by S. L. Scott
When I see the sincerity in his eyes, I had it all wrong. “Did you choose this photo, Alfie?”
He nods and then looks down at it again. “We were giggling when Grandma took it. Mommy was the best tickler.”
“She was. She used to tickle me when we were little.”
He may be a kid, but he’s her kid. He sees through the illness and only sees his mom. My heart just melted for both of these guys. I say, “She loved you so much. On her worst days, you would climb into bed with her, and she would read you a story. I remember hearing you both laugh at Curious George and her telling you how much she loved you. I would come to take you to bed, and you’d be holding the book and turning the pages. You would always have this big happy grin on your face.” I exhale and rub his back gently, bringing him against me.
He says, “I remember. Will you read that book to me tonight, Hannah?”
“I don’t have that book here.”
“Can we get it?”
“Not tonight and we’re leaving tomorrow.”
Tears fill his eyes, and his arms wrap around me. “I want the monkey book.”
“We can buy you a new one when we get to California.”
“I want the one Mommy gave me. Can we go to Grandma’s and get it?”
I doubt I’ll ever be able to get that actual book for him. I’m not sure Eileen will let me back in the house. Not that I want to go back. Kneeling in front of him, I say, “I can go over there to get it when we return, but not before we leave. Do you want to get another copy in California or wait?”
“I’ll wait. Can we read the bear book tonight?”
“Yep, the bear book it is.” I steer him toward the hall. “Let’s get you in the bath, buddy. It’s getting late.”
He’s about to dash off, but I glance at Jet again. He sits up. “Hey Alfie, come here.”
Alfie goes without asking twice. Jet says, “You can talk about Mommy anytime you need, anytime you want. Okay?”
“Okay.” He climbs back into Jet’s arms and says, “I don’t like that Mommy went to heaven. I wanted her to stay here with me.”
My heart is breaking, watching this precious boy try to work out life without his mom.
“I know, buddy. I didn’t like it when my mommy went to heaven without me either. I still don’t like it, but I feel a little better now.”
“Why?”
“Because now my mommy has your mommy to keep her company while she watches over us.”
Who is this incredible man? How does he do that?
“She’s not sick anymore in heaven, is she?”
“No. She’s not sick at all.”
“I’m glad she doesn’t have hurting anymore, Jet.”
“Me too, buddy.”
“And I’m glad you’re my daddy.”
At that, Jet looks up at me with what looks like awe in his eyes. He takes a deep breath and squeezes Alfie closer to him.
“I’m the luckiest daddy in the whole world, Alfie. Because I’ve got you.” He kisses his hair and then sniffs loudly. “But you stink. You really need that bath.”
When he then tickles Alfie, we both hear the best sound of the day. Alfie’s giggles.
I come over and take his hand. “I’ll start the water. You grab the toys you want to play with in the tub.”
He runs off and I walk to the hall. Leaning against the corner of the wall, I take him in, admiring not just his good looks, but him, the man inside. “You’re a good dad, Crow. You’re good for him.”
“You’re . . .” He leans his head down with a smile on his face like he just lost a friendly bet. When he looks back up, he says, “You’re good for all of us, Nichols.”
“Charmer.”
“You know it.”
“Boy, do I know it,” I flirt and give him a wink for good measure.
24
Hannah
The gates of the estate open, and I lean out the rolled down window of the Suburban to get a better look. “Wow.” I’ve never seen a home like this before.
Alfie is peering out his window with his mouth hanging open, but he closes it, and repeats me, “Wow.”
When the SUV comes to a stop, the driver hops out and opens my door. I see why it’s called the Sunshine State. Not a cloud floats in the sky. Tall palms and a gentle wind welcome us.
I may be used to the warm weather in Texas, but it’s like a spring day in LA. He starts pulling our luggage from the back, and I unbuckle Alfie from the car seat. When I help him down, I hear, “Hi. Hannah?”
I turn around to find . . . Oh. My. God! “You’re Holli Hughes.”
