Layne, lazing back into the corner of Merry’s couch, his feet on the coffee table next to the closed box that contained the remains of a decimated pizza (when Rocky said she was hungry, she did not lie and he made a mental note for the future that a concession stand hotdog would not cover it for Roc), replied, “That’s about it, sweetcheeks.”

She listed to the side and rested her head on the top of the couch, muttering, “We’re fucked.”

He grinned. “We’ll be fine.”

“You keep saying that.”

Layne kept grinning. “I keep sayin’ that because we’ll be fine.”

Rocky closed her eyes and sighed.

Layne lifted a leg and nudged her knee with his shin before returning his foot to the coffee table.

Rocky opened her eyes.

“Cosgrove got reason to be cocky?” he asked quietly.

She looked over his head then back at him.

“Let’s just say that I don’t adhere entirely to the School Board approved curriculum.”

His grin got bigger as he muttered, “Baby.”

She lifted her head from the couch.

“It’s boring, Layne, and the kids don’t learn shit. If they get Halsey, the ones who want the grades do the work but they don’t get anything out of it. The ones who don’t care, I kid you not, they sleep. They sleep through his class. Literature is art and art is about passion, it’s about drive, it’s about beauty. How can you slide through a semester of that and not be moved by it?”

Layne watched her and he knew this was dangerous territory. He knew it by the light in her eyes, the passion, the drive, the beauty of it and he was moved by it. He was moved that even after eighteen years, when she had that same light in her eyes when she was studying to be a teacher, it hadn’t dimmed in the slightest. And he didn’t need Rocky to move him that way. She was moving him enough.

Even knowing that, he didn’t do a fucking thing about it.

“Do what you do and fuck ‘em,” Layne advised.

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered, reaching out to grab her bottle of beer, she brought it back, took a pull, dropped her hand and then her eyes went back to him. “You didn’t just pay first, last and put down a deposit on a luxury apartment tonight.”

“They won’t fire you,” he assured her.

“No? I’ve worked for that school for ten years, Layne, and I’ve been hauled in front of the School Board four times.”

“Why?”

“Uptight, ignorant parents pissed about shit they don’t understand. Do you know, I had a complaint lodged against me because I make the kids memorize Poe’s Annabelle Lee and some parent thought ‘sepulcher’ was a sex palace?”

Layne burst out laughing.

“No joke!” she shouted over his laughter. “They thought it was about underage sex!”

Layne forced himself to quit laughing and looked back at her. “How could they think that?”

“I was a child, and she was a child, in this kingdom by the sea; but we loved with a love that was more than a love – I and my Annabelle Lee,” she quoted, those words struck deep, all humor fled and Layne stared at her as she went on softly. “It’s the most beautiful, bittersweet, sad love poem ever written, Layne. When I first introduce it, I take them to the choir room, which is soundproofed and has no windows. I turn out the lights, light candles and make them put on blindfolds and I recite it to them, shutting out everything and making them hear the words of a man broken when he lost his bride.” She closed her eyes. “But our love was stronger by far than the love of those much older than we, of many far wiser than we, and neither the angels in heaven above, nor the demons down under the sea, can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful Annabelle Lee.” She shook her head and opened her eyes. “Sometimes,” she whispered, “Even the boys cry. I even get through to the boys. I’m teaching beauty, Layne, how can that have rules?”

“Teach how you teach, Rocky,” he said quietly. “You don’t like their rules, break ‘em.”

She stared at him and she did this a long time before something unpleasant passed across her face and she looked to the side, hiding her expression from him.

“Roc,” he called.

“You know,” she told the wall, her voice quiet. “Jarrod always told me to do what they say, play by their rules. He never got what I was trying to do. He never told me to break the rules.” She looked back at him. “Eventually, I quit talking to him about it. It annoyed him that I didn’t listen. He knew so much more than me.”

He knew by her face and the tremor in her voice that this was bigger than her husband cheating on her. This cut deeper than infidelity.

“He knew more than you?” Layne asked.

“Well, yes, of course, Layne.” Her tone suddenly held the sharp edge of sarcasm. “He’s a surgeon. A medical doctor. He’s nearly a decade older than me and he’s had at least that much more schooling than me. He’s from the city, not a cowtown. His family lived in Paris for three years. He speaks fluent French. Of course he’d know more than me.”

