Golden Trail

by Ashley, Kristen

  This guy was bold which meant he thought he was untouchable.

  There had to be a reason for that. There had to be leverage. He had to have something.

  Layne pulled out his camera and took shots and watched as Gaines smiled at her all the while she waved as she went to her car. She got in and took off and Gaines got in his Honda and left the lot. Layne waited while Gaines turned right on Green then he tossed his camera to the passenger seat, rolled out of the secluded, tree shrouded, unlit back area of the lot and kept his eyes on the Honda, flipping on his headlights and turning right with three cars between them.

  Gaines turned right again on 56 and so did one of the three cars between them. Layne followed.

  And he followed him straight to The Brendel where Gaines turned right into the entrance and Layne had no choice but to turn right with him.

  Jesus. He either lived at The Brendel or he was visiting someone there at ten at night.

  Layne slid through the gate Gaines opened and Gaines took the first right while Layne went left, toward Rocky’s place. He parked in one of her spots, grabbed his smokes from the glove compartment, his small digital camera from the seat and got out of the car. He walked into the road, tucking the camera in his inside jacket pocket and looked toward where Gaines turned.

  No Honda in sight.

  Layne took a swift moment to survey the area. Muted lighting but it was good. It didn’t invite strangers. There weren’t many dark corners. The streets were well lit so you could make your way. Someone came there wanting to do something they shouldn’t, they’d think twice because there was nowhere to hide and it was easy to see.

  Good for the tenants. Bad for Layne.

  He shook out a cigarette and walked to the sidewalk in front of Rocky’s unit. Then he lit it and took a stroll. A man outside having a smoke and a walk, he moved passed the unit next to Rocky’s and jogged across the wide entrance road to the complex. Then he hit the sidewalk on the other side. Four units in, just around a curve, he found the Honda parked next to a sporty, red Mazda.

  Unit K.

  Apartment one, lights out. Apartment two, lights on behind blinds. Lights on in apartment three, up the stairs and facing the small field that separated The Brendel from the next development, wide windows and a long balcony, twice the size of Rocky’s but without the two story windows. No curtains or blinds closed but Layne had no reason to stand there and watch.

  “Fuck,” he whispered, lifting his smoke, taking a drag and exhaling as he dropped his hand, staring at the license plates on the cars and memorizing them. To save time so he didn’t have to do it in the morning, he was considering jogging quickly to the parking spaces to check their apartment number with the hope no one spotted him when he glanced back to the window and saw him.

  Gaines at the window to close the blinds. Jacket off. Shirt untucked. Bottle of beer in his hand. He was home or at least in for the night.

  He lived at The Brendel.

  No Youth Minister could afford The Brendel.

  The blinds started swinging closed and Layne made his way back to Rocky’s.

  Tomorrow, unit K, apartment three officially went on radar.

  Layne flicked the butt in a drain in the street ten feet from Rocky’s stairs. As he jogged up them he pulled out his keys. He’d already put Rocky’s on his ring.

  He let himself in. A light by the couch lit. The under cabinet lights in the kitchen lit. Soft but welcoming. The smell of something in the air, fruity, like berries. One of her candles she’d put out but the smell lingered.

  He took off his jacket and threw it on the armchair. Then he went to the fridge, saw bottles of Bud and smiled. He took one out, twisted off the cap and took a slug then pulled open the door to the oven. Homemade macaroni and cheese with bits of hotdog.

  At the sight, his smile got big. When they were living together she’d made it her mission to make the best homemade macaroni and cheese on the planet and she mostly did this because he loved her first try and told her, so she twisted herself in knots to make it better. It was fucking tasty by the time she left him. It was probably heaven on a plate if Astley stooped low enough to eat mac and cheese with cut up hotdogs.

  Layne stood in the kitchen, hips against the counter, eating it and drinking beer. He was about to go to the fridge to see if she had leftovers he could nuke for a second helping when the loud knock came at the door.

  “Rocky, open the fucking door!” Layne heard Jarrod Astley shout.