Holding her hand out, she says, “You know who I am?”
“Everyone knows who you are.”
Even her laugh is amazing. I imagine that’s the sound of angel wings fluttering. I take her hand, and in total fangirl mode, I reflexively add a little curtsy before I turn ten shades of red when I realize what I just did. “I’m Hannah, and this is Alfie.”
She smiles, all white teeth and California tan. The messy bun on top of her head was probably styled by some famous hairdresser, every strand looking perfectly tousled or tied back. She leans down in front of Alfie, getting right up to him, and taps his nose. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Alfie.” She then shakes his hand.
“About me?” he asks under her spell I’m sure just like every other man on this planet and probably most females like me.
“Yes, I heard that you like ice cream.”
“I do. I do. I like ice cream.” He looks to me like she just performed a magic trick.
“Great. Your daddy told me you like banana splits. I was thinking we could talk Hannah into letting us make some before we head out to Ojai.”
Alfie is jumping up and down and tugging on my shirt. “Can we, Hannah? Please?”
“Yes, that sounds yummy.”
As we walk inside, I marvel at this mansion. “Holy—”
“Wow,” Alfie finishes.
“This was Dalton’s house before we were married. It’s too big for three people.”
“Dalton?”
“Johnny. I call him Dalton.”
“I call Jet by his last name sometimes.”
“It’s good to keep them grounded. If I called him Johnny, I’d be feeding his ego, and we can’t have that.” Her carefree laugh is contagious.
Alfie reaches for my hand, and we walk together past our suitcases.
Holli has such a welcoming air about her. Being a mogul, model, and married to one of the most famous men in the world have not gone to her head. “I once read that you’re originally from Houston. I’m from Austin but lived a few years in Dallas.”
“I am. I love Austin. We spent a little time there a few years ago. Dalton played some local shows.”
“I remember hearing about that.”
She leads us into the kitchen. As soon as we enter, Alfie stops and steps behind me, feeling shy by the way he’s peeking around me.
A woman with long brown hair and a tiny frame holds up a handful of spoons. “James dragged out all the spoons again.”
Holli laughs. “C’mere, ya little troublemaker.”
The boy runs into her arms. With him situated on her hip, she says, “James, this is Alfie and Hannah.” Smiling at us, she adds, “This is my son, James, also known as a troublemaker.”
I shake the little mister’s hand. “Well, how do you do, Mr. James?”
Then I tickle his tummy.
Holli says, “I also want you to meet Rochelle. She’s the rock to the band’s roll. She’s been with them since before they were The Resistance.”
Rochelle comes forward. “It’s so nice to meet you, Hannah. Dex said wonderful things about you.” Her eyes go to Alfie. “It’s nice to meet you, Alfie. Your dad talks about you all the time and showed me pictures of you. You’re even more handsome in person.”
He steps out from behind me and says, “Hannah says I look like my daddy with my mommy’s eyes.”
“You sure do
look a lot like your daddy.”
It’s not Rochelle’s kind and soft approach I note, though I do notice it. What Alfie said is worth a whole sky worth of notes. He called Jet his daddy. He didn’t stumble over the word as if it was unnatural. Nope. He just said it like it felt right at home on his tongue. I wonder if he’ll ever call Jet daddy one day. He’ll be thrilled.
Rochelle asks, “I heard we get to make banana splits. Who wants one?”
James and Holli both say, “Me,” along with Alfie and myself because yum.
Over ice cream, James and Alfie start goofing around. I love seeing this side of him. He needs to just be a kid for a while after dealing with the grown-up stuff he’s had to face in the past few years and especially the past few months.
Once we all finish, Holli opens the back door, and the kids get to run and play. “There’s a playscape at the ranch. Dalton built it.” She grins to herself as if there’s more to that story—a great memory—than she can share.
“Is it a real ranch?” I wonder since I didn’t pack my boots. I didn’t have time to when I left Eileen’s.
