She stopped speaking because the bell stopped and then it started right up again.

“Fuck!” he hissed, sliding from under Rocky, not happy that his first morning waking up with Rocky after getting back together started with the goddamned doorbell and not happy that his first morning waking up with Rocky after getting back together started with the first thing he did was get out of bed and also not happy the next thing he was going to do was rip someone’s f**king throat out.

“Layne, are you expect –?” Rocky started to ask as he rounded the bed, looking for his pajama bottoms.

She stopped again because the doorbell also stopped again then it started right back up.

“Baby, where’d you throw my pajamas?” he asked over the bell.

“What?” she asked back and he looked at her. She was out of bed, standing at his side of it, her hair tousled, looking adorably mystified as her eyes scanned the floor in the weak light coming through the curtains. “I don’t know, um…”

Layne saw them in a fold of the comforter, yanked them free, spied her panties also caught in the bedclothes, freed them and tossed them to Rocky who caught them then he tugged on his pajamas as he heard from below, “Jesus Fuckin’ Christ, keep your goddamned pants on!”

Devin. Great.

Then he heard a loud bark.

Blondie. Even better.

Devin would probably shoot whoever was at the door and Blondie would likely lick the wounds clean.

He moved to the bedroom doors, Rocky moving behind him and he was three steps down the stairs when he heard a shrieked, “Oh my God! Who are you? What are you doing in my son’s house? And why do you have a gun!?”

Fuck, f**k, f**king hell.

Vera Layne had come calling.

And, as suspected, Devin had answered the door with his gun.

Blondie started barking.

Layne moved faster down the stairs, turned the corner and saw Devin in wife beater and boxer shorts, carrying his nine millimeter and standing three feet from the front door just to the side, scowling. Layne’s mother was just in the doors looking pissed. And Blondie was prancing between both of them wondering who was going to let her out.

Vera’s eyes came to Layne, her face started to gentle then her eyes went beyond Layne and her face went instantly hard.

“I knew it!” she shrieked, her hand shooting up and she pointed at Rocky. “Flo told me and I knew it!” she went on, dropping her hand, stomping in four feet then stopping and rocking back. “You’re not back home a few months and there she is!” She exaggerated and threw her hands out to the sides in apparent disgust.

Layne scratched Aunt Flo on the top of his mental shit list before he started, “Ma–”

Vera’s eyes narrowed on Rocky. “Didn’t you do enough damage the first time around?”

“Ma –”

“And aren’t you married?” she shouted at Rocky.

“Ma,” Layne clipped. “Shut it.”

Her narrowed eyes went to Layne. “Do not tell me to shut it, Tanner Preston Layne! Do not!”

“Maybe I should –” Rocky whispered from behind him and Layne turned to see her edging back along his wood floor in her bare feet; her hair down and mussed; her face free of makeup; her body covered by his big, maroon t-shirt and he remembered, not long ago, Rocky walking in his house for the first time, hair perfect, makeup perfect, outfit perfect, her high heels sounding on his floors.

Now she’d cooked in his kitchen; she’d watched TV with him on his couch; she’d let out his dog; she’d laughed with his sons; she’d toasted with the only man who was even close to being a father to him; she’d slept in his bed; he’d gone down on her, she’d returned the favor and he’d f**ked her twice.

All in this house. His house.

Rocky, his Rocky, was back and in his house.

And she was not going to be made uncomfortable there. Not even, as much as he loved her, by his mother.

“Roc, come here,” he ordered and her eyes flew to his.

“Layne, I think I should probably –”

He cut her off on a growl. “Sweetcheeks, get over here.”

Her eyes held his and then, slowly, she moved to him. When she entered his reach, he tagged her around the waist and pulled her into his side, turning them both to his mother.

“Maybe you’d like to try this again, Ma.” His voice was still a growl. “This time, you might wanna start over by welcoming Rocky back.”

“I will not welcome that woman back into my son’s life,” Vera announced.

Blondie barked.

Layne turned to Devin. “Do me a favor, Dev, put your pants on, put down your gun and let the dog out. Not in that order.”

“She escape from an asylum?” Dev asked instead of doing what Layne requested and he asked it with a tilt of his head to Layne’s mother.

Layne closed his eyes.

“Well!” Vera huffed. “Who are you?”

Layne opened his eyes.

“Devin Glover, friend of your boy’s, retired PI and good judge of character,” Devin shot back then turned away and started walking to the backdoor, making his point by saying on a huge smile to Rocky, “Mornin’ darlin’, hope you slept okay.”

“I did, thanks Dev, hope you did too,” Rocky replied quietly, her body as tight as a bow.

“Couch sucks,” Devin muttered as he kept moving, Blondie crowding him. “Too soft.”

“Hello!” Vera called loudly, “I came all the way from Florida to stop my son from making a grave mistake, again. Anyone?”

Layne’s eyes sliced to her. “Ma, seriously, no more of that shit.”

“Are you kidding?” she returned then crossed her arms on her chest and finished. “Seriously.”

Rocky started to pull away, murmuring, “Layne, I really think I –”

“His name is Tanner,” Vera spat out and Rocky stopped moving. “Tanner. It isn’t hard to say. It isn’t hard to remember. I would never understand why you always called him Layne. Before, I didn’t mind, because I liked you. Now, I do not like you.”

“She calls me Layne because you told me when I was seven that my father named me Tanner,” Layne put in, Vera’s back shot straight and her eyes shot to her son. “I don’t hate the name, I don’t like it. But anytime someone says it, it reminds me it was the only thing he gave me and it wasn’t worth much.”

Vera’s eyes had grown wide and her voice grew soft when she said, “You never told me that.”