  Layne stood in the kitchen with his empty plate in one hand, the fork resting on top, his bottle of beer in his other hand, he stared at the door and decided to count to ten.

  He got to three when the knock came back and he heard, “I know he’s in there too, you stupid slut! Open the fucking door!”

  Layne’s beer hit the counter with a thud and his plate with a crash and he was at the door in less time than it took him to count to three.

  He pulled it open and filled its frame.

  “What the fuck?” he asked an openly furious Jarrod Astley.

  Astley barreled forward, hitting Layne in the chest with his shoulder and shoving him to the side all the while saying loudly, “Get out of my way, asshole.”

  Layne stepped away from him, threw the door to and turned to see Astley in the middle of the open space between kitchen and living room, looking around him. Then Astley shouted toward the stairs, “Rocky! Get your ass down here!”

  Layne moved, going direct to him and gripping his upper arm, he yanked him around.

  “You got two seconds to leave, you don’t, I’m puttin’ you out,” Layne clipped low.

  “Fuck you!” Astley bellowed.

  “Roc’s got a headache,” Layne ground out. “You got somethin’ to say to her you wait until she’s feelin’ better or you say it through your attorneys. You do not come bustin’ into her home fuckin’ shoutin’.”

  Astley pulled sharply at his arm, demanding. “Take your hand off me!”

  Layne yanked him forcefully in the direction of the door, Astley stumbled but righted himself and Layne ordered, “Get out.”

  “Take your goddamned hand off me!” Astley roared, twisting his arm, lifting a hand and shoving it in Layne’s chest.

  Layne braced so Astley’s shove only rocked him back and then he pressed forward, turning to crowd Astley and force him to the door when they heard from the stairs.“Jarrod?”

  Both of them froze and looked to the stairs.

  Rocky was at the middle, hair down and around her shoulders, a King’s Island nightshirt could be seen, the closed banister hiding the rest of her. Her face was pale and she looked visibly hazy, not from surprise or upset.

  This wasn’t a headache. This was one of her headaches.

  Fuck.

  “Baby, go to bed. I’ll deal with this,” Layne called to her.

  “Fuck that and fuck you!” Astley yelled and yanked his arm free, skirting Layne and taking two steps toward Rocky which were two steps to Layne’s three. Layne rounded him to stand in front of him and stood firm to block his way, bringing Astley up short.

  “Get out,” Layne ordered.

  Astley ignored him and kept his eyes pinned on Roc.

  “Get your ass down here, you bitch!” At that, Layne put a hand to his chest, wishing he could put a fist to his face and Astley’s eyes sliced to him. “Do not touch me!” he shouted. “I know what she,” he jabbed a finger at Rocky, “put you up to. I know!”

  Devin clearly had been busy.

  “You need to go someplace and calm the fuck down,” Layne warned quietly.

  “And you need to go fuck yourself!” Astley shouted then looked at Rocky. “You’re with him a month. A month and it’s like you spent ten minutes with me. You’re back to nothing. A piece of shit.”

  Layne’s mouth got dry but his palms got prickly and he took two quick steps forward, forcing Astley back with his hand and his body.

  “Layne,” Rocky called and Layne stopped and pushed Astley b
ack another step with his hand but didn’t step back himself.

  Astley glared at him, angry and stupid enough to stay in Layne’s space and Layne felt Rocky come up to his side and her hand curled around his bicep.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked softly, her voice as hazy as her expression and pinched with pain.

  Layne’s patience, already strained, slipped.

  “Blackmail,” Astley spit out.

  “Blackmail?” Rocky whispered, her hand clenching spasmodically on Layne’s arm.

  “Yes, Rocky, blackmail. Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Astley returned.

  “She doesn’t,” Layne put in and Astley’s eyes shot to his as he felt Rocky’s hit him. “That was all me.”

  “Bullshit,” Astley snapped.

  “It’s true. She has no fuckin’ clue,” Layne replied. “Now, seein’ as you’re a doctor and all, and considerin’ you spent the last ten years with her, I reckon you can take one look at her and know she’s not in a good way so, I’ll tell you again, get… the fuck… out.”

