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

“Regan?”

“I have to go, Mom. Someone’s at the door.”

“Good. That would be Carly.” Click.

Defeated, she stared at her cell phone for several moments, wincing when the doorbell rang out again and this time eliciting a reaction from Bella. Cheeks hot, Regan clamped down on the urge to hide. Cowardly, yes, but that was the way she was rolling tonight, and if it were anyone other than Carly, she’d do it too. She’d find a dark corner and wait it out. But it was Carly, and her friend would break in if she had to.

With a sigh, Regan headed for the door and yanked it open. Cold air seeped inside, and a few snowflakes rode the breeze until they landed on her face. A tall, cool, poised blonde stared back at her, with warm brown eyes and a wide smile Regan didn’t deserve. A lump formed in her throat, and she had to work at it in order to speak.

“Hey,” Regan said softly, feeling her heart squeeze a little as she gazed at her oldest friend. The girl who’d been there through everything.

Carly looked as put together as always. Her long blonde hair hung down her shoulders in expertly curled waves. Dressed in a brown leather jacket with fur trim, dark denim, and knee-high leather boots, the red, blue, and white scarf woven carelessly around her neck was a blast of color that created the perfect foil to her outfit.

Carly’s eyes widened a bit, and she looked Regan over slowly, her gaze running from the top of her head all the way to the bottom of her toes. When her eyes finally made their way back up and met Regan’s, she winked and breezed past her into the house.

“Sweetie, your mom was right. Those Hello Kittys have got to go.”

Chapter 3

Wyatt sat back in the dark corner he’d claimed nearly half an hour earlier, and gazed out at the boisterous crowd. He was nursing the same beer Jarret had bought him a few minutes after they’d arrived, and for the life of him, Wyatt wondered how in hell he’d let Cavendish talk him into coming.

A scowl touched his face, and he let out a long breath as he thought longingly of the quiet cottage he’d given up to come here and hang with a bunch of people he hadn’t seen in years. He was done explaining his situation. Done talking about himself. Done listening to half-baked advice from a bunch of folks who didn’t know shit about NASCAR or the crash that had brought him home.

How many of them had been involved in a wreck that saw one of his colleagues die? Didn’t matter that the crash wasn’t Wyatt’s fault. Didn’t matter that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. What mattered was that he’d been there. He’d watched a friend die and walked away with a couple of bruises and a sore collarbone.

So yeah. So he was done listening to their bullshit. He was done avoiding questions.

Screw it. He was just freaking done. Fresh anger hit Wyatt in the gut, and he pushed the beer away and got to his feet.

“Where you going?” Jarret appeared, a wide smile on his face, and with a bunch of guys Wyatt hadn’t seen in at least ten years.

“I’m heading out.” He nodded to the men.

“Not gonna happen.” Jarret set down two jugs of beer, and Nash Booker elbowed his way through with a tray of mugs, as well as one more jug of draft. A buddy of his older brother Hudson, Nash had been one hell of a quarterback back in day and had played college ball in Texas. He wasn’t the kind of guy Wyatt had ever figured to own a bar, but hey, if he was happy…

“Good to see you out, Wyatt. You staying at Hudson’s place?” Nash’s dark eyes were curious as they gazed at him. His brother had bought a resort up in the mountains, one Wyatt’s family used to frequent when they were younger and his mother had still been alive. It had been closed for years, but the plan was to get it up and running for the summer season.

Wyatt nodded. “In one of the cottages.”

“I didn’t realize Hudson had started updating them.”

“He hasn’t.” Truth was, the cottage he was holed up in needed a shit-ton of work. But hell if he’d stay with his father.

Nash held his gaze a heartbeat longer, eyes narrowed, before he took a step back. “I’ve got to get back behind the bar. It’s crazy in here tonight with all the alumni in town for the hockey game.” He flashed a smile to the other men. “You all coming back for all the shenanigans next weekend?”

“Hell yeah.” Robbie Bane was half in the bag, his full head of ginger curls bobbing as he reached for the nearest mug. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

The rest of the men piled in, each of them slapping Wyatt on the shoulder or pumping his hand in a shake. Each of them murmured some kind of condolence about the crash, and all of them wondered when he was going to get back to racing.

Wyatt was vague in his answers, mostly because he had no idea.

“You better sit your ass down,” Jarret warned.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to leave without the boys making a stink, Wyatt slid back into the booth, though he shook his head when Jarret would have poured him another mug of beer. He was content to continue to nurse the still half-full one he already had and listen to the conversation.

In less than ten minutes, he learned the fate of each and every one of them. Robbie Bane, the jovial ginger, had married straight out of college, the only girl he’d ever dated, and his wife, Beth, was expecting twins. She’d stayed behind in Louisiana and sent him north for two weeks with her blessing.

“Says she needs to nest in peace,” Robbie said with a shrug. “Not that I’m complaining. She’s been so damn emotional lately. I can’t walk or talk without her crying.”