“It’s set up for one. We have a horse out there, but it’s not a working ranch. We’re out there quite a bit but not enough to keep farm animals and the upkeep that comes along with them. We pay a neighbor to take our horse when we’re not there. He just opens the gate so he can go over. If you ask me, that horse prefers the neighbors anyway.” She rolls her eyes. “He hates rock, and our neighbor plays strictly country music. The horse will go to their property for George Strait or Dolly Parton. Sometimes he’ll mosey over for Johnny Cash. I once had a talk with him about his traitorous ways of supporting the wrong Johnny. He’s a stubborn horse, though. A lot like my husband.”
Rochelle says, “I need to get going. I pick my kids up from school in an hour, and traffic in LA is awful.” She hugs Holli and tells me, “It’s so nice to meet you. I handle the band’s business affairs—”
“And pretty much their lives,” Holli adds. “Rochelle is the glue.”
“You don’t have to sell her on me. The Crow Brothers already signed,” she jokes and then hands me a card. “Anyway, if you need anything while you’re here in LA or Ojai, just give me a call, and I’ll help. My cell number is on the card.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Holli.”
“Don’t forget to schedule those days off for Dalton.”
She laughs as she heads inside. We can’t see her, but we can hear her. “I won’t. Don’t worry. Talk laters.”
“You’re close,” I say.
She sits on a bench watching the boys run in the grass. “We’re a family, not by blood or by marriage, but by choice.”
“That must be nice.” I sit down near her. “I’ve never had people I could trust like that.” I laugh, realizing what I just said, out loud, to a virtual stranger, to the famous Holli Hughes. I bet she’s never been alone before. She’s too gorgeous to be alone or abused or rejected.
“What about your family?”
“My mom. I could trust her. My little brother I could trust. They’re in another state, though. My aunt is an alcoholic who sees things how she wants to, and my father never had the patience to be a dad. I think I went from a verbally abusive home right into a physically abusive relationship.”
“How’d you get out of it?”
“I threatened to leave, had every intention of it after catching him having sex with his best friend’s girlfriend. We had a huge blowout outside a club in Dallas. He said I was trouble, trying to ruin the tour and kill his dreams. The first hit I never saw coming.” I find comfort in the sympathy residing in her eyes. “The second and third time, I fought back, but he won. Two band members pulled him off me when they found us outside fighting. My ex had his fist raised a fourth time.”
Reaching over, she covers my hand with hers. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry.”
“I walked away beaten to a pulp with no money and no friends.”
“What did you do?”
She makes me feel comfortable in sharing my story, the parts I never want to burden Jet with. “I called my dad, and he proceeded to tell me that I had chosen my ex over my family the year prior, so I had to deal with the mess I made on my own.”
“Terrible. Even after he knew what happened to you?” I see the worry forming on her face. “God, I can’t imagine turning on my child like that.”
“He was right at the time. I shouldn’t have trusted my boyfriend. My ex’s arrogance was getting bigger with every gig he played. I was blinded by fake promises and what I thought was love. I had left college to chase my boyfriend’s dreams against my dad’s demands to stay. What he didn’t realize and doesn’t to this day is that I left because of him. Just like my mother, another little fact he’s always thrown in my face.”
“Did you ever reply to him?”
“I replied goodbye and sent him a photo of my face so he’d have something to remember me by.” Her gasp is audible, the shock on her face evident. I start talking faster. “The irony of the whole thing is he thought I was asking for money. I just wanted to come home.”
“I’m so sorry, Hannah. It’s heartbreaking.”
I shouldn’t have told her this . . . why did I? My defenses were down, and now I feel awkward. The heat of embarrassment covers my chest, and my hand follows trying to stave it off. “I shouldn’t have said any—”
She moves to sit closer and rubs my back. Keeping her eyes on the boys ahead, she says, “I’m honored you trusted me with this information.” With her hands back in her lap, she looks down. “We all go through battles in life. Scars may show on the outside, but they define our insides. You’re here. You’re strong. You walked away when so many would have stayed. It’s very admirable.”
