Page 25 of Property of Player

Saturday nights we usually close The Rusty Pelican at midnight, but tonight Kayla said I could leave at nine. Any other night, I’d probably argue with her, but I’m exhausted. It’s been one hell of a week.

Coming home has awakened mixed feelings in me. I hate the reason for it. Mom being sick is terrifying. It’s hard to allow myself to smile or even sleep, knowing this could be the end. I pray it’s not.

I hate not being in control, and that’s something I have to accept with this.

On the other hand, leaving Norfolk was a godsend. I needed a way out; I just hate that it had to come with my mother being sick.

Being back home is bittersweet. There are so many good memories, but with the passage of time, so much has changed; somehow it feels like a different place. Like the town has moved on without me.

And then there’s Player.

Seeing him again fills my stomach with butterflies. We have so much history. He was such a huge part of my life, but he ripped my heart out.

I never understood why. We were so close. Soulmates, I thought.

But then the club took over his life.

The only explanation I could come up with was that he dumped me so he could sleep around, so he could enjoy all the fruits and benefits of being a patched member of the Kings of Anarchy, and that includes a line of women ready to do anything for them.

I have to admit, that leather cut on him sure made all the girls’ heads turn. It was like a rockstar entered every time he walked into a room. He was already gorgeous with his surfer good looks, blond hair and beach tan. Add to that his growing stature and broad shoulders, but then wrap it all in delicious leather and a Kings of Anarchy patch, and he was irresistible.

It killed me to see him with other girls after we broke up, and then to hear he married someone so soon after. It was devastating.

Leaving for college in Norfolk was my escape.

Meeting David was my downfall.

A customer slides his empty longneck forward on the bar, and I grab him a fresh one from the cooler.

“Thanks, doll.”

I sense movement to my left as someone slips onto a barstool. Turning, I freeze when I see it’s Player.

He gives me a wink. “Can I get one of those, doll?”

Obviously, he just heard my other customer call me that, and he’s ribbing me.

I reach into the cooler, pull a bottle out, pop the cap and set it before him. Ice slides down the brown glass. “Four bucks.”

He passes me a credit card. “Start me a tab, will ya?”

I take it and turn toward the register, my mind whirling. What the hell is he doing here?

When I return and pass him the card, he grabs my hand. “What time do you get off tonight?”

“What’s it to you?”

“We need to talk.”

“I’m not interested.” I pull free and walk away. I notice the other customer’s eyes shift between me and Player. The look on his face tells me he wants to ask if I’m okay, but the patch on Player's cut probably is what keeps him quiet.

I walk to the other end of the bar. “Kayla, change sides with me.”

She looks past me, spots Player and grins. “Not a chance, kiddo. He’s your problem.”

“Bitch.”

“Back-atcha.”