Chapter Twenty-Two
Standing by the door, Rory started after Jewell as she ran past him unseeingly.
Coming from the bedroom, Dustin asked, “Who’s Michael?”
“Jewell’s son. Michael died when he was four,” Viper explained.
Sadness filled the room, so thick it could have been cut with a knife.
Rory didn’t wait to hear anything else, rushing outside to look for Jewell. He didn’t see her. He hurried to his SUV, got inside, and started backing up. As he did, he could see she was walking down the snow-covered driveway.
Driving toward her, he saw her look back when she heard the motor coming up behind her. He pulled alongside her and rolled the window down, the tires crunching.
“Need a ride?”
“Go away.”
“I’m about two minutes ahead before one of The Last Riders comes looking for you. You think one of them will let you walk home?” She came to an abrupt stop, and Rory let the SUV do the same.
“I’m not ready to go back to the club.”
Rory shrugged. “No skin off my back. Where you want to go?”
“Mick’s.”
“Mick’s?”
“It’s a bar down from the club.”
“Works for me. I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink or two.”
She didn’t need further convincing.
Rolling the window up once she was inside, Rory handed her his cell phone.
“You should text Viper and say I picked you up,” he explained at her quizzical look.
“If the text comes from me, you won’t have to talk to him.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
“No problem. Least I can do.”
Making the turn onto the main roadway, Rory spared her a glance. She noticed he was looking at her and glared at him.
“Not you, too. I did the same thing anyone else would have done if they were close. If I hadn’t gone out there, you would have—”
“I wouldn’t haven’t been there if you hadn’t gone,” he stated quietly.
“Shut up. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Then let’s not,” he agreed casually. “You know, for Treepoint being so small, there’s never a dull moment here, is there?”
Her ironic laughter filled the car. “I’ve been saying that since I moved here. I need to move back to Ohio, where it’s dull.”
“This it?” Rory asked, putting on his blinker.
“Yes, this is Mick’s place.”
The parking lot held two lone cars and one motorcycle.
Getting out of the SUV, Rory recognized the bike from the parking lot at The Last Riders.
“Who’s here?”
“That’s Moon’s bike. He always gets blitzed before the New Year.”
“Any particular reason?” Rory held the door open for her.
“Because another year has passed without him finding an old lady.”
Both of his eyebrows rose at the information. “Damn, if he can’t get a woman, then there isn’t hope for the rest of us.”
“Oh … He can get them,” Jewell refuted that claim. “Just not the old lady who punches all the holes he wants.”
“Picky, is he?”
“With a capital P.”
Jewell walked right past where Moon was sitting to find a stool on the opposite side, where the different liquor bottles displayed blocked them from sight.
Loud female rowdy voices drew his attention as he hooked a thigh over the stool next to Jewell’s.
A group of women was sitting at large table with several bottles spread out among them.
“What can I get you two?”
“I’ll take a beer,” Jewell ordered.
“Same,” Rory seconded.
The bartender reached inside a cooler to take out the two beers and set them down in front of them.
Rory handed him his credit card. “Run a tab for us.”
The tatted bartender tapped the counter with the card instead of running it through the machine. “You sure you two don’t want to take the beers and leave?” he suggested. “You see who’s here, Jewell?”
Jewell gave him an unconcerned shrug. “I see, Mick. I just don’t give a flying fuck.”
Mick gave her one back. “If a fight goes down, and something gets broken, I’m charging this card,” he warned.
From the bartender’s behavior, Rory began second-guessing his decision to hand over the card.
“Something going on I should be aware of?”
Mick gave a sardonic, “You think?” before laying the credit card beside the scanner and returning to the side of the bar where Moon was sitting.
“You and those women don’t get along?” he took a wild guess.
“Not really.”
“Then why didn’t we go somewhere else?”
“Because I wanted to come here. Besides”—Jewell took a long sip of her beer—“we’ve called a truce since Train and Killyama got married.”
“Train is married to a woman called Killyama?”
“Yep.”
“I didn’t see any of those women during Christmas.”
“That’s because Killyama celebrated with her friends.”
“The friends at the table?”
“Yep.”
Her short responses were becoming irritating. He was having to drag the information out of her, almost like pulling teeth.
“Which one is Train’s wife?”
“Guess.” Jewell waved two fingers for Mick to bring her another beer. “Make this one a boilermaker.”
“Sure thing.”
Mick gave him an I told you so look that Rory really didn’t appreciate. He didn’t give a fuck how many tatts the drill sergeant disguised as a bartender had. Hoping like hell Jewell and Mick were using him for amusement, he casually glanced over to the table. There were twelve women over there. Trying not to look too obvious, he scanned for one who could be called Killyama.