v Ashley - Golden Trail

“Yeah.” She was still whispering.

Layne took in a breath. Then he let it out.

Then he realized he’d made it through the minefield without getting blown to pieces, Rocky was safe and in one piece in his arms and he relaxed.

When he did, he noticed Rocky watching him with a look he couldn’t read on her face.

“You okay, baby?” he asked.

“I don’t really need to process my period anymore, Layne,” she said softly. “I’m kind of used to it by now.”

“You get embarrassed,” he told her honestly.

“I lived with two men, one of them a teenager, they avoided any of my period paraphernalia like the plague. And, newsflash, sweetheart,” she put her hand to his jaw, “you’re also a man.”

“Yeah,” Layne smiled, “but I don’t have any hang ups about that shit. I grew up alone in a house with a woman.”

Her mouth got soft.

“And I just want you to know you’re safe with me, always safe with me, with anything,” he told her.

Her lids lowered but not to half-mast, they closed and when they opened, her face was openly troubled.

“You’re worried I’m going to leave you,” she whispered, surprising Layne by taking it right to the point.

“Yeah,” he whispered back, his arms getting tighter around her, her hand slid from his jaw and both her arms closed around his neck.

She pressed into him and she did this deep, getting up on her toes so her face was close to his. He looked in her eyes and there was an intensity there, so strong it felt like her eyes were burning into his.

“Don’t let me leave you,” she whispered so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.

But he heard her, he not only heard her, he understood what she was saying and his chest seized, his gut twisted but his arms got even tighter.

“I won’t,” he whispered back, his voice was quiet too and thick.

“No matter what.” She was still talking low.

“No matter what,” he replied.

“Promise.”

“I promise, baby.”

She held his gaze then she asked softly, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“You told Marissa, when she found another man, not to tell him about her past.”

Oh fuck.

He wasn’t out of that minefield yet.

“Yeah,” he answered carefully.

“Honestly? Do you think, even if she finds a good guy, a really good guy, she shouldn’t tell him?”

“What are you really askin’, baby?”

“I’m asking about Marissa.”

“Then, if you’re askin’ about Marissa, yes.”

Her head moved back half an inch. “Because you think he’d think less of her? Judge her?”

“No, because she deserves to be loved for who she should have been, who she’ll be, not despite what was forced on her.”

He heard Rocky suck in breath and her eyes went back to intense and seeing it, he decided he’d managed not to get blown to bits yet again, he’d managed to hold her together and she’d made him promise never to let her go. He could do that. He could make her stay. He had her permission. Whatever it was, when they finally faced it, he had her permission to do what he had to do to make her stay.

Thank Christ that was done.

He also decided she’d had enough for one night, so had he, and it was time to move, the fuck, on.

So he lowered his head to take her mouth but her head went back another half inch and he stopped.

When he did, his eyebrows went up and Rocky whispered, “I need to go upstairs and get ready. My man’s hungry.”

And before he could say a word, she pulled out of his arms but she did it with both her hand trailing along his neck and down his chest before she turned and strutted up the stairs.

Layne watched until she was out of sight, going so far as to move to the foot of the stairs to enjoy the whole show.

Then he cleared away the pizza and beer, checked that the apartment was secured, turned out the lights, went upstairs and ate dessert.

“Layne,” she whispered, pressing into him, her fingers digging into his neck.

Layne opened his eyes, dipped his chin and saw her staring up at him, her eyes burning.

“Tripp.” She kept whispering, her body pushing into his, hard, like she wanted him to absorb her, her fingers digging into his tense neck so hard he felt pain. “Tripp,” she repeated, her voice scared.

* * *

Layne’s eyes opened and he heard his cell phone.

Rocky shifted and then came up on an elbow.

Another dream. Another fucking, shitty, fucking dream.

“Baby,” Roc whispered, “your phone.”

Layne rolled, putting a hand to the floor, reaching out with the other one, he yanked his jeans toward the bed and pulled his cell out. He pushed off the floor, rolling again to his back as his eyes slid across Rocky’s clock to see it was ten after eight.

They’d seriously slept in.

The phone stopped ringing by the time he settled back. He flipped it open and looked at his received calls, Rocky moving into him again.

Tripp. Tripp at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning. The boys had to be at the pool with the team but not this early.

Fuck.

“Who was it?” Rocky asked.

“Tripp,” Layne answered, scrolling down to his son’s phone number in his contact list, he hit go.

Rocky pressed closer as Layne listened to it ring, his body tense because of the time and because of a phone call from his son at that time and because of his fucking dream.

It rang twice before Layne heard Tripp saying in his usual Tripp way, “Yo Dad!”

Layne pulled in breath.

Then he let it out while replying, “Yo, Pal. You called. What’s up?”

“I was actually calling Rocky but she wasn’t picking up. I thought you might be with her.”

Rocky’s phone was likely in Rocky’s purse which was downstairs on the bar in the kitchen.

“Why’d you want Roc?” Layne asked, shoving an arm under Rocky, his forearm going up, his fingers beginning to play with her hair.

“Need to check somethin’,” Tripp answered.

“What?” Layne asked.

“Girl stuff,” Tripp answered.

Layne looked down at Rocky who was gazing up at him.

“Girl stuff?” he repeated and he watched his woman’s lips form a small smile.

“Yeah, see, she’s a girl and I need to ask her girl stuff,” Tripp said.

“What kind of girl stuff?” Layne asked.

