You Make Me Weak
The Blackwells of Crystal Lake
Juliana Stone
Juliana Stone Publishing Inc.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Juliana Stone
You Make Me Weak
Cover by Sara Eirew
Copyright © 2016 by Juliana Stone
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 978-1-988474-02-1
For my children, Jacob and Kristen. You are everything to me.
Chapter 1
Crystal Lake held a lot of bad memories for Hudson Blackwell and he remembered every single one of them on the long drive back from Washington, DC. By the time he crossed the bridge that separated the north side of town from the south, his mood was black and a scowl transformed his handsome features into something dark.
He pulled up at the main stoplight downtown, fingers drumming along the steering wheel, eyes scouring the quaint buildings that lined each side of the street. The place had gotten a face-lift since the last time he’d been home, and he noted a few new shops. Mrs. Avery’s flower depot was about the only one he recognized, and his scowl deepened as he thought of the last time he’d been inside.
God, he hated coming back here.
The light turned green, but instead of heading out to the family home on the lake, he made an abrupt U-turn and a few minutes later pulled into the parking lot of the Coach House. Hudson killed the engine of his black F-150, gaze on the building.
Now this place hadn’t changed a bit, and for the first time since he’d begun this trip home, a slow smile curved his lips. The parking lot was shit, potholes galore, the tin roof looked rusted as hell, and the front entrance and door needed a new coat of paint. The overhead sign hung crooked, held in place by one hinge, and it looked like a good gust of wind could knock the damn thing clear off. He didn’t remember it being this bad, but hell, it was something he could live with.
As he walked inside the darkened interior, he was assaulted by the smell of stale beer and that certain mustiness only a place like this could hold. Hudson had never been one for change, so he’d take the sticky floors and crap smell over new any day.
It was an early Monday afternoon, late September, and the place held few customers. Hudson didn’t make eye contact, though he took note where each of them sat, and headed for the bar, taking the last stool at the far end. Neon beer signs twinkled down at him, casting shadows along the wall of bottles lined up in a row. He pushed aside a damp used coaster and, out of habit, reached for his cellphone. He paused and then let his arms rest on the bar.
Work was a long way away and, at the moment, the least of his worries.
“What’ll ya have?”
A huge, hulking man stood in front of him, a faded black wife-beater stretched thin across wide shoulders and bulging biceps. His head was shaved clean and glistened with sweat, while his handlebar mustache and full beard did nothing to hide the colorful tattoos that lined his neck. Hudson had never seen him before and frowned, glancing to the end of the bar.
“Where’s Sal at?”
The bartender’s eyes narrowed, and he tossed a rag over his shoulder. “You from around here?”
Hudson nodded, leaning back on his stool as each man took measure of the other.
“Sal’s been taking some time off.”
Huh. As long as Hudson could remember, the owner of the Coach House could always be found behind his bar, serving up drinks (which was the reason you’d be there) and advice (whether you wanted it or not).
“He okay?”
The bartender took his time answering, wiping up the edge of the bar though his eyes never left Hudson. “As good as you’d expect. Now, what’ll you have?”
Hudson considered digging deeper, but something told him he probably wouldn’t like what he’d find. “Cold beer would be good.”
“Draft or bottle?”
“Draft.”
Less than a minute later, Hudson cradled a cold mug of Guinness and settled in to watch the game. With the MLB pennant race on, it was as good a way as any to pass the afternoon, and the fact that he’d rather watch it here than at the house said something. What that something was he didn’t want to dwell on. No sense in going there just yet.
He was well into his second Guinness when someone took the stool a few places down from him. A quick glance in the mirror behind the bar told him it was a male, early to mid-thirties, an A’s ball cap pulled low over clipped dark hair. The length of his arms told Hudson he was tall, and the tattoos told him ex-military. His clothes were on the dirty side, as if he’d been working outdoors, but the watch on his wrist was a Rolex.
The fact they were close in age told Hudson there was a good chance he knew the guy, but he paid him no mind. Quite frankly, he didn’t care. He was content to sip his beer and watch the Red Sox get their asses kicked. He wasn’t ready to head down memory lane just yet. Hudson lifted his mug and took a good long drink, eyes on the pitcher as he squared up at the mound.
“How’s Sal doing?” The man spoke, and Hudson’s hand froze midair.
“Not good, Jake.” Hulking bartender guy leaned forward, shaking his head.
Hudson’s eyes widened. He knew the voice right away. Jake Edwards was a few years older than Hudson, and while they hadn’t exactly been friends—Jake had been pretty tight with his own crew back then—they’d hung out a time or two. It sure as hell explained the Rolex. The Edwards family came from old money, not as old as the Blackwells, but still, their privileged asses were part of Crystal Lake’s elite.
