Chapter 33
LANEY
" I 'm bored," Trigg says, strolling into my room unannounced and throwing himself onto my bed as I finish my morning skincare routine in the mirror.
"I don't see how this is my problem," I say, uninterested.
He's been hounding me for the past three days, and while, truth be told, I'm getting bored too, I haven't been ready to face the town.
Not just because I could run into London, but because of what happened the last time I was here.
I haven't been home since London was hauled off in a police car for my crime.
"You refuse to leave the house," he says as though he read my thoughts.
"So…" I draw out in a bored tone as I reach for my mascara.
"So, I need someone to show me the town," he says as he picks up one of my throw pillows and tosses it in the air, only to catch it.
"Ask your brother," I retort plainly.
"He's not talking to me." He tosses the pillow up again.
His antics are needling at my nerves. Maybe growing up an only child wasn't the curse I thought it was. Right now, brothers lying on my freshly made bed, wrinkling my sheets, and carelessly tossing throw pillows around that could break something are a hard pass .
"I don't believe you," I say with a pointed glare through the mirror.
"And why not?" he questions, dropping the pillow.
"Because every craving and every little item I thought I might need, from a pregnancy pillow to a water bottle, has shown up outside my window for the past three days." I turn to him, unbelieving how he thinks I haven't connected the dots.
"I don't see how this has anything to do with me." He picks up the dropped pillow.
"You're literally living in my house. How else would London know to leave all those things outside my window if you weren't feeding him information?"
"I'm not," he argues.
"Are too," I fire back.
"What's the last thing that showed up?" He puts the pillow back where it was.
"A strawberry milkshake," I say with narrowed eyes.
"And who did you tell that you had a craving for a strawberry milkshake?"
Damn it. "Sydney," I sigh. I should have known.
"See, I think an apology is in order." He crosses his arms, vindication evident.
"I'm sor?—"
"Nope, I don't want an empty apology. You can apologize by taking me out on the town."
"Fine," I agree.
His eyebrows shoot up. "Really? You're not going to put up a fight?"
"Nope." I turn in my chair to finish applying my makeup. "I'll be ready in ten minutes. Get ready to be thoroughly unimpressed."
Fuck it. I want to leave these four walls and stretch my legs. I have the truth, which is more than I had the last time I walked these streets. That's my armor now. Everything else is just noise.
"Who are you texting?" Trigg bumps my arm as we sit at the new bar in Willow Creek.
"Why? Are you hoping it's Asha?" I tease sardonically.
"Always." He lifts his beer to me and takes a sip.
"Touché," I say, twirling the straw in my virgin daiquiri. "Are you ever going to tell me what happened between the two of you? I know it's more than some family feud between your parents."
He purses his lips and spins his bottle in thought. "It's not that I don't want to talk about it…" His eyes flash up to mine. "I just want to know if she remembers it."
That was not the response I was expecting at all. I thought I'd get the runaround again, same as always, not some ominous answer that's going to turn me into Nancy Drew until I crack the case.
"What do you think she forgot?" I pry shamelessly.
He smiles. "That is the question. The problem is, if I tell you, then she'll know."
"I don't understand. If it happened between the two of you, how could she not know?
Why would confiding in me ruin anything?
Think of it this way: if you tell me, then I can tell you if she's ever mentioned it, and then you'd know.
But if you don't tell me, you'll never know if this secret you keep is worth harboring at all.
And I think, since meeting me, you've learned secrets are poison. Nothing good comes from keeping them."
He nods in agreement. "I suppose that's one way to think about it, but as you said, if it happened between us, then I'm not really keeping a secret now, am I?"
Not much has shifted between them these past few months.
They've been around each other more, but only because London and I spend time together—it's circumstantial, not intentional.
There's definitely something simmering beneath the surface, but things haven't progressed like I expected after finding them asleep together on that lounge chair.
Both are too stubborn to talk it out—whatever IT might be.
I roll my lips. "Fine, don't tell me. Sit there and sulk in your unknowingness." I take a sip from my daiquiri before pulling the straw out and licking the whipped cream. "It wasn't Asha."
