Golden Trail

Chapter Eight You Fit

“Do you get it?” Rocky whispered in his ear.

He was on top of her, still inside her, all four of her limbs wrapped tight around him, skin against skin, her body soft underneath him.

“Get what, baby?” he whispered back.

Her limbs squeezed.

“Why I left you?”

Layne’s eyes opened.

He was on his stomach in his bed in his dark room.

He rolled to his back, muttering, “Christ.”

His back was to the weight bench, feet to the floor, he cocked his elbows, taking the weights down then, on an exhale through his teeth, Layne pushed them up.

Tripp came out of his room and Layne’s head turned to the side. He saw his son scratching his ass and shuffling to the bathroom.

“Hey Dad,” he mumbled.

Layne cocked his elbows, “Hey Tripp,” then he pressed the weights up.

He heard the bathroom door close.

Showered, shaved, Layne stood at the island watching Tripp sitting opposite him eating his fourth donut, his eyes across the room on the TV. Blondie, Layne knew even though he couldn’t see her, was lying at the foot of Tripp’s stool licking up powdered sugar residue that fell from Tripp’s donut onto the floor.

Layne held his cell to his ear and heard for the third time that morning, “You’ve reached Rocky’s voicemail… leave me a message.”

He flipped his phone shut and muttered, “Fuck.”

Tripp’s eyes came to him. “What?”

“Nothin’, Pal.”

Layne looked at the clock over the microwave. It was ten after ten. They were supposed to be at her old place at ten. She was supposed to be at his house at twenty to ten. She had the boxes in the back of her Merc, they were taking the Suburban.

She didn’t show.

Layne tagged his keys off the counter and told Tripp, “I gotta get to Rocky’s. We gotta do something at her old place. I don’t know how long it’ll take but I’ll be home by the Colts game.”

Tripp was still looking at him and asked, “Where’s Melody?”

Layne had started to turn to leave, he stopped, looked his son in the eye and answered, “She’s gone, Tripp.”

Tripp kept looking at him. Then he asked, “Gone gone?”

“Gone gone,” Layne confirmed.

Tripp nodded and murmured, “I liked her.”

“I did too, Pal.”

Tripp nodded again, swallowed and looked at the TV. Then he whispered, “Like Rocky better.”

“Tripp –” he started to warn.

Tripp’s eyes came fast to him. “I know what it is but you two fit.”

Layne stared at his son, thrown. “We fit?”

“She does what she believes in too,” Tripp explained.

“What?” Layne asked softly.

“All the work you do for people. Dina Kempler’s Dad, he was a jerk, her Mom couldn’t get rid of him, jackin’ her around all the time even though they’re divorced and you helped. She told me. She told me her Mom found out about you because you helped her Mom’s friend too. You’re practically famous at my school. You don’t think kids talk?”

He knew kids talked he just didn’t know Dina Kempler’s Mom Kim would talk to her daughter about that.

“Tripp, don’t –”

“Mrs. As… I mean Rocky, she spends a whole week making kids listen to rock music. She says lyrics are poetry. She says some of the greatest storytellers are rock stars. They tried to get her to stop but she fought and she won and they still listen to music. It’s not the same but it is. You know? You fit. Melody sells clothes. Her clothes are sweet and she’s nice but you and Melody, you don’t fit.”

Layne studied his son knowing his boy was sharp but thinking he’d vastly underestimated him.

But he couldn’t have this conversation now. Not that he ever wanted to have it but he couldn’t have it now.

“I gotta get to Rocky, Pal,” Layne said quietly.

After he said those words, Tripp eyes stayed locked to his.

Then he grinned. “Tell her I said hi.”

Yes, he’d vastly underestimated Tripp.

Layne grinned back and headed to the garage.

He was about to pull out when Jasper came tearing through the garage door wearing a wife beater and sweatpants that had been cut off at the knees, what he wore to bed. His hair was a mess, sleep still in his eyes but his manner seemed urgent.

“Dad!” he shouted and Layne put the truck in neutral and set the parking brake.

Jasper raced to the passenger side door, climbed up and settled in, slamming the door.

“God! Glad I caught you. I heard the door go up and –”

“Jas, I need to get to Rocky’s.”

Jasper nodded then said, “You were busy with work yesterday and I didn’t know how important this was so I didn’t want to bug you but I thought you’d wanna know.”

Layne felt his neck muscles contract. “Know what?”

“Know that before Tripp and I took off for the game, some guy came over. He was over for, like, one second but Stew gave him one of those yellow envelopes, the ones with thick paper, but it was small, like a normal envelope and it was stuffed full. The flap was folded in so I couldn’t see what was in it but it was stuffed full, Dad.”

