Layne had no idea. He knew she did them because he’d heard about it in passing. He didn’t know how successful she was at it. Though, this was Rocky, if she could talk the School Board into letting her kids listen to rock ‘n’ roll for a week in English Lit class, she could probably raise millions.
“I’ll talk to her, get her to talk to Sean,” Layne replied.
“Like that idea, Tanner,” Colt said and Layne nodded then Colt brows went up at the same time the ends of his lips tipped up and he asked, “What’s for dinner?”
“Hot beef sandwiches,” Layne answered then smiled, “with cheese.”
“I don’t even know what the fuck that is and it sounds good,” Colt returned.
It did and Rocky had cooked both nights at his house. She’d come to his place Wednesday night with enough grocery bags in her car to feed twelve for Thanksgiving dinner. The first night was roast chicken with stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy. The second night was pork roast with fried potatoes and fresh baked rolls. Gabby wasn’t much of a cook, she hated doing it and her food tasted like she hated doing it. Devin had been single since his third wife took off with his baseball card collection fifteen years ago and he’d been that way because he was the kind of man who missed his baseball card collection more than his wife. Devin could pour a helluva mixed drink but he wouldn’t know a spatula from a frying pan. Jasper, Tripp and Devin were in ecstasy because Rocky loved to cook and she made roast chicken and pork taste like heaven on a plate.
Layne sure as fuck liked her food but he liked her cooking in his kitchen for him and his boys better.
And her being around meant the boys didn’t bitch when they had to clean up.
Yes, Layne was looking forward to hot beef sandwiches with cheese. But he was hoping that he’d have them with a Rocky, happy and excited to see him.
“I gotta get to Rocky, brother,” Layne told Colt.
Colt straightened from the chair saying, “Yeah. See you at the game?”
Layne palmed his phone and stood too, replying, “Yeah. You goin’ to an away game?”
Colt smiled at him. “Cal came over yesterday. Over what sounded to be a much-needed bourbon, he told me he was takin’ Keira and Heather because she’s fired up to support her new boyfriend while he plays ball and since she’s had three fender benders since she got her license, Vi isn’t letting her drive outside the city limits and Vi doesn’t trust Heather’s driving any more than Keirry’s. If Cal didn’t say he’d take her, he’d be forced to put duct tape on her mouth and tie her to a chair because she wouldn’t shut up about it. He didn’t think Vi would like that overly much so he said yes. I’m goin’ for moral support.”
That was about a quarter of the reason Colt was going. Colt was a ‘dogs fan too. He’d played for them years ago and was good enough to get a partial ride to Purdue. That team did good things for him and he remained loyal to the end.
But the reason Cal told Colt he’d said yes was total bullshit. Joe Callahan was a pushover for that girl. He’d kill for her, her sister and her mother, Layne knew this because Cal got that chance, he pulled the trigger and didn’t blink.
Layne walked Colt to the door and they shook hands and clapped each other on the arm before Colt took off. Then Layne closed down the office and left, setting the security alarms as he went. He drove home and lifted the garage door but didn’t pull inside then he walked through the garage and into the house.
Blondie greeted him and if his son’s dog could cross her legs, she would. So Layne unarmed the alarm and let her out back. Then he turned and jogged up the stairs, going direct to his drawers, he pulled out a thermal and then went to the walk-in closet, flipping on light switches as he went. He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, throwing it without looking in the direction of the mound of dirty clothes. He pulled on the thermal, yanked a sweater off the built-in shelves in the closet and then tugged that on. He grabbed the scarf his mother bought him for Christmas last year and his leather jacket and headed back to the bedroom, putting them on, and stopped dead, staring at the bed.
It was made, not like Layne “made” it, yanking up the covers and letting them fall. The comforter was smoothed, the sheet and comforter folded over at the base of the pillows. The four pillows stacked neatly on top of each other, two by two.
Then he turned and looked at the long, double basin bathroom counter. Next to his toothbrush, Rocky’s pink and white one was in the holder Melody bought that was on Layne’s side of the sink. Also on Layne’s side of the sink was a makeup bag that had exploded. Tubes, bottles and tubs everywhere, applicator brushes, a stick of deodorant, a fancy bottle of perfume, a comb and a bunch of hairpins scattered around.
That morning, Layne had left before Rocky because he had to get to Indy to follow a man to work, a new case. The man didn’t go straight to work, as suspected. Rocky had brought a bag with her on Thursday night but Layne hadn’t paid much attention to it except the fact that he liked that she brought it. Clearly, Rocky had gotten ready at his place, standing at his basin doing her makeup and hair.
A memory tugged at him and Layne walked to the bed. He lifted the pillows on his side and found his pajamas folded neatly under it. Then he walked around the bed to Rocky’s side, lifted the pillows and found his tee that she’d been wearing folded under those. She’d done that, every morning, when they were living together.
Every morning.
He dropped the pillows and drew in breath through his nose, smelling the indistinct scent her perfume.
It was faint but it was still there.
Then he smiled to himself, turned out the lights, walked swiftly from the room and jogged down the stairs. He let Blondie in, secured the sliding glass door, gave Blondie a rubdown that lasted a lot less time than she liked and he set the alarm at the garage door and jogged to his SUV.