Golden Trail

Chapter Six Nepotism

Layne moved through his closet, pulling out a sweater to yank over his tee to wear to the game.

The last couple of weeks they’d had Indian Summer.

That morning, he’d discovered, Fall had hit and it had done it with a vengeance.

That morning, he’d also woken up to a note on the island from Rocky addressed to him and his boys thanking them for dinner with a postscript to Layne saying she’d see him that night. That was all she left, except the vague scent of her perfume in his bedroom and his tee folded on the bed she’d made, a tee which held a not-so-vague hint of her perfume.

He was not happy she’d left like that but he gave her that play. What they were doing wasn’t easy on him and he reckoned it was just as difficult for her.

Tripp came down first, as usual, and Layne had taken the opportunity with Jasper not around to give a few pointers to his younger son about being cool, for his sake but mostly for his brother’s. He explained that Keira Winters was not just one of Jas’s “babes” and that Tripp would be doing his brother a favor if he kept his mouth shut and just let his brother make his moves with silent support.

Tripp got it, promised he’d be cool and Layne knew he would. Jasper kept his thoughts and feelings to himself most of the time but Tripp wore his heart on his sleeve. He felt shit for pissing off his brother the night before and he wouldn’t do that again, innocently trying to help or not.

The boys went to school and Layne went into the office, checked his e-mail and voicemail, returned them, went through his post and wished he had a receptionist because he did not like to be in the office returning e-mails and voicemails.

He liked to be in the field. If he had to be in the office, he preferred to be doing computer investigations but even that wasn’t his favorite activity. Luckily, the post included a paid invoice, the check relatively substantial, for a job Layne completed prior to getting shot.

A receptionist had been on the cards six weeks ago. Now she was not. It would take a fair few more substantial invoices being paid before an ad in the newspaper was scratched on top of his to-do list.

He made an appointment with a potential client and took an appointment with a client who he’d called the day before to tell him that the job was done. The guy was not thrilled with the results of Layne’s investigation but then no man whose wedding was scheduled for three weeks away liked seeing video of his bride-to-be, high on E, taking it from behind while she sucked someone off at the front. Then again, his client was a spoiled rich kid who fell for an admittedly gorgeous party girl and thought she’d snap to when offered a life of champagne cocktails and charity receptions with vacations in the Swiss Alps. Clearly, at twenty-one, she wasn’t done partying in all the forms that could take.

Spoiled rich kid or not, Layne felt for him as he walked him to his front office door. He loved her, it was plain to see, and a future he thought was bright suddenly wasn’t so bright anymore and Layne knew exactly how that felt.

After the client left, he was shutting down the office and trying to decide if he should pay a visit to Stew at work or go into Indy and follow the husband of a woman who was convinced he was fucking around on her during his lunch hour (even though Layne had followed the guy to a variety of restaurants on a variety of occasions, not to mention doing extra time following him home, just in case, for the last week and for a month prior to him getting shot and the guy didn’t even look at his waitresses too long) when his cell went.

He nabbed it off his desk, flipped it open and put it to his ear.

“Layne.”

“Big man, gonna be at Mimi’s in five. Could you use a coffee?” Merry asked in his ear.

“See you there in five,” Layne replied.

Five minutes later, Layne had an Americano and Merry’s cappuccino and was sitting at the table in Mimi’s that had the words, “Feb’s spot, sit here and die” carved into it. Layne had learned from Mimi months ago that Colt’s wife, February, sat at that table a lot prior to hooking back up with Colt and Mimi’s kids thought her clientele should be aware of the fact that, if Feb was there, she had a reserved seat.

He’d also met Mimi’s kids in the meantime and found Mimi was lucky they only carved the words into the table rather than using a flamethrower to mark the entire wall around it.

Merry came in, eyes on Layne, and made a bee-line.

“Hey Merry,” Mimi called from behind the counter.

“Hey Meems,” Merry called back as he arrived at the table and looked down at his mug. “Tanner, buddy, no cookie?”

“You wanna keep gettin’ laid, Garrett, you can’t get a gut. That cappuccino is skinny. Just lookin’ out for you, man.”

Merry grinned at him and patted his flat abs before he sat down, muttering, “Good friends like you, hard to find.”

He meant that in more than one way and Layne studied him closely.

Merry didn’t make him wait for it. “Hear Rocky’s got herself a new beau.”

“Merry,” Layne murmured.

Merry leaned forward and whispered, “Wildfire, big man, it’s all over town her Merc didn’t leave your drive last night.”

Jesus, it was barely eleven o’clock. Fucking hell, but Natalie Ulrich had a big mouth.

“What I wanna know is, in less than twenty-four hours, how do you two go from not acknowledging each other’s existence to Roc spending the night at your house?”

“It was more like thirty-four hours,” Layne corrected him.

“Whatever, Tanner, how –?”

Layne cut him off. “I was at the Station when she made her first play on Rutledge.”

Light dawned and Merry sat back on a smile. “Not good timing.”

“No,” Layne agreed.

“So, you saw the play and decided to deflect it by smacking Raquel Astley’s ass in the middle of the bullpen on a Thursday afternoon?” Merry asked.

“Seemed a good way to go,” Layne answered and Merry’s smile got bigger.

Then he asked, “Now, you wanna tell me how that leads to her car at your house?”

“We chatted, I explained the faults in her plan, she saw my logic, we decided to play Rutledge another way.”

“You gonna let me in on that?”

“Yeah,” Layne said and didn’t make him wait either. He leaned forward and his voice dropped before he explained. “She and I are faking a reconcile…” he started then he went on to tell Merry the entirety of the plan while Merry listened without saying a word.

When Layne was done, Merry stated, “Gotta say, not happy she’s involved in this shit at all but at least I like this better than Roc’s scheme.”

“I do too. An additional benefit is that I’m gonna make it so Astley hears, and sees, if I can manage it, a lot of shit that he’s not gonna like. He shoved his piece down Rocky’s throat, I’m crawlin’ down his.”

Merry’s smile turned cruel. It was a smile Layne had seen before, not often, but he’d seen it. Merry was a cop and therefore his sense of justice was highly tuned. But Merry was Merry and his personal sense of justice, especially when it came to his sister, was another matter altogether.

Through his smile, Merry whispered, “I’m with you, brother.”

“Good,” Layne returned. “Then I need you to do two things. One, brief Dave about this shit and two, give me intel on how I can hit Astley the hardest.”

“You two don’t move in the same social circles, Layne.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t find ways for him to see me and see me with Rocky.”

Merry lifted his chin. “I’ll put together what I know, e-mail it to you.”

Layne sat back and nodded.

Then he changed the subject. “You got anything on Stew?”

Merry shook his head. “Zilch. Heard you talked to Colt and Sully.”

