Page 13 of All the Missing Pieces

He scoffed. “We both know you’re the one who runs this ship.”

“Just don’t tell Baker that,” I muttered.

Sully chuckled. “Never. I’ll have that edit to you for first listen tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Sul. Enjoy your evening.”

“You too.” I hitendon the call and took a second to really take in the beauty in front of me. The way the small lake peeked out through the trees. How the mountains looked a deep pink in the setting sun.

Sliding my hand into my pocket, my fingers closed around the familiar metal charm. I’d memorized the feel of it over the past five years. Every divot and ding. A tiny chip had been taken out of one of the lacrosse sticks somewhere along the way. But that didn’t change the memories they held.

I could still see Avery swinging them around her finger as she walked, a soft smile on her face. The smile was a punch to the sternum every single time it filled my mind. But I only grabbed on to the pain.

Some days it felt like that pain was the only thing still connecting me to her. That and this damned key ring.

I gripped it tighter, staring down at the water below. “It’s beautiful, Avs. Soaking it in extra for you. But it would be so much better if you were here with me.”

The pressure built behind my eyes, a burn lighting there from my effort to keep the tears at bay. I didn’t let them take hold. Not ever. Because there was part of me that feared if I started, I’d never stop.

The light on the front of my e-bike cut through the night and I was glad that I’d switched out the one the bike had come with for a brighter headlight. It was complemented by the lights on the back, which told cars exactly where I was. Having the bike meant being able to leave my van at the campsite, a dose of fresh air, and the option to move after sitting for long periods on the road.

I made the turn onto Old Miner Road and downtown Shady Cove came into view. It somehow managed to look quaintly cozy and like a ghost town all at once. It was only eight o’clock, and every shop and restaurant I passed looked as if they’d been closed for hours. I just hoped like hell the same couldn’t be said for the bar.

Easing my pace, I searched for any signs of life, but didn’t see a single one until I reached the block The Whiskey Barrel was on. A grin tugged at my lips as I took in a row of motorcycles, mostly Harleys and a few Triumphs, but there was even a Ducati that didn’t match the Old West feel of the place one bit. There were also more than a few vehicles. Mostly pickups, but several SUVs and sedans as well.

I slowed my bike and hopped off. Lifting it over the curb, I guided it toward a nearby lamppost. In a matter of seconds, I’d shut off the battery and locked it up along with my helmet. Grabbing my phone from the basket, I headed for the bar.

Even before I opened the door, I could hear strains of Lynyrd Skynyrd from inside. I grabbed the worn wooden door handle and tugged. The music hit me in a wave. Not obscenely loud but enough that it would hide low conversations of people who didn’t want to be overheard.

I felt eyes land on me as I stepped inside. As much as I was used to that, so often being the new face in established communities, I had to fight the urge to pull my worn leather jacket tighter around me. I forced my legs to just keep moving with the bar as my destination.

But as I crossed the uneven wood floor, I scanned the space, taking in the different crowds. I could see two groups of bikers. A rougher crowd and the weekend warriors. I glimpsed a couple of tables I guessed were tourists, given their attire and a hiking pack or two. A few dates or folks who had already paired up for the night. I spotted Mira, the woman from the grocery store, with a group of friends. And then I picked out the barflies.

That last group were the ones I wanted to befriend first. They overheard it all from their never-wavering stations on stools or at tables. And even though they were varying levels of inebriated, they often had surprisingly good memories.

The bar itself wasn’t crowded, just a handful of patrons scattered along it. My boots clipped across the floor as I approached. I chose my seat with purpose, picking a stool two down from a man who wore a grin and a slightly glassy-eyed look.

As I slid onto the leather seat, I met astute gray eyes on the other side of the bar. The man was handsome, there wasno denying it, but he didn’t have my nerve endings standing at attention the way Law Man had earlier today.

The bartender slid a napkin across the well-cared-for wood. “What can I get ya?”

I slid my gaze away from his rugged face and toward the back of the bar. “Whiskey. You don’t happen to have any Ransom, do you? The Emerald?”

The man was already moving. Without even looking, he plucked up a familiar bottle. “Rocks or neat?”

“Now why would I want to dilute that beautiful flavor?”

He chuckled, the action making the thick, dark-blond scruff around his mouth twitch. “A woman who knows what she likes.”

I slid off my leather jacket, letting it fall to the back of the stool, and set my phone on the bar. “That a good thing?”

“Always.” The bartender grabbed a glass and gave me a healthy pour. “Tab or cash?”

I shifted to the side, grabbing my card from my pocket. “As much as I’d love to do some serious damage to that bottle, I need to get myself home tonight.”

“Safety first,” the man said, giving a salute with my card.

As he ran the bill, I lifted the glass to my lips. I let the wave of flavors hit my tongue. It was always those hints of caramel that were my favorite. That and the feel of being warmed from the inside out.

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