34. Chapter 33
Chapter 33
Layne
As soon as I opened my eyes, I knew something was off. I was bundled up in a charcoal silk duvet, but it wasn’t mine. A woodsy, crisp smell clung to it.
I was in Keaton’s bed.
Memories of last night came flooding back. He’d brought me here, into his bedroom, after the car accident. He’d held me the entire time, cradled me in his lap when Dalton had picked us up and driven home.
I lifted my head and glanced around the room. Dim light shone through the ajar door, allowing me to see outlines.
There. Keaton sat in the club chair in the corner by the window.
“Hey,” he whispered, his voice raw.
“Hey.” I sank back into the pillows and reached for the switch on the headboard. Soft light replaced darkness. “What are you doing here?”
“You mean apart from the fact that this is my bedroom?” I heard the smirk in his tone. “Making sure you don’t stop breathing in your sleep.”
Warmth that had nothing to do with the silk duvet cocooned me. Had he been here the entire night? Hadn’t he left, saying he knew I needed rest?
Apparently he’d snuck back inside once I’d fallen asleep.
“How are you feeling?” Keaton moved to my side and reached for my forehead.
Closing my eyes, I relished his warm touch. “Good.”
“Layne,” he growled. “What did I say about being honest with me?”
“I’m . . .” I let out a sigh. “I don’t know. Like I was hit by a truck. I literally just woke up.”
“On a scale from one to ten, how bad is the pain? How exhausted are you?”
A groan escaped me. Why did he have to be so persistent? “Exhaustion a five, maybe. Pain a seven, of which two points are credited to you for being a pain in my rear.”
Keaton chuckled. “Always up for a joke, even when she’s dying.”
“Satan can take anything from me, but not my faith and dark sense of humor.”
“So pain and exhaustion both a seven,” Keaton concluded.
Maybe. What did I know? “How are you feeling on a scale from one to ten?”
“You need to rest.” He straightened.
“What was that about being honest?”
His lips stretched into a tired smile. He still wore the dress shirt and slacks from last night. “I’m good. Worried the accident hurt you in a way we can’t see. I want Dwight to take a look at you today. He’s my personal doctor—”
“I’m fine, Keaton, really.” When he squatted next to the bed, I reached out and ran my fingers along his jaw. Felt the day’s worth of stubble under my fingertips. “You sat all night in that chair, didn’t you?”
“Couldn’t let you out of sight.”
“You’ll fall asleep at work.”
“Going in later today.”
I pulled my hand back to prop up on an elbow. “Can you do that?”
“They’ll survive without me for a couple of hours.” He climbed over me, moving to the other side of the bed, where he settled down. “Let’s catch some more Zs. It’s only five a.m.”
Huh. I rolled over to look at him. I really wanted him to hold me right now, but that was a bad idea, so I closed my eyes. “Sleep tight, hubby.”
“You too, wifey.”
I smiled.
Ripped my eyes open. “What happened to your deal with Wilson?”
“Nailed it.”
“You did?”
Keaton nodded. “He texted me after we got home. Wishes you a speedy recovery.”
“That’s great. I’m not the least bit surprised, because you crushed it.”
“And sacrificed your health in the process.” His jaw worked. “I’m sorry, Layne. For everything. All the times I hurt you. Last night, I should’ve—”
I grasped his hand and squeezed it. “It’s fine. I’m the one who should’ve spoken up instead of hiding. What about your Aston Martin? Can you still drive it?”
Keaton sniffed. “Probably not. The engine looked pretty messed up.”
My heart sank. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too. RIP Angelique.”
For some reason, that made me laugh. I didn’t mean to, but I full-on guffawed.
“Whoa, hey. We talked about this. She has feelings.”
“Had,” I wheezed. “But yes, she was very protective of you.” Tears streamed down my cheeks.
“She was.” Keaton chuckled. “Is it just me or do you laugh tears a lot?”
I wiped them away with the back of my hand. “No, it’s not just you. I do. I got this from Mom.” Only that I hadn’t seen her laugh tears in ages.
“What’s she like?”
“My mother?” I made a face. “High like a kite.”
Keaton stared at me. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish. I mean, she’s not high all the time, but pretty much every evening. She’s been smoking weed as long as I can remember, but it got worse after Dad died. Guess it’s her coping mechanism. The problem is it makes her forget things.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “One time—I think I was eleven or something—she was supposed to pick me up after a dentist appointment. I waited and waited in the freezing cold, but she didn’t show up. Had to walk home a mile and found her in the den, laughing hysterically at some kids TV show. Obviously she’d smoked pot and forgotten about me.”
The frown darkening Keaton’s face was very unlike him. “That’s screwed up. Where was your dad?”
“Dead.” I pulled the duvet farther up. “He was a logger. Got crushed by a tree when I was ten. That same year, Tripp moved back to the States. It felt like I’d lost him, too.”
Keaton reached over and ran his thumb over my cheek. “Sounds like a rough year.”
“It was,” I said, leaning into his palm. “Dad was hilarious. You would’ve liked him.”
“Hopefully more than Tripp.”
I clicked my tongue. “He looks scarier than he is.”
“I doubt that,” Keaton muttered.
Snickering, I interlaced our fingers. Exhaustion weighed heavy on me, but I didn’t want to end this conversation. “Xavier told me you could’ve become a professional baseball player. It breaks my heart that your parents didn’t support you. Actually, hindered you.”
Keaton gave me a grim smile. “They had other plans. And I kinda had my sights on taking over Lincoln Grady Distillery anyway.”
“At that age?”
“As long as I can remember.”
That was unusual.
“I still go to the batting cage five or six times a week. Make time for it. Lately less.”
A wave of emotions swept over me, and I wasn’t even sure why. It sounded so . . . lonely.
He closed his eyes. “We should get some sleep.”
“Keaton?”
“Yes, babe?”
“The car accident wasn’t an accident, was it?”
He slowly opened his eyes, bringing his gaze to me. “Not sure. The DRPD is looking into it.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“I don’t know any more than you do, Layne. What I know is that a car doesn’t blow up for no reason, so no, it probably wasn’t an accident.” He squeezed my hand. “There’s a lot I want to tell you but can’t. You gotta trust me on this one, okay? I’ll keep you safe.”
Too tired to argue, I nodded. “Okay.” I did trust him, and that was all that mattered right now.
As I drifted back to sleep, my mind kept spinning with ideas about what could’ve caused the explosion. I couldn’t wait for the DRPD’s report.