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“I’ll bet he does.” He couldn’t help the sarcasm that laced his words.
“A lot.”
Wyatt knew where this was headed because he knew his father’s MO. “I’m sure he’s told you a lot of stories. Hell, even I remember some good ones. But sometimes stories are just stories. They’re vague reflections of moments in time that don’t always add up. John Blackwell likes to present a certain image to the world. One of strength. Unity. Family.” He shook his head. “But that wasn’t our reality. In fact, it was far from it.”
Regan cocked her head to the side, and he could tell she was struggling with something. He got it. His dad was a charmer. Always had been.
“A word of advice?” He didn’t wait for an answer or an acknowledgment. “Don’t fall for his bullshit. He’s damn good at doling it out. Hell, he even got to Hudson. My brother might be willing to give him a second chance, but…”
His words trailed off as he backed up toward the door.
“But?”
Wyatt reached for the door and opened it. “I’ve no interest in taking up with him again.”
“Then why are you back in Crystal Lake?” Regan’s gaze never wavered.
Wyatt stared at Regan for so long that his shoulders tensed up, causing his collarbone to throb. It was enough time for the wind to whistle inside and bring with it a flurry of snow and ice. Pellets hit him on the cheek and galvanized him into action. He tipped his head, slid on his knit hat, and left without answering.
Dusk was settling early, brought on by the haze of snow and wind and ice. Driving conditions weren’t ideal, but Wyatt never gave them a thought. He could handle the road. That was easy. It was the other stuff that was hard. The life stuff.
He couldn’t relax, and his hands clenched the steering wheel as he headed out along Lakeshore Road. Regan’s voice echoed in his head—her question haunting him with its simplicity. After the crash, he’d been told to take some time. Get his shit together. The driver who’d died hadn’t just been a colleague, they’d been close friends.
Wyatt had never questioned his need to return home. He hadn’t given it any consideration at all. Until now.
Exactly one week after graduation, he’d left Crystal Lake behind, not even bothering to glance in the rearview mirror as he did so. He hadn’t been back until the previous Thanksgiving, and that had been a disaster. He couldn’t be in the same room with John Blackwell without all the old hurt and resentment taking over.
As his truck headed up the mountain toward the cabin he’d claimed for the next few months, his mood was dark, his thoughts reflective. He had a place of his own in the sunshine that most folks would kill to have. Women by the boatload, if he so desired, and more than a fair share of vices to while the time away. For most men, staying in Florida would have been a no-brainer.
So why the hell had he decided to come to Crystal Lake?
Chapter 6
By the time Regan made it to the alumni dance on Saturday evening, it was close to eleven and she was bone tired and mentally exhausted. She’d planned on skipping the event entirely, but Carly and Violet had given her such a hard time, she decided it would be easier to show up for half an hour and leave than not to come at all.
Even so, as she gazed across crowded gym and listened to the band’s epic performance of some classic Green Day song, she regretted her decision. She’d spent all afternoon with the Bergen family and their young son, Patrick. One of the first patients she’d ever cared for after taking over Doctor Hogan’s practice, the eight-year-old had come to mean a lot to her. He’d been diagnosed with an aggressive form of brain cancer the previous summer and had been through surgeries, chemo, and radiation. They hadn’t been able to get all of the tumor, but things had seemed hopeful.
After a routine trip to the Children’s Hospital, an MRI, and several meetings with his treatment team, the Bergens had been told the tumor was growing. Patrick’s road to recovery had been hijacked in the worst way possible.
And still he smiled through it all.
A knot formed in Regan’s throat, and she swiped at the corner of her eye. “Let’s get this over with,” she muttered, standing on her toes, searching through the crowd for her sister-in-law and girlfriend.
She spotted the vibrant hue of Violet’s hair across the room and slipped through the people on the dance floor, her intention to say hello to her friends, smile, and make nice for a few minutes and then leave. She was halfway there when someone grabbed her arm, and with a grimace, she turned. Sean McAdams.
He smelled like a brewery, and from the look of his dilated pupils, he’d indulged in more than just beer.
“How about a dance?” He attempted to pull her close, but she brought her hands up and thumped him in the chest, eliciting a wink and a smile for her effort. “I like a woman who plays tough to get.”
“I’m not playing anything, Sean. Take your hands off me.”
Realizing his strong-arm tactics were getting him nowhere, Sean let go but made no move to get out of her way. When she would have sidestepped him, he followed suit, effectively blocking her route.
“Jesus, Sean. I’m not in the mood for you tonight.” The guy hit on her every chance he got. Normally, she could handle him, but tonight she didn’t have the energy to pierce through his thick skull.
“Come on. Give me a chance. I know how to show a woman a good time.” He slurred his words a bit, and disgust roiled in her stomach.
She glared at him and fought the urge to punch him in the throat. The guy was an idiot. He was the typical man who’d peaked in high school and never got the memo that real life required something other than cheesy lines and an attitude that would make a caveman look like Prince-freaking-Charming.
