“Layne,” she said softly.
“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled, but quietly.
She tried to twist her bicep out of his hand and he let her but only to run his hand down her arm until it caught hers. He dragged her through his front door, the storm door, down the walk and straight to her car in the drive.
She drove a sporty, black, Mercedes coupe that probably cost a quarter of what he paid for his house.
Jesus Christ.
He walked to the driver’s side of the car and yanked it opened, using her hand to maneuver her around and in, her back between the door and the car and he moved in, pinning her there.
She tipped her head back.
“Layne,” she whispered.
“He don’t do it for you?” Layne asked low.
She blinked then asked back, “What?”
“Jarrod,” he snarled her husband’s name, watched her wince and thought that was telling. “He don’t do it for you? Don’t make you burn? Don’t make you come so hard you stop breathing? Think to go slumming, find a way to get off?”
“Layne!” she hissed, her entire body getting visibly tight.
“We were good, baby, you remember. So good, I’m surprised it took you a year to make that play.” He jerked his head to the house.
“I’m not making a play!” She was angry, he could tell by the fire in her eyes, the line of her body and the way she spoke and he didn’t give a fuck.
He ignored her. “But I’m not interested. You want, I can shop around for you. Bet a lot of boys in this ‘burg would jump at a shot at you.”
“I was just asking you to dinner!” she snapped.
“Bullshit,” he clipped back.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m not twenty-four, Roc. Not a man to be led around by his dick anymore. Had eighteen years to learn how to be the one who does the fucking, not the one who gets fucked.”
Her body jerked then locked but not before he saw pain carve a path through her features before they blanked.
She took a breath in through her nose, so big, it expanded her chest.
Then she asked, “What can I tell Dad?”
Rocky, he couldn’t tolerate. Dave and Merry were another story. This meant he was wrong, she’d fucked him.
Again.
“We’ll be there. Six thirty,” he growled.
“Brilliant,” she snapped and then whirled so fast in the small space he’d given her, her shoulder brushed roughly against his chest and her ponytail slid across his neck but she didn’t stop moving. She folded herself into the car and didn’t hesitate to reach out to the door handle. He moved out of the way just in time to miss getting hit when she slammed the door. She hit the ignition and backed out too fast, yanking the steering wheel at the end of the drive, then her expensive, high performance vehicle shot forward and he lost sight of her in seconds.
He stared after her for longer than their entire conversation in the drive lasted. Then he sucked in breath to calm his frayed temper and walked into the house.
“What was that?” Jasper asked the minute he hit the kitchen.
“Nothin’,” Layne answered.
“That wasn’t nothin’, you were pissed…” he hesitated, his eyes sharp on his Dad, “at Mrs. Astley.”
His last two words were said disbelievingly, like wealthy, polished, sexy, high school English Lit teacher, wife of the Chief of Surgery at a big hospital in Indianapolis, charity-working, pillar of the community Raquel Merrick Astley was a step away from the ‘burg’s own Princess Diana.
He stared at his son and noted Tripp was also watching him.
Then he made a decision.
“A long time ago, before your Mom, we were together. We lived together. It was good. Then it went bad. Very bad. I’m not a big fan of Mrs. Astley.”
“No shit?” Tripp asked and Layne looked at his younger son.
“No shit,” he answered.
“Wow,” Tripp whispered.
“How’d it go bad?” Jasper asked and Layne’s eyes went to him.
“Maybe, you still care, in about five years I’ll tell you,” Layne answered.
Jasper studied his father and then, miracle of miracles, he let it go.
“We goin’ to Uncle Dave’s tonight to eat her cookin’?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Layne answered.
“That’ll be interesting,” Jasper muttered.
Layne’s anger dissipated and he grinned. It was too bad Jasper spent so much time honing his asshole teenaged kid act. When he wasn’t doing that, he was smart and damned funny.
“Yep, it’ll be interesting,” Layne agreed. “Now, you guys hafta get to school. And Jasper, I want you to take the trash out before you go.”
The asshole teenaged kid came back in a flash.
Still, he took the trash out before he went.
After they were gone, in the house alone, Layne let Blondie out to roam the yard while he showered and dressed to get ready to go into the office. He was on his way through the kitchen from the sliding glass door when he saw her mug sitting on the counter, the impression of her lower lip in pink gloss on the side.
Layne stopped and stared at it.
Then he decided to do the dishes before he took a shower.
Chapter Two
My Sister Goes the Distance
Layne sat at his desk in his office and stared at his bank balance on the computer.
Six weeks ago, it was healthy. A year ago, before he bought the house, furnished it and bought his son a car, it was very healthy.
Now, after taking the gargantuan hit of paying his hospital bills, it was not.
He’d lived tight, not much to spend money on; his biggest expense was child support, which Gabby, on a strict schedule of every three years, went to her attorneys to jack up. He never fought her; he just gave her the money. She was a bitch but she loved her kids and she worked hard as the manager of the checkout clerks at the grocery store. She wasn’t rolling in it and she wanted her sons to have a good life. So Layne did his part to help her give it to them.
