Deuce of Hearts by Lyssa Layne

Author:Lyssa Layne [Layne, Lyssa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-12-02T18:30:00+00:00

Sawyer

The Beast sits silently as Garrison turned her off a good five minutes ago. I stare at the lightly illuminated sign that highlights the faded letters. My knee bounces up and down quickly, anxious for what waits on the other side of that door. Funny, this place houses the answer to my questions, but it also scares the crap out of me, too. His large hand covers mine and my fear washes away.

“Ready?” Garrison’s thick voice asks.

Looking over at him, his lips are highlighted in the dull streetlight. I bite my bottom lip, wondering if I could just sit here and kiss him all night. I doubt that he’d object, but I know it wouldn’t get me any further in the search for my father. As hard as it is to let go of my mother’s house and her belongings, I know I can’t leave this town without finding out who the other person was that gave me life. Once I leave here, I doubt I’ll ever find my way back to Memphis, Missouri.

Slowly, I nod my head that I’m ready to go. Garrison doesn’t waste any time. He jumps out of the car and runs around to my side of the vehicle, opening my door like a gentleman. I smile, wondering if Garrison and I will ever go on a real date. It’s crazy to think that just a few days ago, he wanted to kill me when I ran over his motorcycle and now, he’s like my emotional support animal… that I really like kissing.

Pulling the door open, Garrison takes my hand as I slide out of the car. I push on my tippy toes and kiss him softly. “Thank you,” I whisper.

He nods, linking his fingers with mine as we walk toward the VFW. We get to the front of the building and he squeezes his hand around mine tightly. I nod without looking at him, lifting my chin confidently as I tell myself I’m ready for whatever waits on the other side of this door. Garrison doesn’t hesitate as he pulls open the door, holding it open for me to enter first. I step into the dark room, looking around and pondering which man is Samuel Dean Ellington.

Scanning the room, I note that there’s only four men including the bartender Ed that we met the other night. Ed sits behind the counter, arms crossed but when the door clangs shut, he opens one eye. Seeing that it’s us, both eyes pop open and he waves us over frantically.

“Shit,” Garrison mutters.

I look up to see him nodding with a fake smile in Ed’s direction. My stomach flip flops and I squeeze Garrison’s hand. “What’s wrong?”

“I think he’s onto us for ‘borrowing’ those books,” he whispers as we cross the room toward the bar.

“Oh, no! Do you think we’re in trouble?” I ask, ready to divert my attention away from my mission. Perhaps this is the real reason I’m twenty-four with no clue who my father is. I

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