128. You’ve Been Warned
YOU’VE BEEN WARNED
LIVY
Kyle lifts his head and perks his ears. Immediately he stands, facing the closed bedroom door, on alert and growling. When he barks, the room vibrates with fierceness and volume.
The last time I saw him this way was when that perv, Tustin, watched us at the beach house. Otherwise, he’s been more relaxed with this move than I would’ve expected.
Layton holds my eyes. Quietly, he says, “Stay right here. Don’t move.” He slips out of bed, pulls a pistol from somewhere in his nightstand, and opens his door. I’d love to say I’m obedient, but he and I both know better.
I slide out of bed and scurry for the closet, finding clothes as quietly as I can. I can’t hear anything, but I’m not interested in getting closer to see if I can. I hide in the far corner and stifle a scream when the light eventually is flipped on. “Pix?”
I poke my head around one of Layton’s huge jackets.
“What are you doing down there?”
“I thought it was obvious. I’m hiding.”
“Exton and Willa arrived for dinner. She had to pee and was pounding on the door. Kyle is fine, and you’re safe.” He extends a hand to me, and I accept, but he doesn’t let go when I’m upright. He wraps me in his arms and kisses me. “I’ll always protect you. You don’t have to hide.”
“You pulled out a gun.”
His face registers confusion. “Did I scare you?”
“It scared me.”
“Well, I’ll try not to need it anymore.” I hear what he doesn’t say, that we won’t.
“Get dressed. Let’s go figure out dinner.” He turns me, patting me on the butt, and nudges me across the room.
“Promises. Promises,” I tease, looking over my shoulder and putting a little sway in my hips.
“Baby, if you want me to spank you, you don’t have to ask twice. I’ll tan your ass and then eat it. Don’t dare me.”
I feel a clench deep in my core and heat floods between my legs. A visible shiver runs through me, and the chuckle that comes from behind me says he knows. “Later, Pix. Sit through dinner knowing what I’ll do to you when my family leaves.”
Holy cow.
Brighton was right… What a difference a year makes.
I stand over the stove and sauté artichokes and garlic in olive oil while Layton cuts up ingredients for the salad. He turns and drops some green onion into my pan as I stir. By the time I drop the spaghetti into the veggies on the stove, the house smells amazing.
I plate up the pasta, grinding a bit of black pepper on top as Layton sprinkles parsley with flair.
“It’s like watching two chefs who’ve been cooking together for years prepare for a Michelin event.” Willa’s eyes wander back and forth as we prepare dinner.
“Hardly,” I toss back.
“We’re meeting with a nutritionist in the next couple of weeks because I don’t know how to eat this”—he points at the pasta—“without time in the gym. Luckily, summer makes it easier.”
Layton sets a large bowl of salad greens onto the island, dressing it with homemade vinaigrette, and picking out an English cucumber to pop into his mouth.
“Well, it looks delicious.” Willa pats her stomach. “I hope this one lets me eat.”
“Why?”
“There’s just no more room. It’s like he wants to evict my internal organs. And they say I’ll keep gaining in these last few weeks.”
I tap her hand. “You can hold it over his head for life, you know.” I smile. “And you’re welcome to walk with me or stretch in the pool. You didn’t ask—and I hope I’m not overstepping—but if you want some pre-delivery exercises, I’d be happy to get some to you.”
Exton’s face is curious but cautious. Willa, on the other hand, falls on the offer like a starving woman on bread.
“I’ll take anything and everything you throw my way. He’s huge.” She points to her stomach. “And I’m nervous.”
Exton rubs small circles on her back. “Dragon slayer, you’ll crush this like you do everything in life. And make it look easy, I’m sure.”
“Ha.”
“Layton,” Exton starts. “I have a random favor to ask. Have you already closed on your Florida penthouse?”
I look between the two of them, certain that surprise lines my face. I didn’t know anything about that.
“Officially? No. It was set for tomorrow, but I’m waiting on my attorney on a last-minute concern. Why?”
“I have a new case regarding illegal drug running that starts in Florida. I’m hoping I can stay at your place… just for a night or two while I investigate. You know, keep it low-key and stay off the radar.” He shrugs.
He never looks at me. In fact, he’s so casual that it’s eerie. No one would ever know we spoke earlier.
“Sure, if you’re quick. I’ll get with Emberleigh and George just to confirm, but I should know by the end of dinner. Does that work?”
Exton nods and continues rubbing Willa’s back.
“I don’t know if the place has been cleaned. Frankly, I left all of that to the two of them.”
“I don’t need much. And I expect it to be a quick trip. We’re weeks out, not days.” He splays a palm on Willa’s belly. “But I’m not going to risk it.”
She looks into his face, and her love for him is practically palpable. “And this one might fuss, but I’m going to ask another favor. Can she stay with you while I’m gone?”
“What?” Willa turns fully to face him. “I’m pregnant, not a child.”
“Would you prefer the ranch?”
Willa scrunches her nose. “The smells are so potent right now. I love it there. You know that. It’s a second home to me. But the smell of warm poop…” She covers her mouth and runs for the powder room.
Layton seems to be watching the movie of his brother and sister-in-law and be caught in the middle. He pops another cucumber in his mouth. “She’s not wrong about the smell.”
“I’m sorry. And thank you. She’ll balk, but I just need her to be safe. And for our baby to be safe. And for me to know someone has an eye on her while I’m gone.”
“Exton, she’s always welcome here. Your whole family is. And if it’ll make you feel better, and she agrees”—I look pointedly at him—“then absolutely.”
Layton grabs his phone and taps his thumbs across the surface. Exton does the same, sliding his back into his pocket just as Willa returns to the room.