Hudson looked down at his beer, his face dark as he thought of family and the reason he’d come back here. For a moment, his vision blurred, and he slammed his eyes shut, because just like that, it felt as if he’d never left.
“You leave here now, Hudson, don’t expect a welcome back if you change your mind. You’re on your own and good luck with that.”
His eyes flew open, and for a second, he was disoriented. Like a ghost from the past, his father’s voice sliced through his head, tugging something ugly and dark from deep inside him. Hudson clutched his hands together, fisting them so tight, his fingers cramped. A slim tan line cut across his left ring finger, and he wondered how long that reminder would stare him in the face.
A reminder of what he’d lost and most likely never deserved.
With a sigh, he pushed back the unfinished beer, not really feeling the Guinness anymore, and stood to leave. He tossed a couple of bills onto the bar, nodded at the bartender, and had e
very intention of leaving without saying a word to Jake Edwards, but the man in question saw things differently.
“Holy shit. Hudson Blackwell.” Jake slid from his barstool, pushing back the brim of his cap and offering up his hand. His smile was genuine, his handshake firm. “I can’t remember the last time we were together.”
Hudson shook Jake’s hand and took a step back, feeling sheepish as he remembered the tragedy the Edwards family had faced a few years back. “Sorry to hear about your brother.”
Jake’s smile faltered a bit. “Thanks.” He glanced around the Coach House. “It’s weird. Being back here without him. I stop in for a beer, meet up with the guys, and expect Jesse to walk in and join us.” Jake lifted his chin. “You back visiting the old man? I hear he’s not doing too good.”
Tight-lipped, Hudson nodded. “He’s in Grandview.” And just like that, he wasn’t in the mood to talk. “I haven’t been out to the house yet. I should get going.”
Something flickered in Jake’s eyes at about the same time Hudson’s internal radar erupted, hitting him square in the chest and pumping boatloads of adrenaline into his system. Jake was talking, but he ignored the man, taking a step back as he scanned the Coach House. In his capacity as an FBI agent, this feeling, this sixth sense, had saved his ass more times than he cared to count. He didn’t sense danger or anything like that, but something was coming for him.
The door to the bar opened, and the late-afternoon sun filtered in, haloing dust and dirt into beams of hazy light. It camouflaged the person standing in the doorway chatting to one of the customers who was on his way out, but he could tell it was a woman.
“She’s been back for a while now. Working here for a couple of months.”
Eyes still on the door, Hudson frowned. “What was that?”
“Rebecca.”
Hudson swung his gaze back to Jake, the entirety of his world narrowing down to this one man.
“Rebecca.” It was a name he hadn’t uttered in years.
Jake was silent for a bit and then nodded toward the door. “Yeah. Rebecca Draper is back in Crystal Lake. Didn’t you guys date back in the day?”
Date? The word didn’t come close to what he’d shared with Becca. She’d been in his blood like a wildfire, one that could never be doused.
“Huds, I’m scared.”
Her blonde hair fell around golden shoulders, rippling waves that glistened in the moonlight. The big blue eyes staring up at him were the kind you could get lost in. The kind that made a guy think of things. Like getting lost inside Rebecca Draper.
“I’ve never done this before.” Her voice faltered, those big eyes falling away from him, and his chest filled with something he didn’t quite understand. In that moment, he knew she was important. She meant something more. Something he needed. Something he wanted.
Hudson gathered her in his arms, his young body taut and hard and aching with desire. “It’s okay,” he managed to say. “We don’t have to.”
“But I want to.” She breathed into him. “I want my first time to be with you.”
He was hot. And cold. And excited beyond anything he’d felt before. But there was something warm and tender unfolding inside him. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew it was wrapped up in the girl he held.
Rebecca Draper.
His Becca.
The memory disappeared as quick as it’d come, and, shaking his head, Hudson ran his hand through his hair. Christ, she was back here? What the hell were the odds of that? This town was small. Insular. He’d run into her for sure. He wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about that. The thought of seeing her with her husband and probably a pack of kids wasn’t something he relished.
That had been his dream once. Until he’d screwed it up.
“I didn’t know,” he muttered. “How is she?”
“You guys will catch up.”
“Not sure she’d want that.” The words were out before he thought better, and Jake’s eyes narrowed a bit before glancing over Hudson’s shoulder.
“I guess you’re gonna find out.”
Hudson followed Jake’s gaze, settling on the woman who’d walked into the Coach House a few minutes earlier. She was at the far end, behind the bar, her back turned to him. Blonde hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, exposing the delicate lines of a neck he was way too familiar with. She turned slightly, smiling up at hulking bartender guy, and Hudson couldn’t tear his gaze from the curve of her cheek, the small upturned nose, and a mouth that had driven him to the edge more times than he deserved.
