“How together are you?” Layne, standing outside on Rocky’s balcony, his phone to his ear, asked his youngest son.
“Today freaked me, Dad, but I’m cool,” Tripp replied. “I did what Rocky said, texted Giselle to tell her I was glad she was all right, Giselle called me back and Giselle’s parents are lettin’ me go over there tomorrow to watch football then have dinner. It’s all good.”
Layne scanned the landscape as he repeated to his son, “How together are you?”
Tripp was silent then he asked, “I don’t know what you’re askin’, Dad.”
“You’re fourteen, Pal, and I got somethin’ I wanna tell you. But I gotta know you can take it.”
“Is it bad?”
“It could have been.”
More silence then, softly, Tripp said, “He was gonna hurt her.”
“Yes,” Layne answered, “but he didn’t and part of the reason why he didn’t was because you made it impossible for him to get to her. That’s the part I wanted you to know.”
Complete silence.
“You did good, Pal.”
More utter silence.
“You took care of your girl.”
Another beat of silence then, “Thanks, Dad.”
“Nope, Tripp, I gotta thank you. This is all gonna be over soon and you and Jasper made that happen.”
“Cool,” Tripp whispered but he didn’t sound like he thought it was cool. The word was heavy, he’d felt the weight of what could have gone down and even though that weight was lifted, the memory of it was fresh.
The door opened, Roc stuck her head out and said, “Sorry, sweetheart, dinner’s almost ready. Do you want me to put it to warm?”
“I’ll let you go,” Tripp, obviously hearing Rocky, said in his ear.
“Give me a minute, Roc,” Layne said to Rocky, she smiled and closed the door.
Layne watched her strut through the living room and into the kitchen as he asked Tripp, “You okay, Pal?”
“I’m good, Dad.”
“This shit starts fuckin’ with your head, you call me, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Good,” Layne muttered.
“Dad?” Tripp called.
“Yeah?”
“Jas told me you and Roc aren’t fake anymore,” Tripp informed him and Layne pulled in a deep, silent breath.
Then he replied, “Thought you figured that out yourself.”
“I did, Jas just confirmed it, said you told him it wasn’t.”
“Well, it isn’t,” Layne confirmed it again.
Another beat of silence then, quietly, “I’m glad.”
He knew that but it was still good to hear it.
“That’s good, Pal,” Layne said quietly back, then, “I gotta go eat dinner.”
“Wish I was eatin’ Rocky’s food,” Tripp muttered, Layne knew that too and he grinned.
“Next week, Tripp.”
“Okay,” Tripp replied then called again, “Dad?”
“Right here, buddy.”
“I don’t know how to say this,” Tripp told him and the muscles in Layne’s neck got tight because Tripp sounded like he didn’t know how to say whatever he had to say but also that he didn’t want to say it.
“You can be straight with me on anything, you know that,” Layne returned.
“Well, it’s gonna sound stupid.”
“Nothin’ you say sounds stupid.”
“This will,” Tripp shot back.
“No, Tripp, it won’t. What’s on your mind?”
“It’s just…” he paused, “Rocky.”
Layne’s entire body got tight. “What about her?”
“I’m glad you got her back,” Tripp said on a rush and the tightness left Layne’s body but it stayed completely still as Tripp kept talking. “For you, ‘cause you’re my Dad but mostly for her.”
Layne was silent.
Tripp filled the silence. “Is that weird? I mean, you’re my Dad and I should –”
Layne cut him off. “It’s not weird.”
“I mean, I’m glad for you but Rocky –” Tripp was still talking fast.
“I get it, Pal,” Layne whispered.
“Is she…” Tripp hesitated, “is she going to be okay?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because… well, I don’t know but when I talked with Giselle today, at first, she was bein’ weird and then I realized she thought I was mad at her and I felt bad because she felt bad and I didn’t want her to feel bad because she didn’t do anything wrong. And that got me to thinking that maybe Rocky, because of what happened with you guys a long time ago, would feel bad because she thought you were mad at her but that was big, bigger than what happened with Giselle and that… that kind of thing… well, I guess I just think it would be hard to let that go.”
Christ, but his kid was sharp.
“I’ve let it go, Pal,” Layne assured him.
“Has she?”
“We’re workin’ on it.”
“Good,” Tripp whispered.
“Got anything else on your mind?” Layne asked.
“No,” Tripp answered.
“World peace? Starving nations? The state of the economy?”
He heard Tripp’s laugh then, “No, Dad, jeez.”
“That shit starts weighin’ on you, boy, I’m only a phone call away.”
“Right, I’ll call when I start worryin’ about world peace,” Tripp returned.
“I gotta eat,” Layne told his son through a smile.
“All right, see you later.”
“Later,” Layne said then called, “Tripp?”
“Yeah, Dad?”
“Love you, Pal.”
“Love you too.”
“Later.”
“Later.”
Layne flipped his phone shut and turned to the door. He opened it and was assaulted with the fumes he’d left behind ten minutes ago. Chicken tacos. Rocky had been stewing the meat all day, anxious about Giselle and turning her mind to cooking rather than worrying so she’d put it on that morning before she headed over to his place. This was another recipe she’d perfected in their kitchen years ago. Stewing in the crockpot all day meant the meat would be tender and shredded and after cooking in its spices for the last hour, full of flavor.
Rocky was at the counter, her back to him and didn’t turn when she asked, “You need a fresh beer, baby?”