Golden Trail (56 page)

He watched Jasper, Giselle and Tripp leave
the building and head to the Charger. He also watched Tripp say
something that made Jasper throw his head back and laugh and
Giselle turned hers to smile a big smile at his son. Then he
watched Tripp take advantage of the smile and grab her hand. She
couldn’t hide being startled by the contact but she didn’t pull
away either and walked to the Charger holding Tripp’s hand.

Layne’s lips tipped up. Tripp was definitely
learning cool.

His phone chimed and he had another text
from Rocky.

There’s a plate in the oven. Remember to
turn it off, will you?

Got it. Go to sleep.
Layne texted
back, flipped the phone shut and tossed it back to the seat.

Then he watched the kids drive away in their
cars or with their parents who had come to pick them up. Then he
waited for Gaines to leave. The Honda and a red Ford Focus were the
only cars left in the lot.

Then he waited longer.

Then he waited even longer.

Finally, he saw the lights streaming through
the stained glass windows of the old sanctuary go out and, five
minutes later, Gaines walked out with a young girl. Pretty. Tall.
Thin. Dark, long hair, so healthy it gleamed in the lights of the
parking lot. Layne knew she was sixteen since she could drive,
maybe seventeen. But she didn’t have the confidence of a senior,
she didn’t hold her body in that way that hinted at the woman she’d
become. She still had girl in her.

Which made their farewell turn Layne’s
stomach.

They were right under an overhead light but
she still placed her hand on Gaines’s chest and got up on her toes
and he bent his head, put his hand to her waist and kissed her
neck.

“Son of a bitch,” Layne hissed at his
windshield.

So much shit was going down, he was off his
game. He should have had a camera ready mainly because he’d
promised Rocky he’d get a photo of Gaines to Merry but now because,
if Layne had shots of it, that kiss would make the Youth Minister
need to answer uncomfortable questions. He had one in the glove
compartment but he didn’t have it out.

Even so, he would never have imagined Gaines
would stand in the parking lot of the fucking church and kiss a
teenager’s neck for any driver in any passing car to see.

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 back 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.