“The kind where she’d tell me why Giselle wasn’t out for pizza last night and why she isn’t textin’ me. That kind. I figure she’s playin’ hard to get. She’s shy but she goes out for pizza, everyone does. I used to see her there all the time and we’ve been hangin’ the last coupla Fridays. She wasn’t out last night and she always returns my texts and she isn’t so… is Rocky there?”

While his son spoke, Layne’s body, which had relaxed, got tense then he sat up, taking Roc with him. She got tense against him and her arm didn’t leave his gut as she pressed tight against his side.

“Yeah, Tripp, Roc’s here but I wanna know about Giselle. When’s the last time you saw her?” Layne asked.

Tripp was silent and Layne felt Rocky’s body go still.

“Tripp,” Layne said carefully, “when was the last time you saw her?”

“At school yesterday,” Tripp stated quietly.

“Was she at the game last night?” Layne pushed.

“Don’t know,” Tripp answered and Layne looked at Rocky.

“You see Giselle at the game last night, baby?”

Rocky stared him in the eyes then shook her head.

Layne went back to Tripp. “You talk to her at school yesterday?”

Tripp hesitated a beat then answered, “No, she was bein’ weird. Kinda closed off. Avoiding me. I thought –”

Layne cut him off. “Text me her home number.”

“Dad, do you think –”

“Do it, Pal, now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tripp whispered.

“I got this covered, Tripp, okay?” Layne assured gently. “Me and Roc got this covered. It’ll be okay. I’ll call you but before you hang up, I wanna know you know your old man has this covered.”

“I know.” Tripp was still whispering.

“It’ll be okay.”

“Okay, Dad.”

“Text me the number.”

“Right.”

“Talk to you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, later, Dad.” He was talking quickly, in a hurry to get the number to Layne.

So Layne said without delay, “Later, Pal.”

He flipped his phone shut and Rocky moved slightly away from him but when he looked at her, her eyes were drilling into him.

“What?” she asked sharply.

“Get dressed, baby, I need you to call Giselle Speakmon’s parents. Find out if she’s actin’ okay.”

“Why?” Her voice was still sharp.

“She’s cut Tripp out. Sudden. She –” Layne started to explain but didn’t finish because Rocky was on the move. She threw the covers back, jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom.

Layne’s phone chimed in his hand. He flipped it open and saw Tripp sent him Giselle’s home number and cell number.

Layne got out of bed, grabbed his jeans, tugged them on and then followed Rocky to the bathroom only for her to come out before he got there. She skirted him and went directly to her underwear on the floor.

Layne turned to face her while he advised, “Sweetcheeks, brush your teeth, wash your face, make coffee. Settle, sort your head out before you make the call.”

“They got to her,” Rocky hissed while she tugged on her panties under her big nightshirt. Then her head flew back and her blue eyes pierced him. “We waited too long.”

“We don’t know that,” Layne replied and Rocky glared at him so he went on. “Settle, Roc, you need your shit together to make this call.”

“We waited too long,” she repeated, her face so filled with worry it was twisted.

“Raquel, settle,” Layne ordered low.

She stared at him. Then she walked to him, around him and back into the bathroom. He went to stand in the doorway and he watched her preparing her toothbrush.

“What do I say?” she asked then shoved the toothbrush in her mouth.

“In this scenario, you’re not Ms. Merrick, high school Lit teacher. You’re Rocky, Tripp’s Dad’s girlfriend, Tripp’s your boy and your boy likes their girl, their girl likes your boy. You’re equals. You’re makin’ a special dinner for a special occasion, it’s a surprise and you want Giselle there.”

She pulled the brush from her mouth and through the foam demanded to know, “What special occasion?”

“Doesn’t matter. Make it up. Anniversary. Birthday. They don’t know and won’t care. Then you lead the conversation another way, is Giselle okay? She was actin’ funny at school yesterday. You didn’t see her at the game last night. She and Tripp are tight, you and her are tight, but you’ve noticed a difference.”

She nodded, bent, spit, rinsed and wiped. Then she walked to him, snatched his phone from his hand and walked out.

Layne used the toilet, brushed his teeth with the toothbrush she’d given him the morning after the night Astley came to visit then he walked down to the kitchen to see the coffeepot filling and Rocky getting down mugs.

She didn’t even look at him when she whispered, “I want this done, Layne, all of this done. I want it to be you and me and the boys and Blondie and the worst thing that could happen is Jas burns the pasta bake.”

“I get that, sweetcheeks.”

Her neck twisted fast, her hair, that she hadn’t taken the time to put up, flying over her shoulder.

“You need to make that so, Layne,” she ordered.

He grinned at her because she was cute when she was bossy, because he loved it that her concern ran that deep about a kid she didn’t know all that well and it ran deeper because that kid meant something to his boy and because she ordered it because she knew deep down he could do it and that meant she believed in him.

“Aye, aye, captain,” he muttered, her eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth, probably to yell, but he lunged toward her, hooking her with an arm around her waist and stepped back, pulling her into his body. She tilted her head back and he looked down, speaking before she could get a word out. “It’ll be okay,” he assured her softly.

“They hurt her, I’ll kill them,” she whispered fiercely.

“It’ll be okay,” Layne repeated.

“It better be,” she snapped.

“If it isn’t, it will be, baby. Shit happens, you know that better than anyone, and people deal. We just gotta move now to make certain, if it’s already happened, nothin’ more happens.” She opened her mouth to speak but Layne kept talking. “I’ve given you a job, Roc. Quit fuckin’ around and do it.”