  “And I’ll tell you again… fuck you!” Astley bellowed.

  And then Rocky wasn’t there. Layne turned and watched her racing up the stairs with her hand over her mouth.

  Shit, she was going to be sick. The pain was so bad, she was nauseous because of it.

  And her ex-asshole was shouting.

  Layne locked eyes with Astley then followed her, taking the steps three at a time.

  He found her in the hall bathroom, on her knees in front of the toilet, one arm on the seat, one hand clenched in her hair to pull it back, head in the bowl, retching.

  He grabbed a washcloth folded in a triangle over a towel on the rod and tossed it in the sink. Drenching it with cold water, he rung it out and crouched beside her.

  He gathered her hair in one fist, gently pulling it from her hand then set the cool cloth on her neck and murmured, “Baby.”

  She spit then moved to rest her forehead on her arm as her back bowed with the effort to hold back her gags and Layne reached out and flushed the toilet.

  “I hate this,” she whispered on a heavy breath.

  “I know, honey,” Layne held her hair and pressed lightly on the cloth at her neck then she moved back over the toilet and heaved again.

  She was back to resting her forehead on her arm, her back bowing and arching with the deep breaths she was taking when Layne heard Astley’s voice.

  “Has she taken a pill?”

  Layne looked to the door to see him standing in it, staring down at them, his face cleared of anger, something Layne didn’t have the focus to read replacing it.

  Roc didn’t move.

  “Her pill?” Layne asked.

  “I took it,” Rocky whispered into the toilet.

  “When?” Astley asked.

  “Not too…” big breath, “not too long ago,” she answered. “I thought I could fight it.”

  Astley sighed loudly before he said, “I’m always telling you Rocky –”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “Where are they?” Astley asked.

  “Bathroom in my bedroom,” she answered and Astley disappeared.

  Layne looked down at Raquel. “Baby, what pill?”

  She took in a deep breath and sat back on her calves. He let go of her hair, flushed the toilet again and she looked up at him.

  “There’s a pill I have now. Jarrod knew about it. It works, if I take it in time. Sometimes even when I don’t take it in time, if it doesn’t end up in the toilet, like that one did.”

  Layne took in this information and moved the cloth from her neck to her face, wiping her brow and sliding it down to clean her mouth last.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, her eyes still foggy but pointed at him.

  “Anytime, sweetcheeks,” he grinned at her, “you know that.”

  Her mouth got soft and her lips parted right before her eyes slid from him and he looked over his shoulder to see Astley at the door, watching them. He had a glass of water in one hand, the other hand balled in a fist. He took one step into the bathroom and put the glass on the basin of the sink and dropped a light blue tablet next to it.

  “Give her that, she keeps it down, she’ll be better in an hour,” he stated then he walked out of the room.

  Layne listened while he helped Rocky to her feet but he didn’t hear the door downstairs close. He kept listening as he gave Roc the tablet and handed her the glass. She gulped it down, he took the glass from her, set it on the basin and he led her into her room knowing Astley still hadn’t left.

  She went direct to the master bath off her bedroom and he leaned against the doorjamb and watched while she quickly brushed her teeth. Then he stepped aside as she wandered in her pain-fuelled fog to the bed, gingerly entered it and just as gingerly laid down on her side, curled her knees into her belly and pressed her head into the pillow.

  He walked to her, pulled the covers over her and let them drop lightly on her. Then he leaned in and shifted her hair off her neck. He wanted to kiss her but if it was as bad as it seemed, she wouldn’t want that so he left her in the room and closed the door behind him.

  He found Astley standing and staring sightlessly out her huge windows.

  “Astley –” he started.

  Astley cut him off. “Tell her to tell her attorneys what she wants. I’ll consider it and counter if it’s inappropriate.”

  Fuck, he was caving.

  “You’re gonna settle?” Layne asked, Astley turned and gazed at him.

  He did this for awhile and Layne held his gaze, waiting. Then Astley looked away and walked to the front door.