“Yesterday, after I dealt with Rocky. Found out Colt, particularly, is not a big fan of Stew’s rather than just generally thinking he’s a fuckwad like everyone else does. They’re happy to nose around.” He lifted his mug and took a swallow then muttered, “Even so, it’s lookin’ like I’m gonna hafta give that time.”

And it was time he did not have nor could he afford.

“Or, you can let Gabrielle sleep in the bed she made for herself,” Merry suggested and Layne’s eyes moved back to him.

“She’s my kids’ mother.”

“I dig that, brother but –”

“She’s my kids’ mother, Garrett.”

Merry closed his mouth and nodded.

Then he opened it and asked quietly, “You and Roc gonna be able to –?”

Layne interrupted him. “We’re fine.”

“Big man –”

“We’re fine, Merry,” Layne repeated firmly.

Merry closed his mouth and nodded again but he didn’t hide the fact that he was far from convinced.

Then he sucked back his cappuccino in one gulp and slammed his mug on the table.

“Got your back, whenever you need it,” he said, standing and wiping foam from his mouth.

“I know,” Layne replied.

“Later,” Merry said on a low, short wave, turned, lifted a chin to Mimi and went out the door.

Then Layne made the decision that, even though he wanted to pay a visit to Stew at work, try a direct approach, if he wanted to keep his sons in oatmeal, he needed to rack up billable hours. And nothing racked up billable hours like a woman who had money to burn and nothing but time on her hands and she used that time to convince herself that her faithful husband was being unfaithful and no matter what Layne said to her to assure her, she wouldn’t believe it.

So Layne headed to Indy to watch a man eat a club sandwich on his own while reading the paper. He broke the tedium of this only slightly by taking photos of that man eating his club sandwich and reading the paper. Then he headed back to the office to run off some invoices and print out the digital photos he took to add to the already fat file at the same time again wishing he had a receptionist.

Now he was moving through his bedroom because it was time to pick up Rocky for the game.

He was making his way through the open room at the top of the stairs when his cell rang. He yanked it from his back pocket and looked at his display that said “Raquel Calling”. They’d traded numbers and made plans while at Mimi’s the day before.

He flipped the phone open and put it to his ear. “Layne.”

“Hey,” Rocky replied.

“Hey,” Layne repeated as he walked down the stairs.

“Listen, I have a situation,” she told him.

He stopped by the fridge and gave her his full attention.

“What situation?”

“See…” she hesitated, “today hasn’t been the greatest. I don’t know if I can make the game.”

Shit. She was backing out. This could mean cold feet and they’d passed the point where she could have cold feet.

“Roc –”

She cut him off, explaining quickly, “Okay, so, I had to leave your place early because I needed to get my car to the mechanics before school. Nothing is wrong, it just needed a service and Jarrod usually deals with that and he… well, we… anyway, it’s been too long, it’s four months out on that so I had to do it.” She took a breath and went on. “It won’t be ready until tomorrow so they gave me a loaner, which was cool, but that broke down, if you can believe that. A loaner from a mechanic breaking down.” She took another breath and continued. “Anyway, Dad had to come get me, which he did, then I had some errands to run, which Dad took me to do. But, you know Dad, he lives for football and he’s been the Bulldog’s biggest fan for the last four decades. He’s tailgating with Ernie and Spike tonight and I got a call from The Brendel. I’m on their waiting list and they had someone move out and I got moved up so I have a viewing, like, right now. Dad dropped me off and the girl who is showing me the apartment said she’d take me back to Merry’s. But she just called and said she’s going to be late and I can’t miss this viewing because if I do someone else might snatch up the apartment –”

“Rocky –”

“And I gotta get off –”

“Roc –”

“Merry’s couch or my back is going to –”

“Sweetcheeks, shut up a second,” he cut in, she went silent likely because he figured she was still not a big fan of him calling her sweetcheeks and why he did. “I’ll come get you.”

“But, she’s supposed to be here any minute and she’s not here yet and, if I want it, I have to deal with the application and–”

“Rocky, I’ll come get you.”

“Layne, if you do, you might miss kickoff and I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“Then I’ll buy you a hotdog at the game.”

She fell silent and he moved through the kitchen, snatching his keys from the counter as he headed toward the garage.

“You got the code for the gate?”

“Three-two-three-seven,” she replied.

“Unit?”

“Unit E, apartment three.”

“See you in five,” he said, having moved through the utility room and entered the garage.

He was about to take the phone from his ear when he heard her call, “Layne?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” she whispered and then he heard the disconnect.

He flipped his phone closed thinking he liked hearing Rocky’s quiet voice saying thanks.

He folded himself into his Suburban thinking he was glad she left early that morning because she had to do something and not because she was escaping.

And he pulled out of his garage, down his drive and headed toward The Brendel thinking about The Brendel.

The Brendel was an apartment complex across the road and down the street from Layne’s development. He could walk there nearly as fast as he could drive there. Unlike the middle to upper-middle class housing that surrounded it, it was a luxury apartment complex. Rents were high because the apartments were sweet. So sweet, Layne had seen them on the internet when he was looking for a place prior to moving home and he’d considered it. But the waiting list was seven to twelve months long, taking into consideration when tenants moved out, which wasn’t often, and he didn’t have that long to wait. It was easier to find and close on a house than get into The Brendel.

Not including the three bedroom, duplex townhomes, each unit and each of the three apartments in the units were different and all the layouts unusual, built with an eye to quality and style. They were appointed with top-of-the line everything, appliances, carpeting, washers and dryers, bathroom fixtures. There was a full gym onsite with a clubhouse and an outdoor pool that had an expansive cooldeck and an abundance of lounge chairs. The landscaping was effusive and colorful. The complex was gated, they had twenty-four hour onsite security and each apartment had its own private entrance and alarm. Rents for a two bedroom unit were double the highest rents found elsewhere in the ‘burg. The Brendel was the hot home destination for trendy, high income twenty- and thirty-somethings and double-income-no-kids couples.

It was also where Harrison Rutledge lived. Harrison Rutledge who had a cop’s salary, an ex-wife, a kid and a child support payment that meant his wife had gotten herself a very good attorney when she dumped his ass. Therefore, his apartment alone tagged him as a dirty cop on the take which was a stupid mistake, something, Layne had found, Rutledge was not averse to making. And it was that something that made Layne go in too fast, too hard and get ambushed doing it. He’d thought Rutledge was a fool, he’d gotten cocky and he’d paid for that mistake by getting drilled with three bullets.

He stopped at the gate and punched in the code, his mind moving to wondering how Rocky circumvented the waiting list. It was likely she greased some palms. Viewing an apartment at The Brendel after being on the waiting list for two months or less was a minor miracle.

With the help of well-situated and attractive signage, Layne found unit E and saw a sporty BMW parked in the three undercover parking spots allocated to apartment three which was up a flight of steps around the corner from the ground floor entrance to apartment two.

He parked, got out, slammed the door, beeped his locks, walked to the unit and up the steps.