"My brother again?"
"No." I debate not saying anything, but if I didn't want to talk about it, I wouldn't have told him it wasn't Asha holding the attention on my phone.
I would have said nothing, but I want someone—no, I need someone—to talk to.
"Madison left me a voicemail a few hours after everything happened, and I haven't listened to it. "
I shrug. "At first, it was too fresh. Then, I just wanted to move on. Now, I don't want to look back."
"Since you haven't deleted it, the way I see it, you have two options. One, delete it. Or two, let me listen to it."
"You believe London?" I ask one more time, even though I already know what he'll say.
"I do. My brother might be the biggest moron on the planet forever thinking what he did was better for anyone, but while he might be ignorant when it comes to his decision-making abilities, he's not a cheater. I think you know that too. His heart is too good for that to ever be true."
I slide my phone to him before I can think better of it. "You decide. Put yourself in my shoes. You know the entire story. What would you do?"
I watch as his finger hovers over the message. When it meets the glass of my screen, it takes all of two seconds to learn his choice when her voice rings out on the speaker.
"Laney, hey, it's Madison. Look, I don't mean to overstep. This phone call feels awkward, because all of what I'm about to say is speculation on my end, but I would want to know if I were you. Plus, I want to clear my name… I am not that girl.
The other day, when you walked into the house as I was walking out of London's room, you got the wrong impression of what had happened.
I walked into the house a minute before you arrived.
I had a layover and stopped by to pick up my grandmother's necklace.
I mistakenly left it in the barn when Gypsy was being quarantined.
I'm never in one place long enough to receive mail, so I popped in.
It caught London off guard as well. I wanted to say something right then and there, but honestly, it all happened so fast, and I was just trying to keep up.
I knew after you walked out of the house and Fisher and London got into a fight that it was clear I had unknowingly become a game piece.
But if I ever play the role of the other woman, you better believe it's because I didn't know I wasn't the only woman.
I'm not a cheater, and I respect you. Anyway, I just thought you should know…
And woman to woman, if you take him back… make it sting first."
The message ends, and we sit there in silence, staring at my phone.
My heart wanted to believe London. It did.
But watching her put on that necklace is one of the images I can't get out of my head.
It feels the most damning. A woman putting on something personal, something she had removed during intimacy—even if it wasn't that day, then another.
Even thinking about it now, knowing her account of that day, it still hurts.
I don't want to think about London with someone else.
"Thank you," I say quietly before he presses delete.
"If I were in your position, that message would eat me up longer than it had any right to.
Not to mention, there's a show every spring that comes through Bardstown, and it features her act.
Life is too short to hold a grudge, and if you work things out with my brother, which I'm counting on, you don't need that hovering over your head, casting doubt. "
"You know, I really wish you'd tell me what happened between you and Asha," I say, meeting his eyes with a small smile. "You're not as prickly as you let on. Asha might be missing out on one of the best things that's ever happened to her."
He smiles softly, hearing my words and accepting the compliment. That lasts for all of five seconds before his cocky, self-absorbed persona returns. "Of course she is. Glad you're finally catching up. But don't worry about me and her. I'm handling it." He takes a long pull off his beer.
I think about asking him what "handling it" means, but I don't. Part of me doesn't want to know.
I'm still processing that bit of information he shared at the Belmont Stakes watch party about Sydney and Warrick.
He hasn't mentioned it since, and Sydney has never said anything, but I've noticed Warrick has been staying at his Louisville property.
It could be coincidental with the estate situation still unresolved, but a house isn't the only thing in Louisville.
Sydney is there too. She decided to go back to get her master's degree.
While getting lost in their drama is a distraction from my own, I want the peace that comes from being oblivious. I understand now, more than ever, the tremendous burden that comes with knowing.
"Well, if it isn't Laney Hart back in the flesh." The voice I'd prayed I wouldn't hear slices through my thoughts. I don't need to turn around. I know that voice, and now I know the secrets it carries. My eyes close as every muscle in my body goes rigid.