17. Layla #2
However, I don’t continue on the back and forth. I just wait for the song to be over, but with each step and rock of Briggs taking the lead, it begins to dematerialize into thin air.
“You still love me, Short Stop?”
The question triggers me because he had to ask it. It trickles down and eats away at me because I’m a lot of the reason why we’re here.
I am.
Fake-dating Cruz.
Not fighting against my Uncle Ben’s prejudice against him.
Potentially leading Briggs into believing I was going to tell him and be done with this secret stuff, but I didn’t.
I kept it moving the way we were.
I married him, and I wanted to, but Briggs continued to hold on, waiting for the time he could finally be normal about it with his wife.
I do love him.
I’m always going to love Briggs Kerrigan.
However, I don’t see how we could ever not keep fighting about the things we have, and if Cruz truly will lay off the crap.
Maybe it’ll get worse now.
Maybe he’ll say he messed around with Briggs’s wife and send Briggs down another series of fights and clearing out the dugout.
And, now, I’ll have the whole town to answer to with how I kept the longest secret in Magnolia Ridge.
The latter isn’t what I’m worried about the most. It’s Briggs and I and how we could move past this, and how I manage all the hurt.
He told me he married me so Cruz couldn’t. It made me feel like he dug his claws into me so he could trap me and didn’t trust me then.
And everything else in between.
My lips part to tell him I’m not going to answer that question amid a divorce that’s already painful enough, but then a male voice slices up my spine and has me jolt in Briggs’s arms.
“Layla, we have dinner plans.”
Uncle Ben.
Briggs begins to unravel his hold on me, and I hate it. I don’t like that he automatically does it because he knows where we’re at.
What Uncle Ben doesn’t know—or didn’t know—and everything in between. Briggs has been so beyond patient with me, but I’ve always been uncertain if he stayed to outdo Cruz’s commentary and to lock me down so no one else could have me, or if he truly couldn’t live without me.
“It’s not seven yet,” I say before turning my head to acknowledge him because it’s not. I just dropped off the desserts with Agnes, maybe thirty minutes ago, and that was at five. “And what are you doin’ on the dance floor?”
Okay, I’m frustrated.
I haven’t had more than a minute or two to breathe alone before Briggs caught up with me, and now Uncle Ben is starting.
I’m overstimulated as hell.
“I’m done drinkin’ beer with Tom and the boys.”
That’s his answer.
Not that he heard the news trickling down that Briggs was my husband. I search his expression for any sign of that, but I don’t find any.
“I’ll meet you at the fish tent then.”
Uncle Ben glares at me openly because I’m defying him in front of the man he can’t stand, more than likely proving why he didn’t want me to end up with Briggs in the first place.
I’m not helping here.
“She’s all yours,” Briggs compromises, releasing my hand and taking a respectful step away from me. “I know how much you love the fish and chips, Mr. Melrose.”
Uncle Ben looks at him, suspicion written all over his features, but he doesn’t have any ammo in this fight, nor can he say anything that would suggest so.
“See you’re harassin’ my niece,” he chimes in then with a scowl. “I told ya to stay away from her.”
Maybe not.
“Excuse me?” I upbraid, trying to rein in my already piqued temper. “Why would you feel the need to do that?”
“Because—”
“There you are, Benjamin,” I hear Agnes singsong cheerfully, striding over with a giant smile. “I was lookin’ for you, sweetheart.”
My uncle immediately appears confused, and his body softens from being tense moments ago. “For what?”
I shake my head because he really does have a knack for not being charming but oblivious.
“Well, your beautiful niece dropped off a lemon dump cake, and she said you’d be comin’ over to grab a piece. I just want you to know that, if you don’t head on over there right now, it might be gone before you know it.”
Uncle Ben shrugs half-heartedly. “It’s fine. I can wait for next week when Layla makes another one.”
“Perfect,” Agnes beams. “Then you’re headin’ over to the fish fry?”
“Yes.”
Agnes loops her arm with my uncle’s, and I see everything she’s trying to do. She’s defusing the situation, which means she knows.
She’s already heard.
“Well, that just happens to be a nice coincidence because I’m on my break and headin’ over there now.” She steers her focus on Briggs and lifts a brow. “Boy, where in the world have you been? You’ve been in town three or four days, and you have not once come over to see me.”
“Lucky you,” Uncle Ben mutters loud enough for everyone to hear over the upbeat music that starts playing.
Agnes knocks into my uncle playfully. “Now, stop all that. He’s a grown man now, Benjamin. Successful career, loaded, and—”
“A menace.” My uncle’s lips purse together in annoyance. “He doesn’t play, he fights.”
“He’s got one of the best hittin’ averages in the league.”
I cover my mouth, loving the fact that Agnes is Team Briggs and always has been, with no qualms about my uncle knowing about it.
“No good players around,” Uncle Ben defends. “Plus, he probably threatens everybody.”
“Uncle Ben,” I gripe as Agnes turns her body to face him.
“Benjamin, just because you never made the team, doesn’t mean you have to defame the boy.”
He tried to play baseball?
He clenches his jaw. “I got hurt in practice. That’s not the same.”
“Then why didn’t you try out again?” He opens his mouth, probably to argue, but Agnes gestures with her hand and says, “C’mon now, I’m starvin’. Briggs, you’re comin’ with us so you can tell me everythin’ about the big leagues and Ben here can live vicariously through you.”
I wouldn’t use that choice of words, but Agnes loops her arm with Briggs, still with my uncle on her other side, and escorts both men back toward the food tents.
It’s then that I realize I aspire to be her one day.
She’s handling both men in my life with ease, confidence, and no qualms about it.
It’s possible.
I just need to figure out how she does it.