He barely knocked before the door was thrown open and a woman with sleek blonde hair and more perfectly applied makeup even than Rocky’s, wearing a stylish and obviously expensive business dress stood in the door. Her head jerked when she saw Layne then she did a head-to-toe and her face changed.

“Hi, you must be Mrs. Astley’s friend,” she greeted, putting a slight emphasis on the word “Mrs.” as she leaned in giving a much stronger emphasis on the fact, with that one move and after having taken one look at him and having no clue who he was, she was coming onto him.

“Yep,” Layne replied, moving into her before she moved out of his way, effectively forcing her out of his way. Then he walked into the apartment without saying another word and making it clear he was there for Rocky.

He did this because she was too young for him and Layne had passed the point where he wasted time training the women he took to bed. He also did this because she appeared to have less body fat than he did and he liked the women he took to bed to be women with women’s bodies. He didn’t fuck bags of bones. Hard and pointy didn’t feel good, soft and round was a fuckuva lot better. He knew men who liked that, he just wasn’t one of them. He also did this because he didn’t like aggressive women. There were ways for a woman to tell you she was interested without her making the first move. To Layne, a woman who made the first move was struck off instantly, even if he was attracted to her. He made the moves. And lastly, he did this because her slight emphasis on the word “Mrs.” was offensive. Her knowing Rocky for all of five minutes and him for all of one second, she didn’t get to remind him of Rocky’s marital status.

He stopped and looked around thinking instantly that the apartment was the shit. White walls, two story ceilings and floor to ceiling, full-wall windows in the compact but inviting living room that also had a classy gas fireplace. He could see his development from the windows and there was a balcony running the length of the living room that you could get to through double doors with highly-designed, shiny silver handles, doors that were set seamlessly into the windows. A staircase with a closed railing in stucco white. A deep, long state-of-the art kitchen tucked under the top floor, stainless steel appliances, shining black granite countertops and cool as shit lighting. A breakfast nook around the corner by the kitchen set in a semi-circle of windows extending out from the apartment like an enclosed balcony over which was a complicated, modern, multi-light chandelier.

“You like?” the blonde asked from close beside him but he caught movement at the top of the stairs, he looked up and saw Rocky walking down.

He didn’t respond to the blonde but grinned at Rocky. “Hey sweetcheeks.”

She looked down at her feet, a small smile on her face, and shook her head while replying, “Hey Layne.”

“Upstairs pass inspection?” he asked, moving to the foot of the stairs where he stopped and so did she.

She tilted her head back, her eyes slid over his shoulder to tag the blonde’s location then back to him where she leaned in and whispered low, “I like it.”

He leaned in too and whispered back, “So get it.”

Her eyes slid back to his shoulder but not to place the blonde in the room. She was thinking.

“I don’t know,” she said.

How could she not know? The place was the shit.

Then again, it wasn’t a six-bedroom mansion skirting a manmade lake.

He turned to the blonde. “Can you give us a minute?”

“Of course,” she smiled and started to move toward the kitchen where she could easily still hear. The place was the shit but it wasn’t exactly huge.

“No.” He stopped her with one word and her head snapped to look at him. He jerked his head to the door. “A minute.”

She looked at the door then at him then her face set in a way that made her less attractive than she very obviously thought she was but she nodded and headed to the door.

Layne waited until she was out of it to turn back to Rocky.

“What’s on your mind?”

She looked up at him and bit her lip. She was thinking still, he could see it behind her eyes, but she was thinking about something else.

“Roc –”

She interrupted him. “Layne, do you know what the rent is on these places?”

“Yeah, I looked into them before moving here. Why?”

She shook her head and then sat down on a stair saying, “I don’t know if I can swing it.”

He stared at her. She was wearing high-heeled boots, jeans and another, warmer-looking, but no less expensive, fancy-ass sweater, this time with a matching woolly scarf wrapped around her neck. She drove a Mercedes. The huge, suede purse she was plopping down on the stair beside her probably cost more than his refrigerator.

“Rocky –”

“I’m a teacher, Layne,” she informed him of something he already knew.

“Yeah, a teacher whose soon-to-be ex is a surgeon who makes six figures.”

“Jarrod makes six figures, I do not make six figures.”

Layne crouched in front of her. “Rocky, he fucked around on you. He’s living with another woman right now. You think this divorce isn’t going to go well for you?”

At his words, she reared back and stared at him, eyes wide.

Then she breathed, “I’m not going to take his money.”

He felt his brows shoot up. “Come again?”

“I’m not taking his money.”

“Rocky –”

She shook her head. “No, no way.”

“Roc –”

She leaned in abruptly, her expression turning sharp. “Fuck that.”

He caught her hand and held it firm before shaking it. “Baby, are you insane?”

“No,” she snapped, tugging her hand in his but he held on tighter.

“Sweetcheeks, a guy like that does what he did to a woman like you, I’m not a member of the club but I’m pretty sure it’s a chick requirement to take him to the cleaners.”

“Layne –”

“You don’t do it, other chicks might vote to throw you out of the club.”

Her face cracked and she smiled, her dimple coming out and, seeing it, Layne wished he’d kept his mouth shut at the same time he felt like he’d scored a touchdown to win the game in the last seconds of the Super Bowl.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to get thrown out of the…” she lifted the only hand she had available to her and made air quotation marks, “chick club.”

“Atta girl,” he whispered as he smiled but her face got serious again and her hand dropped.

“I see what you’re saying, Layne but, seriously, you don’t know… it hasn’t been…” She looked over his shoulder then back at him. “I don’t want anything from him.”

He did not like what her words said, he did not like how they made him feel but he liked it even less that she had reason to same them.

He ignored this, decided on a different strategy and advised, “Rocky, you greased some palms to get moved up the waiting list for this place, you shouldn’t waste that investment.”

Her hand clenched his spasmodically and her eyes narrowed in confusion.

“I didn’t grease any palms to get moved up.”

He stared at her then told her, “Not sure that’s against the law, sweetcheeks, but even if it was, I wouldn’t turn you in.”

“I guess it isn’t but I still didn’t do it.”

“Roc, when I was lookin’ into this place, the waiting list was minimum seven months.”

She nodded. “It still is. I’ve been on it for nine.”

He let her hand go and stood, watching her head tilt back to look up at him as he went.

Then he asked, “What?”

She stood too, bringing her body close in front of his. “I’ve been on the waiting list for nine months.”

That meant she’d been intending to leave her husband for nine months.

“You knew he was fucking around on you?” Layne asked.

She shook her head.

“But you been plannin’ on leavin’ him for awhile.”

She nodded her head.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why?” she repeated.

“Yes. Why?”

“Layne, I’m not sure we should –”

“Why?”

“I really don’t want to talk about –”

“Why?”

“Layne!”

He leaned in to get his face close to hers. “Why?” he repeated.

“Why do you want to know?” she shot back, amused Rocky gone, annoyed Rocky in her place.

“Because I do,” he answered.

