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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.”