Shit.

“You get a good look at this guy?”

Jasper nodded again. “You said, if I got a bad vibe, I should tell you and this guy, he was Mr. Bad Vibe.”

Fucking shit.

Jasper went on. “Tall, big pot belly, black hair, white dude. He was wearing sunglasses and it was dark, Dad. And he was wearing a lot of gold. Necklaces. A couple of rings. And he had piercings, the top of his left ear, both earlobes and the left side of his bottom lip.”

“You ever see him before?” Layne asked.

“Nope,” Jasper answered.

“Never, not anywhere?” Layne pushed.

“No, Dad.”

Layne nodded. “Good work, Bud.”

Layne could swear he saw Jasper’s chest expand.

Then Jasper asked, “Do you know him?”

Yeah, Layne knew him. He also knew that Stew bet the dogs and obviously wasn’t any good at it.

“Yeah,” Layne answered.

“Am I right? Is he Mr. Bad Vibe?”

Jas was right. Carlito was Mr. Bad Vibe and it wasn’t a good sign a loan shark was showing up at the house to make collections.

“You see this guy again, Jasper, you’re invisible, so’s your brother.”

“What about Mom?”

“Was your Mom there?”

“No, she was still at work.”

“You tell me if he ever shows and your mother is there, yeah? In fact, you tell me if you ever see him again at all, I don’t care where you are.”

Jasper nodded. Then he asked, “Will you…” he paused, “will you take care of it?”

Layne nodded. “Yeah, Jas. I’ll take care of it.”

“You’ll take care of Mom?”

Layne drew breath into his nose. Then he answered, “I’ll take care of your Mom.”

That golden light came into his son’s eyes and he whispered, “Thanks Dad.”

Jasper started to turn to the door but Layne caught him by calling his name and Jas turned back. “How was your date with Keira last night?”

Jas was playing it cool. During pizza, he’d asked her but waited until the next Saturday to take her out. Last night was their second date. That didn’t mean they didn’t text each other seven hundred times a day and hang together during pizza after subsequent games but they met there then Jasper took her home. He was playing it cool, his kid was good.

A slow smile spread on Jasper’s face and, watching it widen, Layne knew exactly how the date went.

Then, surprising him, Jasper shared. “She’s a nut. She cracks me up. She’ll do anything, say anything. But I reckon I gotta keep on my toes. When I say she’ll do anything and say anything, she’ll do anything and say anything.” Layne knew by the look on his boy’s face that this was in no way a bad thing. Jasper’s smile changed before he went on. “It’s good she hooked up with me, she such a nut, she needs a badass to take her back.”

Layne chuckled.

Even at his age, Jasper had serious experience with girls but Jasper had no idea what he was up against with Keira. Layne hadn’t spent a lot of time around Keira Winters but he figured his son was not wrong and therefore Joe Callahan’s life was likely a living hell with that teenaged spitfire in it. If Cal got it that Jasper was taking his girl’s back, Jasper wouldn’t have any problems with Cal. Fuck, Cal might even be grateful to share the load.

“When’re you goin’ out with her again?” Layne asked.

“I thought, if you’re cool with it, and Rocky’s cool with it, I could ask her over for pasta bake this week, sometime Rocky’s here. Keira totally digs Rocky. She thinks she’s the bomb. I’d score huge if I made her dinner when Rocky was here.”

He would score huge with that. The problem was, after what happened last night, Layne wasn’t certain Raquel Merrick Astley was even in the country.

Even so, Layne muttered, “I’ll have a word with Roc.”

“Thanks Dad.”

Then Jasper didn’t delay in throwing open the door and jumping out of the truck. But he treated Layne to a half wave before he disappeared into the house.

Layne stared at the door to the garage for a few beats after he lost sight of his son realizing that Jasper just shared, he’d done it without any coaxing or pushing and he’d done it openly.

Layne drew in breath then smiled as he backed his truck out of the garage.

He drove to Rocky’s, punching in the alarm code at the gate hoping they hadn’t changed it. They hadn’t. He drove to her unit and saw all three parking spots for apartment three were empty. He nevertheless swung into one, exited his SUV, jogged across the pavement and up the steps to her door. He pressed the buzzer and waited. Then he did it again. Then he knocked. No show, he didn’t even hear movement in the house.

Slowly, the tranquility he’d felt after his talk with Jasper fading, another less enjoyable feeling invading, he walked back down the steps, pulling his cell out of the back pocket of his jeans and he called Dave.

“Hello?”

“It’s Layne.”

“Well, hey there, son,” Dave greeted.