“Well it really isn’t any of your business.”

“Sorry, sweetcheeks, but we got a long road ahead of us. I’m not gonna stumble onto enough evidence to take Rutledge and whoever is pullin’ his strings down all bound up and wrapped in shiny paper sitting on my island when I walk downstairs to make coffee tomorrow. This means sharing time, sharing space and sharing our lives and it means doin’ it for awhile. While we do it, we actually have to live those lives and your life comes with me pretending to be your man while you’re divorcing another one. He made you a chump, don’t make me one even if what we got is sham.”

Her head jerked back and she took a step up the stairs.

Then she said softly, “I’m not making you a chump.”

“You don’t share, you are. I haven’t been in on your life for awhile, Roc, but you’ve lived in this ‘burg a long time and people know shit. Case in point, my guess would be half the town who are of drinking age know your car was in my drive all night and I can guarantee, due to Tripp thinkin’ you’re one step down from a rock star, that every single kid in your school knows there’s times when he can call you Rocky. But for the last year, I wasn’t a prime recipient for gossip about Raquel Astley so you’re gonna have to fill me in.”

He noticed she’d started to get pissed while he spoke and when he was done, she didn’t hesitate to explain why.

“You know what sucks?” she snapped.

“I know a lotta things that suck,” he returned.

“Well, what sucks the most right now for me is when you make sense. That sucks.”

He couldn’t stop himself, she was so fucking hilarious, he threw his head back and laughed.

What he did stop himself from doing was yanking her in his arms and laughing in her neck.

When he quit laughing, he focused on her to see she was still glaring.

“You gonna share?” he prompted.

“Yes,” she bit off. “But not now. We have a football game to get to.”

“You gonna get this apartment?”

“I don’t know,” she replied irately.

“Sweetcheeks, get the apartment.”

“Layne –”

“Do it,” he prompted.

“Layne!”

“Your attorneys tell you what you got doesn’t allow you to fuck him over so bad he’ll reconsider any relationship he ever thinks of starting, you tell me, baby. I’ll find enough shit on him to make him move to another state.”

She didn’t speak, she just stared at him with her lips parted.

When this lasted awhile, he repeated, “Get the apartment.”

She stayed silent.

So Layne made a decision.

He left her on the stair and walked to the door.

He opened it and the blonde was on her cell phone outside.

She whirled to face him and Layne declared, “She’ll take it.”

“I can’t eat this,” Rocky announced quietly and Layne looked down at her.

They were standing three feet away from the concession stand and he’d just handed her a hotdog and a diet and she was looking like she was either going to heave or bolt.

He knew why she’d lost her appetite.

They’d just walked the length of the field from entrance to concession stand. The game was four minutes in and the ‘dogs were already on the board and, still, Rocky and Layne walking into the game with their arms around each other had diverted the attention of the vast majority of eyes in the bleachers and folks standing at the fence around the field. The parents were looking and the kids were looking and they weren’t being secretive about it.

They also fielded a variety of greetings from giggling girls pulling up the courage to say at the last minute, “Hey, Mrs. Astley,” to full grown men, some of them married fathers, married fathers of kids who probably sat in Rocky’s classroom, giving Rocky the once-over and saying to Layne, “Tanner,” in a way that could easily be read as, “Nice work, dude.”

If that wasn’t enough, Gabby, who always came early so she could sit front row, fifty yard line, had come early so she could sit front row, fifty yard line and she did this by Stew. That meant Rocky and Layne had to walk right in front of her while she glared fire at them both, her face so hard, Layne wouldn’t have been surprised if it shattered.

Nevertheless, he’d tipped his head to them both, keeping his arm firm around Rocky’s stiff shoulders as her fingers dug into his waist and he greeted, “Gabby, Stew,” a greeting which was not returned by either of them, and then he guided Rocky right by.

“It’s fine,” Layne assured her.

“It’s not fine!” she leaned in and hissed. “Did you see Josie?”

Layne felt his brows draw together. “Josie?”

“Josie, Layne, Josie Brand, now Josie Judd!”

“Chip’s wife?” Layne asked.

“Yes,” she snapped. “Chip’s wife and my best friend. My best friend who I haven’t called to inform that I’ve reunited with my old boyfriend!”

Jesus, that was all it was?

Layne grinned. “She’ll get over it.”

She threw her hands up and almost lost the lid of her cup as well as the dog out of the bun. “You obviously do not know Josie.”

He did, he knew Josie Brand but as far as he knew he hadn’t seen her in over twelve years.

“Sweetcheeks, calm down.”

She leaned closer. “If you call me sweetcheeks in front of one of the students –”

Like he had the previous day at the Station, he hooked her around the neck and yanked her into his body and both her hands flew out to the sides to avoid her not very exciting dinner getting crushed. This time, instead of her coming to his side, she was full frontal and that was better. Much better.

He dipped his face close to hers. “Baby, I’m not gonna call you sweetcheeks in front of the students.”

“Don’t kiss me either,” she hissed. “I haven’t read my contract for awhile but I think it has an express clause that I can’t make out with seriously hot private detectives at football games or during any other school activity.”

His body went still as his mind tried and failed to sort through how fucking great it felt that she referred to him as a “seriously hot private detective” at the same time he wanted, with no small amount of desperation, to laugh out loud for a long fucking time.

Instead, he joked, “It’s good they had the foresight to include that in your contract.”

“I’m not being funny, Layne,” she warned.

“You’re wrong, Raquel,” he replied.

At his words, she went smack into stare down which, unfortunately for her, Layne thought was cute.

Therefore, he asked, “Your contract says you can’t make out but does that mean I can’t kiss your neck?”

“Yes!” she hissed.

“Your forehead?” he went on.

“Yes!” Her voice was rising.

“Your nose?”

“Layne, this is not amusing.”

He smiled. “Wrong again, sweetcheeks.”

“Two seconds and you’ll have ice cold pop over your head,” she threatened.

She wouldn’t do that. She used to threaten all sorts of wild retribution but she never did it. Their fights might occasionally get physical but only in good ways. She’d once accidentally squirted his t-shirt with ketchup but only because she was yelling while holding a ketchup bottle at the same time gesticulating and she’d done it by accident. The hilarious look on her face after she’d done it had led to him laughing so hard he nearly split a gut, Rocky doing the same and, shortly after, them fucking on the kitchen table during which he transferred the ketchup on his tee to hers.

This memory had while she was pressed against his front served to sober him so he dipped his face even closer and whispered, “Everything is gonna be fine, Roc, swear.”

She stared into his eyes several long moments before she nodded.

