The Summer He Came Home

Chapter 31



The smell of coffee penetrated the fog inside his head and slowly brought Cain around. He groaned and rolled over, cursing as a twinge of pain ran across his shoulders. God, he’d slept like absolute shit, if he’d slept at all.

His muscles were stiff. Really stiff, though he supposed manual labor would do that to you. He flexed his arms and cursed. Guess he wasn’t in as good a shape as he’d believed, though to be honest, the mattress was a piece of crap—it was like sleeping on a slab of concrete—and this had been the first night in weeks he’d actually slept on it.

He missed Maggie’s bed and the feel of her warmth against his body. The way she burrowed into his side as if she were a part of him—that feeling was something he wanted to know every damn morning.

Arm flung above his head, he stared at the ceiling and frowned. He was still pissed off. He should have stayed. He should have refused to leave until they’d had it out, but then…if he’d pushed things, forced the issue, it might have made the situation worse.

Maggie needed some time to process. She’d come around. He hoped.

Cain groaned and rolled out of bed.

Maybe he was in too deep. His feelings had grown over the last several weeks. He knew it. She had to know, and it frustrated the hell out of him that he didn’t know where he stood with her. Quicksand was easier to navigate than the mystery of Maggie O’Rourke.

Cain rolled his neck and swore under his breath as another wave of pain crossed his shoulders. He gritted his teeth. There was no damn way he was going to accept they were done.

Cain followed the scent of coffee and moved toward the open-concept kitchen located opposite the bedrooms. It was the focal point of the cottage, with a large island and lots of greenery. The cupboards were old, probably oak, but someone had decided to paint them bright yellow, which wasn’t so bad, except they clashed horribly with the burnt-orange countertop and purple pottery that was strewn everywhere.

He glanced to the right. The wall of windows allowed the lake to come inside the space, and he spied Mac down on the dock, reading the morning paper. His eyes narrowed. Or was that Hollywood Scene in his hands?

“You look like shit, mate.”

Cain grabbed a mug from the cupboard, filled it with some hot brew, and took a sip. Dax grinned at him and raised his glass in a mock toast. He was in his boxers—Union Jack, no surprise there—and his pasty white skin glowed in the bright sunlight that streamed in from the window above the sink. His thick, dark hair was all over the place, and a day’s worth of stubble graced his chin. He didn’t have his contacts in, and with his overly large horn-rim glasses, he was about as far away from a rocker as you could get.

If their fans could see him now…but then again, Dax had a certain charm all his own that seemed to transcend whatever his particular look was. Cain had decided long ago that it was a British thing.

“I may look like shit, but at least I’m not sparkling like some vampire wannabe,” Cain said drily.

Dax snorted. “Hey, the whole vampire thing works for me. The ladies dig that kind of shit, no matter what age they are.”

Cain took another sip of coffee. “I’m sure they do.”

Dax hopped up onto one of the stools and rested his elbows on the island. “Was nice seeing your mom again.”

Cain was silent. His mother had stopped by the night before. She’d tried discussing his situation with Maggie, but he’d refused to engage. How could he? He was still trying to figure things out himself.

“She’s pretty damn cute, eh? Your little bird.”

Cain wandered over to where Dax sat, a frown on his face, when he spied Hollywood Scene in front of the Brit. It lay open to the center spread.

“Christ, does everyone have a copy?”

“Dunno. Mac brought a few of ’em back last night.”

“That figures.”

Dax whistled as he glanced down at the pictures, and Cain’s face darkened as he glanced at the magazine. In the picture, Maggie’s face spoke volumes.

He grabbed it from Dax, ignoring the blast of curse words that fell from the Brit’s mouth, and studied the picture closely.

She looked sexy as hell with her hair, that long silky mess of hair, all over the place. Her breasts nearly spilled from the lacy bra she wore, and he remembered how he couldn’t wait to get her out of it.

It was a picture that any man would find erotic. Sexy. But right now? As he gazed down at it, all Cain focused on was the look in her eyes. There was softness there—a surrender in their depths that hit him in the gut.