She put her hand on the bartender’s forearm, and damn if that didn’t pull at some kind of Tarzan thing inside him. Hudson didn’t like it—not one bit—and that was plain stupid. He had no claim on this woman and hadn’t for a very long time. Not since the night he left town, the night he’d left her at the end of her driveway, sobbing her damn heart out.
“Take me with you.”
She’d pleaded with him and the plea had turned into a scream as he’d gotten in his truck, letting the shadows cover him and the tears burning the backs of his eyes. It was a scream he heard long after that night.
He watched Rebecca for a good five seconds or so. Watched as she grabbed up several beer mugs from under the counter and set them on the bar. As she turned to the till and had a peek inside. As she scooped up a rag and moved down the bar. As she smiled at the lone customer who raised his glass in hello.
As her eyes met his and her smile slowly faded.
They were still as blue as the ocean and, damn, but Becca was more beautiful than he remembered. She was beautiful and fragile and delicate and…
He took a step forward, his body acting before his mind could tell him to calm the hell down. Her eyes widened, those lips of hers parted as if she was finding it hard to breathe. He got that. He felt like he was drowning.
Her hand went to her throat and then fell back to the rag in her other hand. She slowly turned away from him, grabbed one of the empty mugs, and began to fill it. She placed it in front of her customer, said something to hulking bartender guy, and disappeared into the back room.
Just like that, he’d been dismissed.
“I take it things didn’t end well between you two,” Jake said quietly.
“That would be an understatement.”
Hudson stared after her for a long time before heading outside. His mood blacker than ever, he slid into his truck, jaw clenched tight, hands fisted on the wheel. He never should have come back here.
What the hell had he been thinking?
Chapter 2
Becca splashed cold water on her face and exhaled slowly as she looked at herself in the mirror. She blinked and frowned because, just for a second, it wasn’t her face she saw. It was his.
Hudson Blackwell. All six foot four inches of him. Gone was the young twenty-year-old she remembered. He’d been replaced by a dark, dangerously handsome man—the man she’d known he would become.
And he’d done it without her.
Her stomach dipped, and she leaned on the sink. She hadn’t seen him in years. Not since that last night when he’d ripped out her heart, stomped all over it, and left her behind in Crystal Lake. The memory of the late-summer rain mingling with the salty tears on her face as she watched his taillights disappear stirred something ugly inside Becca. Her fingers gripped the edge of the sink, thank God, because it was the only thing holding her up.
When she got her shit together, she splashed water across her face once more and reached for a towel. She quickly dried off and secured her ponytail before one last look in the mirror. Her pale cheeks were now flushed, heated with an anger that wasn’t leaving anytime soon. And her eyes spit fire.
Hudson Blackwell was back in Crystal Lake? So what. Rebecca didn’t give a good goddamn. He meant less than nothing to her, and no way was she hiding how she felt. In fact, she had a good mind to tell Hudson Blackwell exactly what she thought of him and where to go. That particular opinion had been festering
for twelve years. Maybe it was about time to let that piece of her past go as well.
Fired up and determined, Rebecca marched her butt back out to the bar, only to find him gone and the place nearly full with an early crowd eager for half-price chicken wings. More than a little deflated, she spied Tiny.
“You okay?” Tiny shouted from the other end of the bar. The man was born Julian, but somewhere along the line, Tiny had stuck.
Okay was a relative term and not at all what she was feeling, but Rebecca nodded anyway.
“Can you take the big table at the back?”
“Got it.” Rebecca grabbed her tray. Mondays were busy at the Coach House, and that was one of the reasons she’d taken the part-time gig on top of her regular job at the veterinary clinic. When she’d moved back to Crystal Lake, the only house she could afford was a fixer-upper near the old mill. She loved her place—an older home, it boasted tons of character—but there was always a project on the go, and she needed the cash. Straightening her shoulders, Becca marched toward the table. She didn’t have time to waste thinking about Hudson Blackwell. In the grand scheme of things, he didn’t much figure in her day-to-day life. Besides, if she was lucky, he was only in town for a visit and she wouldn’t see him again.
But the thing about luck is that some folks have it in spades. And unlike those particular folks, Rebecca Draper wouldn’t be able to find a golden horseshoe if it hit her on the head. So it wasn’t surprising any luck she did manage to find ran out exactly two days later.
Wednesday started out pretty much like any other day, if one ignored the inch of water on the kitchen floor. Once she turned off the water supply to the house, called a plumber, and dealt with the mess, she got her son, Liam, to school and was only fifteen minutes late for work. It was a lovely morning, and the sun reflecting off the lake was bright. The dew was heavy and the air crisp. As she got out of her car, the unmistakable scent of fall was in the air, and her mood improved at the thought. It was her favorite time of year, and her steps were light as she headed inside.
You Make Me Weak (The Blackwells of Crystal Lake Book 1) Page 1