He let her loose from his front but kept his arm around her neck and led her to the boys. These being Colt, Colt’s best friend Morrie who co-owned the local bar, J&J’s Saloon, with Colt’s wife Feb, Loren Smithfield, the local ladies man who stayed a ladies man even when he was legally bound to only one lady (and he’d been that way three times), a decent guy on the surface but underneath pure asshole, Ricky Silvestri who owned most of the car dealerships in the county and who famously fucked around on his wife so she divorced his ass but he was equally famously still in love with her, trying to win her back and spectacularly not succeeding, that said, Layne thought he was a decent guy who was paying due penance for a very bad mistake, and Joe Callahan, Colt’s across the street neighbor, a well-known, highly-respected security specialist, a serious badass and the man Layne hoped like hell Jasper didn’t piss off when he eventually started dating Cal’s stepdaughter.

They approached, the boys giving Rocky smiles, all of them friendly except Smithfield’s which was overt and made Layne expend some effort in trying to stop himself from ramming Smithfield’s teeth down his throat, and then they settled at the fence. Rocky started eating her hotdog and his eyes went to the field.

Jasper was a starter and had been since halfway through his freshman season. It was extremely rare for a kid in this ‘burg – a haven of all sports but especially football since the team had either gone to, or won, State nine times in the last two decades – to make the varsity team in his freshman year but Jasper did it playing tight end. Now he played tight end offense, linebacker defense, he was being scouted and Layne hoped to all hell someone pulled his boy in on even a partial ride because his grades sure as fuck weren’t going to get him into college.

Tripp had surprised him by following in his brother’s footsteps. He made varsity too, even though he was a freshman. Layne knew his son was good, had seen him play in junior high and before and he’d always shined so bright the other players didn’t exist on the field. But that was always playing with kids his own age, therefore, Layne thought the high school boys would chew him up.

They didn’t. Tripp became everything not Tripp on the football field. Not yet as tall as his brother, but faster, more agile and cold as ice. He was playing wide receiver and when he was on the field his focus was so intense, it was clear the world outside those one hundred yards ceased to exist.

If Tripp bulked out, which he probably would in the next year, he’d have to find a different position. For now, that was where he was which was unfortunate. Coach Adrian Cosgrove’s son was a senior, a wide receiver and not a great one. Tripp hadn’t played much because Cosgrove wanted any scouts there to get a look at his boy. Layne suspected this would be unpopular because whenever Tripp played, it was clear he could run circles around Cosgrove’s kid. The rabid Bulldogs fans who lived and breathed high school football did not care about Cosgrove’s kid, they cared about winning and they would not put up with nepotism for long. Cosgrove further wasn’t liked because, since he moved up from assistant coach to take over for the beloved, long-time head coach three years ago, the ‘dogs hadn’t gone past regionals. He was feeling the heat and nasty rumors about Cosgrove’s temper were spreading. Layne didn’t know if they were true, and neither Jasper nor Tripp shared, which Layne reckoned was another item for a future agenda for breakfast conversation.

Unfortunately, this all became evident in the second quarter when Cosgrove’s son went off the field for a play, he sent Tripp in and then Cosgrove called a passing play. If he wanted his boy to shine, this was an asinine decision because Tripp was damned good but when he wasn’t on the field, their passing game was garbage. Even if another receiver was open, every long pass was thrown to Cosgrove’s son, who hadn’t caught a single toss and had even been intercepted twice. The only passes caught were short shots, nabbed and run by Jasper.

Therefore, when the ball was put in play, Tripp shot forward, got open within seconds and the quarterback, under some pressure, let fly. The ball was thrown high but Tripp jumped at least three feet in the air, arm extended to the maximum, tagged the pass, pulling the fucking thing down with his fingertips. He tucked the ball close, ducked his head, deflected two tackles and ran forty-three yards for a touchdown.

The crowd went berserk, every last one on the purple and white side, including Rocky standing in front of him. With her arms straight in the air, she jumped up and down on her fancy-ass boots, her ponytail swinging wildly right in his face, she was screaming her lungs out without even a freaking hint of the decorum a high school English Literature teacher should display at a school activity.

“That’s it, Tripp!” she shouted as Tripp ran off the field right in front of them, jerking down the straps of his chin guard, he heard her and his eyes went to the fence. “You rock!” she yelled, pointing at him.

Such was his worship of Rocky, for once, Tripp’s intensity slipped, he grinned at her through his faceguard and then he was tagged viciously with a slap upside the helmet that came from the flat of Coach Cosgrove’s hand, causing Tripp’s head to jerk unnaturally toward his shoulder pad, so hard, Tripp’s helmet was ripped clean off his head. Then Cosgrove shoved Tripp’s shoulder pad once, twice, three times and finally Tripp started moving back unable to stand firm under the obvious violence of the blows when Cosgrove went through the fourth, fifth and sixth and then he stopped.

“Head in the game, Layne!” Cosgrove bellowed in a voice that carried.

The crowd, seeing this, had quieted and Rocky went statue-still in front of Layne but Layne didn’t really notice it. His vision had clouded, his body had locked, his fists had clenched and his mouth had gone dry.

“Tanner,” Colt muttered and Layne could feel him close.

When Rocky heard Colt, her body moved, her shoulder brushing his chest as she turned to him but his eyes were locked on his son standing on the sideline. Tripp was looking at his cleats while Cosgrove stood close, his mouth at Tripp’s ear, spittle coming out with the force of his continuing tirade, shouting it an inch from his boy’s ear.

“You pay attention to me and what’s happening on that field! I don’t care if the Virgin Mary appears and is shouting at you, you keep your effin’ head in the game!”

“Lay off, Coach!”

Layne heard it and knew it came from Gabby but he didn’t move a muscle.

“Layne,” Rocky whispered and he felt her hands on his abs.

“Hear me!” Cosgrove roared.

“Hear you, Coach,” Layne heard Tripp reply.

“Good, bench,” Cosgrove jerked a hand at the bench and Tripp didn’t hesitate to take a seat. He bent to snatch up his helmet, head bowed, his eyes still to his cleats, he turned his back on the bleachers as fast as he could and sat his ass down.

“Layne, sweetheart,” Rocky whispered and he looked down at her to see her head turned toward Tripp. She must have felt his gaze because it quickly moved back to him.

He stared in her eyes and he tried to find a reason not to jump the fence and rip Coach Cosgrove’s head off.

“Layne, dude, you good?” Morrie was close too and he put a hand to Layne’s shoulder.

“I wouldn’t touch me now,” Layne said quietly and Morrie’s hand disappeared instantly from his shoulder.

“Morrie asked if you’re good, Tanner,” Colt said softly.

“Yep,” Layne lied.

His friends stayed close and so did Rocky, Rocky doing it by moving to his side, wrapping her arms around him and putting her head to his shoulder.

This felt good, it felt very good. But it didn’t strip a single layer off the thick wall of fury fencing him in and he stayed still, not moving a muscle until halftime when Rocky got his attention by pressing into him.

He looked down at her only after he lost sight of both of his boys after they entered the locker room.

“You want a soda?” she asked quietly.

“Nope,” he answered.

“Coffee?”

“No.”

“Cocoa?”

“No.”

