The Christmas He Loved Her (Bad Boys of Crystal Lake 2)

Christ, had he been wrong. The sound of gunfire was bad enough—even in a controlled environment—but it was the smell of it, that certain metallic scent of hot ammo, that immediately grabbed him hard. He’d barely been able to get through his rounds and the hell away

from the shooting range without losing his shit all over the place.

He glanced at the cottage again as the smell of earth mixed with the bits of snow at his feet. The cedar and the hint of winter in the air combined and brought a wave of memories over him. Before he knew what he was doing, Jake tossed his gloves and headed for the cottage.

When he came out the week before to see Wyndham Place, he’d had no interest in the cottage and hadn’t bothered to look at it. The main house had been his concern and he hadn’t thought twice about the smaller home.

At one time it had belonged to the Wyndham caretaker, and though at first glance it appeared to be as neglected as the main house, he was surprised as he got closer to find that it wasn’t the case. In fact, all the windows that he could see were intact. He supposed the ones around back could be busted, but for the moment they looked good.

Jake walked up the stone path and hesitated at the door. His gut churned and he was sweating profusely.

Those damn demons were just waiting to get him. He knew this, and yet he was helpless to do anything but move forward. There was a reason, or two, as to why he hadn’t bothered with the cottage the week before. He could say it was because the place didn’t matter. He could tell himself that until hell froze over, but the simple truth was, it was bullshit.

“A heaping pile of bullshit, brother.”

A wry smile crept over his face as the echo of his brother’s voice sounded in his mind. Christ, the four of them, the Bad Boys, as they’d been called, had never shied away from calling bullshit.

“I nailed Rebecca Stringer last night.”

“Bullshit.”

“Hey, it was me who hit the grand slam in the bottom of the ninth, not Cain.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, really.”

“I call bullshit.”

Carefully he turned the knob and the door swung back slowly. Jake stepped inside the cottage. There were beer cans and bottles strewn about, as well as fast-food debris. Cigarette butts and empty bottles of wine and liquor littered the floor, and the only piece of furniture, a red and blue plaid sofa, was in the middle of the room, with an old rug on the floor in front of the fireplace. He was surprised it wasn’t in worse shape.

He took a few more steps inside, letting his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, and crossed over to the kitchen area. The cottage was open concept, with high beams and a loft at the back that ran the length of the house.

The fridge door hung open and he closed it, wincing as the hinges squealed in protest. He was surprised to find appliances. The oven looked to be in good shape, though the countertops were crap and something had used the sink as a nest. He glanced around. The bones were good.

Jake exhaled and took a few steps back, his eyes on the stairs leading to the loft. Before he knew it, he was taking them two at a time.

He paused on the top step, gazing around a large area that was pretty much devoid of anything, save for the old four-poster bed pushed up along the far wall. Tattered gray curtains hung from the two large windows, and an old painting of a large sailing ship rested against the wall, where it had fallen years ago.

His eyes narrowed as he turned in a full circle. There used to be a dresser tucked away in the corner and a…red velvet sofa between the two windows.

Slowly Jake walked over to them and peered below. The windows overlooked a decent yard, though at the moment it was overgrown, and beyond the cedar hedge was a thick stand of evergreens. There was a clearing out there among the spruce and fir where they used to have bonfires.

Jake closed his eyes, ready for the wave of pain that rolled over him. In his mind he saw Jesse—he saw all of them, Jesse, Cain, Mackenzie, himself, and Raine, together. They’d been young and crazy and, on occasion, out of control. But they’d been tight, and back then they had felt like kings. Back then there was no sorrow, or darkness.

Back then, no one died.

The ache inside him was intense, and he didn’t know how long he stood there like an idiot, eyes closed, hands clenched at his sides. The sound of wind chimes from below cut through the fog in his head, and he was helpless to stop a trip down memory lane. He remembered another time he’d been up here and that sound…that sound had filled his head. It had filled him.

And so had she.

Contrary to Jesse’s calling bullshit, Jake had nailed Rebecca Stringer. It had been a hot July night, he had been seventeen, horny as hell, and she’d been all over him.

“Oh my God, Jake Edwards! You did not just have sex up here with Rebecca Stringer!”

Jake whirled around, having just tucked himself back into his jeans. Shit. Raine.

Rebecca smirked and adjusted her halter top as she stepped forward. She stopped a few feet from Raine and tossed platinum hair behind her shoulders as if she’d spent hours practicing the move. Which she probably had.