He stood with his hand still on the latch not thinking about Astley’s final words. He wasn’t giving headspace to that asshole. Instead he was thinking one down, half a dozen to go.

Then he walked to the fridge to find Roc’s leftovers.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Layne quietly entered Rocky’s bedroom.

“I’m awake and I’m better,” she said softly from the bed.

Layne walked to her side and sat on it. She was still curled into a ball, her back to him and she didn’t move. This wasn’t unusual. He remembered, after she’d battled the pain, she wasn’t herself, not in a fog but she’d lose a hint of lucidity.

He leaned over her and put a forearm into the bed in front of her.

“You need anything?” he asked.

“I’m good,” she answered.

“That pill obviously works wonders, sweetcheeks, I remember sometimes it’d be hours and it was only sleep that brought you peace.”

“Yep, it’s the wonder pill,” she whispered.

“So why do you wait to take it?”

“Because I’m an idiot?”

She was joking and he laughed softly, leaned in and kissed her forehead. Then he moved away from her, rounded the bed, closed the curtains she’d left open, pulled off his clothes and joined her.

He reached out, gathered her in his arms and she snuggled closer.

“All right, Roc, no jokin’ around, why do you wait to take it?” Layne repeated his question and she sighed.

Then she answered, “Hope springs eternal. I hate those headaches and they don’t come very often so, in between times, I tell myself I’m done with them, I’ve had the last one. Then, when they start, I tell myself it isn’t one of those, it’s just a headache because I don’t want to believe they’ve come back. Then, well… they come back.”

 “You need to take the pill, Rocky.”

“Taking the pill is admitting defeat, Layne.”

He rolled into her, taking her to her back, lifted up and looked down at her shadowed face.

“Any battle worth winnin’ is worth using every weapon available,” he informed her.

“Right, like blackmailing Jarrod?” she returned and Layne got quiet. When he didn’t speak, she asked, “Did you blackmail him?”

“I didn’t,” Layne answered somewhat honestly.

She was silent. Then she whispered, “Dev.”

Layne didn’t reply.

“What’d you get on him?” she asked.

“Dirty campaign contributions,” Layne partially answered.

“I can believe that,” she said softly. “Especially considering he was so pissed. He loves being one of the good ole boys. He can get pissy but that was off the charts.”

Layne reckoned Jarrod Astley didn’t like losing, especially not something as important as Rocky. And he also reckoned the man didn’t like any time when he couldn’t do what he damn well pleased.

But he doubted that anger was about campaign contributions.

That kind of anger was about love or money and not money spent on politics.

Devin had pulled the Marissa card and Astley was facing paying out twice and losing hold of Rocky, even the sick hold he had that was essentially just yanking her chain.

So it was both. Love and money.

“He’s settling,” Layne announced and felt Rocky’s body still.

“Sorry?”

“He’s settling, baby,” Layne told her. “He says for you to tell your attorneys what you want, if he’s not happy with it, he’ll counter.”

“Seriously?” she breathed.

“Seriously.”

She was motionless and silent a moment before she lifted her hand and curled it around his neck then she lifted her head and touched her mouth to his.

Then she said, “Thank you, baby.”

Thank Christ, she wasn’t pissed, she was grateful.

So he took advantage. “This means you owe me and what you owe me is promising me you’ll take that pill the minute a headache comes on.”

“Layne –”

“Non-negotiable.”

“Layne –”

“I love your hair, sweetcheeks, and my fingers in it but it isn’t my favorite thing to do, holding it back while you puke.”

Rocky fell silent.

“You with me on this?” Layne prompted.

“Yes,” she gave in softly.

“Promise,” he pushed.

“I promise,” she stated.

That’s when he grinned and bent his head to brush her lips with his.

As he was lifting his head, she asked, “Did you find out where Gaines lived?”

“Five guesses,” Layne replied. “And if one of them isn’t The Brendel, you lose.”

Rocky gasped then asked, “The Brendel?”

“Yep,” Layne fell to his side and she rolled into him, pushing him to his back with her body and then lifting her head and shoulders up but her hand was still at his neck.

“I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it. He either lives here or he’s visiting his girlfriend who’s got cabbage. He drove straight here, knew the gate code and I took a stroll, found his car and saw him close the blinds, a beer in his hand.”