  Hand on the knob, he turned to Layne. “I want you to know it’s not because of your antics.” His eyes slid to the stairs then back to Layne. “It’s because of her.” He stared at Layne a beat that fed into five. Then he whispered, “You’re not the only one who can love her, you know.”

  Layne felt his body lock, his temper flare and his patience ebb. “Fuckin’ strange way of showin’ it, man.”

  “You think that then you’ve never loved someone so much, wanted someone’s attention so badly, you’d do anything to get it,” Astley shot back. “You think I’m an asshole. She’s been cheating on me for twelve years, since our first date, sitting across the table from me and wishing I was you.”

  His chest got tight at Astley’s words but he still returned, “You’re wrong. She wanted to love you.”

  Astley shook his head and looked back to the stairs.

  Eyes on the stairs he whispered, “I didn’t stand a chance.”

  Then he opened the door, stepped through and was careful to close it quietly.

  Layne didn’t hesitate and walked across the room to turn the lock and flip the latch.

  He stood with his hand still on the latch not thinking about Astley’s final words. He wasn’t giving headspace to that asshole. Instead he was thinking one down, half a dozen to go.

  Then he walked to the fridge to find Roc’s leftovers.

  * * * * *

  Forty-five minutes later, Layne quietly entered Rocky’s bedroom.

  “I’m awake and I’m better,” she said softly from the bed.

  Layne walked to her side and sat on it. She was still curled into a ball, her back to him and she didn’t move. This wasn’t unusual. He remembered, after she’d battled the pain, she wasn’t herself, not in a fog but she’d lose a hint of lucidity.

  He leaned over her and put a forearm into the bed in front of her.

  “You need anything?” he asked.

  “I’m good,” she answered.

  “That pill obviously works wonders, sweetcheeks, I remember sometimes it’d be hours and it was only sleep that brought you peace.”

  “Yep, it’s the wonder pill,” she whispered.

  “So why do you wait to take it?”

  “Because I’m an idiot?”

  She was joking and he laughed softly, leaned in and kissed her forehead. Then h
e moved away from her, rounded the bed, closed the curtains she’d left open, pulled off his clothes and joined her.

  He reached out, gathered her in his arms and she snuggled closer.

  “All right, Roc, no jokin’ around, why do you wait to take it?” Layne repeated his question and she sighed.

  Then she answered, “Hope springs eternal. I hate those headaches and they don’t come very often so, in between times, I tell myself I’m done with them, I’ve had the last one. Then, when they start, I tell myself it isn’t one of those, it’s just a headache because I don’t want to believe they’ve come back. Then, well… they come back.”

  “You need to take the pill, Rocky.”

  “Taking the pill is admitting defeat, Layne.”

  He rolled into her, taking her to her back, lifted up and looked down at her shadowed face.

  “Any battle worth winnin’ is worth using every weapon available,” he informed her.

  “Right, like blackmailing Jarrod?” she returned and Layne got quiet. When he didn’t speak, she asked, “Did you blackmail him?”

  “I didn’t,” Layne answered somewhat honestly.

  She was silent. Then she whispered, “Dev.”

  Layne didn’t reply.

  “What’d you get on him?” she asked.

  “Dirty campaign contributions,” Layne partially answered.

  “I can believe that,” she said softly. “Especially considering he was so pissed. He loves being one of the good ole boys. He can get pissy but that was off the charts.”

  Layne reckoned Jarrod Astley didn’t like losing, especially not something as important as Rocky. And he also reckoned the man didn’t like any time when he couldn’t do what he damn well pleased.

  But he doubted that anger was about campaign contributions.

  That kind of anger was about love or money and not money spent on politics.

  Devin had pulled the Marissa card and Astley was facing paying out twice and losing hold of Rocky, even the sick hold he had that was essentially just yanking her chain.

  So it was both. Love and money.

  “He’s settling,” Layne announced and felt Rocky’s body still.

  “Sorry?”

  “He’s settling, baby,” Layne told her. “He says for you to tell your attorneys what you want, if he’s not happy with it, he’ll counter.”