23. Chapter 22
Chapter 22
Layne
Despite the earbuds plugging my ears, I could hear the noise rising from the garden. Yelling, music, and the monotone boom-boom of the bass that made the windows vibrate mixed with the sounds of the series I was watching on my laptop. I clutched the silk duvet. Keaton could’ve warned me about the party. I would’ve made myself scarce. Stayed in a motel or in the car or at Tripp’s. Didn’t matter where, just not here.
I had been making popcorn in the kitchen for a cozy night when the doorbell rang. The guy at the gate introduced himself as a DJ and wanted to know if he could go around the house to set up his equipment in the backyard. For a long moment, I stared at him and then explained that he was at the wrong address. But he insisted that Keaton Grady had hired him. Since I hadn’t been able to get ahold of Keaton, I’d had no choice but to let the DJ do his thing.
My eyes burned as I closed them for a moment. My body was practically begging me to stop bombarding my ears and instead give it the silence it longed for. I couldn’t. I didn’t have the strength to drive anywhere, let alone get out of bed. And if I turned off the series, I would hear the ruckus from outside, which was even worse. Why had I forgotten those stupid earplugs the last time I’d gone shopping?
A noise that I hadn’t noticed until now cut into the series. Trying not to strain my aching muscles too much, I slowly turned to the door and stared at it. I had locked it, but someone was rattling the handle. Seriously? Couldn’t they at least leave me alone in my room?
I turned back to the laptop and kept watching. The knocking and rattling continued and became more and more insistent. With an exasperated sigh, I stopped the stream, threw back the covers, and peeled myself out of bed. Whoever was wasting my energy out there better be prepare for my foul mood.
I plodded across the hardwood floor to the door, unlocked it, and yanked it open. The music and the smell of booze and too many people in one place nearly knocked me over. Two women loitered a few feet down the hallway, chatting. Behind them, a couple was making out.
“Leave her alone.” Wentworth’s voice drew my attention to the other side, where he was shoving a guy I’d never seen before to the stairs. “Go home. You’re drunk.”
“Okay, okay, I’m leaving,” the guy mumbled as he clung to the railing and started his unsteady descent. “I just wanted to see if Grady’s wife is real.”
“She is, and she appreciates her privacy.” Wentworth came over to me, a sheepish look on his face. He wore nothing but a pair of navy swim trunks, the good genes clearly running in the family. “Sorry about that. Did he wake you?” His gaze flicked over my skimpy pj’s.
“No.” What normal person could sleep with this ruckus?
“Are you okay? I came to check on you because you weren’t downstairs.”
Bet he felt obligated because of Tripp. “It’s too loud for me.”
“Can I come inside real quick? I won’t stay long. Promise.”
Um . . . Was this one of Keaton’s stupid jokes, like sending Dalton and Xavier over? I was sick of whatever game he was playing.
But Wentworth wasn’t one to play games.
I stepped aside and let him in, then closed the door. To put some distance between us, I crawled back into bed. “I don’t think it’s a good idea that you’re in here,” I said as I pulled the duvet over my bare legs.
Wentworth stood at the window with his back to me, looking down at the pool and partying crowd. The light shining up from the backyard illuminated his silhouette. I squinted to make out what the tattoo stretching across his upper back said, but it was too dark.
Finally, he tore his gaze away and turned to me. “I’m not over Evelyn, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
I bit my lower lip, more than a little relieved. “I’m sorry she divorced you.”
“Probably for the best.” He looked around the room, scanning the wooden closet next to the door, and my video games collection on the shelf below the wall-mounted TV. “I’m here for you, though. Not to talk about me.”
“Do you know why Keaton is throwing this party?” I blurted. “He didn’t tell me.”
Wentworth shrugged. “He does that a lot, but I hardly ever attend. The only reason I’m here is because your brother has company. Said something about cooking her dinner, so I told him I wouldn’t be home before midnight.”
I had to smile to myself. Tripp loved to cook as much as Dad had. He’d learned it from him, his first attempts so gross that we had to order pizza. But now he was a chef.
“The other reason is because I hoped it would distract me.” Wentworth ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “Doesn’t work.”
“Give yourself some time. It’s only been, what, five months?”
He took me in. “You know that pain, don’t you?”
“Not what it’s like to get divorced, but my fiancé breaking off the engagement, yes.” It had taken me a while to get over Sebastian, and sometimes thinking about the way he’d just walked out on me still hurt. I hadn’t been his priority.
“Tripp was so mad.”
I blinked. “He was?”
“Oh yeah. He brooded for an entire month without telling us what was wrong. Worked out like a beast and made our training unbearable.”
My throat tightened, and I clawed my fingers into the silk duvet. Why did he never show that he cared when I was around?
“Do you want me to drive you to the beach hut?” Wentworth asked, yanking me out of my thoughts. “It’s quiet there.”
“No, thanks.” I shook my head, almost regretting turning down the offer when the room tilted. I really needed silence, but driving to a remote location with Wentworth . . . Keaton would rip our heads off.
“Is there anything else I can do?”
A knock on the door let both our heads swivel in that direction.
My stomach contracted. Hopefully it wasn’t Keaton.