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CHAPTER1
Miles Martinez pulledup outside a charming, white clapboard house in a quiet suburb in Twilight Falls. Warm lights brightened the multi-pane, sash windows, their glow complementing the festive decorations adorning the facade and porch, and strung prettily on the bushes and moss-draped oak trees framing the property.
It was almost Christmas.
Miles turned into the drive and parked between a pickup and a Jeep. A wave of melancholy danced through him when he stepped outside and studied the Batistas’ home.
He used to come here every Wednesday night, before the accident. Despite the Terrible Seven’s reputation, Helen Batista had loved nothing more than cooking meals for her son Wyatt’s friends. They had been renowned troublemakers since childhood, tales of their misdeeds spreading far beyond the town where they had grown up.
A wry smile stretched Miles’s lips.
Old man Coulton must be glad we’re all grown up.
Gary Coulton had been the sheriff when the Terrible Seven begun earning their unsavory prestige. Miles had heard he would soon be retiring. As for Wyatt’s parents, they had moved to Utah several years ago.
It was just several of the changes Miles had woken up to when he’d emerged from his twelve-year-long coma two months ago.
So much happened while I was sleeping.
His chest tightened. He took a deep breath and squashed the dismal feelings threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn’t let his mood ruin poker night.
The front door opened as he headed up the porch steps.
A pretty brunette with green eyes appeared.
Izzy Batista, Wyatt’s younger sister and the unofficial eighth member of the Terrible Seven, smiled at him warmly. “Hey.”
“Hi, Izzy.” Miles kissed her cheek and glanced at the pickup. “Wasn’t Tristan going to L.A. this week to visit James?”
“James came over.” Izzy made a face. “Which means there are currently four horny men in my kitchen wondering when dinner and poker is going to be over so they can rush home and have monkey sex.”
“I heard that,” a handsome man with dark hair and glasses snapped as he crossed the hall behind her. “And Nathan’s here, so that’s six horny guys under your rooftop.” The corners of his mouth lifted as he looked at Miles. “Hi, Miles.”
“Hi, James.”
James Lang was Tristan Hart’s fiancé. Not only was he the manager of Crazyknot, a world famous rock band that regularly sold out concerts wherever they played, he was also best friends with Roman Campbell, Crazyknot’s front man and the guy Drake Jackson had surrendered his closely guarded heart too.
Izzy studied Miles’s SUV. “You getting used to your new ride?”
Miles heard the unspoken question in her voice. He’d shocked his mother and his friends when he’d said he wished to drive again. They’d all assumed he would be too traumatized to want to get behind the wheel of a vehicle so soon after coming out of the coma.
Miles had to admit he’d not been too crazy about the idea at first either. But he was determined to pick up the pieces of his broken life. Gaining his independence had been the first step toward achieving that goal.
He’d been nervous as hell the first few times he’d gone out in Elaine Martinez’s Chevy. It was only because one of the Terrible Seven always insisted on being with him on the drive that he’d managed to overcome his fears and recover his confidence.
Miles smiled and finally answered Izzy’s question. “It’s like a riding a bike.”
She sniffed. “Yeah, well, they say that about sex too. Considering I haven’t had a date in over a year, I think I’m gonna forget how to do the boogie-woogie in the sack.”
Miles choke-laughed on his spit.
He’d forgotten how brazen Izzy was. Considering she’d firmly foisted herself in her brother’s circle of friends when they were still in middle school, he shouldn’t have been surprised by the woman she’d grown into.
Miles hoped the low light masked his reddening ears as they headed inside the house. He was willing to bet Izzy had a good deal more experience when it came to sex than he did.
A memory had him grinning.
“You still have that picture of Carter you took in the boy’s locker room in high school?”
