“Five guesses,” Layne replied. “And if one of them isn’t The Brendel, you lose.”
Rocky gasped then asked, “The Brendel?”
“Yep,” Layne fell to his side and she rolled into him, pushing him to his back with her body and then lifting her head and shoulders up but her hand was still at his neck.
“I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it. He either lives here or he’s visiting his girlfriend who’s got cabbage. He drove straight here, knew the gate code and I took a stroll, found his car and saw him close the blinds, a beer in his hand.”
She was silent a moment before she said, “He doesn’t have a girlfriend. Women can be pretty blind, Layne, especially when a man is that attractive, but if she goes to church and sees the way he is with those girls –”
Layne interrupted her. “You think he’s attractive?”
“Well… yeah,” she answered.
“Roc, evidence is suggesting this guy is into some sick shit. I saw him kiss a sixteen year old’s neck as his way of sayin’ good-bye.” He felt her body get stiff as he went on. “That shit’s not right.”
“I’m not saying he’s attractive, as in, if I didn’t lay claim to the hottest guy in the ‘burg, I’d go for it. I’m just saying, you know, technically he’s attractive in an ‘euw, gross, he’s into sick shit which is too bad because he’s cute’ kind of way.”
Layne burst out laughing, his arms went around her and he rolled her again to her back, this time he covered her torso with his, buried his face in her neck and asked, “You lay claim to the hottest guy in the ‘burg? Who’s that then?”
She slapped his arm lightly and whispered, “Shut up.”
He lifted his head and smiled at her shadowed face, “No really, I wanna know.”
“Stop fishing for compliments.”
He bent his neck and rubbed the side of his nose against hers, whispering, “You think I’m hot.”
“You know you’re hot, you always did,” she stated and he lifted his head.
“Yeah, and you always did too, that’s why you strutted back and forth to the window at Fulsham’s Custard Stand five times while I was sitting there, eatin’ my cone the first time I saw you, ‘cause you wanted some of this and got it by swinging your ass in my face.”
She gasped again. “I did not!”
“Sweetcheeks, you so did.”
“If I recall, I needed a napkin,” she shot back.
“Five of them?”
“It was a hot day! My cone was melting too fast for me to eat it.”
“Baby, when you weren’t struttin’, you were lickin’ and you took your time because that got my attention too.”
“I forgot how full of yourself you could be,” Rocky snapped.
“And I forgot about you lickin’ that cone,” Layne returned. “We’re goin’ to Fulsham’s tomorrow after dinner.”
“It’s closed for the winter,” she retorted.
“Then I’m buyin’ ice cream and cones at Kroger’s.”
“And I’m arranging to be fed intravenously until the end of my days.”
Layne burst out laughing again and rolled to his back, taking Rocky with him so she was on top. He knew she wasn’t seriously pissed and they were playing at bickering when she scooted down and settled with her cheek to his chest and her arm around him. He lifted a hand and slid it through her hair, then again, and repeat.
“Baby,” he called and she mumbled, “Mm?”
“The third time, you said, you needed Atticus,” he stated and her head and hand came up but only so she could rest her chin on her hand in his chest and look at him.
“What?”
“In class today, you said the third time you read To Kill a Mockingbird, you needed Atticus,” he felt her body get tight and he pushed, “when was that?”
“Layne –”
“When was that?”
“I don’t –”
His hand twisted in her hair and his other arm went around her, pulling her up his chest so they were face to face.
“When was that?” he repeated.
She was silent and this silence spread.
Then she whispered, “When I lost my real-life version of him.”
“Jesus,” Layne whispered back instantly.
She’d said, Atticus Finch is the most beautiful man I’ve ever met in print. He’s a good dad and he does what’s right, not what’s safe, not what’s popular. What’s right. He’s gentle. He’s smart. He’s strong. He’s decisive and he’s willing to follow through with his decisions, no matter what the odds.
“Jesus,” he repeated, still whispering.