“Listen Dave, Roc and I were supposed to go pick up some shit from her old house. We got our wires crossed. I thought she was meeting me at my place but she didn’t show. She’s not at her place either. I figure she went over there already and Astley’s over there with his girl. Do you have the address?”

There was silence, then, “He’s over there?”

Layne bleeped the doors on his truck. “Yeah.”

“He was supposed to take off so she could do what she had to do,” Dave informed him.

“We ran into him at dinner last night and he decided he didn’t want to be so cooperative,” Layne explained.

There was more silence, then, quietly, “That guy’s a piece of work.”

“Yeah, Dave. Do you have the address?” Layne asked as he swung into the driver’s seat.

“One three three Greenbriar. The Heritage.”

“Got it, thanks,” Layne said and flipped his phone closed, started up the truck, backed out of his space and headed to The Heritage.

He’d never been to Rocky’s place but he’d been to The Heritage. He had a couple of clients who lived there. The development was exclusive, the lots large, the houses huge, the estates spread-out. The space of The Hermitage was vast but there weren’t a lot of homes in it. One couldn’t say that the ‘burg didn’t have its elite but there weren’t that many of them and even fewer who could afford a place on The Heritage. Most of the occupants of The Heritage worked and socialized in Indy, some of them even commuted to Chicago.

Layne didn’t have trouble finding one three three Greenbriar. He stopped across the street and looked at Rocky’s house. Like Merry said, it was on the manmade lake and it was a monster. He couldn’t visualize a Rocky, drinking beer, eating pizza, jumping up and down like a crazy woman when Tripp made his touchdown and telling her students rock stars were storytellers living in that behemoth. He could, however, visualize the Rocky of last night with that dress and those shoes living there.

One of the three garage doors was open and a shiny, silver Aston Martin was in the bay. Outside in the drive was a yellow Corvette, Marissa’s new toy that Layne’s searches had shown that Astley had bought for her just over four weeks ago.

Rocky’s Mercedes was nowhere to be seen and there were no other cars in the drive or on the street. Layne looked at the clock on his dash to see it wasn’t yet eleven. She said what she had to do wouldn’t take long but it had to take longer than an hour unless she went early.

He pulled out of The Heritage and went to his offices, opening them up, he fired up his computer and looked up Chip Judd’s address. He wrote it down, shut down his computer, locked down the offices and scanned the street when he went outside. Then he hit Mimi’s for a coffee and to check if Rocky was in there.

She wasn’t.

He swung by Josie Judd’s and saw no Mercedes, not on the street or in the drive. Layne then rolled by Colt’s, just in case she went to Feb or Violet.

No Mercedes.

His next stop was Dave’s. No Mercedes. Next was Merry’s. No Mercedes, not in the lot in front of Merry’s place and, gliding through the complex, not anywhere.

Layne swung into a spot in front of Merry’s unit and looked up at it. It wasn’t really even a condo, the doors opened to the elements. It was an apartment complex, maybe nicer than some, not others. They called them condos because you could purchase the units even though most were rented out by their owners.

Layne sat there thinking that, apparently, during the getting to know you again part of the operation, Layne had not gotten to know Rocky very well. He was out of leads.

Layne leaned forward and pulled out his phone. He scrolled to the second number down from his recent calls file and hit go.

He put the phone to his ear and practiced deep breathing as it rang.

“You’ve reached Rocky’s voicemail… leave me a message.”

“You get this, Roc, you call me,” Layne growled, flipped the phone shut, tossed it on the dash and headed home.

Layne lounged on his couch, his cell on the armrest, his finger tapping it.

Surrounding his feet on the coffee table was the detritus of a Sunday at home watching football with his boys. Empty chip bags. A bowl of drying out, spiced, once-melted yellow cheese. Microwave popcorn packets. Empty pop cans and beer bottles. Mostly empty boxes of cookies.

Tripp was upstairs at Layne’s computer doing homework.

Jasper was in the armchair at the left of the couch marathon texting Keira, his buds and half the population of Indiana.

It was after six o’clock, night had fallen and Rocky hadn’t phoned.

Layne made a decision.

Actually, he made three.

“Jas,” Layne called and Jasper’s head came up. “Got things to do. Tomorrow morning, I’ll give you money and you and Tripp need to swing by the grocery store after practice.”

“For what?” Jasper asked and Layne’s eyes swept the coffee table before going back to his son.

“For everything,” he answered and Jas grinned. “Pick this shit up before goin’ to bed tonight, yeah?” Layne indicated what shit he meant by dipping his head toward the coffee table.

Jasper sighed then nodded.

“Got another job for you,” Layne went on.

“What?” Jasper asked, not belligerent, asshole teenaged kid, just resigned, teenaged kid. He thought he’d scored more chores but he wasn’t shoveling attitude.

