Page 108 of What Hurts Us

With everyone distracted, Layla leaned in. “What are you doing talking about wedding plans?”

I tipped my beer back. “Figured it was about time we made some.”

“We don’t have to fake it anymore,” she hissed.

I chuckled. “Fake it ’til you make it.”

She paled. “Are you—”

“No, I’m not re-proposing right now,” I said. “Besides, I don’t even have your ring. It’s at Heirlooms with Tammy Lynn.”

Layla choked on her beer. Gently, I rubbed her back. “But I will, honey,” I murmured into her ear. “Mark my words.”

“You two look really good together,” Caroline squeaked as she picked at the edge of the beer bottle label.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Layla asked. “I mean, you’re gorgeous and adorable. I’m sure you have men lined up down the road to take you on dates.”

Beth nodded in agreement.

Caroline blushed. “No, I’m very single.”

“So’s my brother,” Beth said with a wicked grin. “Very,verysingle.”

Austin choked on his beer, but the distraction was enough for my man to make a move. Casually, he draped his arm over the back of Caroline’s chair when he leaned back in his seat.

Caroline sat stock-still, careful not to let her shoulders touch his arm.

“How are you feeling, Layla?” Caroline asked. “I was on bus duty at the school and heard everyone talking about what happened.”

Layla let out a heavy breath. Although she was putting up a good front for the crew and me, today had taken a toll on her. On both of us. Layla reached over and slipped her hand into mine. “Like I have never been so happy to clock out and go home.”

Home.

Our home.

36

LAYLA

Dammit.A pearl of blood bubbled on my fingertip. The internet made cross-stitching look way easier than it was. All I wanted was to finish the little project kit I’d gotten in the mail so that I could have an embroidery hoop that read,In this house, we fucking swear.

I would have been crafting with something that caused less bodily harm, but Callum had banned me from ever using glitter again.

Daythree of hiding from the nosey fucking Creekers.

Cal was at the police department for another session with the psychologist. Though he tried not to show it, I knew he hadn’t been sleeping well. I’d wake up to him sitting up, hunched over, trying to catch his breath.

Mandatory administrative leave was a good thing for both of us. Neither of us had a desire to leave the house when the only thing the grapevine wanted was a sensational story.

According to the town gossips, it was no longer the clean shooting of an armed assailant. Cal had turned into a Bruce Willis-esque movie hero.

Velma Taffery claimed she heard he dropped in from the ceiling tiles.Never mind that it had been a popcorn ceiling. LaVern Montgomery claimed that Cal dove through a window, tucking and rolling before taking down the goon. Vikki McMahon swore up and down that it had been me who took down the bad guy, saving Cal’s ass.

But that was Falls Creek for you.

Chief Farnby, bless her heart, kept her ears closed to the whispers amongst townspeople. She did, however, stop by personally—both the day after the call and this morning—to see how we were coping.

Physically, I was fine. The cuts on my throat and cheek had closed up. Mentally, I was a mess.

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