The Summer He Came Home (6 page)

Maggie swallowed, surprised he’d given up so easily. “Okay,” she answered.

“I’ll make supper while you relax, and when I’m satisfied you’re all right, I’ll go.”

She started to protest, but his finger was on her mouth before she had a chance to react. He was much too close. So close that the spicy scent of him hung in the air and fell into her lungs as she inhaled a shaky breath. It was earthy and basic and male…and way too damn good.

“I’m not negotiating.”

He walked past her, and just like that, Cain Black invaded the one space she’d managed to call her own for the last year.

Maggie swore under her breath and followed him inside. She closed the door and took a second to calm her nerves.
Breathe.
She could do this.

Michael assaulted Cain immediately, and the two of them were already in the kitchen. Pots and pans banged and the fridge door slammed shut. Her son babbled excitedly, and Maggie slid onto the sofa, a bittersweet feeling heavy in her throat.

She couldn’t lie. It bothered her that Michael seemed so keen on having Cain around. Was he that starved for a male figure in his life? That thought alone made her feel awful, but she pushed it aside. Her head hurt too much to think about that kind of stuff.

Her bungalow was open concept, so she had a clear view of the kitchen area. Michael balanced on a step stool, and still his head barely reached Cain’s shoulders. His curls bobbed as he listened to Cain explain his fabulous omelet recipe, and his giggles filled the silence.

“Mom, these are gonna be awesome!” He looked back and grinned before grabbing a bowl off the counter to hand to Cain.

Her heart constricted as she watched her son. He looked so small, so incredibly vulnerable, next to Cain. As always, she was humbled at the miracle that he was. Her little man.

Cain turned around. “Can I get you anything? Something to drink?”

“No,” she whispered.

His eyes lingered a little too long, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

Maggie leaned back and closed her eyes.

Cain Black was all kinds of wrong for so many reasons. She didn’t know what kind of game he was playing, but she knew she couldn’t play along. Not that she was interested, and even if she was, he was way out of her league.

It wouldn’t end well.

And Maggie didn’t know if she could survive another loss.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Cain closed the door behind him and stared across the foyer at his mother. The lighting was muted, small beams filtering in from outside through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The evening shadows on her face made her appear almost ethereal. She was dressed in an old pair of denim shorts and a plain white T-shirt, with her long blond hair tied back in a ponytail.

She stepped forward, and as always, his heart softened at the sight of her. The woman was free of makeup and she looked much younger than her fifty-two years. He smiled. How many times had he warned his bass player, Dax, that his mother was off-limits?

At the moment, however, anger marred her classic features into a dark frown. “I’ve been calling your cell for the last three hours.”

Shit.
He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off.

“I realize you’re a grown man and not used to answering to anyone, but you could at least let me know where you are and when you’ll be home.” Lauren’s hands were on her hips, and her arched brow still managed to make him uncomfortable. “When you’re with Mackenzie and Jake, things tend to go off, and I just…” She shrugged. “I’d like a little warning is all.”

“Sorry, I turned my phone off at the hospital—”

“Hospital?” Her anger vanished as she crossed the room. “Are you all right?”

Cain nodded. “I’m fine. Maggie tripped over my crap downstairs, and her head met the wrong end of the desk. She’s okay.”

“What about Michael?”

“They’re both good. I took them home.”

The look in Lauren’s eyes changed. It was subtle, but he could see the wheels turning behind them, spinning until they narrowed thoughtfully. He shifted beneath her direct stare.

“When did this happen?”

He shrugged and walked past her toward the kitchen. “Fourish…maybe?”

“Cain.”

Here
we
go.

“What are you doing?”

A candle burned at the center of the dark granite island. She slipped onto a stool, leaning her elbows on the counter as she continued to study him with her all-knowing eyes.

He crossed to the fridge and opened the door, keeping it propped open with his hip as he perused the contents. He wasn’t hungry. Hell, he’d eaten more than his share at Maggie’s, but it was habit to come home to his mother’s and head straight for the fridge.

The door closed behind him as he turned, definitely not interested in anything inside. It looked like his mother’s health kick and vegan status was still intact.

He met his mother’s stare and folded his arms across his chest. “I took her to the hospital because there was no one else, and afterward I helped out a bit.”

“Helped out,” was her dry response.

His mother cocked her head but remained silent as she waited for him to explain himself. A sliver of resentment riffled through him, and he rubbed his scruffy jaw. How the hell did she do it? After all this time?

No longer was he a mature man of thirty. Hell no, he was once more a shadow of his teenaged self—the one who’d never become immune to the eyebrow and the pursed lips.

She’s not for you.
Her words echoed in his head, and he squared his shoulders.

“I fed Michael and made sure Maggie was okay before I left. She had a nasty head injury, and you can’t be too careful with something like that.”

