An image of a large teenager with bad skin and an even badder attitude tugged his memory. The guy had been built like a Mack truck.
At Cain’s nod, Jake continued. “Well, he was called to the scene, and Mackenzie convinced Torrent to bring him here instead of the hotel he’s been staying at.” Jake frowned. “That was around noon, and from what I can tell, he proceeded to get loaded until he passed out. Sal called me an hour ago.”
Sal set a beer on the table in front of Cain. “Food’s on its way.” The bar owner’s gaze rested on Mac. “His old man is the worst kind of bastard there is. I don’t understand why Lila won’t leave him. The kids have been gone for years.”
Mac groaned and turned toward them. His eyes were still closed, but Cain saw that the right one was nearly swollen shut. Cuts and bruises marred his buddy’s face, and he looked more like a prizefighter than an architect. Cain shook his head. The man was about as far away from Armani as you could get.
Seems the sins of the father weren’t something Mac could outrun.
Cain took another swig from his bottle and glanced around. Equipment was set up on the stage—classic Marshall stacks, a Pearl drum kit, and three microphone stands. It was bare-bones, but seriously, all you needed.
“Who’s playing?” He felt the itch deep down and eyed the stage with a hunger that surprised him, considering he’d just come off a ten-month tour.
“Don’t know the name, but from what Sal said, a local band of pimply faced teenagers. Country rock maybe?” Jake shrugged, a smile crossing his face. “You wanna play?”
Cain finished his beer and slid back in his chair. He couldn’t deny the thrill that shot through him at the thought. “Nah, I’d hate to intrude on their night.”
“Intrude? Hell, if you got up there and played a song or two, they’d probably crap their pants, which is something they’d gladly do in order to brag that they shared a stage with the dude from BlackRock.”
Sal brought over a plate filled to the brim with a large burger and fries—total heart attack on a plate—and Cain dug in hungrily while Jake ordered a couple more beers. What the hell, he was on vacation. Sort of.
“So, how did it go with the kid? You guys have better luck than we did?”
Cain nodded, swallowed, and washed down his food with a large gulp of cold brew. “It was good. We caught a full bucket of perch.” He smiled. “For a little guy, he has stamina. Lasted nearly the entire day out on the water.”
“Yeah, and his mother looks great in a bikini.”
The rough voice came from nowhere, and they both looked at Mac in surprise. The entire right side of his face was swollen, while his chin was a mess of purple and black. Dried blood coated the corners of his mouth and crusted near his nose.
He stretched out his arm and groaned, then cursed when his frown caused even more pain. “I feel like shit,” he announced to no one in particular.
Jake cocked his head and laughed. “Sorry to say, buddy, but you look even worse.”
Mac leaned back into the corner of the booth and scowled at them. “I need a drink.”
Cain arched his eyebrow and grinned at Jake as he motioned toward Mac. “You sure you want to go down that road?”
“Hell, yeah.” Mac signaled to Sal. “I’m still drunk, so the way I see it, the only direction is up.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever.” Jake snorted and called for the bartender too. “But I think I’d like to go wherever the hell you’re headed.” He grinned at Cain. “When was the last time we got out of hand?”
“Hell if I know. It’s been so long, I don’t remember.”
Mac leaned forward, his face dead serious. “It’s time to make some new memories, my friends.”
Salvatore came over with some cold ones, a look they knew all too well on his face—a cross between fear and trepidation, with a bit of anxiety tossed in for the ride.
“Now boys,” he began as he set the beers on the table.
They echoed his words in perfect harmony but weren’t able to coax a smile from the round Italian.
Sal cleared his throat and stood, arms crossed, eyebrows furled. “Let’s not have a repeat of the last time you were together, all right?”
“Last time?” Jake glanced at Mac, and the two of them burst into laughter. It took a few seconds for the fog to lift, and when it did, Cain threw his head back and joined in. The memory wasn’t exactly clear, but he did recall Jesse and Jake riding into the bar on the back of a black-and-white Holstein cow.