Maggie looked like he felt. It wasn’t about sex for her. Not in that moment. It was about love.

Cain ran his hand across his jaw and let the magazine fall onto the counter. Holy Christ.

He didn’t just want to be with her. He loved her. Real, true, I’d-freaking-die-for-you love. The realization washed over him with the strength of a jackhammer, and he slid onto the stool beside Dax and set his mug onto the counter.

He sang songs about this stuff all the time, but until now he’d never experienced it. Not like this. His marriage to Natasha had been a huge mistake, one where lust had been mistaken for love. This thing with Maggie was on an entirely different level.

“Are you all right?” Dax asked.

“No.”

“Ah.” Dax closed the magazine. “So, should I be worried then?”

“No.”

“Okay, but you’re a bit peaked, mate, and sorry to say it’s not a good look for you.”

“What?”

“I said you look like shit.”

“I love her.”

“What was that? You’re mumbling into your cup.”

Cain glanced toward the Brit and grinned. “I love her.”

Dax took a sip of coffee and arched his brow, a huge grin on his face. “Well, that’s nice for you. Really nice. The question is, mate: What are you going to do about it?”

“About what?” Jake barked.

They both glanced up as Jake walked into the kitchen. The tall soldier was dressed in running shorts and a T-shirt covered in sweat. His muscles bulged and his veins stood out in stark relief. He tossed an empty water bottle into the recycle bin beside the island and stared at them both.

“You guys gonna fill me in?”

Cain rubbed his eyes and glanced up at his friend.

“Never mind.” Jake crossed to the coffee machine and grabbed a mug from the cupboard. “I’m thinking this has to do with Maggie?” He emptied the carafe and leaned against the counter.

Cain remained silent.

“You love her.”

Hearing Jake say the words so matter-of-factly pretty much cemented the entire notion. Cain nodded. “Hell, yeah. I think I might have fallen the moment I laid eyes on her at Jesse’s funeral reception.”

Jake lowered his eyes and stared into his cup. “That’s good. Jesse’d be happy for you.” Jake chuckled. “Hell, let’s be honest, he’d be riding your ass big-time. He always thought that you’d be the guy with a posse of women. Like Hef and his bunnies.” The soldier grinned. “Glad to see he was wrong.”

“Well, mates, I’d love to sit around and discuss Cain’s love life, but we’ve a show to put together, and time’s running out. So what’s the plan?” Dax looked at him expectantly, and for a second Cain blanked.

“Uh…” He frowned.

“Fundraiser. Music. Football?” Dax slid from his stool. “Ring a bell?”

Cain glanced toward the clock. It was nearly nine now, and they needed to finish a few things before they’d be ready for production setup, which was scheduled for noon.

Cain grabbed his mug and finished his coffee. “We should get going. There’s a lot left to do.”

Jake nodded. “All right. I’m going to run home, change, and I’ll meet you guys at the field.”

“On your way out, tell Mac we’ll be leaving in ten.” Cain caught the wince the Brit tried to hide as he placed his mug in the sink. “A little sore this morning?”

“Bloody hell, I didn’t expect to be getting my hands dirty. Dammit man, I hope I can play my bass tomorrow.”

“Nothing a good hot shower won’t cure.”

“Right.”

Mac entered the cottage and tossed his magazine onto the counter. “So, lover boy, we heading out soon?”

Cain grabbed the magazine along with the one Dax had been reading. He looked at Mac and frowned. “You got any more of these hiding around?”

“Nope. But I hate to tell you this. They’re everywhere.”

“No shit.” Cain’s lips thinned. He was in for it, and so was Maggie. He just hoped the people of Crystal Lake went easy on her.

“You going to see her today?”

Cain nodded to Mac. “Damn straight. As soon as we get everything organized for tomorrow, she’s my first stop.”

Mac’s expression changed—the joker was gone. “Good. That’s good.” He sighed and stretched out his long limbs. “We’re a sorry-ass bunch…the Bad Boys of Crystal Lake. Unlucky in love. It would be nice to see one of us get it right.”

Cain frowned. “Jesse got it right, from the get-go.”

