That muscle ticked in his oldest son’s cheek but Jas didn’t say anything.
Correctly, Layne read that as agreement.
He decided to sweeten the pot.
“There’s another reason I’m doin’ this,” he told them. “Her husband is a jackass and he’s stepped out on her and, the story goes, he’s been doin’ it throughout their marriage. She barely got her foot out of the door before he moved another woman in. The whole town knew about him cheating on her but Rocky was clueless. She’s not handling that well.”
Jasper’s eyebrows shot up and he asked, “No shit?”
“No shit,” Layne replied.
“What? He blind?” Tripp asked.
“No, just stupid,” Layne answered.
“Has to be, yeesh,” Tripp muttered and Layne grinned at him and continued.
“Rocky doesn’t know this part but I’m gonna be in his face with this and I need you two to be good with that. You get me?”
Tripp didn’t get him, he stared at his old man, confused.
Jasper got him, he stared at his old man, blank, then his eyes lit with what was in them that morning before he smiled and when he smiled, he did it slow.
Layne smiled back at him.
“What?” Tripp asked, looking back and forth between his brother and father.
Jasper held Layne’s eyes and didn’t look away.
“What?” Tripp repeated and Jasper finally looked to his brother.
“I’ll explain it later,” he muttered.
“Later is good since she’s gonna be here in five minutes for dinner,” Layne told them and Jasper’s eyes swung back to his Dad.
“She is?” Tripp asked eagerly.
“She is, Pal,” Layne answered. “Get your gear sorted and books up to your room. Whose night is it to cook?”
“I’m not cookin’ for Mrs. Astley!” Tripp shouted, not eager anymore, he was freaked out. “She makes, like, gourmet stuff! She even cooks her own bread!”
“I’ll cook,” Jasper, cocky as ever, grinned at his brother. “I’m the bomb in the kitchen.”
“Dude, you burn a TV dinner in the microwave,” Tripp told Jasper.
“I was on the phone with one of my babes,” Jasper returned. “Learn from the master, Tripp-o-matic, babes need undivided attention. You get me?”
It hit Layne that Jasper ended his statement with Layne’s words of not five minutes before. Maybe Jasper wasn’t completely immune to his influence after all. Though, he wasn’t certain he was down with where Jasper was taking it.
“Keira Winters needs your undivided attention, you mean,” Tripp retorted and looked to Layne. “Jasper’s got the hots for the prettiest girl in school and she’s also the only one who doesn’t know he exists.”
The muscles in Layne’s neck contracted and his eyes sliced to his older boy.
“Keira Winters, Joe Callahan’s stepdaughter?” Layne asked.
“One in the same, Dad,” Tripp answered for Jasper. “Jasper’s hot on the trail of the Lone Wolf’s hottie stepdaughter, and getting nowhere, I’ll add.”
Oh fuck. This was not good. Jasper went through girls like water, he was cocky, he was confident, he was assertive and he expected to get him some. Jasper did not need an angry Joe Callahan on his ass and Layne didn’t need an angry Joe Callahan on his hands.
Cal was a friend and he was a good guy but everyone in that town knew he’d bonded with his new wife’s stepdaughters and, by that, Layne meant he’d bonded. Layne already slept with a gun under his pillow, mainly because people in about twenty-seven states wanted him dead. In that ‘burg, he slept with it under his pillow because he figured fathers county-wide wanted his son dead. Cal would not be like any other father who went berserk because some hotshot football star got in their daughter’s pants. Cal would go commando on Jasper’s ass.
“Tripp, sort out your gear and take Jas’s with you, I need another word with him,” Layne ordered.
“Dad, his gear stinks like all get out,” Tripp complained and Layne’s eyes cut to him.
“Do it, Pal.”
Tripp stared at him. Then he slunk off, grabbed all four bags from the floor and trudged them up the stairs.
Layne looked at Jasper and, the second time that night, he laid it out. “Lay off Keira Winters.”
“What?” Jasper whispered, the good, warm, golden light flashing out of his eyes, the warning, red, volatile asshole teenaged kid one taking its place.
Layne shook his head and leaned toward him, settling on his forearms. “You like her, Jas, go for it. You wanna get in her pants, lay off.”
Jasper started to make a move off his stool, muttering, “This is none of your fuckin’–”
“Her father was murdered,” Layne cut in, Jasper’s body jerked and he froze on the stool. “Her uncle, the same. Her mother was kidnapped, her stepdad too. She almost lost her entire family, Jas. A girl like that, you handle with care. Yeah?”
“You think I’m a dawg,” Jasper whispered, disappointment he couldn’t hide scoring through his features.
Quietly, Layne replied, “Bud, you go through more condoms than the offensive line of the Colts after a win.”
Jasper locked eyes with Layne and kept them locked long enough for Layne to get it without Jasper having to say it.
“You know about her family,” Layne stated.
“Everyone does,” Jasper returned.
“You like her,” Layne concluded.
It took some time but he finally dredged it up and, when he did, Jasper grunted, “Yeah.”
Layne smiled at him and straightened off his arms, saying, “Then good luck, Bud.”
Released, Jasper made a break for it, muttering, “Whatever.”
Layne watched his boy move from the room and it hit him that from the minute he lost his virginity at fifteen to Cindy Stanley, a junior with a great rack and a broken home and a need to get whatever attention she could no matter what form it came in, he’d been like Jasper. No steady girl. No one special. The field wide and open and he’d played it. His mother called it “gathering lipstick” (though she did this while muttering and shaking her head) and she was not wrong.
Until Rocky.
He found himself wondering what Keira Winters was like when he heard a car on the street.
His eyes went to the clock and then he walked to the window in the front room, saw Rocky swinging her Merc into his drive and he went straight to the door and out of it.
As he strode down his walk toward her car, he looked across the cul-de-sac of which he was on the southern edge of the curve. Natalie Ulrich lived on the northern edge of the curve. Natalie Ulrich never parked her car in her garage so it was now in her drive. Natalie Ulrich had a huge fucking mouth and ran it as often as she could. And Natalie Ulrich was a surgical nurse at Presbyterian.
She might have missed Layne backing Rocky into her car the morning before. She might not see what Layne was going to do now.
Then again she might.
And if she did, yesterday was all over Presbyterian Hospital and what he was going to do right now would be all over the hospital, and town, before his head hit the pillow.
His eyes moved to Rocky who’d rounded the trunk of her car and met him where the drive met his walk. She’d changed out of her tight skirt and high-heeled shoes and now she was wearing tight jeans, a light, also tight, sweater and a pair of high-heeled sandals.
Layne stood smack in her way so she stopped and tilted her head back to look at him.
“Is everything –?” she started but he lifted both his hands to curl around her jaws and he pulled her up to her toes. Her body instantly got tight. “Layne, what –?”