You Rock My World (The Blackwells of Crystal Lake 3)

“First Ave?”

Ryder mumbled something else, and Travis took it for a yes.

His passenger was silent as Travis headed down familiar streets that hadn’t changed for years. A heaviness he was becoming familiar with settled in his chest, and it was more than just a case of nostalgia. He pulled into the driveway of the Montgomery bungalow, put the truck in Park, and glanced over to Ryder. The guy was out cold.

By now, the rain was pounding the windshield, small cannons of water exploding against the glass. He stared through it, eyes resting on the house…the simple white boards and faded blue trim. The gray stone planter to the left of the porch. The missing trellis from the side fence.

He rubbed his hand across his temple and frowned, remembering things. Things he hadn’t thought of in years.

Ruby asleep on her red-and-white quilt. Long hair snaked around her.

Sneaking in the back door late at night.

The squeaky last step on the deck.

The smell of lilac bushes in the summer.

This house, God, it had been a refuge for him. Back then, his father had been in a dark place and his older brothers had taken off, leaving him to deal with all of it alone. Ruby had gotten him through, and he’d spent more time here than he had at his own place. If he wasn’t on the ice, he was here with Ruby. Hell, if it wasn’t for Ruby, maybe he wouldn’t have made it to the big league.

Jesus, when had things gone so wrong?

He glanced at Ryder with a sigh and slid from the truck. By the time he reached the passenger side, he was soaked, but Travis didn’t feel the rain. Hell, he didn’t feel anything but regret and something that hit harder. Something that twisted his insides up so damn tight, he could barely breathe.

He managed to get Ryder out of the truck and half carried the man up the stairs. The front door was unlocked, and walking through the entrance was like falling into the past. Creaking floorboards, and the smell of pine. The painting of a sailing ship caught adrift in storm that hung in the hall, still crooked and leaning to the left.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t bother to take off his wet shoes either. Travis headed to the back, and Ryder pretty much toppled onto bed on his own. He groaned and rolled onto his back, eyes sliding open as he did so.

The two men stared at each other for a few long moments, and then Ryder broke the silence.

“Why are you really here?” he asked gruffly, wincing as if in pain. Which, considering the man was on his way to a massive hangover, didn’t surprise Travis.

“I’ve got a lot to make up for,” he replied, surprised as the words rolled off his tongue. Ryder grunted, called Travis a bastard, and then rolled onto his side. Seconds later, he was out cold.

Carefully, Travis stepped back and closed the door behind him. He stood in the darkened hallway, the sound of rain on the roof a melody that fit his mood. After a while, he glanced at the closed door across the hall, and before he could stop himself, Travis reached for the knob.

It slowly swept backward, and he leaned against the doorframe—unwilling to step inside, but unable to look away. Faded pink-and-white wallpaper, torn in some corners and looking just as worn as he remembered. Red-and-white comforter. Small bureau to his left and an antique mirror hung on the wall above it.

He used to position Ruby on the bed, just so, and they’d watch each other in the mirror. Naked. Straining. Sweat-slicked limbs grabbing at each other frantically.

Travis exhaled and looked to his right, to the desk propped against the wall, and he spied a small frame turned over so the picture was hidden. Without thinking, he took a hesitant step inside, and then another. He reached for the simple white frame and scooped up the picture, turning it over quickly before he chickened out.

He stared at the damn thing for so long, his eyes blurred. Lightning streaked across the sky and lit up Ruby’s old bedroom, washing the worn and shabby furniture in a ball of light. The rain still pounded against the house, and there was no doubt the storm had settled in for the evening.

Travis backed out of the room, his mood just as dark and dangerous as the storm. He looked down at the picture in his hand and then closed the door, heading out into the elements and wishing like hell the rain could wash away his hurt and guilt.

He slid into his truck, set the picture down on the seat beside him, and gritted his teeth so hard, his jaw ached. He didn’t deserve forgiveness. He knew that. But he couldn’t seem to help himself. He’d come back to Crystal Lake and somehow managed to set himself on a path that was either going to screw him over, which he deserved, or finally set things right.

It wasn’t lost on him—the complete one-eighty. The old Travis would have cut and run. That guy would have disappeared, using the excuse of not hurting Ruby again. And yet he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave. So what had changed?

He glanced out the window, up at the house once more, and frowned. Did it matter? The pull was just as strong as it had ever been, and right or wrong, he was staying put. He’d deal with the consequences, whatever they might be.

A heartbeat passed. And then another. Eventually, Travis dragged his gaze from the house, reversed out of the Montgomery driveway, and headed back the way he’d come.

Chapter 6

Saturday morning crept across Crystal Lake. Lazy beams of sunlight spilled over the horizon and lit up the town, awakening the heady scents of lilac and honeysuckle. The warmth was tempered by a fresh breeze off the lake, one that made things bearable. Because there was nothing worse than thick humidity on a day when most everyone was outdoors.

And Crystal Lake was crowded. Red, white, and blue greeted the eye as far as you could see. Flags. Banners. Homemade signs. It was patriotism at its best, and the town did it up right. Even old Mr. Ainsworth had been down at the parade, dressed from head to toe in America’s colors, and he was on the wrong end of ninety.