The Summer He Came Home (Bad Boys of Crystal Lake 1)

The kids had talent, and as their set progressed, their confidence grew, and it was reflected in the music. They played a good forty-five-minute set, and when it was over, the furtive glances in his direction told Cain they knew he was in the club.

He walked over to the boys, wanting to let them know how much he’d enjoyed their performance, and twenty minutes later found him onstage, a beat-up Fender slung across his chest and a grin that spread ear to ear on his face.

This was where he belonged.

He struck a chord, a bluesy, hard-rocking note that rang out into the crowd. It took everything the boys had to keep up to him. Cain was a pro. He’d been around the block more than once, and when he played his music, it was like an extension of his very soul. He knew how to work the crowd, and his larger-than-life personality took over the stage. There was no one else up there but him.

He caressed and cajoled runs, pulled heavy vibratos from the strings like all the legends before him. He was a mix of Hendrix and Van Halen and Stevie Ray. His whiskey-

soaked voice soared and then came back to earth with the subtle nuances that only he could do. It was obvious to everyone the boy belonged onstage.

Cain and Shady Aces played for hours, and by the end of the night, the Coach House was standing-room only. The news had spread via cell phones and text messages, and a lot of old familiar faces showed up.

The high was one that never got old, and later, much later, he and the boys continued to bond over a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Or two. They’d moved from beer to the hard stuff with ease, and Cain knew he’d pay the price.

Which he did.

Raine made sure of it.

***

He woke up with harsh light sliding across his face and rolled over, groaning as his head thwacked against the wall. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and his cranium wanted to explode.

Shit, how many bottles of JD had they finished?

“You guys up yet? I have to head into the city, so if you want a lift to your truck, now would be a good time.” Raine stared down at him, and he saw the lack of concern right away. She so didn’t care that he felt like crap.

“How did we get here?” He was on a futon, fully dressed…hell, his boots were still on his feet. His mind was fuzzy, and a groan from across the room drew his attention. He propped himself up on his elbows and spied Mac sprawled out across a sofa.

“You boys called me to come get you last night, though I’m not surprised you don’t remember. I brought you back here, because I sure as hell didn’t want your mother to deal with two drunken losers at three in the morning.”

Two?

Cain sat up, stifled a groan as he glanced around the room. “Where’s Jake?”

“He didn’t want to stay here and didn’t want a ride either.” Her voice held a slight tremble, but she thrust her chin and glared at him. “Jake doesn’t seem to want to have anything to do with me since the funeral. Actually, he’s been a complete ass for a long time now, way before Jesse…” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. “I’m getting fed up with his attitude.”

Cain didn’t know what to say, so he kept quiet.

“Do you know what’s up with him? ’Cause I don’t think this has anything to do with Jesse.”

It has everything to do with Jesse. And you. And Jake.

“Jesus Christ, Cain, what the hell happened last night?” Mac staggered to his feet, effectively cutting into an awkward conversation, and Cain winced at the sight of his beat-up face. It looked much worse this morning—the swelling and mottled bruising was harsh in the early-morning light. He could only imagine what it felt like, considering Mac’s head must be pounding as badly as his.

“I have no clue what happened to your face, Mackenzie, but the alcohol didn’t help.” Raine shook her head in disgust. “What did you do? Get all jacked up and pick a fight with someone bigger than you?”

“Nope.” Mac smiled at her, though his eyes remained frosty. He pointed to his face. “This would be courtesy of my father.”

Shocked silence fell on the room, and Raine glanced down at Cain. “Dammit, Mac, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Mac winced as he stretched his arms. “I’m sure I look like absolute shit, but Ben’s hurting worse than I am. At least I hope he is.”

Cain looked at the ground and exhaled. Somehow he doubted that. Mac was in pain, and it had been building inside him for years, layer upon layer. It’s just that his scars, the deep ones that mattered, lay beneath his flesh, hidden from view.

“Well, guys, I have an appointment I can’t miss, so if you want a ride…”

Cain stood and nodded. “Sounds good, and thanks for coming to the rescue, Raine.”