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I cringe at the word, but Exton doesn’t notice. Or he notices but doesn’t stop. “He was paid in meth and was probably stoned out of his mind when he attacked Kyle and Livy.”
I grit my teeth at the reminder and nod like any of this makes sense. “So a random meth head was sending me mail at my Florida house and at Pop’s? No. We’re missing something. My address wasn’t hard to find, but the ranch? A typical stoner isn’t researching that to send me expensive product.”
“Right.”
“So that isn’t the really fucked-up part?”
“Correct. Can you think of no one who would profit from your addiction?”
I shake my head as the light dawns. “But you’re right. This doesn’t lead to George. Me being out of commission hurts him. He even told me he hadn’t sent anything in months.”
Exton nods. “Have you received a package since you retired?”
I turn to my brother, who has somehow managed to have this whole conversation without shame or blame. He’s managed to make me part of the solution, not the victim or the subject of another failed intervention. That’s a gift I’ll never be able to repay. “No.”
“The junkie-turned-stabber-turned-drowning-victim was on the payroll of Charlie Schmidt at Tingle, Schmidt, and Associates.”
Blood pumps in my veins so thick I can feel it. I can hear it in my ears. It thumps in my neck and threatens to explode from my chest. Instead, I release a roar.
As much as I’ve come to love my best friends, to know I was taken out by the competition in an effort to control the market is untenable.
“Are you telling me that I was drugged to hurt my career—or worse, force my retirement—because someone wasn’t allowed to profit off my skill?”
“That’s one way of putting it. It’s far more eloquent than what I would’ve said.”
“Which is?”
“If you can’t join ’em, beat ’em.”
I let my mind spin over what I can remember after the accident. I know there were pain meds and sedatives. Hell, I was in a coma at some point. I wasn’t diligent with the “my body is a temple” bullshit, seeing as how my temple was leveled, and I would need to rebuild brick by fucking brick.
But I didn’t deserve to be sabotaged for fun.
For someone’s kicks.
For another person’s profit.
“I want to vomit. Did I bring this down on Livy too?”
“Layton, you were in a car accident. Hear me again… accident. You couldn’t control what someone high on meth would do any more than you could control that oncoming car. You’re good, but you’re no god.”
I’ve been called one on more than one occasion.I think it, but I don’t say it. My brother doesn’t need to be in my bedroom anyway.
“That’s debatable.”
Exton releases a laugh. “I have an idea. I don’t know how it will shake out, but it could be lucrative. At the very least, it could be a shit ton of fun. Want to hear it?”
FORTY-FIVE
THE MATERIAL I’M WORKING WITH
LIVY
Layton walks back into the house with Exton at his side. With no preamble, he looks me square in the face and says, “Will you find me an inpatient rehab, please?” He could’ve bowled me over with an exhale at that moment.
I school my face to not look shocked and look at Exton for guidance, but only for a moment. He shrugs from beside his brother as Layton continues, “Confidentiality is a must. Period. I’m not making a public spectacle of myself or anyone else there. I need the ability to leave for Kimpton’s birth whenever that might happen. No questions asked. And I want to be home by Thanksgiving.”
He lays all of this out there plainly. His tone is so matter-of-fact that he might as well be ordering a cheeseburger. And there behind the beard is the assuredness of the man I met so many months ago. The one who flirted and charmed me. The one who knew himself so well and owned his body. And mine.
