You Own My Heart (The Blackwells of Crystal Lake 4)

But she didn’t hear her friend’s words, and she continued softly. “It’s always been like this. Like I don’t exist. Like I don’t matter. I just thought…” She swallowed the lump in her throat and whispered, “I thought he would know me.”

Another silence. “Oh, Hon, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she managed. “I’m being stupid. It shouldn’t matter.”

Liar.

Somewhere buried deep inside her was a soft part that still existed. It hadn’t been crushed by the poverty and drugs and the general discontent she’d inhaled every day of her life. It allowed her to admit the one thing she’d sworn she’d never say out loud. John Blackwell mattered. His acknowledgment mattered.

Her breath caught at the thought. The man who’d denied her existence. The man who’d broken her mother. The man responsible for the shitty life she’d pulled herself out of. He mattered, but more importantly, she wanted to matter to him. How fucked up was that?

She bit her lip, angry and pissed off. She was in new territory now. No longer was she just angry. There was more there. A hell of a lot more. She needed to get her shit together. She needed to be strong.

More importantly, she needed to see this through.

6

Monday was Nash’s day off from the bar, and he’d been spending most every one of them working on the cottage he called home. Overlooking the lake, among a stand of evergreen and rock, it was his place to knock back and chill. The A-frame house had been built in the fifties by his great-grandfather and passed down from son to son. After his grandmother passed away, she’d left it to him, a gesture that had surprised not only Nash, but his family—at the time, he’d been climbing mountains in Nepal.

Nash pushed the final piece of gray-brown hardwood in place and stood back, admiring his work. He knew exactly why Nana had left the place to him. He was the only Booker who had any kind of talent with his hands and a love of carpentry. He’d spent many a summer working alongside Hudson in the Blackwell family business. Hell, he’d been fifteen the first time he worked on a new build with Hudson and a crew. His grandmother knew he’d make something of the place. It had been dated and worn out by years of family, memories, laughter, and tears. It had needed a facelift, and Nash was the man for the job.

That it had been one of the reasons he’d found himself back in Crystal Lake wasn’t lost on him either. His nana was as wise as she was sharp. He’d needed to come home more than he’d known. With a satisfied look, he glanced at the clock and was about to pop open a cold beer when the back door slammed open and Hudson walked inside.

“Boots!” He gave his buddy a look, and Hudson shucked them off before joining him. The living area was large and faced a bank of windows that let in a view he’d loved since he could remember. The path from the cottage led to a small beach, dock, and boathouse. The only thing he’d added was a brand-new hot tub the previous summer. It was set on a small platform off to the right of the deck that ran the length of the house, so he could sit out there, enjoy the silence, and watch the stars.

As for the inside, he’d painted the walls, freshened them up with dove-gray paint, and given the baseboards and window trim a nice coat of crisp white. With his newly installed floors, the place had both a rustic, beach appeal as well as a hint of modern.

He wasn’t a man of many needs, and after getting rid of the old furniture, he’d bought exactly one piece. A big-ass leather recliner that faced his sixty-inch screen over the fireplace. His workout gear took up the spare room on the main level, and his bedroom was the entirety of the upstairs loft.

He knew he needed to finish the main level, but furniture shopping wasn’t exactly something he enjoyed, and until he absolutely needed it, that stuff could wait. He did have a huge slab of oak he was refinishing into a large harvest table for the dining area, but that was a side project. Nash was fine eating at the small island—it wasn’t as if he entertained guests for dinner.

The only kind he did entertain was the kind who saw the four walls of his bedroom and the back of the door when they left in the morning. That might sound harsh to some. He knew there were those who thought he was a dick. But if that was what being honest got you, he could live with the label. The women he brought back to his place knew the score. He was in the game for sex and nothing else. His rep bothered his mother more than anyone else. And since Hudson had finally settled down, she’d been all over Nash lately about changing his ways.

He wondered what Honey thought of him. And then he gave himself a shake.

What the hell did it matter what Honey thought?

“So,” Hudson said as he poked his head into the fridge. “Honey.”

Nash yanked his head around. Did his buddy have the ability to read minds now?

“What about her?” he asked, taking a long draw from the can. He rotated his neck and rolled his shoulders, feeling the tight muscles stretch. He’d need a hot tub later. Maybe some Jade Daniels to take off the edge that had been riding him the last few days.

Hudson turned around and leaned against the counter. “She seems intense.”

“You got a problem with intense?” Nash straightened and wondered what the hell Hudsy was getting at.

“Not at all. She just wasn’t what I expected.”

“And what were you expecting?”

“Someone a little friendlier? Not so quiet.”

Nash took another sip as he pondered Hudson’s observations. The truth was, Honey hadn’t been herself Thursday night. And it wasn’t the fact they’d crashed Hudson and Rebecca’s Thanksgiving dinner. She’d been fine until they got to the house, and then… He couldn’t put his finger on it, but she’d been off.

He shrugged. “She probably felt a little out of place. She’s not exactly into family, from what I can tell.”

“Yeah?” Hudson stared at him. “Where’s she from again?”