Progress.

Layne took his feet off the coffee table, put them on the floor and leaned his elbows into his knees, his eyes never leaving his son. “I need you to get me your Mom’s work schedule.”

Jasper straightened in his chair. “Why?”

Layne told him straight out. “’Cause I got two options with this showdown with Stew. I hit him at work, I got witnesses. I don’t give a fuck about that but that shit could get back to your Mom. I hit him at home, when your Mom is at work, I got no witnesses and it’s up to Stew whether he wants to share. I reckon he won’t want to share. I’m pickin’ option two, I don’t know when I’ll do it but it’ll help me out knowin’ when your Mom’ll be outta the house.”

Jasper stared at him awhile before nodding.

Layne nabbed his phone and pushed up from the couch, muttering, “Sooner the better, Bud.”

“Right,” Jasper replied.

On his feet, Layne looked down at his son. “Be smart about it, yeah? I don’t want her cottoning on.”

“I’ll be smart,” Jasper assured and Layne knew he would.

“I gotta go out. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’ll have my cell, you need anything.”

“Okay, Dad.”

Layne turned toward the kitchen saying, “Later, Bud.”

“Later, Dad.”

Layne walked to the kitchen shouting up the stairs, “Goin’ out, Tripp!”

“Okay Dad!” Tripp shouted back.

“You help your brother clean up the mess in the living room, got me?”

“Got you!”

Layne grabbed his keys, went to his truck and drove to Rocky’s.

The Merc was parked in a spot.

He swung the Suburban in beside it and took his time switching off the ignition, jumping down from the truck and walking up to her apartment. He did this in an effort to control his temper. Last night had not been good and Rocky had left in a highly emotional state which was worsened by the fact that she felt humiliated after taking that fall. Even though it was absolutely not cool she disappeared, there were reasons and Layne knew he needed to handle this situation with care.

He hit her buzzer and waited. It took awhile but the door opened two inches. Layne could see Rocky, hair back in a ponytail, through the shiny silver latch that secured the door.

Layne’s control on his temper slipped.

“Open the latch, Rocky,” he ordered.

“Layne, now’s not a good time. I’ve got papers to grade.”

His control slipped further.

“Open the latch,” he repeated.

“Really, Layne, I’m being serious. This is going to take all night.”

His control slipped even further.

“Open the fuckin’ latch, Roc.”

“I don’t think –”

He lost his hold on his temper.

“Okay, then step back,” he demanded.

Through the small space, he saw her eyes widen. “Why?”

“’Cause I don’t want you to get hurt when I kick open the goddamned door,” he gritted out.

She studied him and he saw she understood instantly now was not the time for a stare down. The door closed and immediately opened. Layne put a hand on it and shoved in, throwing the door to behind him so hard it slammed.

Rocky was retreating. Hair in that goddamned ponytail. Faded jeans hanging low on her hips and clinging in all the right places, a split in the left knee. A tight blue tee with the word “Butler” across the tits. An ace bandage wrapped tight around her right wrist.

The bandage should have served to remind him he should take a minute to calm the fuck down.

It didn’t.

He advanced and she kept retreating.

“Layne –” she began, lifting up her bandaged hand.

He cut her off. “We had plans today.”

She kept retreating, Layne kept advancing.

“I know but I changed my mind,” she told him.

He tilted his head to the side and backed her into her kitchen. “You changed your mind?”

“Yeah, I changed my mind.” She hit counter and pressed back.

Layne invaded her space and pressed in, putting a hand on the counter by either side of her waist, he tipped his head forward to look down at her.

“You think to tell me there was a change of plans?”

“I –”

“Maybe pick up one of the four times I called you?”

“Layne, it –”

“Call me back after I left a message?”

“I thought –”

“Where have you been all day?”

Her head jerked. “What?”

“Where have you been all day?”

“I… went somewhere. To think.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere, Layne!” she snapped. “Would you please move back?”

“Where… have you been… all day?”

“It’s none of your business, Layne, step back!”

Layne tipped his head deeper and got into her face. “Where the fuck have you been all day!” he roared.

“Step back!” she shouted.

“Rocky, we’re workin’ an operation and you do not fuckin’ disappear in the middle of a fucking operation!”

“As you can see, I was fine!”

“Yeah, but all day, I didn’t fuckin’ know that!”

“Now you do!”

He returned to his earlier subject. “Where have been all day?”

“Layne –”

“Tell me, goddammit!” he shouted.

“At Mom’s grave!” she shouted back and Layne’s body locked. “Step back!”

His voice had quieted when he asked, “You were at your mother’s grave?”

“Yes, I go there when I have to think. Now step back.”

