CHAPTER 1
Miles
The Verdict.
There’s something about this place. Always has been.
Maybe it’s the glow of the neon light reflecting off the hardwoods of the beer-stained dance floor. It could be the ice-cold drinks or the artery-clogging fried foods, but I’m pretty sure it’s the people.
Eastlyn, Oregon, and the people who live here are what connects me to the real world. What keeps me grounded.
Any time my head starts to hit the clouds, somebody in this town is sure to pull me back down to earth until my feet touch the soil again.
That being said, one particular Eastlyn resident is starting to get on my last nerve.
“Scheana, you’ve checked your lipstick ten times already. What in the world has gotten into you?”
“Be nice, Miles.”
“I am being nice. You’re a beautiful girl; you don’t need any of that crap. You never have. So why are you so decked out for a night of karaoke at The V with me of all people?”
Charlie Myers is blasting us with his rendition of “The Thunder Rolls,” just like he does every Saturday night, while Scheana and I wait our turn.
There isn’t much to do here in Eastlyn, but you’ll always find someone you know to share a beer with here at The Verdict. Also known as The V, this bar is somewhat the epicenter of Eastlyn. Where you go after a wedding shuts down and you want to keep the party going. Where you go for an ice-cold beer and the best cheeseburger in Eastern Oregon. It’s where you go to dance your blues away, sing your heart out, and meet up with old friends when they ask out of the blue.
Scheana’s mom and my mom were best friends. We grew up together, just a year apart in school, and spent years listening to our parents sing along to classic country music. This is why when we karaoke, our duets always start with “Islands in The Stream,”in honor of our moms and end with the hip-hop classic “Dilemma,” in honor of the great Nelly and Kelly Rowland. Sure, Scheana and I hooked up one time right after high school, but this isn’t shocking, considering my reputation.
Except for the girls in “The Crew,” there aren’t really many women in Eastlyn my age who I haven’t hooked up with.
What can I say? I am who I am.
Regardless, Scheana and I are nothing more than friends, and our inevitable one-time indiscretion was years ago and never affected our status as longtime family friends. Tonight, she’s distracted, and the fact that her distraction centers around her looks has me concerned. Scheana has never been insecure about the way she looks because, frankly, she has never needed to worry. She’s adorable, but seeing her long black hair curled within an inch of its life, her face painted like she's about to go ona stripper stage instead of the karaoke stage, and her anxiety about how she looks in all of this war paint are giving me reasons to worry something is off with her.
I’m just about to lean over to ask her what’s up when she entwines her fingers with mine on one hand while her other hand leisurely starts caressing my leg.
Whoa!
“Uh, Scheana, whatcha doin?’”
“What?” she asks even more distracted than before. Her face is pointed in my direction but her eyes, her eyes are certainly not looking at me.
I stop her shaking hand on my lap when I place mine on top of hers. “Sweetie, you know I love you like family, but since when do we hold hands?”
Before she gets a chance to reply, I follow her gaze to see what has her acting so crazy, and the entire evening is explained in an instant. Standing at the bar with a collection of his fellow roughnecks is her ex Adam.
Sitting back in my seat, I give her that look a parent gives you when they’ve figured out a scheme you’re trying to pull over on them.
“Scheana, did you know Adam was going to be here tonight?” I sound like her dad, but I can’t help myself.
She bows her head in humiliation.
Lifting her chin with my index finger, I lift her sad eyes to mine, and her pain and desperation cut through me.
“I thought you guys ended things months ago?”
“We did.”
“And if I remember correctly, he broke your heart?”