He heard the warning beep, someone had tripped the sensor which meant someone was coming up. His eyes moved to the video screen on the shelf to his left and he saw Gabby walking up the steps.
Layne had offices over Mimi’s Coffee Shop in town. They consisted of his office, a reception and a small room beside the front door with a counter, a coffeepot on the counter (not that he used it, he wanted coffee, he went to Mimi’s), a sink, a microwave also on the counter and a half-fridge under it. There was a small bathroom, toilet and sink. There was also a big storage room off his office where he kept his equipment.
He watched as Gabby made it to the top and turned to the door and he realized that it wasn’t just a shit day, it was a super shit day.
He stood and was leaning against the doorjamb to his office when she walked in.
“Tanner,” she snapped when her eyes hit him and he shook his head. He hadn’t even said hello and she was snapping at him.
“Good to see you, Gabby,” he replied and her eyes narrowed at his hard to miss sarcasm.
It was not good to see her. It was never good to see her. His ex-wife was a bitch.
At first, he knew she had reason. When Rocky broke it off with him, not even a week later, he’d been out, he’d been drunk and he’d hooked up with Gabby. She had dark hair, like Rocky, but also dark brown eyes, not like Rocky. Rocky’s eyes were deep blue. Nevertheless, he’d fucked Gabby because she reminded him of Rocky. It had been a one night stand. That was, until two and a half months later when she hunted him down and informed him she was pregnant, it was his and she was keeping the baby. She also informed him they were getting married.
He did not want to do this mainly because, when he wasn’t drunk, he didn’t like her. Also because he didn’t believe the kid was his. Everyone knew Gabrielle Weil got around.
When she had it, though, even as an infant, Layne took one look at his son and knew
.
So he did right by Jasper and married Jasper’s mother.
It was the second stupidest thing he’d done in his life, outside getting hooked up with Rocky.
Gabby was far from stupid, though, she knew he was hung up on Rocky and this made their marriage unpleasant, to say the least. Layne tried, God’s honest truth, he did. She wasn’t Rocky, that was true, but he had to give it to her, he couldn’t imagine being tied to a woman who was hung up on another man, who you knew she was thinking about him when you fucked her.
But he’d wanted to be a good Dad. He didn’t have a father, his father took off within weeks of him being born, and he didn’t want his son to grow up like that. That was the primary reason he’d married her.
But no matter how he tried to make their marriage good and worked to bury the bitterness of losing Raquel, Gabby sensed it under the surface and she made life a living hell. He was close to breaking it off with her when she fell pregnant with Tripp. They hadn’t had sex in months and she knew he was pulling away. That was why he woke up with her mouth latched to his cock, his cock hard under her working him and he’d fucked her. If Tripp hadn’t come out of that, he’d think it was the third stupidest thing he’d done in his life. But he couldn’t imagine life without Tripp.
He’d lasted nearly two more years before he split.
“We need to talk,” she told him, coming into the reception area.
“All right,” Layne agreed, having learned it was better to let her say what she had to say and move on than try to fight it. She wasn’t only a bitch, she could get mean and the mean could turn nasty. His day started with Rocky and would end with a dinner she’d cooked that he’d have to eat with her and his kids there. He didn’t need Gabby to turn nasty.
She stared at him a second, then looked beyond him into his office. Her face turned hard when she realized he wasn’t going to ask her to come in, take a seat, offer a cup of coffee.
“I need you to take the boys next week,” she announced.
Layne sighed.
The reason he was home was because she’d hooked up with Stew Baranski. When Tripp told him that, Layne’s blood ran cold. Stew Baranski was a total asshole. He’d always been an asshole. Fuck, the guy could teach classes on how to be a total and complete asshole. He didn’t want that guy around his kids but when he’d called and shared this with Gabby she’d lost her fucking mind. Then she’d ranted about how she’d taken care of his kids for twelve years and now that she had something good in her life (that was a joke, Stew being anything good was a freaking joke), he was trying to screw it up for her. She continued to rant about how she gave everything up for her boys while he did whatever the fuck he wanted.
He had to admit, she wasn’t entirely wrong.
But it was clear she was passed bitter straight to hostile and it was also clear she wasn’t giving up Stew. She’d dated, he knew this, but she hadn’t had a long term relationship in awhile. She’d let herself go after Tripp, in a huge way, and no longer bore any resemblance to the attractive, built woman she was in her twenties. She was hanging onto Stew, a last ditch effort to end a lonely life of single parenthood.
It was either let Stew Baranski turn his sons into assholes, or be an asshole to them, or both, or come home.
He came home.
And since he did, he often doubled up his weeks so Stew and Gabby could do whatever Stew and Gabby did that they needed his sons clear of it. Layne didn’t want to know, he also didn’t argue. She was right. She’d borne the brunt of raising his kids. It was his turn to kick in.
“Fine,” he replied. “You need to come into the office to tell me that?”
“Nope,” she shook her head once. “Needed to come in to tell you I need five hundred dollars.”
Layne did a slow blink. “Come again?”
“Need five hundred dollars,” she repeated.
“Gabby, this may have escaped you but circumstances are changed. I got joint custody and your support was reduced because of it. You get what you get and that’s all you get.”
