Worth Any Risk

Ch. 2 Home Again

*Cole

It hits me as I pull into the parking lot that some things in the town haven't changed. Wouldn't ever change, probably. The Kokomo bar is one of them. I slam shut my car door, but don't move. Shading my eyes against the glare of the setting sun, I take in the sight of the old building. The cracked siding, crooked blinds, heavy, wooden door. And the smells. Memories of when I used to sneak in with a fake ID and play pool, drinking the cheapest beer on tap in the back every Saturday night, flood my mind, taking me years back. Nostalgia will do funny things to you. I realize a part of me has missed this cheap dump.

I can't deny, it was my refuge more and more after I was kicked out of high school. And kicked out my mother's home. I shake my head. It seems strange now, remembering how many odd jobs I picked up from the guys drinking here, or out back. The alley. The smell of cooking pavement in summer, and cat piss and trash. The broken glass and the constant come and go of cars at the gas station next door. Some of the jobs were even legit.

I wouldn't be where I am now without this place.

I correct myself—without having left this place, I wouldn't be where I am now. And I'll leave again just as soon as I can. Because only a few of the jobs I did back then were legal.

Uncle Pete spent way too much time on me, trying to put me on a good path. My chest tightens. Everything he encouraged me to do, get my GED, find a community college or better yet, a trade school. Fuck. I was such a shit-head when I was young. I could have had a chance at life as soon as Leroy sent me packing, but I was too angry and too stupid to go for it.

Maybe I had good reasons for being fucked-up for a while, but after a year or two with my uncle, I could have, should have, straightened out my head. But something stood in the way. I guess that's why I took off at twenty. I never planned on setting another foot in Winnona Bluffs.

Only Uncle Pete could make me come back here.

He'd met up with me a couple of times, once in Florida, once in the Rockies. By then, at least I had figured out what I needed to be whole, to keep it together. No drugs. No petty crimes, or worse. No attachments but my machines. I tap the tire of my '86 Corvette with my heel. Hell. I always thought I'd have more time to make things up to him, to really thank him for offering me a haven when I had needed it.

The crotchedy old bastard went and had a heart-attack at fifty-seven, leaving behind a heap of personal belongings, a camping van to sell, and a heart-broken, middle-aged girlfriend.

Three days. Tops. I won't stay in this hell-hole longer than it takes for me to set everything on the curb for the trash collectors and to find a reliable person to watch the sale of the van if Roberta isn't up to it.

Then I will be free—really free in the world. No family, or nobody I consider family. No worries for anyone. No debts.

The second I stride through the door of the Kokomo, I sweep my eyes across the room out of habit for anyone I might know. Or used to know. No familiar faces appear from the crowd in the half-filled room. The lady bartender is about my age and very pretty, but seems too high-maintenance for my taste. I have always preferred women who don't mind getting sweaty and down dirty, never giving a shit if their hairstyle gets messed up when I make them forget their own names.

The only other single lady seems to be a luscious brunette with her hair twisted in a loose knot. I let my eyes slide back across the room, pausing for a second on her. Full breasts stretch her button shirt and, although only her profile is visible, the swell of her hips and curves of her ass in tight jeans have my cock jumping to life and instantly straining at my zipper.

The hell is wrong with me?

My jaw clenches as I will myself to keep some self-control and my sense of dignity intact. So it's been a few months. Six months. It's been six months since I had a woman in my bed. You'd think I've been stranded in space for several years the way I'm jumping to attention for the brunette.