“I’m serious now. If I think things are going south, your butts are outta here.” He turned to Cain. “I don’t care that you’re all Hollywood these days.”
“Don’t worry ’bout us, Sal.” Jake winked. “We’ll make sure to clean up any mess we leave behind.”
Sal’s eyes narrowed, though the ghost of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Sure you will…but I swear, if I step into anything that remotely resembles a flaming pile of shit…” Sal shook his head and muttered all the way back to the bar.
The three of them sat in silence for a few moments, each lost in a memory that was both comical and bittersweet. Cain shoved his empty plate away and grabbed his drink.
He stared at Mac, marveled at the mess that was his face, and lifted his beer in salute. Blood wasn’t everything. He and Mac knew that better than most. As far as Cain was concerned, these two men were his family, and it felt damn good to be home again. Jake followed suit, and then Mac.
“To Jesse,” Jake said softly. “May there be lots of beer, whiskey, Holsteins, and a big-ass pile of shit wherever the hell he is.”
They emptied their bottles and ordered another round.
The sound of a drop D slid through the night and drew Cain’s attention. It was a heavy note, an aggressive punch that signaled the band was definitely not country music. As always, it electrified him—the sound of a guitar—and his body thrummed with energy.
The band was on stage, setting up their guitars, making sure their mikes were in place, and generally doing a last check before showtime. A large mountain of a man had slid in behind the sound board set up behind the dance floor, and they did a quick sound check—nothing intense, just enough to get the levels right.
The band was a young bunch—Shady Aces, the banner behind them said. They were decked out in skinny jeans that hung halfway down their asses, a look Cain just didn’t get. Who the hell walked around with their boxers on display? Their hair was greased up something good, their ears and faces covered in piercings and their arms adorned with tattoos. Total badass.
Their cocky attitude and arrogance fit the whole rock thing, but he knew from experience all the posturing in the world wouldn’t help if the talent wasn’t there.
Cain watched from the shadows, enjoying his relative anonymity and the easy comfort of Mac and Jake. Five minutes later, when the band struck the first note of a raunchy, rocking blues tune, he was right there with them and down for the ride.
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.”
Her eyes never left Mac. “No problem.” She turned then, her eyes questioning. “So, Sal was saying you’re doing the big benefit concert over the long weekend?”
Cain stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”
She laughed, her glee echoing into the silent house. “The football field is in dire need of a redo complete with a new stadium, so they’ve organized a big event on the Fourth of July. Salvatore said you agreed to headline.”
Christ, he must have really tied one on the night before.
“I can’t…” he began, and then stopped. Why couldn’t he? He was in no rush to get back to LA.
“I’m thinking about hanging around for a few weeks.”
Cain turned to Mac in surprise. “How’s that gonna work with your job?”
“That’s the beauty of computers, my friend. I can work from remote locations and get my stuff done.” He shrugged. “Truth is, my load is light this summer, and I haven’t had a proper vacation in years. I’ve got weeks coming to me. I might take them now.” His eyes narrowed. “See if I can’t convince Mom to leave, maybe come back to New York with me.”
“The Booker’s cottage is for rent,” Raine offered. “You know, if you were serious.”
Mac looked at Cain, and a grin split wide across his sorry-ass face. “You in?”
Maggie crossed his mind just then, and that familiar tightening in his chest followed suit. He was in no hurry to leave, but renting a cottage? Hell, he hadn’t thought that far ahead, but if he stayed…the possibilities were endless.
Maggie O’Rourke just might be the distraction he needed.
A smile split his face, though it was followed by a wince as pain radiated along his skull. He didn’t hesitate.
“Hell, yeah.”
Chapter 11
Maggie entered Lauren’s home with some trepidation. She assumed Cain was gone—his truck wasn’t in the driveway—but still she was wary. The thought of running into him wasn’t one that pleased her.