“You okay?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Oh boy,” she whispered then he felt her body jolt against his, her arms moved from around him and she stepped away.

He saw her looking around him and he heard Silvestri mutter, “Oh fuck,” when he turned around and saw Gabby, Stew trailing, bearing down on him.

“You gonna quit snugglin’ with your girlfriend long enough to do something about that,” she jabbed a finger at the field, “Tanner?” she leaned into him antagonistically, “hunh?”

“Not now, Gabby,” Layne murmured.

“Tripp’s so damned excited that his Dad’s bangin’ High and Mighty Raquel Astley, he doesn’t have his fuckin’ head in the game!” she screeched.

Before Layne could say a word or find a reason why he shouldn’t rip the head off his kids’ Mom, Rocky spoke.

“I’m sorry,” she said immediately, “I shouldn’t have –”

“No you shouldn’t!” Gabby shrieked.

“I’m thinkin’ you need to calm down, woman,” Joe Callahan suggested in a way that sounded more like a warning.

“It’s okay, it was my fault,” Rocky stated.

“Damn straight it was,” Gabby snapped.

“No, it wasn’t,” Layne said, his voice sounding like a rumble and his eyes cut to Gabby. “I’ll deal with Cosgrove.”

“Oh yeah? How?” Gabby shot back.

“Don’t worry about it and don’t,” he hesitated searching for control, “ever,” he hesitated again, losing the control he found and searching for it again, “speak to or about Rocky that way again. Do you hear me?”

“You have got to be jokin’!” Gabby shouted. “She’s outta her husband’s house a month and you’re in her pants!”

Layne took a step toward her, Gabby took a step back, Stew, he noted with disgust, took two fucking steps back leaving Gabby shifting in the wind and both Colt and Cal came up to his sides.

“Your situation is precarious, Gabby,” he informed her, his voice low, he was aware they had an audience and that audience was listening. “Do not push me. Understand?”

“Go to hell, Tanner!” she snapped.

He turned away from her and walked back to Rocky. Then he slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. He felt the tension ebb out of the boys around him and he knew Gabby and Stew had retreated and only then did he tip his head down to see she was staring at the top of the fence and biting her lip.

“Sweetcheeks,” he called quietly and watched her head tilt back. When he caught her eyes he noted, “One ex down, one to go, we’re halfway there.”

She stared at him for a second.

Then she gave him the dimple.

There were a fair amount of people milling about after the game and Layne knew why.

Both Jasper and Tripp were going out for pizza, Jas responsible for getting his brother home so there was only one reason Layne would remain after the game.

Therefore Colt, Morrie and Cal remained too and Rocky’s Dad, Dave and his cronies Ernie and Spike were also sticking close.

So did Gabrielle, but Stew was nowhere to be seen.

Some of the crowd was waiting around to see what Layne would do. The rest of them were likely there to give moral support or, perhaps, set up the ladder for Layne to climb in order to swing Cosgrove’s noose around a stout branch.

The folks in that town liked their football but they also looked after their kids. Cosgrove’s abuse of Tripp had been widely witnessed and an unpopular man struggling to keep his footing in that community had not only slipped, he’d come crashing to the ground.

Most of the players had come out when Jasper and Tripp came out together. When they did, Layne saw that Jasper was so close to his brother, he was crowding him but Tripp didn’t notice. His mind was elsewhere. He’d stayed benched the second half and he’d been humiliated in front of his friends, his schoolmates and half the town.

Jasper saw Layne first and he started with surprise, his eyes darted to his Mom and then came back to Layne.

Gabby closed in on Tripp.

“You okay, honey?” she asked.

Tripp took a quick step away from her, not wanting to be mothered, not anytime at fourteen years old and especially not then.

“Yeah, Mom,” he muttered.

Layne approached but Rocky stayed clear, standing in a huddle with Josie Judd, February Colton, Violet Callahan and Violet’s extremely pretty daughter, Keira.

The minute Layne met Keira between the third and fourth quarters when the women had decided that they’d given it enough time, they’d borne down on Rocky and infiltrated the boys long enough to pull Raquel aside for a quick, voices lowered discussion before they all returned and hung out with the men, Layne could see why Jas had been hooked.

He stopped close to Jasper, Tripp and Gabby and said, “Good game, Jas. Tripp, sweet tag and great run, Pal.”

Tripp tipped his head back just enough to look at his father under his brow and then bent his neck again.

“Great catch, kid,” Cal said, coming up to Layne’s side, Tripp shrugged, not looking at him then Cal went on. “You Jasper?”

“Yes sir,” Jasper replied.

“Layne says you’re goin’ for pizza,” Cal remarked.

“Yeah,” Jasper answered.

“Keira wants to go. You think you could get her there, bring her home?”

This was something Keira had finagled during the fourth quarter (giving cause to her hanging out with the adults) through a girl gang ambush of Cal that included her mother, Feb, Josie and Rocky while Cal stood, arms crossed on his chest, his eyes to the heavens. Rocky had not been wrong. Keira Winters definitely liked Jasper and it was evident she was tired of waiting around for him to make his move. Layne knew this because, during her finagling, she and her posse had succeeded in enlisting Cal for the maneuver he’d just delivered.

Tripp’s head jerked around to look at his brother but Jasper looked toward Rocky, Keira and the other women then he looked back at Layne.

“Why’re you hangin’ around, Dad?” he asked.

Layne didn’t delay in replying. “Waitin’ for Coach.”

Tripp’s body got tight and Jasper’s face got hard before he looked at Tripp then to Cal then to Keira.

Then he yelled, “Hey Keira, can you wait a sec for pizza?”

“Yeah,” Keira shouted back.

“Cool,” Jasper yelled in return.

“Jas, dude, what’re you –?” Tripp began.

Jasper interrupted him. “Waitin’ with Dad.”

“But –”

“Waitin’ with Dad,” Jasper said more firmly and Tripp looked to Layne.

“Dad, it wasn’t that –”

“It was, Pal.”

“But –”

Layne leaned into him and got in his face. “No one puts his hand on my boy. Not like that. Get me?” Tripp looked uncertain and Layne repeated, “Get me?”

Tripp stared him in the eyes, heaved a sigh, nodded once and muttered, “Got you.”

Jasper and Tripp stayed close, so did Colt, Morrie, Cal and Gabby as well as the milling crowd. Finally, Cosgrove left the locker rooms.

Layne moved right in, Cosgrove saw him and lifted a hand.

“Don’t need this Tanner, those boys are my boys on the field.” And he moved to walk by Layne but Layne got in front of him and stopped him with a palm flat on his chest.

Cosgrove looked down at Layne’s hand, his face got red and his head shot back but before he could say a word, Layne removed his hand and spoke.

“You got this weekend to come up with a good excuse to tell the School Board when they investigate the formal complaint I’m lodging first thing Monday morning.”

“Those boys are mine on the field,” Cosgrove clipped.

