.”

Her eyebrow arched, and she picked up the bill. “I’ll bring your change for the drink. Tell me what you want to know, and I’ll tell you the price.”

Turning on her heel, she walked lazily back to the bar. A small round tray was perched on her hand, and her ass wasn’t too bad, swaying as she moved. I figured she got all the action she wanted at this place.

Three minutes, and she returned with my drink. “My break’s in a half-hour. We can talk then.”

“What’s your name?” I took the drink and my change, leaving a few singles behind for her.

“Lylah,” she said, cocking her hip to the side. Only thing this girl was missing was the gum.

“Thanks, Lylah,” I said, taking a sip. “I look forward to it.”

The bar continued to fill as the minutes passed. A few guys smoked, reviving the stale scent already in the place, and the pool area was now full. Some played, most watched, all had longnecks. A guy fed the jukebox, and classic rock joined the noise. It wouldn’t be too long before I got the full Skinniflute experience.

Lylah showed up at what must’ve been a half hour later and slid into the booth across from me. “Where you from?” she asked, tapping a cigarette out of a box, which she then tilted in my direction.

I held up a hand. “No thanks. Princeton.”

She shrugged and lit it, leaning back against the booth as she took a long drag. “So what’s a pretty college boy like you doing in this dump?”

I’d let her think what she wanted about my occupation. “How long have you worked here?”

“About a year.” She blew a long exhale of blue smoke as she said it. “Moved up from the coast when I was eighteen.”

My insides tightened at that revelation. Could it be this easy? “Which one?”

She blinked, but answered. “Charleston.”

Yeah, it was too much to hope she might’ve said Myrtle Beach. I picked up my vodka and took another sip, thinking.

“Is that all you wanted to know?” she frowned. “That info can be on the house.”

“I’m just looking for someone, but I don’t know if you can help me.”

She took another long drag. “Your wife?”

I smiled and shook my head. “No.”