He didn’t step back. He pressed forward.

“And what were you thinkin’ about Roc?”

She tossed her head, looked him in the eye and declared, “I’m quitting.”

“You’re quitting?”

“Yes.”

“Quitting what?”

“Our operation.”

“You’re quitting our operation,” Layne repeated.

“Yes,” Rocky hissed.

Layne scowled down at her then his eyes went over her shoulder and he stared at the black-tiled backsplash.

“Step back,” she demanded.

He looked back at her. “You can’t quit. You’re my cover.”

“I can. We both know that’s bullshit. You can do your thing without me providing cover.”

“Yeah, that was true two weeks ago. Now, since we’ve started this shit, the whole town’s in on it and you’re bonding with Rutledge, it isn’t true.”

“I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she answered.

“How sure, Roc?”

“Very sure, Layne. Now, I asked you, step back.”

“Tripp says hi.”

She went still and stared up at him, her face going pale.

Too pissed at that point to do anything but, Layne pushed it. “And Jasper wants me to talk to you about comin’ over when he makes pasta bake for Keira. Apparently, Keira thinks you’re the shit. And I know Jas thinks Keira is the shit. He wants to impress her and, he’s my boy, I want him to have what he wants.”

“Layne,” she whispered.

“You got us all in your snare, sweetcheeks, we’re bound up in it. You can’t cut us loose just because of whatever-the-fuck is goin’ on in that head of yours. This time, baby, with my boys in the mix, you can’t cut us loose and go your merry fuckin’ way because I’m not gonna let you cut us loose.”

“Layne,” she repeated on another whisper.

“You are not quitting. You are not backin’ out. I know you’re good at that, sweetcheeks, but I gotta disappoint you. This time you’re gonna see it through to the bitter fuckin’ end.”

He pushed away from the counter and went to her fridge, opening it, he saw two brown bottles of fancy-ass beer. He grabbed one and shut the fridge. He went to the counter and reckoned that she kept her utensils close to the fridge, an area where she’d prepare food, it made more sense not to have to walk far to get what she needed. He opened the drawer and found the bottle opener, he used it, flipped the cap on the counter, tossed the opener in the drawer and closed it with his hip.

Then he turned to her before taking a pull.

She was still pressed against the counter where he left her, her elbows back, the palms of her hands on the counter. Her eyes were on him and he didn’t allow himself to process the look on her face.

When he dropped his hand, he said, “You’ll need to stock decent beer, baby. Bud, Coors, Miller, bottles or cans, I don’t give a fuck.” He lifted his bottle. “This shit sucks.”

Then he walked by her and into the living room.

Two weeks and he saw that Raquel had transformed it. He didn’t even know you could get furniture that quickly. Couch against the back wall, deep purple color, deep-seated and cushiony, inviting. A chair in a dark gray with a big footrest in front of it, just as inviting. A big, black lacquered, square coffee table, papers spread all around, her kids’ work. A big-bowled wineglass, half-filled with red wine and some red pens amongst the papers. Candles here and there, all of them burning, making the place smell like berries.

He walked to some black lacquered shelves next to the fireplace where there were some books and a stereo. He belatedly noticed that music was playing. Rock ‘n’ roll but playing soft. He switched off the music, spotted the remote sitting at the base of a stylish lamp on an end table, also black lacquer. He walked to it, nabbed it, turned on the flat screen that was on a stand in the corner and discovered she’d already had cable installed. He found a game and stretched full body on her couch.

It was comfortable, the cushions soft, his body sinking in, fuck, he could sleep there. He grabbed a big toss pillow patterned in grays, purples and blacks, shoved it behind his head on the armrest and his eyes went to the game.

He was making a point.

Rocky missed his point.

It took her awhile but he felt her approach and, even though she wasn’t in his line of sight, he felt her presence when she came to stand beside the coffee table.

“Maybe you should go home,” she suggested quietly.

“Nope,” Layne replied, keeping his eyes on the TV, he took a sip of beer then dropped his hand and rested the bottle on his abs. “Rutledge lives in unit G, apartment one. I didn’t look when I drove in but, he’s out, he has to drive by your parking spots. He’s in, he can see my truck from his front window.”

She didn’t respond. He heard her move but didn’t look at her. Some minutes later, he saw her left hand reach for the glass of wine. His eyes slid to her and he saw her sitting cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, head down to the papers, a red pen in the fingers of her bandaged hand, her left elbow on the table, wineglass held high.

“What’s with the bandage, Rocky?” he asked.

She didn’t look up from her papers when she answered, “I’m fine.”

“That wasn’t what I asked, sweetcheeks.”

