Page 23 of My All American Girl

10

DEAN

It was wild to be back here. The base. The state. My bar. All of it brought back so many memories. I remembered my first time ever making the trek down this road. I was twenty-five, maybe twenty-six, and ready to conquer the world. It felt like a lifetime ago.

My fancy truck that I took very good care of was hitting every bump in the road filled with potholes bigger than the truck itself. I cringed thinking about the mud that was splashing over my pristine vehicle. It didn’t look like the road was well traveled, which didn’t bode well for the bar’s success.

The old girl came into view. The neon sign flickered in the night, a siren call to pilots looking for an escape. The Fly Trap could be heaven or hell, depending on the night. I wondered what I was in for that evening as I pulled up and the gravel crunched under the tires.

My heart swelled with nostalgia. I took a second to take in the sight of the place that looked exactly the way I remembered it. I parked in back, hoping to avoid the drivers that treated the parking lot like a demolition derby at the end of the night. We had a local cab company on speed dial.

The glow of a cigarette came from the corner of the building. I grinned and walked over to greet Jude Lyne. He was one of my oldest friends and fellow pilot from back in the day. Together, we owned the bar, and he ran it for us while I kept democracy safe.

“Those things are gonna kill you one day, Radio,” I teased, using the old call sign we had given him back in our pilot days.

Jude spun around, his expression lighting up with recognition and amusement, the cigarette hanging from his lips. “Ryker! It’s been a long time since someone called me that!”

I chuckled, clapping him on the back as we shook hands. “No one calls you Radio?”

He scoffed. “Hell no.”

He looked a lot older than I remembered. He had a few years on me, but damn, it really showed. If I would have gotten out, I might look like him. Staying in the Air Force and keeping my physical condition up so I could fly was keeping me young.

Jude had always been terrible at using comms when we were pilots, earning him the nickname Radio as a result. It had become a running joke among our squadron, one that had stuck with him long after he had hung up his wings.

“So, what brings you back out here to the ass crack of nowhere?” Jude asked. “Nobody worth their salt comes out here these days. Just newbies and teachers. Don’t tell me you retired?”

I shrugged, leaning against the wall and inhaling the musty scent of damp foliage and nature in general. “Just doing a favor for General Thomas,” I replied, knowing that Jude would understand the significance of the request.

Jude raised an eyebrow at the mention of Mo, our old friend and mentor. “The Sheriff, huh?” he mused, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“The one and only,” I confirmed, knowing that there was no one else quite like him in the Air Force.

“He’s still around?”

“Oh yeah,” I replied. “Four stars. He’s up in Colorado.”

“No shit,” he said with a smile. “Good for him. So, what kind of favor are you doing?”

I shook my head. “It’s complicated.”

He chuckled. “That’s the best kind of story.”

The back door was propped open, allowing us to hear what was going on inside. The usual din of male voices trying to talk over one another floated out.

I was going to tell him about Mo’s request when the sounds of a commotion drew our attention.

“Shit,” Radio muttered. “Every fucking time.”

“What?” I asked and followed him inside.

A group of rowdy young pilots was getting into an argument with some regular patrons. I rolled my eyes at the familiar scene unfolding before us. It seemed that not much had changed around here since our days as trainees.

“I can’t believe you’ve let our bar turn into such a shit hole,” I muttered under my breath, watching as the tempers of the group continued to rise. “It stinks in here.”

Jude shook his head in agreement, his expression grim. “There’s no point in fixing it up anymore. Young punks keep coming in and ruining it. Like these clowns.”

I looked around the bar that looked exactly the same as it did when we bought the place with the intention of fixing it up. We didn’t fix it up because we quickly realized that was not the type of customers a place like this appealed to. We decided to keep it rough, but this was a lot rougher than I remembered. I felt a little guilty for not being around to help my buddy out. Some wingman I turned out to be.