His mother pursed her lips slightly. “All right.”

The subject was closed. For now.

She rose, grabbed a bottle of wine off the counter, and poured herself a glass, leaning against the dark granite as she swirled the pale liquid. When she met his gaze once more, there was a softer look in her eyes. “You look tired.”

She stared at him for several long moments and then crossed over, her hand falling to his chest, close to his heart. “You look tired in here.”

Cain stared down at his mother and clenched his jaw. “Yeah.”

“What’s really going on with you?” Her blue eyes shadowed with concern. “And don’t say ‘nothing.’ What happened in Barcelona was not
nothing
.”

He sighed and moved away from his mother. Just thinking of the situation he’d left behind made him tense, and he ran fingers along the tight cord of muscle at his neck. Was it only twenty minutes ago that he’d been relaxed in the cocoon of Maggie’s kitchen?

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Then talk to me, Cain. Don’t keep it bottled up inside. That’s the worst thing you can do. It will make you ill, trust me.”

Cain stared at his mother intently. He felt the words sitting in the back of his mouth, but his throat was tight. Spain had been a low point for him. The culmination of a lot of crap that had been building for months. The bitter taste of it made him grimace. “Barcelona was not good.”

“Not good?” His mother frowned. “Cain, you threw a punch at one of your band members and knocked him off the damn stage. Nearly caused a riot. It’s a hell of a lot more than not good.”

Anger coursed through him swift and hard. “Blake had it coming. You can’t expect to bang someone’s wife without consequence.”

Lauren’s eyebrows rose in shock. “Blake was having an affair with Natasha?”

He nodded and glanced out the window into the darkness. In the distance, lights twinkled around the lake like shiny diamonds cutting through the black. His mother’s windows were open, and a crisp, fresh breeze blew through the room. The rain from earlier in the evening had moved on, but the smell of its freshness lingered.

It was so quiet here. Serene. A far cry from the life he’d been inhabiting.

Damn, but he was tired of it all.

“Cain?”

He nodded. “Apparently he’s the latest in a long line. I didn’t know until after the divorce proceedings had started, or I would never have gone on tour with the bastard. Blake got drunk one night and it came out. A confession of his soul, I think he called it.” Cain clenched his hands. “He should have kept his fucking mouth shut.”

He felt his mother’s warm hand against his arm. “So that’s why he left the tour.”

Cain’s eyes were flat. He knew speculation had run rampant after the Barcelona incident—Blake had a drug problem, Cain had gone prima donna—but the plain truth was so much simpler.

“He crossed a line and was fired. Now he’s suing BlackRock—which, I have to say, the record label isn’t happy with. They want to pay him off and be done with it, but I’m not liking that train of thought.”

“Oh honey, I didn’t know.” Lauren’s brow furled. “But why would he sue you?”

“He’s not stupid.” He shrugged. “He knows the next album could put us over the top. Hell, everyone is expecting it. He’s hoping to cash in. Blake’s been there since the beginning. He’s co-written everything with me and will make money off those royalties for years. But now he wants royalties from any future recordings…songs he’ll have no hand in writing.”

“He’s blowing smoke. No judge would ever allow that to go through. He’s being an asshole, angling for more money.” She frowned. “Is Natasha putting him up to this? She still pissed that you broke it off with her?”

“I’m sure she’s enjoying the attention. Her publicity machine will work any angle they can. Honestly, I don’t give two shits about the money. I’ve never had buckets of the stuff, but have always managed to make a living. That’s not what I’m worried about…” His voice trailed off and his chest tightened.

“What is it?” His mother prodded.

“Nothing I want to talk about now.” He pushed aside his dark thoughts. He’d deal with them later.

“Okay.” Silence fell between the two of them, and then Lauren spoke softly. “How long are you staying here?”

He glanced down at his mother and felt a bit of the weight he carried leave him. “I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon, if that’s all right.”

She looped her arms through his and rested her head against his shoulder. “That’s more than all right.”

***

“You catch anything?”

“Huh?” Cain turned to Mac and stretched out his long limbs in front of him. His feet were bare and he wriggled his toes, thinking that he hadn’t been this relaxed in forever. The sun was warm against his face and shirtless chest, and the silence on the lake soothed his soul.

“Our boy’s off in la-la land again.” Jake grabbed the spot beside him as the boat rolled against the gentle swell of the water. “What the hell’s got you so distracted?”

Long red hair, peaches-and-cream skin, and wicked blue eyes flashed before him.

“Nothing, I’m just enjoying the quiet.”