Rocky took advantage of his immobility and moved, making her point by brushing her lips lightly against the scar beneath his shoulder then putting her cheek there, her arm around his abs, pinning him to the bed.
“You aren’t the same as him, of course, Atticus wasn’t a badass, or, if he was, he was a quiet one. But Atticus was about doing what was right and you were too and still are. And I missed you so, when I read it again, because I was missing you and I figured I’d never have anything like that again, it was all about Atticus because if I couldn’t have it, it felt good to be able to spend time with it in my head.”
She stopped speaking, Layne stared at the dark ceiling and Rocky’s arm tightened around him.
“You have it again.”
That came from Layne, his voice thick.
“Weird,” she whispered. “I thought it was perfect but somehow it’s better this time around.”
At her words, Layne was done and he communicated this by rolling her to her back, covering her with his body and kissing her hard and deep.
Rocky kissed him back. Then she did other things to him, he did other things to her and she ended up sliding out of bed, finding her nightshirt, going to the bathroom, cleaning up, coming back to bed where she pinned him and fell instantly to sleep.
Layne didn’t. Layne wanted to believe but he couldn’t. He’d believed before and his beautiful life was torn from him.
So tomorrow, he was talking to Garret Merrick even if he had to hunt the man down.
Chapter Twenty
Good Girl
“Dave, I’m bein’ serious here, it takes much longer for him to contact me, it won’t be good,” Layne in his chair behind his desk, swiveled to look out the window toward Main as he growled in his phone.
“I hear what you’re sayin’, Tanner, and all I got for you is work it out with Roc,” Rocky’s father replied.
“Bullshit,” Layne hissed. “And that’s the same bullshit Merry fed me.”
“Are things not good?” Dave asked.
“They’re fuckin’ great,” Layne answered.
“So maybe you’ll explain to me what your fuckin’ problem is,” Dave suggested, losing patience, just like Layne.
“They were fuckin’ great before too,” Layne reminded him.
“She’s not a girl anymore, Tanner.”
“Yeah, Dave, I lived and aged those eighteen years right along with Rocky. And a week ago, I also held her in my arms in the dark while she was beggin’ me to let in the light and felt a fear so disturbing, swear to God, I still feel it on my skin.”
Dave was silent and this silence was loaded.
Layne filled the silence. “I need to know what that shit is.”
Dave didn’t reply.
“I also need to know why both your kids hooked up with people they instantly knew they wanted to spend the rest of their lives with and then dropped them, without a word, without a reason and didn’t look back,” Layne went on.
“Roc looked back, son, you’re together,” Dave argued.
“I think you catch my point,” Layne shot back.
“You need to work this out with Roc,” Dave repeated.
“Jesus Christ, what’s the big fuckin’ secret?” Layne exploded.
Dave changed the subject by shifting blame. “Last time, you let her get away.”
&nbs
p; “Bullshit,” Layne clipped, with that incendiary comment, his anger, already primed, was about to detonate.
“You let her get away,” Dave reiterated.
“Wait, wasn’t that you who barred the door the fifty fuckin’ times I came over, wanting to talk to her?” Layne’s voice was sarcastic.
“Why are we talking about this? It’s water under the bridge, you both have moved on and found each other again,” Dave informed him, again shifting the point.
Layne brought it back. “Whatever that was that I felt comin’ from Roc was not history. It was real, it was now and it fuckin’ terrified her. She’s your daughter, man, does this not worry the fuck outta you?”
“No,” Dave stated instantly. “No, it doesn’t. Not anymore. Now that she’s got you.”
“God damn it, Dave,” Layne ground out.
“Can you explain to me why you won’t talk to her about this?” Dave asked.
“Are you serious?” Layne asked back.
“Deadly,” Dave snapped.