Her head turned to him and she put down her glass of wine. She wasn’t wearing makeup and it sucked but he couldn’t help but think he hadn’t seen her looking prettier since he got home.

“It was hurting last night,” she answered. “I woke up and my wrist was swollen. I went to the clinic first thing. They did a scan and said it was sprained. They bandaged it and gave me some pain pills. Nothing big. I’m fine.”

Then she looked back down at her papers.

Layne looked back at the TV, took another sip of beer and tried not to think of Rocky injuring herself in a desperate attempt to get away from him and Melody, waking up all alone with a swollen wrist, taking herself to the goddamned clinic, again alone, and being in physical pain.

He tried not to think of it but he fucking failed.

Minutes slid by and he heard her say softly, “I’ll come over, for Jasper.”

Layne kept his eyes on the TV. “Right.”

“Just tell me when to be there,” she went on.

“You got it.”

She fell silent.

More time slid by before she asked, “Have you had dinner?”

“Nope, but I had enough junk food watchin’ games with my boys to preserve my body until the end of time.”

She hesitated before going on. “Do you want something decent in your stomach?”

His head turned to her. “You’re hungry, Roc, eat. But I’m good.”

“I’m not hungry,” she whispered.

He held her eyes.

She looked to her papers.

Her thick ponytail had fallen forward, over her shoulder, curling around her neck.

Looking at it, Layne had the overwhelming urge to roll off her couch and pull the holder out of that ponytail then pick her up, take her back to her couch and press her body deep into it, under his, then bury his hands in her long hair then, after doing other things to her, burying his cock in her.

He didn’t want this urge but he had to admit he had it.

He lifted his beer, took another slug then rolled off the couch. He put the beer on an open space free of papers on the table. Her head tilted far back to look at him but he straightened, scanned her place and saw her keys on the counter.

He walked to them, grabbed them and when he turned toward the door, he saw her torso twisted to look at him.

“I’ll be back,” he muttered, left the apartment, jogged down the stairs and to his truck. He bleeped it open, went into the passenger side, pulled down the door to the glove compartment and nabbed his smokes. He jogged back, let himself in and walked directly to the balcony doors without looking at her, bending slightly to drop the keys on the table on his way. “I’m havin’ a smoke.”

He twisted the fancy-ass lock, noting, with some annoyance, that if someone managed to scale the wall to the balcony, not hard with tall trees on either side of it, they could break a window, reach in and open that lock. An exterior door like that should open only with a key. His eyes lifted, checking for security sensors and he saw them on the windows but not on the doors. Asinine mistake and shoddy work. No one would shatter those huge glass plates to breach the apartment, they’d go through the fucking door.

He set this aside to talk to her about later, pushed down the handle and stepped out on the balcony. He pulled the lighter out of his packet of smokes, shook out a cigarette, put it between his lips, cupped his hand around the lighter and fired up.

He slid the lighter back into the packet, set it on the railing, lifted his head and exhaled smoke, scanning her view and wondering what to do next.

One could say he had not handled that with care and they were in this for the long haul. He was sensing she definitely got where he was coming from but something had to give. They couldn’t go on like this. Firstly, he needed to know a lot more about her life and he didn’t want to know. He did, he admitted, but he also didn’t. But he had to keep her safe while this shit was going down and knowing the little he knew about her life, her friends and her schedule, that would be difficult. Secondly, they couldn’t work under this cloud. The air had to be cleared and he didn’t want to do that either.

He looked from the view to her. She was still looking down at her papers but she was holding her right wrist in her left hand and doing it gingerly.

Fuck.

She was in pain and she thought his attention was elsewhere. She didn’t do that when he was lying on the couch, she did it when he was outside. She was hiding it from him. She didn’t want his attention and she didn’t want it with the added reminder of how she hurt her wrist.

He looked back to the view. He should give her that play. He knew he should.

But he wasn’t going to.

He took another drag and prepared to flick the mostly unsmoked cigarette out into the landscaping when he saw movement.

He stilled, only half a moment, then he brought the cigarette to his lips and took another drag. He kept smoking as he pretended to scan the view, lost in thought, when he saw him. Mostly hidden by a bush on the top swell of a hill, a man with a camera snapping photos.

What the fuck?

Excellent positioning, the hill was high, he was looking right into Rocky’s apartment.

Jesus.

Layne finished the cigarette, flicked the butt out into the landscaping and made a decision.

He turned, his eyes going to each side of the windows as he opened the door. She had no blinds.

She was getting blinds.

He entered and her head came up.

“If you’re going to smoke, I have ashtrays. You can take one out with you.”

He didn’t answer and skirted the coffee table.

Her head went back and back as he got closer.

