21. Chapter 20
Chapter 20
Layne
As expected, the aftermath of the gala was brutal. I spent the following two days in bed, even the smallest of movements exhausting and painful. Not able to handle light or noise, I had the shutters down to block out the sun and the door closed, in case Keaton was around and made noise. Thank God he’d worked late on both evenings and didn’t have time to teach me more about investing. My brain couldn’t have handled it.
On the morning of day three I peeled myself out of bed, the pain having simmered down to the aching I was used to. “Thank you, God,” I mumbled, as I made my way down the stairs.
The doorbell brought me to a hard stop outside the kitchen. I stared at the surveillance screen next to the door. Who was that?
I inched closer to get a better look. Some kind of truck was parked at the gate, a man hanging his arm out the window and looking straight into the camera.
I pushed the button that activated the intercom. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Grady, I’m Dalton Scott with Scott Plumbing. Your husband sent me.”
He had? Why hadn’t he told me? What time was it?
I looked down at my pj shorts. I had to get dressed.
“Come on in,” I said. “I’ll leave the door open.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
I buzzed the gate open, unlocked the door, then fled up the stairs to my bedroom. I was shrugging into a pair of jeans when a knock came from the closed door.
What the . . .
Raking my fingers through my unkempt curls, I walked over and cracked the door open.
Mr. Scott stood in the hallway wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, a toolbox in hand. “Sorry to disturb you, but I gotta take a look at the bathroom in here.” He gave me an apologetic smile.
“Oh.” More than a little embarrassed, I pushed the door open and stepped aside. My room was a total mess, and so was my bathroom.
“Keaton didn’t tell you I was coming, did he?” Mr. Scott asked as he stepped over the pj’s I’d dropped to the floor while changing.
“He did not,” I muttered, starting to clear the bed of my sketchbook, journal, and laptop, so I could make it. “I’m so sorry for the mess. If something’s in your way, please move it.”
“You should see my place.” The grin he tossed over his shoulder as he entered my bathroom soothed my nerves. Despite the thick scar running the length of his left cheek, he was a handsome man.
I followed him into the bathroom, snatching the brush and the makeup stuff I’d left on the sink when getting ready for the gala. The past couple days I’d been too exhausted to get any cleaning done. “What exactly is wrong in here?”
“The water in the shower doesn’t drain all the way.”
It didn’t? I’d noticed that it drained slowly, but there was never any residue. “Okay. Can I get you anything to drink, Mr. Scott? A coffee, maybe?”
He looked up from where he was kneeling in the shower. “Call me Dalton. And a coffee would be amazing.”
“Okay, um . . . Dalton. I’m Layne.”
As he went to work, I headed downstairs to make him coffee. Hopefully it wouldn’t take him too long, and I could go back to bed. I needed to rest.
The doorbell stopped me in my tracks. What on earth?
More than a little irritated, I marched out of the kitchen and to the screen beside the door. A van was parked at the gate, the driver wearing a ball cap.
“How can I help you?” I asked through the intercom.
“Mrs. Grady?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m here to clean the pool.”
Of course he was. “Come on in.”
I buzzed the gate open a second time, then headed back into the kitchen. By the time I’d figured out how the fancy coffee machine worked and Dalton’s brew was ready, a knock came from the sliding door leading to the pool deck.
Flinching, I whirled in that direction.
The pool guy waved at me from behind the glass, a wide grin splitting his face.
I walked up to him and opened the door. “Yes?”
“Sorry for the intrusion, but I saw you’re making coffee. Can I get one?”
“Uh . . . sure thing.”
“Thanks. I’m Xavier, by the way.” He tipped his navy ball cap, an Afro curling from underneath.
“Nice to meet you, Xavier. I’m Layne.” Which he probably already knew. “What kind of coffee do you want? This thing has choices I didn’t even know existed.”
He chuckled. “Surprise me.”
Like you surprised me? Or more so Keaton.
Something was fishy here. What was my husband up to?
“So Keaton wasn’t lying about having a wife,” Xavier said, as he followed me inside.
“I guess not.” I grabbed a cup and placed it under the spout, then blindly tapped an option on the touch screen.
“A beautiful one at that.”
I almost snorted. Pretty sure Keaton didn’t share that opinion, which was fine with me. I was too much of a tomboy to walk around like the women I’d seen him with on his socials, including Delilah. She was stunning with her smooth olive complexion and hazel eyes.
“How do you know each other?” I asked Xavier.
“Been friends since we were six. Met in Little League.”
No wonder he acted like this was his own home.
“Does Keaton still play baseball?” I’d noticed his collection in the living room.
Crossing his arms, Xavier leaned against the counter. “Almost every noon he goes to the batting cage. It’s kinda tragic. He could’ve made it far. Major League Baseball far.”
“What happened?”
“Aaron and Regina refused to let him play on a serious level. Said education was more important.”
I’d expected an injury, but not that. Then again, I had met Regina and Aaron. As sad as it was, I wouldn’t put it past them to hinder Keaton from becoming a professional baseball player. Maybe this was what had caused the rift in their relationship.
My heart ached for Keaton. I couldn’t even imagine how hard this must have been for him as a teen.
Xavier grabbed his coffee. “Wanna hear some funny stories about your husband? I got a whole repertoire.”
“Absolutely.” There was so much about Keaton I didn’t know. Learning more about him was a must for the green card interview.
And frankly, I was just curious. Maybe Xavier could tell me what Keaton was hiding in that locked room upstairs.