He walked to her side of the bed and sat down. Her hair was dark against her neck and he slid his hand under it, through her hair and against her skin, pulling its heavy weight off her neck and to the back.
She shifted at his touch, legs straightening and her head turned, even in the dim light he could see the movement was fluid.
He knew her eyes had opened when she shot up to an elbow.
“Layne?” Her voice was husky with sleep at the same time openly surprised.
“Gotta get to my boys, baby,” he replied, his hand still in her hair, he cupped the back of her head.
“You could have left a note,” she told him, her body starting to inch back but his fingers curled deeper into her hair against her scalp and she stopped.
He ignored her. “You sleep okay?”
“What? Yes.” The first was confused, the second was inching close to a snap. “What are you –?”
“Six o’clock for Keira and pasta bake, yeah?”
“Yes, Layne, I remember.” She was pressing back against his hand.
“I’ll call you when I do the searches on Gaines.”
Her head stopped pressing, she kept looking up at him and he knew her mood had changed when she spoke. “Okay, but I can’t take calls during class. You may have to leave me a message.”
“Then call me when you can, I’ll be runnin’ him first thing.”
“Okay.”
“We gotta do it, we’ll activate Tripp tonight so you’ll need to find time to study those rosters if the searches come up clean.”
“Okay,” she repeated, this time with a small nod of her head.
“Good idea, baby, to keep your ears open if the kids start talkin’ about Youth Group. Report to me what you hear, anything, whether you think it’s strange or not.”
“I will.”
His fingers tensed against her scalp and he muttered, “Good. See you at six.”
“See you at six.”
“Later, sweetcheeks,” he murmured as he dropped his head, hers tipped back as his came down, not to pull away but so she could watch him and his lips brushed her parted-in-surprise ones. “Be good,” he whispered against her mouth. “No covert operations today, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she breathed against his lips.
He smiled against hers.
Then he let her go, got up and walked out of her room.
*
Tripp was sitting on his stool in front of Layne, shoveling down oatmeal that he put four sugars into before nuking. Rocky might be happy about the oatmeal but she probably would frown on the four sugars.
Jasper, not in attendance during the oatmeal discussion, was spooning up sugary cereal while standing at the end of the island.
Layne was standing in front of it, hair still wet from his shower, sipping coffee.
“So,” Jasper drawled and Layne’s eyes went to him to see his son’s were on Layne, “Rocky’s lack of security gonna mean she’ll need constant vigilance?”
Layne watched his boy’s lips twitch.
Jasper was giving him stick.
More progress.
“Likely,” Layne muttered against the rim of his mug and took a sip while he watched Jasper’s slow smile.
Layne’s gaze moved to his younger boy and saw his head bowed, he was grinning into his oatmeal and his shoulders were shaking. Layne watched him struggle to compose his features, his head came up and twisted to his brother.
“Dad takes pride in his work, Jas,” he announced. “He’s thorough.”
“Yeah,” Jasper replied, “It’s good he’s so dedicated, no one will guess this whole thing is a big fake.”
“Yeah,” Tripp agreed, “Heck, I know it’s a fake and even I’m wonderin’ if it’s a fake.”
“I dig you, Tripp-o-matic,” Jasper returned.
“Boys,” Layne said low, surprised he could make his voice a warning when he was fighting back a chuckle.
Tripp’s eyes shot to him then down to his oatmeal and his shoulders started shaking again before Layne heard him snort.
Jasper didn’t hide his amusement; he was flashing an open, huge, white-toothed smile.
It pissed Layne off he had to throw a wet blanket on their mood but he had to so he did.
“What’s happening at practice?” Layne asked, the smile fled from Jasper’s face and Tripp’s shoulders slumped.
“It’s smoothin’ out,” Jasper answered but Tripp stayed silent.
Layne studied his older boy. “You sure?”
Jasper nodded. “He’s still bein’ a dick but it isn’t as bad as before and they got some chick who comes to practices sometimes and sits there with a notebook. He’s totally cool when she’s there. Like another coach,” Jasper answered and went on sharing. “Kids hate him, Dad, the whole team. Even Seth, his own son. Seth feels shit. Thinks everyone’s gonna hate him because they hate his Dad. He’s not really as bad as he plays in the games. He just knows Tripp’s better and he wants the team to win. He fucks up so his Dad’ll pull him but Coach just won’t.”
That was another by-product of the formal complaints. Tripp had seen zero game time. None. And Jas’s action had dried up. He was still on the field but never got near the ball unless he was blocking for someone carrying it. The team’s morale was so low it was visible. They’d started the season undefeated but lost one, won the next by the skin of their teeth in overtime and the natives were getting restless.
Layne nodded to Jasper and looked at Tripp. “Tripp, you think things are smoothin’ out too, Pal?”
He heard Tripp suck in breath then he looked at his old man. “He’s a dick in the locker room.”
Layne stared at his son then his eyes cut to Jasper.
“Yeah,” Jasper confirmed. “That chick can’t come into the locker room and Coach gets bad. He lays it on me but mostly he lays it on Tripp.”
“How bad?” Layne asked.
“I can take it,” Tripp answered and his eyes moved to his younger boy.
“How bad, Tripp?”
Tripp shrugged. “He’s a dick, Dad, but I can take it.”
Layne looked back at Jasper.
“He can take it,” Jasper stated. “But still, it’s bad.”
Layne clenched his jaw and felt the muscle move in his cheek.
“I can take it, Dad,” Tripp repeated on a whisper and Layne caught his eyes. Tripp was looking at him steady, unblinking.
He could take it.