She kept talking, “I have garden furniture ordered from Violet at the Garden Center. It’ll be delivered –”

She stopped speaking when he bent double and put his hands to her pits, dragging her legs out from under the coffee table, he lifted her to her feet.

“Layne! What –?”

“We’re bein’ watched,” he mumbled right before his head came down and his mouth went to hers.

His hands went to her hips and he kissed her, long, hard and closed mouthed as she held onto his shoulders. Then he turned her, backing her into the couch, she went down and he went down on top of her.

“Layne,” she whispered, her fingers clutching his shoulders.

“Go with it, sweetcheeks, he has a camera,” Layne muttered against her lips, ignored her body going stiff under his, he slanted his head and kissed her again.

Her lips tasted like wine and he liked that taste. The longer he kissed her, even without tongue, the softer they got, the stiffness went out of her body and it melted into his. Because of that, he did something on instinct and it was something stupid. Stupid and dangerous.

He touched his tongue to her lips.

They opened instantly.

Heat flooded his blood and that blood rushed to his cock.

His tongue slid between her lips and the show was over. This kiss was real. It was real and it was fucking great. She tasted good and she kissed not in the hungry way she kissed when they were together. She kissed like in his dreams, giving, her tongue dancing with his, not dueling, her body relaxed under his, their legs tangling. He gave up her lips to taste her neck as one hand went down and under her shirt then up the soft skin of her back, skin he’d wanted to touch since he saw it last night. His other hand went to the band in her hair, tugged it out and then buried itself in her thick, fucking mane and after he did this, her hands did much the same.

He wanted her mouth again, took it and when he did she arched her back, pressing her tits into his chest, her soft hips into his hard ones and she moaned against his tongue.

He growled against hers.

Then he took the kiss further, made it deeper, wetter, harder, demanding more from her and she gave it.

He felt her nails drag his back and he groaned into her mouth, his lips sliding down her jaw and her head turned so her mouth was at his ear.

“God,” she breathed, “I forgot how good you tasted. Tobacco.”

At her words, his hand fisted in her hair and he held her head to kiss her again, his other hand moving in, over her ribcage and up, to cup her breast, his thumb rubbing hard against her tight nipple.

Her body jerked, then arched and she whimpered into his mouth.

Fuck but she was hot.

Too hot.

This was not fucking good.

He tore his mouth from hers, pressed his face into her neck and tried to order his thoughts. This was difficult with her breast in his hand, her body under his and her hand trailing his back.

He rolled to the side, partially off her, his hand leaving her breast to move to her waist and he said against her neck, “Rocky.”

Her hand kept moving for a second then froze.

He gave her a minute, giving the same to himself, and her hand slid out from his shirt to disappear entirely, her bandaged hand moving from his hair to rest lightly on his neck. She turned her head away.

He lifted his up. “You okay?”

She was looking at the coffee table but she nodded.

“Roc,” he called and she waited a few beats then righted her head to look at him.

Lips pink and bruised, cheeks flushed but her eyes were blank. He was lying mostly on top of her but she was hiding from him.

He decided to give her that play.

Then he sought to lighten the atmosphere.

“You’re a nut, sweetcheeks. Only you would think cigarettes taste good,” he joked.

“You smoked when we were together, Layne. You were my first kiss, my first everything. I’m conditioned to think they taste good,” she replied, her voice funny in a hard way, he took that shot to the gut and, while he recovered, she slid out from under him.

He got up on a forearm and watched her grab her wineglass and walk into the kitchen. She went to the bottle of wine opened on the counter and poured more in. She took a sip, her back to him, dropped her hand and stayed where she was.

He pulled in a breath, rolled off the couch and went to her.

She didn’t move so he fitted his front into her back and rested a hand on the counter in front of her.

“You gotta put in blinds, sweetcheeks.”

“Yes,” she agreed quietly.

“You also need to text me the number to the management office of this place. They need to send someone to put in sensors on your doors and change the locks. You’ve got vulnerability there.”

He felt her body stiffen in front of him and he put the hand not on the counter to her hip. If someone was still watching, they’d think this was a post-make out session, lover’s conversation.

“Rocky,” he called.

“I’ll text you the number.”

Layne pulled in breath and his fingers at her hip pressed in.

“We gotta talk about what happened on the couch.”

“Not now,” she replied instantly.

“Roc –”

“Not now, Layne, I have papers to grade.”

He dropped his mouth to her ear. “We got lots of shit to discuss, baby. What just happened, last night –”

She cut him off. “I’m not talking about last night.”

“You are. We are.”

She turned to face him and her head tipped back. “I’m not talking about last night, Layne.”

He moved into her, pressing her back into the counter. He took her wine from her hand and put it on the counter. Then he put his hand on her neck.

