v Ashley - Golden Trail

“I wanna know everything about you,” he answered, it was lame but he hoped it would get them where they needed to go.

“Well, I don’t remember,” she lied, every girl remembered.

“Was it before your Mom died or after?”

Her body locked.

Fuck.

“Baby, was it before your Mom died or after?”

“I don’t get why you want to know,” she whispered.

“Tell me, Rocky, was it before your Mom died or after?”

“Who cares?” Her voice was pitching higher and the fear was stark on her face.

Fuck!

“Why won’t you answer?” he asked gently, pushing carefully but unfortunately not treading cautiously.

“Because I don’t get why you care,” she answered. “And anyway, it’s private.”

“Nothing is private between you and me.”

“That’s private,” she returned.

“It isn’t.”

“It is.”

“Baby, I’ve had my mouth down there, I know you there, better than you know you there. I know how you taste, how you feel, how you look –”

“Stop it,” she whispered.

“Why?” he asked.

She shook her head, both her hands going to his chest and she tried to push away. Layne locked his arms, trapping her torso just as he shifted and threw a leg over hers, trapping her lower limbs.

“Why?” he repeated. “Why do you want me to stop?”

She looked across the room still putting steady pressure on his chest that fear on her face.

So Layne called up the courage she loved in order to explore something that had been festering insidiously in his brain since the secrets started and he asked, “Baby, what happened that night?”

“Layne, let go.”

“Did Carson Fisher get to you?”

Her eyes cut to his and Layne’s chest seized at the look of terror on her face as she started fighting him.

Fuck. Fuck. Jesus, fuck, no.

“Did he get to you?” Layne pushed even though he really didn’t want to know, he had to know but more importantly, Rocky had to face it.

“Let me go,” she whispered.

“You didn’t tell the cops, it’s not in the report. I pulled it and I read it. But you told your brother and he told your Dad. He got to you, didn’t he? He got to you and he hurt you.”

It was then, she heaved at the same time she let out a grunt and made it to her feet. Layne was up right after her, he caught her at the waist before she could run and he turned her into his arms. She pulled back at the same time she pushed at his chest with her hands.

“Layne!” she shouted, “Let me go!”

“You can tell me, baby, honest to God, you can tell me. It changes nothing. Not one fuckin’ thing.”

“No!” she yelled. “No! He didn’t get to me. Do you think my mother would ever let him get to me? No! I didn’t even see him.”

“Swear it,” Layne pushed.

“I swear,” she hissed. “And I started my period after Mom died. The week after Mom died. Dad was in the hospital and I couldn’t ask Merry so Gram took me to the grocery store and she helped me pick what I needed and she was sweet about it but I didn’t want her there. I wanted Mom there. I could talk to Mom about that shit. Mom would have known what to do, what to say. The cramps hurt so goddamned much and I bled a lot, it lasted a day. It scared the fucking shit out of me. I didn’t want a lifetime of that. Gram tried but she wasn’t Mom. She’d never be Mom. I couldn’t talk to her about it, ask her questions. I couldn’t talk to anyone about it except my Mom and she was dead. Until I was thirty, my periods were the worst. They made me feel like shit, they brought on a lot of pain and I bled out fast. I hated them so much I dreaded them. They’re still not my favorite things to have nor are they my favorite things to talk about. But there you go. The story of my fertility. Happy?”

“Yes,” Layne replied honestly, her body jerked with surprise at his answer then went still in his arms.

“Yes?” she asked.

He dipped his chin and put his face close to hers. “I’m a guy, a guy who grew up without a Dad. Shit happens to you, you want someone to talk about it with. So, I get what you’re sayin’ more than pretty much anyone would get what you’re sayin’. You needed your Mom and she died the week before you needed her. That would suck, baby. What I need you to know is, growin’ up without a Dad, I get it and that means you can talk about it with me.”

She stared him in the eye for long moments before her body relaxed and she whispered, “Layne.”

“You don’t have to hide anything or be embarrassed about anything, not with me. Yeah?” Layne stated.

