Page 30 of What Hurts Us

“I know your aunt lives in town,” I said before wiping my mouth with a half-disintegrated paper napkin. “But what about the rest of your family? Are they here too?”

She glanced at her phone as if contemplating how much to share. “They live in Chapel Hill,” she said calmly.

I decided to go for it. “That call you got earlier … over at the house?”

“My mother.”

“I’ll take a gander and say the rumor mill made it into Tarheel country?”

Layla swirled the last drops of liquor around the bottom of her glass. “You’d be correct in that assumption.” She tipped it back and downed the rest in one swallow. “Not only did I get chewed out for only having visited once since moving back, when my aunt told them about ‘us,’ she reacted as expected.”

“Pissed?”

“Understatement.” She sighed. “I’ll probably drive over and see them on Saturday when they’re all off work, so you’ll have the house to yourself.”

“I’ll go with you.” The words were out before I could think it through. Faking a relationship was one thing; lying to family was another entirely.

Layla was sticking her neck out for me. I could do the same for her.

She lowered her glass and eyed me suspiciously. “Really?”

“Yeah, honey,” I said with a flicker of a smile, reaching across the table and laying my hand on top of hers. “Really.”

11

CALLUM

Life was good. At least, that’s what I attributed my rare pleasant mood to. I’d be free as a bird in a week or so. The realization that I would never have to go out with Brandie Jean Palmer ever again put an extra skip in my step on my way into the conference room for the department’s morning briefing.

I heard Layla tiptoe out early this morning for her shift at the AirCare base. As far as roommates went, I certainly could have done worse. She was easy to talk to when we were out and kept mostly to herself when we were behind closed doors. Going out to the Mule for dinner had been a solid call. The food hit the spot, and we had a surprisingly good time. Best of all, it erased any question regarding the validity of Ms. Bea, Suzanne, or Marilyn’s gossip tree.

It also meant I had known exactly what the whispers were about when I walked into the station this morning.

Maybe I should text Layla and check on her, I thought as I grabbed a paper cup from the stack on the folding table and flipped the dispenser tab to start the flow of go-go juice.

Layla was perfectly capable of handling her own business, but I did get her in this predicament. I was a cranky bastard, but I wasn’t a dick. At least, I didn’t intend to be.

I tugged my phone out and fired off a text.

Callum:How’s the rumor mill on your side of town, muffin?

Layla:Alive and well, sugar bear. Loki was pissed when AB interrupted his morning nap to grill me about us.

The sarcastic terms of endearment we came up with were so fucking terrible that it was almost hilarious. She attached a photo of Odin’s black lab giving the camera his forlorn eyes, practically begging for some peace and quiet around the base.

Callum:Poor fella. Hopefully, things will quiet down for you.

Layla:You. ASSHOLE.

Using the Q-word elicited the expected response. I laughed as I read the text and cut the dispenser. While I flicked a sugar packet, another text came in.

Layla:Tones just dropped. Fuck you and your desk duty. I hope you get a thousand tiny paper cuts, forget about it, and then use hand sanitizer.

Callum:Fly safe, sugar plum.

Layla:Hope you have a slow day, Snickerdoodle.

That. Bitch.

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