Golden Trail (The 'Burg #3)(144)

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 f**k?” 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, ass**le.”

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 f**kin’ 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 f**k 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 f**k down,” Layne warned quietly.

“And you need to go f**k 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 f**kin’ 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 f**k… out.”

“And I’ll tell you again… f*ck 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-* 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.