“I agree, to coach, to motivate, to teach, to train. I get discipline. What I do not get and will not tolerate is you takin’ out your frustration that you will not live your dream through your kid by puttin’ your hand on my kid in anger.”

Cosgrove’s eyes narrowed. “Who do you think –?”

“I think I’m a man who watched another man slap and shove my son with such force, he had no choice but to physically retreat.”

“He was padded!”

“Yeah, but I counted, Cosgrove, you hit him seven times. Seven times for lookin’ into the crowd. He just tagged a pass most college kids can’t tag, ran over forty yards and you hit him seven times for smiling into the crowd.”

“He was padded, Tanner!” Cosgrove bellowed.

“Good luck with that at the School Board hearing.”

“I do not need this shit,” Cosgrove muttered and moved to pass him, Layne moved to block him and Cal and Colt flanked him.

Cosgrove looked around the men, all three taller, leaner and fitter than him and halted.

Then his eyes narrowed and his voice dropped low. “Don’t cross me, Tanner. That same School Board is lookin’ for reasons to lose your new girlfriend and, you get in my face, I’m thinkin’ I might find some.”

Layne pulled in breath to control his anger.

“Maybe we should give him a shovel,” Morrie, standing behind Layne, suggested. “It’ll make him diggin’ that hole he’s diggin’ a whole lot easier.”

Cal chuckled but Layne stared in Cosgrove’s eyes.

“You do not wanna take me on,” he said quietly. “I’m givin’ you good advice, Coach, you do not wanna take me on.”

Then before Cosgrove could reply, Layne turned, saw Jasper was close to Morrie, his eyes on his old man.

“Go get some pizza, Bud, yeah?” Layne ordered.

Layne stared at his Dad as he said slowly, “Yeah.”

“Good game,” Layne muttered, stopped himself from clapping Jasper on the shoulder and walked by him to Tripp who was standing with Gabby.

Tripp he slapped on the shoulder, his fingers curling around, he gave his son a few gentle jerks.

Then he said, “Go have fun, Pal.”

“Okay, Dad,” Tripp whispered, looked at Layne for three beats then peeled off and followed Jasper who was walking side by side with Keira out of the grounds.

Layne looked around and, still not spotting Stew, he asked Gabby a question he really did not want to ask.

“You need a ride home?”

“I’m good,” she said softly and the way she spoke made Layne focus on her. “Wish they had that all their lives, Tanner,” she went on and Layne felt his neck muscles contract before she finished on a whisper. “But it’s good they have it now.”

Then she hurriedly turned and just as hurriedly walked away.

Morrie clapped him on the back as he walked by, Layne tipped his chin up at Cal and Colt as they made their way passed him toward their women and he gave Dave, Ernie and Spike the high sign which made Dave nod and all of them begin to move away while Rocky approached.

“How’d that go?” she asked, her eyes going beyond him, indicating she was referring to the showdown with Cosgrove.

“I’m not thinkin’ good,” he replied and she got close and bumped him with her shoulder.

“Tell me over pizza,” she invited. “All this talk about pizza and I’m starved. I think it’s my turn to treat.”

He looked down at her to see she was talking in a light way but her eyes were intense, studying him and trying to read him without showing she was.

“Sweetcheeks, we got two pizza places in this ’burg and both of ‘em will be crawling with kids.”

“We’ll get Reggie’s, take it to Merry’s.”

That sounded like a plan.

“You’re on but I’m buyin’,” he said, turning and throwing an arm around her shoulders, pointing her to the exit.

“It’s my turn,” she repeated, sliding her arm around his waist.

“Baby, you just put down first and last and a deposit. I’ll get pizza.”

She walked one foot crossing in front of the other so her weight pressed into him, taking them both off stride and he remembered she’d do that too, all the time, just to horse around when they’d walk close together.

That new bullet scored through his gut but he was able to handle it when she yielded.

“Okay, Layne, you’ve convinced me. You’re buying.”

“Let me get this straight,” Rocky started, sitting cross-legged facing him on Merry’s couch. “Stew Baranski is screwing over your ex-wife; I’m getting divorced from a cheating asshole; I just took on an apartment that costs about double what I can afford if I have to live on my own salary; Coach Cosgrove, who’s a jerk all the time, by the way, not just tonight, has thrown down, threatening to get me fired; you’re lodging a formal complaint against him on Monday; and you and I are faking a relationship in order to uncover a dirty cop who, nearly seven weeks ago, almost got you killed.”

Layne, lazing back into the corner of Merry’s couch, his feet on the coffee table next to the closed box that contained the remains of a decimated pizza (when Rocky said she was hungry, she did not lie and he made a mental note for the future that a concession stand hotdog would not cover it for Roc), replied, “That’s about it, sweetcheeks.”

She listed to the side and rested her head on the top of the couch, muttering, “We’re fucked.”

He grinned. “We’ll be fine.”

“You keep saying that.”

Layne kept grinning. “I keep sayin’ that because we’ll be fine.”

Rocky closed her eyes and sighed.

Layne lifted a leg and nudged her knee with his shin before returning his foot to the coffee table.

Rocky opened her eyes.

“Cosgrove got reason to be cocky?” he asked quietly.

She looked over his head then back at him.

“Let’s just say that I don’t adhere entirely to the School Board approved curriculum.”

His grin got bigger as he muttered, “Baby.”

She lifted her head from the couch.

“It’s boring, Layne, and the kids don’t learn shit. If they get Halsey, the ones who want the grades do the work but they don’t get anything out of it. The ones who don’t care, I kid you not, they sleep. They sleep through his class. Literature is art and art is about passion, it’s about drive, it’s about beauty. How can you slide through a semester of that and not be moved by it?”

Layne watched her and he knew this was dangerous territory. He knew it by the light in her eyes, the passion, the drive, the beauty of it and he was moved by it. He was moved that even after eighteen years, when she had that same light in her eyes when she was studying to be a teacher, it hadn’t dimmed in the slightest. And he didn’t need Rocky to move him that way. She was moving him enough.

Even knowing that, he didn’t do a fucking thing about it.

“Do what you do and fuck ‘em,” Layne advised.

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered, reaching out to grab her bottle of beer, she brought it back, took a pull, dropped her hand and then her eyes went back to him. “You didn’t just pay first, last and put down a deposit on a luxury apartment tonight.”

“They won’t fire you,” he assured her.

“No? I’ve worked for that school for ten years, Layne, and I’ve been hauled in front of the School Board four times.”

“Why?”

“Uptight, ignorant parents pissed about shit they don’t understand. Do you know, I had a complaint lodged against me because I make the kids memorize Poe’s Annabelle Lee and some parent thought ‘sepulcher’ was a sex palace?”

Layne burst out laughing.

“No joke!” she shouted over his laughter. “They thought it was about underage sex!”

Layne forced himself to quit laughing and looked back at her. “How could they think that?”