“All right, I lost her once and I do not get why, even though she explained it I’ll repeat, I do not get why. This time my boys are in the mix. They like her; they think she’s the shit. The longer they’re around her, the more they’re gonna like her. Then they’ll fall for her, like their old man, hook, line and sinker. The fact that I lost her once and the way you and Merry are actin’ tells me I gotta tread cautiously. You know the landmines you’re dodgin’, I have no fuckin’ clue and you’re not givin’ me shit. I’m walkin’ that minefield blindfolded and any second I can step on one of those mines. I’m stuck, Dave, I can’t move. I move; I could fuck this up. You think I’d do anything, anything, to fuck this up? To fuck this for me, for my boys, for Rocky?”
When Layne finished talking, he listened to silence.
So he prompted, “Dave…”
“Give me time,” Dave said quietly.
“What?” Layne asked.
“I need to think,” Dave stated.
“Jesus, about what?”
“About if this goes bad, I tell you and fuck it up with my daughter, how I’ll play that because, son, I don’t have eighteen years.”
Layne’s neck muscles got tight and he opened his mouth to speak but he heard Dave disconnect at the same he heard the beep that indicated someone walked through the door to the street.
Layne turned his head and looked at the monitor.
“Fuck me,” he whispered, flipping his phone shut and watching Astley’s girl toy, Marissa Gibbons walk up his steps.
He straightened from his chair and was two feet in the reception office when she opened the door and stopped, hand on the handle, staring at him.
Layne crossed his arms on his chest.
Marissa Gibbons swallowed then said, “Uh… hey.”
“Hey,” Layne replied with clipped courtesy.
“Uh… can we talk?” she asked.
“Talk,” he invited and didn’t move.
She stared at him, looked out in the hall, stepped into the office and closed the door. Then she turned back to him, her eyes skidding to the door to the inner office then back to his.
“Could we, uh… sit down?” she requested.
“No,” he denied.
She hesitated, glanced to the floor then back to him and asked, “Can I buy you a cup of coffee at Mimi’s?”
“No,” Layne repeated.
She stared at him and this lasted awhile.
Finally, she whispered, “You think I’m a slut.”
“Is that what you came to talk about?” Layne asked.
“Uh…” she began then faltered and stopped.
“Listen, Ms. Gibbons, I don’t think anything about you. You came here with somethin’ to say, say it. No disrespect, but I’m a busy man.”
“I had to do it,” she stated.
“Had to do what?” Layne asked, confused at her words, having started his day in Rocky’s bed and moved on to handing the photos of Stew over to Colt which meant Stew’s days of being a free man able to wear something other than a jumpsuit became severely limited. Then having this brilliant start diminish when he couldn’t find Merry anywhere and when he went back to The Brendel to see there were window cleaners and the gardeners raking leaves which meant he couldn’t stake out TJ Gaines’s apartment so he could find a safe time to break in. He was still pissed about his conversation with Dave and therefore he had zero patience left.
“The movies, I had to do them, I was –” she started to explain.
Layne cut her off. “Listen, I don’t give a shit about that. I been in this business a long time, people do shit, shit they gotta do. I get that. You didn’t have to fuck my woman’s husband though, not ever but especially not for the reasons you did it. That’s not cool.”
Her eyes brightened and she took three steps forward, saying, “But, I’ve heard about you and her, in the ‘burg people talk about it. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have had the chance –”
“Maybe you’re right,” he cut her off and the way he spoke, she stopped moving. “But you made her feel like garbage. You made her the chump. You caused her pain. I’m glad she’s rid of that asshole but I’m not down with that.”
“Then why?” Marissa asked. “I don’t get it.”
“Why what?” Layne asked back.
“Why didn’t you… why did you…?” She stopped and started again. “I got two hundred thousand dollars from him and he let me keep the ‘vette. Mr. Glover told me what to say, how to play it, he helped me get it.”
“Mr. Glover’s got a soft spot for people who’re tryin’ to turn their lives around,” Layne returned.
She stared at him and as she did it, her stare turned shrewd.
Then she whispered, “You do too.”
“Come again?”
“You have a soft spot too.”
