Train's Clash
Page 75

Train went into the other room. Killyama had climbed onto one of the tables that was used for items that had been ordered as presents. She swung her long legs back and forth as Rider stood nearby watching her.
“We’ll walk you to your car.” Train motioned her toward the door, not showing a hint of emotion.
Killyama jumped off the table, and Train and Rider followed her out the back door, Rider lagging behind them. She never looked at Train as they drew closer to her car.
Crash was standing on the club porch, staring down at them. From his face, he had already heard what had happened.
“Killyama, tell me the truth. Why did you do it?”
“How do you say fuck off in French?”
Train had trusted her, given her a part of himself he had never given another woman, and she was telling him to fuck off?
“I hope whatever reason you gave yourself was worth it.”
Killyama’s back was toward him as she opened the car door. Without a word, she got inside and shut the door. She was driving away from their relationship seemingly without a care in the world. Train wished he could say the same.
Then, a brief glance he caught of her reflection in the window stopped his thoughts. A flicker of hope remained lit in his heart. It was flickering, but it was still there.
Hope was a gossamer thread that tied someone to their beliefs. It could be strengthened by faith, or broken when it was stretched too tight. He believed that Killyama had a reason for breaking into the back room, but he was struggling with the faith he had in her that it was a reason that could justify what she had done. The only reason that thread between them hadn’t been broken yet was his love for her. One more twist on it, though, and it would be severed forever.
There was no rebuilding his faith in her without an explanation, which she was refusing to do, so he had to either find his own answers or cut the thread himself.
Train gave Rider his keys back before going to his bike.
“You going after her?” Rider asked incredulously when Train started his bike.
He backed his motorcycle up. “No. I’m just going for a ride.”
Peeling out, he drove out of the parking lot without any sense of direction, letting faith lead the way.
 
 
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Train stared at the bedroom window, waiting for the light to come on. It was still early; the sun having come up an hour ago. He had no intention of waking her up so early, but the waiting was starting to get to him.
Sitting where she could see him if she looked out her window or open her door, he didn’t want to startle her, yet he hoped she would see him before he had to knock on the door.
It was eight a.m. when he saw her bedroom light come on. He waited until he saw the light come on in the kitchen before he got off his bike and knocked on her front door.
“Train? What are you doing here?” Peyton asked as she opened her screen door, staring at him with a frown of concern. “Is Killyama all right?”
“Yes. May I come in? I’d like to talk to you about her.” Train didn’t expect her to let him in since he had only met her once, yet she opened the door without hesitation, inviting him inside.
“I’m making some coffee. Would you like a cup?”
“No, thank you.” Train racked his brain, trying to find a way to start the discussion.
“You said you wanted to talk to me about Killyama?” she prompted.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been seeing your daughter for several months—”
“I know.” She tightened the knot at her waist that held her housecoat together.
“We broke up yesterday. She did something that I consider a breach of my trust—”
Peyton held her hand up, stopping him. “I don’t want to hear the details. If Killyama decided not to see you anymore, then I respect her privacy. I won’t try to change her mind.”
“I broke up with her. And it’s not her mind that needs to be changed. It’s mine.” Train stared at her, willing her to see what was in his heart. “I love her. I have for some time, yet she continues to push me away by lying. Yesterday, she went so far as to steal a key off a friend of mine.”
“She must have had a reason. Killyama never stole from anyone before.” Her troubled eyes met his.
“That’s why I’m here. I guess I was hoping you would know something that Killyama wasn’t willing to tell me.”
“No.” Peyton went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. Without her makeup on, Train could see Killyama in her. Her mother wasn’t as skillful as her daughter at lying.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you. Are you sure I can’t offer you any coffee?”
“No, what I want, you aren’t willing to give.”
“Call her. Try to talk it out … Maybe you will be able to work things out with her.”
“I’ve tried. Believe me; I’ve tried. Do you know that she swears she’ll never get married, that she doesn’t want children?”
“She’ll change her mind.” Peyton’s dismay showed he had exposed a sore spot.
“She might be pretending it’s a joke to you, but she’s serious about it. I tried to find out why she doesn’t want a future with me, or any man, but she stonewalls me. A man can only take being told to fuck off so many times before he starts to listen. Either you help me or, so help me God, I’m going to walk out that door and I won’t look back.” Train gave the same opportunity to Peyton he had given to Killyama. If she didn’t help him, he was done, and he let her see that truth in his eyes.
Tears welled up in Peyton’s as she set her coffee cup back down on the counter with a trembling hand. “Will you give me a few minutes? I need to get dressed. There’s something I think you need to see.”
“All right.” At this point, he was willing to do anything to shed some light on Killyama’s behavior.
“Have a seat. It won’t take me but a moment,” she excused herself.
“Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”
Peyton nodded then went through the narrow trailer toward her bedroom, while Train took a seat on one of the benches at the kitchen table. From there, he could stare out the kitchen window. He almost expected to see flashing blue lights, or Hammer and Jonas’s vehicle pull up. He had offered to leave, but Peyton could have become frightened and used the opportunity to call the police or someone else she could trust.
When she returned, she was wearing slacks and a blue cowl neck sweater. It was early spring and the mornings outside were cool.
“The grass is damp in the morning,” she explained as Train watched her slip on a pair of rain boots before going to the door. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
Once they were outside, she stared wide-eyed at his motorcycle as if she had never seen one before. “You’re not driving the truck?”
“No. Where are we going?” He got on his bike, holding his hand out for her to take.
“To my studio. The road there is even worse … We can walk.”
“Get on. I’ll go slow,” Train promised.
Peyton took his hand, faltering as she got on behind him. Then she hesitantly placed her hands on his sides.
“Hold on,” Train warned as he started the bike, turning it around in the yard before he went in the direction she pointed down the rutted road.