Holli’s easy to like. Sounds like she’s had some dark times too, but she still manages to be so genuine in her intentions and authentically herself. I’m just a girl she just met, a nobody in the glamorous world she lives in, but she treats me as if I’m important, as if my story matters, as if she cares. I see why she’s portrayed so positively in the media.
“Thank you for listening.”
“I appreciate you sharing with me.” Standing up, she walks to the rail and leans on it, looking up at the sky. “We Texas girls have to stick together. The music industry can be tough, the gossip, the press, the fame—it’s not a yellow brick road leading to Oz as much as it’s paved with broken dreams and broken hearts. You’ve already experienced it with your ex. Here you are, though, supporting another musician in his pursuit. You know why you can do that?”
“Love?” The word comes before I gave it permission, my heart quicker than my practical side.
Turning around, she replies, “Yes, most definitely love. Also, a little of that home state strength is needed with the men we fall for. Not everyone is cut out to be with a musician. They don’t need a groupie. They need someone who will tell them the truth when everyone else is paid to lie. Lies that can damage them, you, and your family. Lies that will destroy their careers and passion. When everyone wants to make money off a piece of Jet by selling paparazzi photos or filling their blog with gossip, magazines that sell lies to sell copies, or to convince him to go down the wrong path, you will be there for him. He will always see the truth in you.”
She laughs. “That got heavy. Sorry. I’m apparently full of unsolicited advice today.”
“No, don’t be sorry. I appreciate it.” She speaks to me as if she knows we’re together and meant to be. I’m starting to believe.
“By the way, you’re exactly how Jet described.”
My eyes go wide. I understand him talking about Alfie because that’s his son, but me? “How did he describe me?”
Waving to the boys, she shouts, “C’mon guys. We need to get on the road.” Turning back to me with a smile on her face, she adds, “Beautiful and brave.” Holli goes inside with the boys running after her, leaving me with his words to savor in this stunning setting.
&nbs
p; Beautiful and brave.
Love indeed.
25
Jet
Dex scowls.
I can’t hear what he’s saying on the other side of the glass that separates my brothers and me from Johnny, Dex, and Tommy, but Dex is clearly pissed. His sticks are tucked under his arms while he points his hand at us and gripes at the other guys.
The sound tech working the board is looking on but is clearly staying out of it.
Looking back at my brothers, Tulsa mouths, “What?”
Our mics are on, so Rivers shrugs.
I ask loudly, “What’s up, guys?”
Dex leans over the soundboard, punches a button, and says, “You can’t have a rock band without a drummer.”
He’s taken personal offense to our situation. We were upfront with them before we signed, so I’m not sure why this is an issue. We can just hire a drummer.
Letting my guitar hang, I speak into the mic this time. “I know enough to get by, but I’m rusty. Also, I can’t sing, play guitar, and add drums into the mix, so Tulsa gets relegated to the kit some nights when we’re short a steady drummer.”
Dex pushes the button again. “Get on the kit, Tulsa. Start from the top of ‘Evermore’ and let Tulsa kick off the song instead of Rivers.”
Tulsa is a pain in my ass most days, but his heart is always in the right place. He eyes me, and I nod once. When he takes off his guitar, I hear him sigh. “You can do it, bro.”
“I’m not as strong on the drums as I am on guitar, and now I’m playing for one of the best drummers out there.”
Dex’s voice comes over the speaker. “Rock Magazine named me Drummer of the Decade.”
We laugh. Tulsa spins on the stool and then adjusts it to the right height. With sticks in his other hand, he points at Dex and says, “That doesn’t help.”
“Sorry, man,” Dex says, chuckling. “Just do your best. I can work with you if we decide to keep you on the kit.”
Tulsa shakes his head. I know what he’s doing. He’s building his courage. He has to let the beat flow free. He’s just the vessel, the messenger of music. Let it flow. He says, “Here goes nothing.” Tapping his sticks together, he counts down and kicks off the song.