He watched her straighten her shoulders. “I need five hundred dollars, Tanner.”
“Is this something for the boys?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered.
“What?”
She looked over his shoulder. The bitch was lying.
“What?” he repeated.
Her eyes came back to his. “Jasper and Tripp need stuff for school.”
“What do they need?”
“Stuff,” she answered. “Clothes and shit.”
They did not need clothes and shit. He knew this because he handed them both wads of cash about two days after he got out of the hospital so they could go back to school shopping. Both his boys were kitted out with trendy gear like rock stars.
“I think they’re covered,” Layne replied.
“Yeah, with stuff they keep at your house. They don’t have as much at my place.”
“Well, since they’re at my house most of the time, that works, don’t you think?”
Her face started to get red, not with embarrassment, with anger. “Oh, I get it. Dad’s the cool one, gets his son a hot rod, fills their closet with designer clothes. They go to Mom’s and they’ve got shit.”
“It isn’t like they don’t have bags. They want their stuff, they can take it with them to your place.”
“You want them to go back and forth like vagabonds?”
Layne sucked in breath and sought patience.
Then he reminded her, “Stew’s livin’ with you, Gabby, your expenses are lowered and you still get money from me. You wanna get them clothes, get ‘em.”
“I work at Kroger, Tanner. I’m not a shit hot PI who charges a hundred and fifty dollars an hour plus expenses.”
“You’ve worked at Kroger for fifteen years, Gabby, you’re a manager and you had to disclose your income the last time you took me to court. You are far from hurting.”
This was true, except the part about him learning this when she’d had to disclose it the last time she took him to court. He’d checked up on her regularly, he’d known for years exactly what she was paid, what she spent her money on and what she spent his money on.
“Jesus, why do you make me jump through hoops like this when it’s for our boys?” she snapped, her voice rising.
That pissed him off.
“I have never, not once, Gabrielle, made you jump through hoops when it’s for our boys. Not… fucking… once and you fucking know it.”
She snapped her mouth shut. She knew it.
“And you’re standin’ there lyin’ to me. You got trouble? You tell me, I’ll help you out. But do not walk into my office and hand me a load of shit and expect me to pay you to do it.”
“I’m not lying,” she retorted.
“Bullshit, Gabby. You think in my line of work I can’t spot a liar? I didn’t learn that quick, I’d be dead.”
Her flush suffused her face; she knew he’d pegged her.
“Now, why do you need five hundred dollars?” he continued.
“I don’t,” she returned.
“You asked for it not five minutes ago.”
“Stew does,” she bit off, her eyes sliding away from him.
Layne felt his body get tight.
Then he stated in a quiet voice, “You are fucking shitting me.”
Her eyes shot back to him. “He’s in a jam.”
Layne pushed away from the door and crossed his arms on his chest. “Don’t give a fuck Stew Baranski is in a jam.”
“If he’s in a jam, I’m in a jam.”
Layne’s brows drew together. “You in danger?”
“No,” she hissed, pissed as all hell she had to tell him what she had to tell him. “Things are just tight. I might not be able to make the mortgage.”
Layne sucked in another breath and his head dropped back so he could look at the ceiling.
Then he made a decision and looked back at his ex-wife.
“I told
you –” he started.
“Don’t!” she clipped, her voice again rising.
“I told you not to let that asshole in your life. You did,” Layne went on.
“He’s my man, I love him,” she shot back.
“Your choice and because of that, he’s your problem.”
“I miss the mortgage, I could lose my house!”
“They don’t foreclose for months, Gabby, tell him to get his shit together and figure it out. I’m not getting involved.”
“He’s in deep, Layne, he’s trying to sort it out but it’ll take time. I can’t lose the house in the meantime.”
“What I don’t get is how the house is on the line. You got enough money to –”
“I’ve been helping him out.”
Layne studied her. Then he asked, “How bad is this?”
“Bad.”
That wasn’t a good answer.
“How bad and how long’s it been goin’ on?” he pressed.
She stared at him and didn’t answer. That meant awhile.
Then she said, “I lose the house, Jas and Tripp –”
“Then you’re lucky I’m home, Gabby. Means the boys are good, always got a bed with me.”
“I can’t believe you!” she yelled
He dropped his arms and walked to her. While doing it, he tried to find Gabrielle Weil in her bitter face, now twisted with anger. She hadn’t been a knockout but she had been very pretty. She carried an extra fifty pounds now, at least, and she didn’t carry it like she was comfortable with it. Her hair was now dyed and looked that way and she should have left it to turn gray. Her mother’s hair was thick and gray and attractive. She worked it, Gabby could have too. The skin on Gabby’s face was slack because she didn’t take care of it, bags under her eyes, probably from not sleeping or being pissed off at Layne and the world for nearly two decades.
He stopped in front of her and tipped his head down to look at her.
Then, softly, he said, “I told you not to get hooked up with that guy. I told you he’d bring you trouble. Stew is no good. He treated you right, I’d be happy to eat my words. But I get from this that he’s been fuckin’ around and he’s involved you in it and that is one way a man doesn’t treat a woman right.”
Golden Trail (The 'Burg Series) Page 3