Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
1
DRIFTER
Ihad no clue where I was.
Just that I was somewhere in North Dakota, but I had no idea what city I was in. Not that it mattered. I had a beer in my hand and a roof over my head, and that was all I really needed.
I’d stumbled across Trout Liners a few days prior. It was a dive bar with a fishing theme of sorts. The place smelled like old wood and cheap whiskey and was decorated with old fishing poles and nets. Folks came and went, but they minded their own. And the bartender, Hank, seemed to be a decent enough guy.
I was sitting at the end of the counter where the light burned low, and nobody asked questions they didn’t want answered. My back was to the wall, and my eyes were tracking the room. It was the kind of old habit you get from being a club’s enforcer. You always gotta know what’s coming.
The beer was ice cold, just the way I liked it, and it ran smooth as I tilted my head back and took a long pull. I was enjoying the quiet when Hank dropped his rag on the counter and stepped in front of me.
He was in his late fifties with salt and pepper hair and a crooked smile. He was friendly without pushing too hard. He cleared his throat, drawing my attention before saying, “So, you’re still here.”
“Looks that way.”
“Planning on staying long?”
“Can’t say that I am.”
Hank huffed a soft laugh and shook his head like it wasn’t the first time he’d heard my kind of BS. I rolled the neck of the bottle between my fingers, watching the way the light caught on the glass as I considered my answer. It wasn’t the first time someone asked about my plans. Usually, they expected me to name a place, a destination, or a plan, but I didn’t have one.
He studied me for a moment, like he was trying to figure out if I was running from something or just had nowhere better to be. Honestly, it was a little of both, and that wasn’t something you could just lay out on a bar top between beers.
“So, you’re just out there enjoying the open road.”
“Pretty much.”
“I couldn’t do it.” He shrugged. “Guess you could say I’m a homebody.”
The statement hung in the air between us, and just like that, good ol’ Hank had pushed too far. My fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle, and for a split second, that old familiar feeling settled in my chest. I didn’t want to think about it, but it was too late.
I thought about it anyway.
What home used to mean. It was a place that only existed now in my memories. I finished off the last of my beer and set the empty bottle down with a quiet thud. I was about to stand when Hank leaned in and said, “If you’re interested, we got fight night tomorrow night.”
“Not interested.”
“There’s good money in it.” He gave me a quick once-over. “You look like you stay in shape. Something tells me you can still hold your own.”
“Already told ya. I’m not interested.”
“Alright, but if you change your mind.” He slid a business card across the table. “You can reach me here.”
I stared down at it for a moment, and for reasons I still don’t understand, I picked it up and slipped it into my pocket. While I was at it, I pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and placed it on the counter before heading for the door. “Have a good one, Hank.”
“Woah,” Hank gasped. “What about your change?”
“Keep it.”
I continued for the door, and the cold, night air hit me as I stepped outside. It was cooler than it had been in days, but it wouldn’t last. Spring was close. I could feel it in my bones. I got to my bike, and as I reached into my saddlebag for my gloves, my fingers brushed against worn leather and something softer tucked inside. I didn’t pull it out.
Not here.
Not now.
A sharp voice cut through the quiet, and I turned just in time to see a young couple standing next to a beat-up sedan. The tension between them was thick enough to feel across the lot, and it only grew more tense when the young brunette shouted, “I’m not going!”
The guy had that puffed-up look about him. Chest out. Jaw tight. Brows furrowed. He was trying hard to prove something, but the girl was standing her ground. “Don’t start this shit again, Kelse.”
“This isn’t about me. This is you.” She crossed her arms with a huff. “It’s always you.”
“Of course, it is. Fuck. I never do nothing right with you.” He shook his head with aggravation. “Out here making a damn scene over nothing.”
“Nothing?” she shot back. “You’ve been gone for two days, and you come back here acting like everything is peachy. Well, it’s not. I’m done with your bullshit.”