“I was a child, and she was a child, in this kingdom by the sea; but we loved with a love that was more than a love – I and my Annabelle Lee,” she quoted, those words struck deep, all humor fled and Layne stared at her as she went on softly. “It’s the most beautiful, bittersweet, sad love poem ever written, Layne. When I first introduce it, I take them to the choir room, which is soundproofed and has no windows. I turn out the lights, light candles and make them put on blindfolds and I recite it to them, shutting out everything and making them hear the words of a man broken when he lost his bride.” She closed her eyes. “But our love was stronger by far than the love of those much older than we, of many far wiser than we, and neither the angels in heaven above, nor the demons down under the sea, can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful Annabelle Lee.” She shook her head and opened her eyes. “Sometimes,” she whispered, “Even the boys cry. I even get through to the boys. I’m teaching beauty, Layne, how can that have rules?”

“Teach how you teach, Rocky,” he said quietly. “You don’t like their rules, break ‘em.”

She stared at him and she did this a long time before something unpleasant passed across her face and she looked to the side, hiding her expression from him.

“Roc,” he called.

“You know,” she told the wall, her voice quiet. “Jarrod always told me to do what they say, play by their rules. He never got what I was trying to do. He never told me to break the rules.” She looked back at him. “Eventually, I quit talking to him about it. It annoyed him that I didn’t listen. He knew so much more than me.”

He knew by her face and the tremor in her voice that this was bigger than her husband cheating on her. This cut deeper than infidelity.

“He knew more than you?” Layne asked.

“Well, yes, of course, Layne.” Her tone suddenly held the sharp edge of sarcasm. “He’s a surgeon. A medical doctor. He’s nearly a decade older than me and he’s had at least that much more schooling than me. He’s from the city, not a cowtown. His family lived in Paris for three years. He speaks fluent French. Of course he’d know more than me.”

The bastard made her feel small. Stupid and small.

Christ, but he was going to enjoy getting in that guy’s face.

“I take it Jarrod’s problem wasn’t just that he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants but he wasn’t much fun at home either,” Layne remarked.

“No,” Rocky answered on a whisper, her eyes glued to his. “He wasn’t much fun at home.”

They both fell silent and held each other’s eyes and Layne knew she was thinking the same thing he was thinking.

They had fun at home. Even when they were fighting, they had fun. They were young, they were in love, they had fantastic sex, he made decent money, she had a bright future, they both weren’t afraid to work hard, they got along and when they didn’t they fought clean, they made each other laugh and life was just fucking good. He had never, not once when they were living together, dreaded going home. When work was done or when he’d be heading home after drinks with the guys or doing an errand, he looked forward to going home to Rocky.

And now he knew she felt the same.

Slowly, his body tensed with expectation, and, fuck him, anticipation, as she began to lean toward him, saying, “Layne –” when they heard a key scrape the lock and she sat back and twisted her neck to look at the door.

Fuck!

His eyes went over the back of the couch to see Merry walk in.

“Sorry,” Merry said, closing the door behind him. “Saw your truck, brother, but to get to my bed, I gotta walk through this room.” He walked to the dining room table and tossed his keys on it, finishing with, “Hey Roc.”

“Hey Merry,” she replied and Layne looked at his watch.

It was nearly midnight and he needed to get his ass home, not just getting the fuck away from a Raquel Astley with passion in her eyes, or pain, but because his sons’ curfew was midnight and he needed to make sure they didn’t break it.

He lifted his feet off the coffee table and pushed up, muttering, “Gotta go.”

Merry was shrugging off his leather jacket. “Don’t mind me. I’m wiped. I’m goin’ straight to bed.”

Layne rounded the couch as he heard Rocky get up. “Gotta be home for the boys.”

Merry had wrapped his jacket around the back of a dining room chair and his eyes came to Layne.

“Heard the ‘dogs won,” he remarked.

“Yep,” Layne replied, coming to stand a few feet from Merry.

“They got talent this year,” Merry noted.

“Yep,” Layne agreed.

Merry’s eyes grew sharp. “Heard about Tripp, big man.”

“Figured that was makin’ the rounds,” Layne stated.

Rocky burrowed into her brother’s side until he slid an arm around her shoulders and she did this whispering, “It was bad, Merry.”

Merry looked down at her upturned face and nodded then looked back at Layne.

“You gonna do somethin’ about that?” he asked.

“Formal complaint,” Layne answered.

Merry shook his head, mumbling, “That isn’t what I’d do.”

No, Layne knew, that wasn’t what Merry would do. Merry had control, just not very much of it.

“There are times, man, when you gotta play it smart. This is one of those times,” Layne replied quietly.

Merry’s eyes fell to Layne’s gut, showing Layne they’d both learned the lesson about playing it smart. Then he looked back at Layne and nodded.

Then he said, “Welp, gotta hit the hay.” He leaned down and kissed the top of his sister’s head and after he did, she tipped her head back and grinned at him. He gave her shoulders a visible squeeze, let her go, walked to Layne, clapped him on the shoulder and then walked down the hall, saying, “’Night.”

“’Night, Merry,” Rocky called.

“Later,” Layne said and headed to the door.

Rocky followed him.

Merry had a two-bedroom condo. It wasn’t the greatest condo, it wasn’t shit. At his age, even after the divorce where he let his ex have the house, he could do better. Then again, he had an Excursion, a speed boat, a Harley, a timeshare in Florida and a taste for expensive whisky. Unlike Rutledge, to have expensive toys on a cop’s salary, Merry had to juggle and, sometimes, make sacrifices.

Layne opened the door and walked out into the cold. Rocky held the door open then moved to stand with a shoulder against the jamb, the door mostly closed, she’d wedged herself between them and her eyes were looking up at him.

“I’m sorry about Tripp, Layne,” she said gently.

“He’ll be okay,” Layne replied and she nodded.

“Thanks for helping with the apartment,” she said.

“Not a problem.”

Her eyes slid to the side and he watched her thinking.

He should say goodnight and get the fuck out of there. They didn’t need to go where they were heading tonight. They needed to stay focused. Both of them. They had what they had and then it went bad. That was a long time ago. He couldn’t get caught in the memories. The good times then and the way he was finding she was now didn’t change the fact that she’d turned her back and walked away and didn’t explain why. She’d torn out his heart and shattered his world. He didn’t see video of her taking it from the front and back but that would almost make it better, at least that was a reason.

“Even with all the dramas,” she broke into his thoughts, “it was a nice night, Layne.”

“Yep,” he agreed, finally got smart and drew a line under it, “later, Roc.”

Her face changed and he blocked reading it before she cleared her expression and nodded. “’Night, Layne.”

He turned and walked away, hearing the door click behind him and thinking any other night spent like that with any other woman, he would not be walking away, at least not until after breakfast.

But Raquel Merrick Astley was not any other woman.

He jogged down the stairs, walked to his truck and went home to his boys.