She was silent a moment before she said, “He doesn’t have a girlfriend. Women can be pretty blind, Layne, especially when a man is that attractive, but if she goes to church and sees the way he is with those girls –”

Layne interrupted her. “You think he’s attractive?”

“Well… yeah,” she answered.

“Roc, evidence is suggesting this guy is into some sick shit. I saw him kiss a sixteen year old’s neck as his way of sayin’ good-bye.” He felt her body get stiff as he went on. “That shit’s not right.”

“I’m not saying he’s attractive, as in, if I didn’t lay claim to the hottest guy in the ‘burg, I’d go for it. I’m just saying, you know, technically he’s attractive in an ‘euw, gross, he’s into sick shit which is too bad because he’s cute’ kind of way.”

Layne burst out laughing, his arms went around her and he rolled her again to her back, this time he covered her torso with his, buried his face in her neck and asked, “You lay claim to the hottest guy in the ‘burg? Who’s that then?”

She slapped his arm lightly and whispered, “Shut up.”

He lifted his head and smiled at her shadowed face, “No really, I wanna know.”

“Stop fishing for compliments.”

He bent his neck and rubbed the side of his nose against hers, whispering, “You think I’m hot.”

“You know you’re hot, you always did,” she stated and he lifted his head.

“Yeah, and you always did too, that’s why you strutted back and forth to the window at Fulsham’s Custard Stand five times while I was sitting there, eatin’ my cone the first time I saw you, ‘cause you wanted some of this and got it by swinging your ass in my face.”

She gasped again. “I did not!”

“Sweetcheeks, you so did.”

“If I recall, I needed a napkin,” she shot back.

“Five of them?”

“It was a hot day! My cone was melting too fast for me to eat it.”

“Baby, when you weren’t struttin’, you were lickin’ and you took your time because that got my attention too.”

“I forgot how full of yourself you could be,” Rocky snapped.

“And I forgot about you lickin’ that cone,” Layne returned. “We’re goin’ to Fulsham’s tomorrow after dinner.”

“It’s closed for the winter,” she retorted.

“Then I’m buyin’ ice cream and cones at Kroger’s.”

“And I’m arranging to be fed intravenously until the end of my days.”

Layne burst out laughing again and rolled to his back, taking Rocky with him so she was on top. He knew she wasn’t seriously pissed and they were playing at bickering when she scooted down and settled with her cheek to his chest and her arm around him. He lifted a hand and slid it through her hair, then again, and repeat.

“Baby,” he called and she mumbled, “Mm?”

“The third time, you said, you needed Atticus,” he stated and her head and hand came up but only so she could rest her chin on her hand in his chest and look at him.

“What?”

“In class today, you said the third time you read To Kill a Mockingbird, you needed Atticus,” he felt her body get tight and he pushed, “when was that?”

“Layne –”

“When was that?”

“I don’t –”

His hand twisted in her hair and his other arm went around her, pulling her up his chest so they were face to face.

“When was that?” he repeated.

She was silent and this silence spread.

Then she whispered, “When I lost my real-life version of him.”

“Jesus,” Layne whispered back instantly.

She’d said, Atticus Finch is the most beautiful man I’ve ever met in print. He’s a good dad and he does what’s right, not what’s safe, not what’s popular. What’s right. He’s gentle. He’s smart. He’s strong. He’s decisive and he’s willing to follow through with his decisions, no matter what the odds.

“Jesus,” he repeated, still whispering.

Rocky took advantage of his immobility and moved, making her point by brushing her lips lightly against the scar beneath his shoulder then putting her cheek there, her arm around his abs, pinning him to the bed.

“You aren’t the same as him, of course, Atticus wasn’t a badass, or, if he was, he was a quiet one. But Atticus was about doing what was right and you were too and still are. And I missed you so, when I read it again, because I was missing you and I figured I’d never have anything like that again, it was all about Atticus because if I couldn’t have it, it felt good to be able to spend time with it in my head.”

She stopped speaking, Layne stared at the dark ceiling and Rocky’s arm tightened around him.

“You have it again.”

That came from Layne, his voice thick.

“Weird,” she whispered. “I thought it was perfect but somehow it’s better this time around.”