It was Sunday, late morning, and the three of them had been out on the water for several hours. They’d spent most of Saturday cleaning up
Old
Smoky
—the name given to the twenty-foot power boat Mr. Edwards had given to his twin sons on their fifteenth birthday. It sported a forty-five horsepower outboard and back in the day had had just enough room for the four of them, a case of beer, their fishing gear, and a couple of girls. Many a weekend they’d spent entire Saturdays out on the water fishing, drinking, smoking whatever they could get their hands on, and just shooting the shit.

God, to be that young again.

The four of them had been kings, with nothing on their minds but scoring as much tail as they could, hitting the best parties in town, and playing football. There’d been no responsibility—no limitations—only the open road of possibility to roam.

Cain ran his fingers along the edge of the boat. The cream and navy colors had long faded, beaten down by the sun. The damn thing brought back a lot of memories. His gaze rested on Jake and then slid to the empty seat beside him.

Jesse’s spot. Yeah, a lot of memories.

“So, what’s with the little redhead?” Mac popped open a beer and took a long drink before wiping foam from the corner of his mouth. “What’s her story?”

Cain sighed.
Here
we
go.

He glanced up. Mac’s dark blond hair was already a shade lighter, and it was good to see him out of Armani and decked out in plain old cotton. He was bare chested and had gained a considerable amount of muscle since Cain last saw him. Mac had been hitting the gym hard. Hell, put him in a marine uniform and he’d be as badass as Jake.

Jake grinned. “Maggie? Raine’s friend? The one with the kid?” Jake glanced at Mac. “Toss me one, will ya?” He settled back, his eyes boring into Cain. “So what the hell did I miss? You’re home less than twenty-four hours and already scored the cutest thing in town?”

Mac laughed. “Some things never change.”

Cain scowled at the two of them. “It’s not like that.”

Jake chuckled. “So tell me Cain…what it’s like,
exactly
?”

He caught the look Mac shot at Jake, and his scowl deepened. “Drop it.”

Truthfully, there was nothing to tell. The woman wasn’t interested. After he made supper for Michael, she’d insisted he leave. She’d done everything but yank him by the arm and throw him out of her house. Said she’d set her alarm for every two hours so she’d wake up and promised that if the nausea continued, she’d go back and see the doctor.

Christ, he’d stood on her porch and listened to her turn at least three dead bolts behind him. If that didn’t say “stay the hell away,” he didn’t know what did.

He’d left—reluctantly—and not because he’d been looking to score some action. Being in her home with her kid had been nice and simple and easy
.

God, he missed easy. Normal.

“So, she shot you down?” Mac leaned back and smiled.

“What are we? Sixteen? Drop it.” Cain sat up, ran fingers over his taut belly. Hunger pangs sat low in his gut, and he was ready to head back.

They were spending the afternoon at the Edwards place, relaxing and hanging out, just like old times. A barbecue was planned for later—a small, intimate affair—with his mother and Raine invited.

The Edwardses’ loss was still raw, and they were mourning. Hell, they all were, but if Jesse’s death had taught them anything, it was the need to hold close the things that were important. Family and friends. And that’s what today was about.

Mac was supposed to head back to New York on Monday, and as for Cain, he’d finally called his manager the day before, after Charlie had begun hounding his mother. Figured he’d better, before rumors started to circulate that he’d died or disappeared somewhere over the Atlantic.

Their part in the tour was officially over. The Grind had picked up another act to continue with. After the Barcelona incident and Blake’s abrupt departure, they’d had no choice—the Glasgow show had been done with a hired drummer. But as was the way of it in this day of celebrity, the incident, captured on YouTube and the like, had generated even more buzz.

He’d nearly started a riot, and it had only served to enhance BlackRock’s profile. What the future brought was up to him, and as the weight of it pressed on him, Cain grimaced. His next move would be critical, and that begged the question, could he handle it on his own? His entire career had been linked to Blake.

Cain sighed and rubbed the scruff on his chin. Christ, he didn’t want to think about that right now. For the moment he was free, not due in the studio until the fall. Seemed like a distraction was in order. Again his thoughts turned to Maggie.

He arched a brow at Jake and asked the question he’d been pondering since the day before. “When are you heading back to Afghanistan?”

Jake drained the last of his beer, crushed the can in his hands, and looked across the lake toward home. “I’m not.” Jake’s face was hard, his eyes dark as he turned to Cain. “We should head back.”

The conversation was over, and Cain knew enough to let it go. “Sure. Sounds good.” He cracked a smile. “It’s not like we caught anything.”

Several boats dotted the lake. The sun’s intensity had increased in the last hour or so, and cottage country had come alive. The shoreline was dotted with a thick carpet of trees and the seasonal cottages that surrounded the public beach near the south side.

Jake turned their boat north, which was where his family’s home was located. It was the premier spot on Crystal Lake, and the homes that claimed the north shoreline belonged to residents of the town who could afford to live there—which weren’t many—or new money that had come to town from the city.