You Drive Me Crazy (The Blackwells of Crystal Lake 2)

“Yes.” John nodded, touching Hudson’s face and then lingering on Angel.

“And whose puppy?”

John chuckled. “That’s Diesel. Belonged to the people in the next cabin.” He glanced up at Wyatt. “Do you remember them? They had that bird they’d bring as well.”

The memory was a slow burn. It slid into his mind, leaving a trace of warmth. The bird was a cockatoo, and its filthy mouth was legendary.

He nodded. “Hudson and Nash spent hours teaching it curse words. I tried once and got caught.” He frowned. “I think I got grounded for teaching the damn thing to say ‘screw you.’ Which is nothing compared to the things Hudson taught it.”

“Hmmm.” John seemed lost in thought.

Wyatt spied Travis’s jersey on the wall. “I came to grab the Lumberjack. It’s for this thing in town.”

“Ah. Yes. The event you planned for the young Bergen boy.”

Wyatt’s jaw nearly fell on the floor.

“You looked surprised as hell, son.”

Wyatt thought back to what Hudson had told him earlier. “You paid for the food.”

“I did.”

“How in hell did you find out?”

John Blackwell gave him a look that told Wyatt the old man still had game. “Just because my body is falling apart doesn’t mean my faculties are in any way limited. I know what goes on in my house. I’m on top of these things.”

“You just…knew. That’s some kind of talent.”

John shrugged. “I overheard your brother on the phone.”

“This is my thing, Dad. You didn’t have to do that.” What he wanted to know was why?

“It’s the least I can do for the family.” John got off the stool. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Wyatt watched his father leave the room and then pulled one of the barstools over to the wall. He retrieved the jersey. It was the first one Travis had received from the junior hockey team that would eventually lead him to the NHL draft, where he was a first-round pick for the Detroit Red Wings.

He tossed the shirt onto the bar and got down from the stool, putting it back in place before gathering up the jersey. The scrapbook his father had been looking at was still open, and Wyatt found himself drawn to it. He knew what was in there. The book was something all the kids had searched through from time to time.

He flipped through the pages and couldn’t help but smile at the antics three young boys got up to when they were happy, healthy, and loved. One photo in particular got to him. It was a family shot. All the boys looked uncomfortable in their Sunday best. If Wyatt remembered right, they’d been on their way to a family wedding. Wyatt was tugging at his collar. Hudson scratching his newly shorn head. Travis was staring at his undone laces.

But their parents… Well, Angel and John only had eyes for each other.

God. They’d really been in love.

Somehow, the notion shocked Wyatt. Though it shouldn’t. Not really. Even as a young boy, he’d known his father was devastated at the loss of his wife. Agitated, he flipped the page over, remembering this as being the last item in the scrapbook.

He couldn’t have been more wrong. There were dozens of things he’d never seen before. Articles related to Hudson’s career in the FBI, and Travis’s rookie year for the Lumberjacks all the way up to the draft, the Detroit Red Wings, and the previous run for the Cup. There were also articles and photos of Wyatt in the winner’s circle. Beside his car. On the track.

Slowly, he closed the book and turned off the light. He headed back upstairs, jersey in hand, and paused in the middle of the great room.

He was feeling a lot of things as he stood there, looking around a house he knew but didn’t recognize. It didn’t feel like home, and yet….

Wyatt decided not to dwell on any of the stuff going on inside him. He decided to actually live in the moment and go with it.

“Dad?” His voice echoed in the seemingly empty house.

“That you, Wyatt? You still here?” His father poked his head over the landing from upstairs.