by S. L. Scott
“That’s nice of your mom. So you’d talk when your grandma was asleep?”
“Yeah, Mommy told me we had to keep our talks a secret because it would upset Grandma if she knew.”
On the terrace, we stop. I sit in a chair, which puts me eye level with him. “Why do you think Grandma would be upset about you talking?”
“Grandma says she loves me, and if you ever found out Mommy died, you’d take me away forever.”
The fire in my gut rolls into anger. How could she be so cruel to her grandson? Can she not see how damaging her words can be? “Do you remember what else your mommy told you?”
“I didn’t have to. She wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget.”
“She did?” Looking away from me, he looks guilty, so I ask, “What is it?”
“I forgetted. Do you think she’ll be mad at me in heaven?”
I don’t need to correct his English right now. I need to hug him. Pulling him to me, I do just that. Sitting him on one of my legs, I say, “No, your mommy won’t be mad at all. Also, if you remember anything else, let me know. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Setting him on his feet, I stand. The back door opens, and Holli says, “You guys are up bright and early.”
“I’ve got an early riser,” I say.
She smiles and points at James as he speeds by on his push car. “I can relate.” Holding her hand out, she asks, “You hungry, Alfie?”
“Yes.”
“Come on in. I’ve got the waffle maker out. I could really use some help in the kitchen. Are you up for the job?”
He looks at me, looking for permission.
“Go on, kid.”
Running to Holli, he says, “My daddy gets the first waffle.”
“Absolutely, he does.” She takes him into the kitchen, but I stay a few minutes, watching the fog rise above the trees in the distance.
Man. That kid knows how to hit me right in the feels.
Daddy.
Best name ever.
28
Hannah
Heaven.
I’m in heaven.
Was last night real or just a dream?
Rolling to my side, I ache in all the good ways. I miss my personal heater as the chill from the room starts to seep in through the covers. I miss Jet’s weight on top of me, the steady hum of his heart beating next to mine, and the way his arm holds me tight like he’s afraid he’ll lose me in the night. I feel safe in his arms and in his bed.
I never did with Hunter. Even when I believed I was happy with my ex, I was living a lie, one he would eventually prove right.
Hunter Hix was the boy who lived across the cul-de-sac from me. He moved in when my parents were still together and kept me company back when I felt alone. The friend who was always there for me even when I was brace-faced and moody from changes in my body. He’s the one who comforted me when my mother left, the one who went to court as my mom fought for me, the one who sat behind me when the judge ruled in my father’s favor because he was the one who could support me.
At thirteen, I started looking at Hunter through new eyes, through teenage girl eyes. He was cute with his lanky body and a smile too big for his face. I thought I loved him then, but I was convinced two years later when playing doctor with him was totally different than when we were little.
He grew into his body and that smile. Other girls noticed, but he only noticed me . . . until he got a taste of fame.
Touring.
It’s a necessary evil of any musician who wants to get discovered or support an album. I thought Hunter loved me until the crowds increased with each tour stop. More fans. More girls. More groupies. Tickets were selling out before the band arrived in each city. It was fun.
At first.
Until it wasn’t.
Sex became about getting him off, feeding his ego. Too rough. He couldn’t do anything without a hit of something, without a high or a pill to stave off a low.
Weed wasn’t enough. Alcohol made things worse. A good mood could change before my eyes. Suddenly, I wasn’t enough. Everything I did was wrong.
I shouldn’t have quit school. What kind of fool was I? Young and so carelessly dumb.
That I have this second chance with a man who is so good to everyone he loves is incredible. I won’t blow it. I’ll be the woman he needs. Strength. As Holli said, I’m not a groupie. I’m his partner. When it’s painful for me, the scars reveal themselves, reminding me of a bad past, so I can’t hide or go quiet. I have to speak up, speak freely, and voice my fears. Fears that Jet helped put to rest last night.
My thoughts are changing, my self-worth growing, my body opening back up, and my soul healing. He did that. He doesn’t jump every hurdle I throw his way. He tramples it. Each act of love, his caring, and his forgiveness proves he’s the real deal, the one who will work for what he wants and then cherish his reward.
I want to be that for him too.
Opening my eyes, I see a note where Jet should be, and then I gasp. Alfie.
Checking the time, I realize he is surely up already. How did I sleep past nine?
Smiling because I know why.
Jet Crow.
I even swoon a little just thinking about him. The crazy thing is normally I’d be running into Alfie’s room, but I know I don’t have to. If Jet’s not in bed right now, that means Alfie’s already up, and they’re together. He’s truly embraced what it means to be a father—he’s showing up.
Reaching over, I take the little white note to read.
Good Morning, Wildflower,
Don’t worry. Alfie’s with me. Take however long you need and enjoy your morning.
Love,
Your former dirty little secret.
Even when he’s not here, he has me rolling my eyes.
I’d love to lounge around all day, but I know he’ll be working in the studio, and knowing Alfie’s six-year-old attention span, Jet will need me.
It feels good to be needed. But taking advantage of his offer, I don’t rush through my routine. I spend a few extra minutes getting ready—makeup, hair, and a pretty dress that feels like Southern California, matching the clear blue skies.
This estate is amazing, so much of Johnny with Holli mixed in—it feels so them, built with love for their family. I’d usually stop myself from dreaming of having the same, but I don’t today. I let my mind wander as I mosey across the vast lawn.
I walk in the back door but don’t see anyone around. There’s food on the table, which makes my stomach growl.
Taking a plate, I load it up, deciding it’s best to eat first before fully starting the crazy of my day, and Jet did say take my time. I pour a cup of coffee and sit on the terrace to enjoy the morning.