It was early Friday, just before noon, and God help her, but she’d thought of nothing but him since Wednesday evening. It wasn’t all good either. She didn’t know what stung more, the fact he’d ditched her so easily or that she’d been obsessing about it like a fifteen-year-old. She’d been riled up ever since and filled with a truckload of emotion.
She’d cut off those kinds of feelings so long ago that at first she didn’t know what the heck they were until it hit her. She’d wanted to spend the evening with him. Not because he’d taken her son out and treated him to a day on the lake. Not because he was easy on the eyes and had a killer smile. She wouldn’t even go near the six-pack of abs he sported. It was more than that.
Maggie liked the way he made her feel. She liked how his eyes darkened to a deeper shade of chocolate when he looked at her. It made her belly curl with heat, and that was something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
Of course she realized nothing would come of it. Musicians, especially rock musicians, didn’t mix with women and children. Everyone knew that, right? But still, for those few moments when her body reacted in that way—hot, filled with awakening need—she knew that she was still alive. She knew that somewhere, buried beneath the layers of pain, hurt, and betrayal, there was a part of her that thrived, a little bit of the old Maggie.
And it felt wonderful. It gave her hope.
Maggie issued a soft hello, but there was no answer. The house was silent, empty. On Fridays, Lauren volunteered at Shady Oaks, the retirement home near the lake, so depending on what time Maggie arrived, there was a pretty good chance she wouldn’t see her.
If you see Cain, tell him I said hey, and can you please remind him he promised to show me how to clean those fishes?
Michael’s excited chatter rolled around her head as she busied herself putting away the fresh linens Lauren had left for her. Her son had slept the entire night after Cain brought him back and hadn’t stirred from his bed until nearly eight the next morning. Since he was a boy who was up with the birds most days, she knew he’d been exhausted.
She smiled. Exhausted, yes, but in a good way, and as soon as he’d woken, it was nonstop chatter.
She’d heard every minute detail of his day with Cain. About how he’d taken Michael out on the lake to a “secret” fishing
hole he used to go to as a little boy.
It was a secluded stream where the fishing was particularly good.
It was the most awesome place he’d ever been.
Cain was one of the coolest dudes he’d ever met in his whole entire life.
Even cooler than Tommy’s dad, who was a sports broadcaster in Detroit.
Her smile faded as she crept down the stairs that led to the basement. It was damp, as basements are, and she rubbed her arms rapidly, trying to spark a bit of warmth in her blood.
Lauren had left a note indicating she didn’t need to clean downstairs, but she had towels to put away.
Maggie crossed to the small office, the scene of the crime, so to speak, and knocked rapidly—just in case. There was no answer.
She opened the door and was hit by the scent of pine cleaner, an intense odor that tingled her nose sharply. She flipped on the light, and her eyes swept over the newly cleaned carpets. They looked brand new. There was no blood, no evidence of her unfortunate header into the corner of the desk.
The room was tidy, nothing out of place. There was no luggage, no clothes or personal items that spoke of a guest. There was…nothing.
She’d already been upstairs and knew the guest rooms hadn’t been used. Cain must have left for LA after all without so much as a good-bye. Michael would be disappointed, but he would get over it and as far as she was concerned, it was probably for the best.
Maggie crossed to the bathroom and stowed the towels on the shelves and paused, her fingers trailing along the soft blue material as she glanced around. She caught a whiff of him—a subtle caress of his scent that lingered in the air.
She whirled around, but there was no one there. Maggie swore under her breath and turned out the light. Get your head out of the clouds. She still had the kitchen to deal with, and if she didn’t get a move on, Michael would get home before she did. His friend Tommy was back from sleepover camp, and Michael had been invited to Tommy’s house for the afternoon.
The computer monitor on the desk flickered, and she glanced at it as she walked past. Her hand reached for the door, but then a thought popped into her head, one that had her turning back toward the desk.
The Summer He Came Home Page 9