“Yeah.” She was still whispering.

Layne took in a breath. Then he let it out.

Then he realized he’d made it through the minefield without getting blown to pieces, Rocky was safe and in one piece in his arms and he relaxed.

When he did, he noticed Rocky watching him with a look he couldn’t read on her face.

“You okay, baby?” he asked.

“I don’t really need to process my period anymore, Layne,” she said softly. “I’m kind of used to it by now.”

“You get embarrassed,” he told her honestly.

“I lived with two men, one of them a teenager, they avoided any of my period paraphernalia like the plague. And, newsflash, sweetheart,” she put her hand to his jaw, “you’re also a man.”

“Yeah,” Layne smiled, “but I don’t have any hang ups about that shit. I grew up alone in a house with a woman.”

Her mouth got soft.

“And I just want you to know you’re safe with me, always safe with me, with anything,” he told her.

Her lids lowered but not to half-mast, they closed and when they opened, her face was openly troubled.

“You’re worried I’m going to leave you,” she whispered, surprising Layne by taking it right to the point.

“Yeah,” he whispered back, his arms getting tighter around her, her hand slid from his jaw and both her arms closed around his neck.

She pressed into him and she did this deep, getting up on her toes so her face was close to his. He looked in her eyes and there was an intensity there, so strong it felt like her eyes were burning into his.

“Don’t let me leave you,” she whispered so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.

But he heard her, he not only heard her, he understood what she was saying and his chest seized, his gut twisted but his arms got even tighter.

“I won’t,” he whispered back, his voice was quiet too and thick.

“No matter what.” She was still talking low.

“No matter what,” he replied.

“Promise.”

“I promise, baby.”

She held his gaze then she asked softly, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“You told Marissa, when she found another man, not to tell him about her past.”

Oh fuck.

He wasn’t out of that minefield yet.

“Yeah,” he answered carefully.

“Honestly? Do you think, even if she finds a good guy, a really good guy, she shouldn’t tell him?”

“What are you really askin’, baby?”

“I’m asking about Marissa.”

“Then, if you’re askin’ about Marissa, yes.”

Her head moved back half an inch. “Because you think he’d think less of her? Judge her?”

“No, because she deserves to be loved for who she should have been, who she’ll be, not despite what was forced on her.”

He heard Rocky suck in breath and her eyes went back to intense and seeing it, he decided he’d managed not to get blown to bits yet again, he’d managed to hold her together and she’d made him promise never to let her go. He could do that. He could make her stay. He had her permission. Whatever it was, when they finally faced it, he had her permission to do what he had to do to make her stay.

Thank Christ that was done.

He also decided she’d had enough for one night, so had he, and it was time to move, the fuck, on.

So he lowered his head to take her mouth but her head went back another half inch and he stopped.

When he did, his eyebrows went up and Rocky whispered, “I need to go upstairs and get ready. My man’s hungry.”

And before he could say a word, she pulled out of his arms but she did it with both her hand trailing along his neck and down his chest before she turned and strutted up the stairs.

Layne watched until she was out of sight, going so far as to move to the foot of the stairs to enjoy the whole show.

Then he cleared away the pizza and beer, checked that the apartment was secured, turned out the lights, went upstairs and ate dessert.

“Layne,” she whispered, pressing into him, her fingers digging into his neck.

Layne opened his eyes, dipped his chin and saw her staring up at him, her eyes burning.

“Tripp.” She kept whispering, her body pushing into his, hard, like she wanted him to absorb her, her fingers digging into his tense neck so hard he felt pain. “Tripp,” she repeated, her voice scared.

Layne’s eyes opened and he heard his cell phone.

Rocky shifted and then came up on an elbow.

Another dream. Another fucking, shitty, fucking dream.

“Baby,” Roc whispered, “your phone.”

Layne rolled, putting a hand to the floor, reaching out with the other one, he yanked his jeans toward the bed and pulled his cell out. He pushed off the floor, rolling again to his back as his eyes slid across Rocky’s clock to see it was ten after eight.