He came home.
And since he did, he often doubled up his weeks so Stew and Gabby could do whatever Stew and Gabby did that they needed his sons clear of it. Layne didn’t want to know, he also didn’t argue. She was right. She’d borne the brunt of raising his kids. It was his turn to kick in.
“Fine,” he replied. “You need to come into the office to tell me that?”
“Nope,” she shook her head once. “Needed to come in to tell you I need five hundred dollars.”
Layne did a slow blink. “Come again?”
“Need five hundred dollars,” she repeated.
“Gabby, this may have escaped you but circumstances are changed. I got joint custody and your support was reduced because of it. You get what you get and that’s all you get.”
He watched her straighten her shoulders. “I need five hundred dollars, Tanner.”
“Is this something for the boys?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered.
“What?”
She looked over his shoulder. The bitch was lying.
“What?” he repeated.
Her eyes came back to his. “Jasper and Tripp need stuff for school.”
“What do they need?”
“Stuff,” she answered. “Clothes and shit.”
They did not need clothes and shit. He knew this because he handed them both wads of cash about two days after he got out of the hospital so they could go back to school shopping. Both his boys were kitted out with trendy gear like rock stars.
“I think they’re covered,” Layne replied.
“Yeah, with stuff they keep at your house. They don’t have as much at my place.”
“Well, since they’re at my house most of the time, that works, don’t you think?”
Her face started to get red, not with embarrassment, with anger. “Oh, I get it. Dad’s the cool one, gets his son a hot rod, fills their closet with designer clothes. They go to Mom’s and they’ve got shit.”
“It isn’t like they don’t have bags. They want their stuff, they can take it with them to your place.”
“You want them to go back and forth like vagabonds?”
Layne sucked in breath and sought patience.
Then he reminded her, “Stew’s livin’ with you, Gabby, your expenses are lowered and you still get money from me. You wanna get them clothes, get ‘em.”
“I work at Kroger, Tanner. I’m not a shit hot PI who charges a hundred and fifty dollars an hour plus expenses.”
“You’ve worked at Kroger for fifteen years, Gabby, you’re a manager and you had to disclose your income the last time you took me to court. You are far from hurting.”
This was true, except the part about him learning this when she’d had to disclose it the last time she took him to court. He’d checked up on her regularly, he’d known for years exactly what she was paid, what she spent her money on and what she spent his money on.
“Jesus, why do you make me jump through hoops like this when it’s for our boys?” she snapped, her voice rising.
That pissed him off.
“I have never, not once, Gabrielle, made you jump through hoops when it’s for our boys. Not… fucking… once and you fucking know it.”
She snapped her mouth shut. She knew it.
“And you’re standin’ there lyin’ to me. You got trouble? You tell me, I’ll help you out. But do not walk into my office and hand me a load of shit and expect me to pay you to do it.”
“I’m not lying,” she retorted.
“Bullshit, Gabby. You think in my line of work I can’t spot a liar? I didn’t learn that quick, I’d be dead.”
Her flush suffused her face; she knew he’d pegged her.
“Now, why do you need five hundred dollars?” he continued.
“I don’t,” she returned.
“You asked for it not five minutes ago.”
“Stew does,” she bit off, her eyes sliding away from him.
Layne felt his body get tight.
Then he stated in a quiet voice, “You are fucking shitting me.”
Her eyes shot back to him. “He’s in a jam.”
Layne pushed away from the door and crossed his arms on his chest. “Don’t give a fuck Stew Baranski is in a jam.”
“If he’s in a jam, I’m in a jam.”
Layne’s brows drew together. “You in danger?”
“No,” she hissed, pissed as all hell she had to tell him what she had to tell him. “Things are just tight. I might not be able to make the mortgage.”
Layne sucked in another breath and his head dropped back so he could look at the ceiling.
Then he made a decision and looked back at his ex-wife.
“I told you –” he started.
“Don’t!” she clipped, her voice again rising.
“I told you not to let that asshole in your life. You did,” Layne went on.
“He’s my man, I love him,” she shot back.
“Your choice and because of that, he’s your problem.”
“I miss the mortgage, I could lose my house!”
“They don’t foreclose for months, Gabby, tell him to get his shit together and figure it out. I’m not getting involved.”
“He’s in deep, Layne, he’s trying to sort it out but it’ll take time. I can’t lose the house in the meantime.”
“What I don’t get is how the house is on the line. You got enough money to –”
“I’ve been helping him out.”
Layne studied her. Then he asked, “How bad is this?”
“Bad.”
That wasn’t a good answer.
“How bad and how long’s it been goin’ on?” he pressed.
She stared at him and didn’t answer. That meant awhile.
Then she said, “I lose the house, Jas and Tripp –”
“Then you’re lucky I’m home, Gabby. Means the boys are good, always got a bed with me.”