“I didn’t puke. But it was touch and go for a while. And there was no reason to be in there and not pee.” She stares at her belly like she’s arguing with her unborn baby. “Now what can I do?” That question is for me.
The four of us enjoy dinner and chat about everything under the sun. Willa asks about my home and how I feel about missing the beach. I tell her about my flamingo pink bungalow with its picket fence and small yard, but that I had a view of the water.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Are you going to sell it? Rent it out?”
“I haven’t thought of anything actually. I don’t want to sell it, and I really don’t want to be a landlord. At some point, I’ll figure out my job situation, and the house will be an easier decision at that point.”
Layton seems surprised by the comment. “You have a job. And a home.”
“I’m planning on working my way out of the job, thank you very much. If I’m needed too long, I’m not worth my salt as a therapist. The point is to put myself out of work.”
“You don’t have to work.”
“Now who sounds like Braxton?”
Willa’s eyes bug out, and she makes a face that I read as Oh, no, you didn’t.
“I’m just saying,” Layton retorts.
I squeeze his knee under the table. “Can we put this argument on the back burner until a time when it matters? We have goals, first and foremost, of getting you back into fighting shape. Arguing over what comes later is a pointless exercise.”
His frown is visible, and he pushes food around on his plate as if that convinces me he’s eating.
“Combat boots,” I whisper.
“Combat boots,” he replies while Exton and Willa try to decipher our code.
Layton twirls a bite of pasta and spears an artichoke. We may be getting somewhere.
I clear the plates and load the dishwasher, noticing Willa’s hands on her hips juxtaposed against Exton’s calm demeanor attempting to soothe her.
“I’ll be back with a bag. I need an hour.” Exton exits the house and leaves a steaming Willa in his wake.
“You have these?” I ask Layton as I look at the sink with the last of the pots.
I walk to Willa and usher her to the sofa. “What’s he talking about?”
“The ‘mind if I shove my wife on you to babysit’ conversation from earlier.”
I don’t understand.
“Wait. That’s tonight? I told him we’d accept if you agreed.” I turn my eyes to the door like I could send laser beams through it.
“If I agree. That’s cute. He’s a Ranger. You’ve been warned.”
I turn my head back to the kitchen, watching a smirk flit across Layton’s lips.
“I dare him to try,” I say to Willa.
“Challenge accepted,” Layton responds from the sink.
Willa and I both growl.
A ding sounds over the running water and draws all of our attention. Layton dries his hands and looks at his phone, his brow furrowing before a radiant smile pulls across his bearded face.
“Fuck yes.”
He sets the phone down and does the worst imitation of the cabbage patch I’ve ever seen.
“Well, that’s awful,” Willa whispers beside me.
I turn my horrified gaze on her. “It’s dreadful.”
We dissolve into fits of laughter and fight to find oxygen.
“What’s so funny?” Layton asks.
“Your dancing,” I reply.
At the same time, Willa says, “You. You need better moves than that.”
Layton jerks his chin to me. “I landed her, didn’t I? My moves are magic.”
By bedtime, Exton has come and gone, dropping a suitcase off for Willa and grabbing a fob and key from Layton.
I set her up in the guest room upstairs, telling her honestly that she knows more about where things are than I do and promising to paint her toenails tomorrow while we sit outside.
I pile into bed where Layton already lies, playing on his phone. I slide it from his hands and snuggle under his arm, throwing one of my legs over one of his.
“What had you so happy you did that ridiculous dance?”
“A judge threw out the lawsuit against me.”
I push up to see his face. “What suit?”
“Did you really not Google me?”
“Just enough to know I didn’t want my information crowd-sourced. And it was the middle of the night.”
“When was this?”
“When I told Braxton I’d agree to come to Texas.”
“Hmm.”
“We’re way off topic here. Lawsuit?”
“The fucker who hit me was high. When he discovered it was me, he sued for emotional distress.”
“But he hit you.” My temper starts to rise.
“Well, he hit someone again last week. Stoned again and wants to sue emergency services for how they handled his drug test.”
“Can he do that?”
“He can try. But the judge said he can’t profit from the pain he’s causing himself.”
“And others,” I add. “The fact that we have to celebrate common sense is terrifying.”
“I’ve been dragging my feet on closing the house because cash in hand might be more appealing to the fucker.”
“Speaking of… you’re selling your place?”
“Speaking of… you’re not?”
“I don’t see why I would or why I should. Do you?”
“I don’t think along the lines of would or should. I wonder why you’d need it and why you’d want to keep paying on it if you don’t.” His face angles down to mine. “Do you need it?”
“No. But I want it. What if we want to visit?”
He nods, not in agreement, but as if he’s thinking and pacing the conversation with it. “Is it worth hiring a property management company for the times that we’re not there?”
I shrug.
“It’ll pay for itself with the money you make on rentals. You’ll pay off the mortgage in no time and have investment income when you want it. And it’ll be waiting when you want to go and sit on your front porch and lift your chin to the sun and the waves.”
“There is no mortgage, Layton. The Excel contract you spearheaded is lucrative. I don’t have to worry about my house.”
He squeezes my hip. “Good. And, yes, I’m selling my place. It was a bachelor pad, like living in a magazine spread. It was a cool apartment, but it wasn’t ever a home.”
“Oh.”
He rubs a hand down my spine, his finger soothing in their gentle touch.
“Tell me a secret, Pix.”
“No matter how hard I tried, I never wasn’t going to fall in love with you.”
He exhales a sigh and pulls me deeper into his body. “Sleep, baby. Have sweet dreams.”