One to Take (One to Hold 8)

“So anyway,” he says with an exhale, looking from my best friend to me. “You know the Cay is still open. Tuesday is ladies’ night. Want to ride over with me?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I…” My mind scrambles, and I look to Kenny for help. “I have to go to this… thing.”

“Come on,” Pete says, reaching across the counter and patting my hand. “It’s just a drink. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“But I promised Kenny—”

“It’s okay!” She straightens, smiling. “You can meet Slayde and me there.”

My mouth drops, but I close it fast. If she were on the other side of the bar, I would have kicked her hard.

Pete turns to her grinning. “You’re going to the Cay tonight? Awesome!” Looking at me, he does a little finger gun. “I’ll pick you up at eight. I know it’s a work night, so we don’t have to stay late.”

“Sounds like fun,” I say, jerking the glass mixer off its base and carrying it to the sink. With my back turned, I press my lips into a frown. I can’t believe Kenny tricked me like that. At least she and Slayde will be there.

The space is an upscale dance club in Bayville that’s all brass hardware and red vinyl everything. It still shines like a penny, and defying our initial predictions that it would close in a year, it’s actually buzzing with activity for a Tuesday night. I can’t believe I’m here.

Pete holds my arm as we enter. I’m pretty conservative in a black shift dress that stops mid-thigh. It has a skinny brown-leather belt at the waist, and I wore my matching booties. I almost just wore my khaki pants and a shirt, but ultimately I decided it is a dance club. I should wear a dress even if dancing is the last thing I feel like doing. I’m thankful for the switch, otherwise Pete and I would have looked like twins.

“What can I get you?” He leans forward and speaks in my ear over the loud thumping of the bass.

“Tequila Sunrise,” I shout, scanning the crowd for our friends. I know they’re here because I texted Kenny from the car.

Finally I spot them. Kenny is wearing a filmy red dress that’s thigh-high and has spaghetti straps. Slayde is in his usual jeans and black tank, leaving his muscled arms and ink on full display. I watch a moment as he smooths his hand down her arm. My best friend leans in and kisses him lightly on the lips, and I try not to ache for Stuart.

When she sees me, she waves and skips over on mile-high black stilettos. “Hey! Hey!” She dances up and gives me a hug.

Slayde follows at a slower pace. Once he reaches us, he squeezes my shoulder. “Hey, girl, you ready for tomorrow?”

“I think so. Thanks.” I nod as Pete hands me my drink and take a long pull hoping the alcohol will ease my racing nerves.

Slayde and I have been working on finding the doctor who diagnosed and treated me all those years ago, and he’s pretty sure he has the right guy. Tomorrow afternoon, we’re headed to his office in Seaside Park to try and get some answers.

“I’ll pick you up at one,” he shouts as a David Guetta song blasts through the air.

“My jam!” Kenny squeals, grabbing my arm and dragging me to the dance floor.

Her red dress shimmers around her upper thighs, and her deep purple hair swishes in long whips with her movements.

“I have to confess…” Kenny starts. We’re back to back then we turn and face each other for a little shimmy in time with the music. “As much as I miss the old Mariska, I love your new look. Tres chic.”

I shake my head, letting my new haircut bounce around my cheekbones. “I feel like I’m in disguise. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Her dark brows pull together, and she does a little frown. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Shrugging, I raise my eyebrows and take another long sip of tequila. “I don’t see how I could feel any other way.” After all I’ve lost.

Her purple head tilts to the side. “Still, I hope you’re looking for answers and not giving up on finding them.”

“I’m not looking for anything.” My voice sounds strangely cold to me, but it’s the truth. These past few weeks have taught me nothing is guaranteed. I’m not holding onto anything anymore.

We’re at the edge of the enormous dance floor in the center of the bar. A disco ball sends showers of speckled lights all around us, and strobes bounce off every shiny thing. A spray of fake smoke filters around our feet, and girls dressed in fringe twist and churn in dancer cages at the four corners.

A second level houses rows of red-vinyl booths with small tables leading to balconies where patrons can look down on us from above. It’s impressively posh, and it’s steadily filling with Ocean County singles.

We’re in the middle of a crowd of dancers, and they’re all moving and swaying to the beat when I notice a few girls to the right of us by the bar pulling each other’s arms and pointing. One starts to giggle and covers her mouth, and curiosity gets the better of me.

Turning my head, I look for whatever has them so excited. Two men, impressively tall and very well dressed are standing across the bar. Looking closer, I realize Slayde is talking to one of them. Pete is standing beside him looking a mixture of disgusted and uncomfortable.