The bastard made her feel small. Stupid and small.

Christ, but he was going to enjoy getting in that guy’s face.

“I take it Jarrod’s problem wasn’t just that he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants but he wasn’t much fun at home either,” Layne remarked.

“No,” Rocky answered on a whisper, her eyes glued to his. “He wasn’t much fun at home.”

They both fell silent and held each other’s eyes and Layne knew she was thinking the same thing he was thinking.

They had fun at home. Even when they were fighting, they had fun. They were young, they were in love, they had fantastic sex, he made decent money, she had a bright future, they both weren’t afraid to work hard, they got along and when they didn’t they fought clean, they made each other laugh and life was just fucking good. He had never, not once when they were living together, dreaded going home. When work was done or when he’d be heading home after drinks with the guys or doing an errand, he looked forward to going home to Rocky.

And now he knew she felt the same.

Slowly, his body tensed with expectation, and, fuck him, anticipation, as she began to lean toward him, saying, “Layne –” when they heard a key scrape the lock and she sat back and twisted her neck to look at the door.

Fuck!

His eyes went over the back of the couch to see Merry walk in.

“Sorry,” Merry said, closing the door behind him. “Saw your truck, brother, but to get to my bed, I gotta walk through this room.” He walked to the dining room table and tossed his keys on it, finishing with, “Hey Roc.”

“Hey Merry,” she replied and Layne looked at his watch.

It was nearly midnight and he needed to get his ass home, not just getting the fuck away from a Raquel Astley with passion in her eyes, or pain, but because his sons’ curfew was midnight and he needed to make sure they didn’t break it.

He lifted his feet off the coffee table and pushed up, muttering, “Gotta go.”

Merry was shrugging off his leather jacket. “Don’t mind me. I’m wiped. I’m goin’ straight to bed.”

Layne rounded the couch as he heard Rocky get up. “Gotta be home for the boys.”

Merry had wrapped his jacket around the back of a dining room chair and his eyes came to Layne.

“Heard the ‘dogs won,” he remarked.

“Yep,” Layne replied, coming to stand a few feet from Merry.

“They got talent this year,” Merry noted.

“Yep,” Layne agreed.

Merry’s eyes grew sharp. “Heard about Tripp, big man.”

“Figured that was makin’ the rounds,” Layne stated.

Rocky burrowed into her brother’s side until he slid an arm around her shoulders and she did this whispering, “It was bad, Merry.”

Merry looked down at her upturned face and nodded then looked back at Layne.

“You gonna do somethin’ about that?” he asked.

“Formal complaint,” Layne answered.

Merry shook his head, mumbling, “That isn’t what I’d do.”

No, Layne knew, that wasn’t what Merry would do. Merry had control, just not very much of it.

“There are times, man, when you gotta play it smart. This is one of those times,” Layne replied quietly.

Merry’s eyes fell to Layne’s gut, showing Layne they’d both learned the lesson about playing it smart. Then he looked back at Layne and nodded.

Then he said, “Welp, gotta hit the hay.” He leaned down and kissed the top of his sister’s head and after he did, she tipped her head back and grinned at him. He gave her shoulders a visible squeeze, let her go, walked to Layne, clapped him on the shoulder and then walked down the hall, saying, “’Night.”

“’Night, Merry,” Rocky called.

“Later,” Layne said and headed to the door.

Rocky followed him.

Merry had a two-bedroom condo. It wasn’t the greatest condo, it wasn’t shit. At his age, even after the divorce where he let his ex have the house, he could do better. Then again, he had an Excursion, a speed boat, a Harley, a timeshare in Florida and a taste for expensive whisky. Unlike Rutledge, to have expensive toys on a cop’s salary, Merry had to juggle and, sometimes, make sacrifices.

Layne opened the door and walked out into the cold. Rocky held the door open then moved to stand with a shoulder against the jamb, the door mostly closed, she’d wedged herself between them and her eyes were looking up at him.

“I’m sorry about Tripp, Layne,” she said gently.

“He’ll be okay,” Layne replied and she nodded.

“Thanks for helping with the apartment,” she said.