Layne took a deep breath into his nose then exhaled. What he didn’t do was reply.
Marissa Gibbons took the hint, nodded, turned and walked to the door. She had it opened when she turned back and locked eyes with him.
“I didn’t tell Social Services, but he pimped me out too,” she announced and Layne felt his stomach turn and his chest squeeze but she couldn’t know that so she went on to say more shit he really did not want to hear. “Never, back then, when someone was pumping away at me and I didn’t know anything but that it hurt so bad, it hurt so bad that was all I could think about, never did I think I’d have soft sheets and a fancy car and beautiful clothes and live in a house right on a lake. I got that shot and you’re right, I didn’t think about her, I jumped at it. And you know what?” she finished on a question.
“What?” Layne prompted when she didn’t go on, why he did not know.
“It was the same thing, some guy I didn’t like pumping away at me, just in soft sheets and it didn’t hurt so bad because I’ve long since discovered the wonders of lube.”
“Ms. Gibbons –” Layne started.
“One day,” Marissa said over him, “I was suckin’ cock while someone was filmin’ and thinkin’ about this social worker I had. She was young. She was pretty. She had a big, honkin’ engagement ring on her finger. And she was nice, she cared. She got me in a good foster home that I stayed in until they moved out of state and I got lost in the system again because that social worker got married and changed jobs and I was fucked… again. And I was suckin’ cock and thinkin’ I’d rather be sitting at a desk, wearin’ an engagement ring and makin’ sure girls like me didn’t end up suckin’ cock. I started to find the path then lost my way.” She held his eyes and finished, “Then you and Mr. Glover helped me find it again.”
“Marissa,” Layne murmured and she lifted a hand and flipped her hair over her shoulder.
“You know anyone that wants a nearly new ‘vette, I’m sellin’,” she declared, turned and walked out, closing the door behind her.
One second elapsed, Layne muttered, “Fuck,” then he dropped his arms and followed her.
<
br /> When he was standing on the landing outside the door, he called, “Marissa.”
She was mostly down the stairs but on hearing her name, hand on the banister, she turned and looked up at him.
“Don’t lose your way again,” he warned and her face, which had filled with expectation, closed off.
“Right,” she muttered and started to turn away but stopped when Layne spoke.
“You start thinkin’ of goin’ that way, I’m not goin’ anywhere for awhile. You find me, I’ll buy you a Mimi’s and talk you out of it.”
And that’s when Layne witnessed it. What Astley saw in her. What he wanted. It wasn’t the hair, the similar features. It was her mouth getting soft, in doing so it changed everything about her. She didn’t speak with her eyes like Rocky did but it was close to what Rocky could give with just one look and it was nice.
“Soft spot,” she whispered, turned and part walked, part skipped down the rest of the steps and out the front door.
The door didn’t close all the way before a hand was on it, pulling it open and Layne saw Vera move into the doorframe, her head turned to watch Marissa walk away.
Layne looked to the ceiling and implored on a mutter, “Kill me.”
“Hi honey!” Vera called.
Layne looked down at his mother. “What are you doin’ here?”
“I’m so glad I caught you in the office,” she stated, walking up the stairs, carrying a white cup with brown cardboard wrapped around it, she stopped, looked at her cup and then looked up at him. “Do you want a coffee? I just stopped in to get one and then decided to try your office and –”
“Ma, what are you doin’ here?”
She started walking again, muttering, “Yeesh. Someone’s in a bad mood even after having a meeting with a pretty girl.”
Jesus. That shit was going to hit Rocky next.
“She’s an ex-porn movie bit player who just fleeced Jarrod Astley for two hundred K. She’s pretty but she’s not my type,” Layne informed her, his mother stopped two stairs down from him and her mouth was hanging open.
Then she whispered, “Porn?”
“Ex-porn. She’s straight now. So, now that we got that sorted, I’ll repeat, what the fuck are you doin’ here?”
“You say the f-word too much, Tanner Layne,” Vera snapped.