“The air has to be cleared,” he stated quietly.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“It does, Rocky.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“No. It. Does. Not,” she hissed.

He studied her then he relented. “I’ll let that go for now but only to let you get a pain pill.”

“I don’t need a pain pill.”

“I saw you holdin’ your wrist, sweetcheeks.”

“I know when I need a pain pill, Layne, I don’t need you to tell me.”

“You landed hard on it,” he reminded her and she surprised him by suddenly coming up on her toes and into his face, her face going tight with anger.

“Yes, Layne, I remember,” she snapped.

“Then take a goddamned pain pill,” he shot back, her anger tipping his.

“God!” she exploded. “Will you leave me alone?”

“No,” he returned. “You took all day to be alone.”

“Go to hell, Layne!” she hissed.

He leaned further into her. “That attitude you’re servin’ up, sweetcheeks, evidence we need to clear the fuckin’ air.”

Her shoulders shot straight and she tossed her hair, dislodging his hand so he put it to the counter beside her.

Then she said, “You want the air clear, okay. Here it is or, at least, what’s bothering me right now, bothering me enough to serve up my attitude,” she bit out. “See, last night was not good. You know it, I know it, we don’t have to go there. But, even you knowing how not good it was, you came here and got in my face. That wasn’t nice, you doing that when I know you know but I can take it because I deserve it. Then, on that couch, shit went down and you proved that you haven’t changed in eighteen fucking years.”

He felt his neck muscles contract and he forced his voice to a whisper when he asked, “What the fuck?”

“You had yourself a leggy brunette last night, baby.” Her voice was an insinuation mixed with deep sarcasm. “And as far as I know, she’s waiting back at your house and you still took what you could get from me on my couch.”

“Not that it’s any of your goddamned business, Raquel, but Melody left ten minutes after you did.”

“I don’t really care, you’re right, that’s none of my business.”

“You just threw it in my face, baby.”

She blew out some air before she said, “It’s not my business but you should also know I don’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth.”

“And why the fuck would you not believe me?”

“Because, Layne,” she ground out, “Jarrod replacing me so fucking quick wasn’t the first time I experienced that, was it? Gabrielle Weil was carrying around your son within weeks of me leaving our bed.”

Instantly, Layne’s back snapped straight and he stepped a foot away from her.

Then he whispered, “What?”

“And she was wearing your ring in less than a year.”

His neck muscles weren’t just tight, every muscle in his frame had turned solid.

“You are shitting me.” He was still whispering in an effort not to shout.

“No,” she returned immediately, “I’m not. So don’t come off all wounded ego that I broke your heart and left you to lick your wounds because we both know that’s not true. You got over me pretty fucking quickly and moved on. You acted to Dad and Merry and everyone like your world was rocked but it wasn’t.”

“You left me, Rocky, and after doin’ it, you didn’t get to tell me where to put my dick.”

“You are correct. My point is, you don’t get to throw in my face what happened when you don’t understand what happened and you moved on and got something better out of it.”

He lifted a hand to curl his fingers around the back of his neck, staring at her hard and asking, “Are you insane?”

“Jasper has been in my school for three years, Layne, and for a semester in my class every day. I’ve been around kids for a long fucking time. I know a good kid when I see him and I know you got something better out of it. Knowing Tripp only upped it.”

Fuck him, but she wasn’t exactly wrong.

She also wasn’t right.

Before he could reply, she finished. “I’m going to take a bath and you’re welcome to finish your game but, you should know, I’m not coming down here again until I know you’re gone. We’ll get through this because we have to but no more of that shit.” She pointed to the couch. “Whoever was out there was probably hired by Jarrod. What we did to him last night made him angry and he is not nice when he gets angry and I’ll bet, just about five seconds after he saw us walk in last night, he decided to play dirtier than he’s already been playing. And, head’s up, he’s been playing dirty even after putting her in my bed before there was time to change the sheets. But with our current situation, I’ll do my part, you do yours and we retreat back to what we’ve been doing the last two weeks. That was working. But this,” she waved her hand between them, “is as clear as the air is going to get. You don’t like it, tough. You’re just going to have to deal with it.”

Then she walked around him, out of the kitchen and kept her head bent to her feet as she walked up the stairs and landed her last. “Tuesday’s good for me for pasta bake and Keira. I’ll be at your house at six.”

Then he lost sight of her at the top of the stairs.

Layne kept his hand at his neck, clenching and unclenching, trying to release the tension in the muscles there as he stared at the top of the stairs.

Then his eyes fell to her wineglass and he resisted the urge to throw it across the room.

Then he turned on his boot and stalked out of her apartment, slamming the door when he went.