“Maybe so, but that relationship left scars.” Mac’s eyes darkened and he shook his head. “I’m worried about Jake, and what the hell is Raine thinking? A baby? Personally, I think he’d be better off shipping back to Afghanistan.”

Cain was stunned. What kind of crazy-ass shit was this?

“Why the hell would you want him to go back there, to the place where he watched his brother die? Away from his friends and family? That doesn’t make sense.”

Mac was quiet for a few seconds, and then he spoke. “At least over there he’s got an outlet for his anger. He can use it, hone it, and let it eat the pain. Here? It will just fester and grow, and being around Raine won’t help him at all. I’m telling you, it will be ugly when he finally explodes.” Mac looked away. “Trust me. I know what the face of ugly feels like, and the scars don’t ever go away.”

Cain sighed. “It’s too early for this shit.”

“You’re right. Forget I said anything.” Mac moved toward his room. “I’m going to grab my shades, and we should head out to the field.”

He watched Mac disappear and then headed back to his own room for a quick change. There was no point in showering. Not with all he had on his plate today.

He grabbed his cell and tried Maggie’s number, but there was no answer. Shit. He needed to hear her voice. Needed to know that things were going to be all right. He pocketed the cell. He’d have to keep trying.

Twenty minutes later he was on his way to town. As luck would have it—at least the kind of luck that followed him around these days, which was bad—everything was behind schedule. The production equipment and crew didn’t show until nearly two in the afternoon, which was good, considering it took them nearly that long to get the finishing touches in place, the power supply being a major headache. The wattage hadn’t been sufficient as is, but an electrician was called, and the problem was solved. When the heavy cables—long electrical snakes—were finally run, it felt like a small victory.

The volunteers kept their heads down, and no one ribbed him about Hollywood Scene. For that Cain was grateful. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss the fallout. Roger, Tommy’s father, was one of the volunteers, and though Cain wanted to grill him about Michael’s whereabouts and Maggie, he kept quiet. There was no use in putting him on the spot.

The stacks of speakers were put in place, two towers on either side of the stage. The rigging that held the lights was hoisted into the air, across the front of the stage, and a one-row of lighting was placed behind the drum riser.

All the musical acts were to use one set of equipment to make things easy. The amps—Marshall stacks—and the drum kit were ready to go, but it was a slow process getting everything in place, the instruments properly miked, and ready to go.

Texas Willie and his band were helping, as well as several other local acts, including Shady Aces. They were all participating in the fundraiser. It made for a few frustrating moments, and it took Cain’s raised voice, with the reminder that this was a charity event, not an MTV appearance, for the boys to settle in and work together.

When the first note was hit at sound check—his guitar singing out into the gathered crowd—he didn’t feel pleasure as much as relief.

But by then it was nearly six o’clock.

Cain had been trying Maggie’s cell phone the entire day. Not once had she picked up. She didn’t have a landline, so he had no other way of getting in touch with her. The pressure in his chest, that feeling of doom that had dogged him all day, hit hard. He’d tried Raine several times as well and had had no luck there either.

He’d just packed up his Les Paul when he spied Jake.

“I’m heading to Maggie’s now. Sorry to do this again, but can you get Dax back to the lake?”

“I think a bunch of us are heading to the Coach House first, but I’ll make sure he makes it home safe. We wouldn’t want a drunken Brit roaming the streets of Crystal Lake, especially in that getup.”

Dax sat on the edge of the stage with his bass, his fingers flying over the frets as he slapped and pulled the heavy strings. The instrument, one meant for rhythm, sounded melodic in his hands.

He’d kept the horn-rimmed glasses instead of his contacts and once more sported white leather pants, flashy red boots, and a vintage Def Leppard T-shirt. There was a circle of locals close by, mostly women, all of them eyeing the Brit with adoring, shy smiles.

“I don’t think you need to worry about him, Jake.”

“Probably not.” Jake tapped him on the shoulder. “I hope things work out with you and Maggie.”

“Thanks.”

He was starting to panic. Where the hell are you, Maggie?