Holli and James soon find me. “Good morning. How’d you sleep, Hannah?”
When she’s seated on a chaise, her sunglasses come down from the top of her head to cover her eyes. Her hair is down, but she twists it up with a few flicks of her wrist and a rubber band she was wearing around it. Boom. Perfection. Disproving my theory of it being styled professional altogether. She’s the professional.
If I didn’t feel so good this morning, her beauty would intimidate me. But I’ve never felt more beautiful because of Jet and how he makes me feel inside.
“I love your dress,” she says.
And suddenly, I’m blushing. “Oh, God. This old thing. I just threw it on.” I take a sip of coffee just to make myself shut up.
Laughing, she says, “I had to learn to take a compliment. I used to be so uncomfortable with them. I felt like people were just being nice, not necessarily genuine. I never received the words they were gifting me. I never felt good enough, pretty enough, tall enough, short enough, thin enough, blond enough, brunette enough, tan enough, pale enough. Never enough. One day I looked in the mirror and liked what I saw. I saw me. I finally realized that what everyone thought of me was their business, not mine. To me, I was enough. That’s what mattered.”
; I want that. I want to erase the words that I’m trouble. That I wasn’t beautiful enough to hold his attention. I need this for me. “Did things change?”
“It changed my whole life. I finally started living, living for me. I don’t tell this story much, but I thought Dalton was a one-night stand.” She laughs again while watching James play with big blocks on the ground. “I left his room thinking I’d never hear from him again. We had our night, and that’s all the expectations I put into it. I wanted that one night as much as he did, and that was before I knew he was famous.”
“Would you have slept with him if you’d known?”
“Yes, but I liked that he worked for it. We talked, got to know each other a little before. It’s funny because even though I didn’t know he was famous, that night I got to know the real man. Not the showman or the musician. Just Dalton. That’s your superpower when it comes to Jet—knowing the man behind the image.”
“You’re saying this as if you already know he’ll be famous.”
She bends over to help James just as he starts getting frustrated with the wooden blocks. Looking back at me, she says, “He’s going to be famous, Hannah. He’s got everything going for him—the voice, the band, the songs, the looks, the charisma. Johnny sees it too, or he wouldn’t have signed them. The Crow men may be brothers, but they’re all unique. They’re the full package and are going to drive the fans wild.”
“That’s my fear.”
When she realizes I’m not joking, she comes to sit with me at the table. “Don’t fear fame. That’s a by-product of the career. It doesn’t have power over you or him, though it may feel like it does some days. If you feed it, it will grow. If you feed your souls, all the other stuff will be left outside the front door.”
“What about secrets? Things we don’t want people to know about. How do I hide those things?”
“You can’t. It’s just best to face them head on and then stroll right on by, leaving them in your past.”
Rolling a strawberry around my plate, I watch as the berry starts to lose its seeds. I don’t want to be a distraction to Jet’s career or for my past to haunt his future. “Can I ask you a favor?”
“Sure, anything.”
“What I told you yesterday, the story about my ex.”
“Of how he abused you?”
“Yes. Jet doesn’t know all the details.”
“Oh, honey. That’s a terrible burden to have to carry yourself. You should think about telling him.”
“It won’t do him any good. He’s here and needs to focus on his music. Not me and a past I could have prevented.”
She angles away, checking on James, and then back again. “We just met, but I heard so many good things about you from Jet that I felt like I already knew you. Then when we met, my instincts were right. When you trusted me with your story, I was touched and will respect your wishes. But it doesn’t matter how busy he is; he needs to know your life story too. You will have to trust him with your secrets. If you don’t, he might find out another way and where does that leave you?”
“I have a feeling the answer is alone.” I’m not alone. My little man loves me, and my big man does too. I survived. And I will continue to do so.
With a bottle of water in hand, Jet walks outside to join us. “Trust me with what secrets?”
My first thought is to flee the scene, but I fight through it, my fingers holding the chair and keeping me there.
Holli stands and walks over to James to pick him up. “Daddy’s taking a break. Can you find him first?”
James takes off running inside with Holli hot on his heels. Jet takes the seat she vacated across from me. That look of concern I didn’t want to see is firmly in place. He asks, “What secrets, Hannah?”
“Nothing really. I heard they have a horse,” I say, changing the subject.
“Nice try, sugarfly.”
“Sugarfly? Really?” I try to laugh, playing it off like my gut isn’t twisting with anxiety.
“Sorry, I thought of it . . . on the fly.”
Scoffing so hard that my head even goes back, I say, “That is a terrible pun.”
“It was awful.” He laughs, but it’s short-lived. His eyes stay on mine, so I look away. “I didn’t get enough sleep. Some chick was keeping me up all night begging for a banging.”
“She’s a hooker. You should really spend your time on something more worthwhile,” I joke.
“Hey. Hey. Hey. That’s the woman I love you’re talking about. Speaking of my woman, what secrets are you keeping from me?”
Communication is key. I know this. Holli just gave me another reason to be up front with him now, so our relationship doesn’t pay the price later. Secrets don’t stay buried forever, as much as I wish this one could.
Here goes everything . . .
29
Hannah
The great debate begins.
If I tell him, he’ll flip out. But will his anger only be directed toward my ex, or will he look at me differently?
My aunt is wrong about my mother. She was never weak. She was smart. But she was right about me being just like my mom. I was strong enough to walk away.
Jet will see that. Beautiful and brave. He already does.
“You know my history with Hunter. You know it was more than cheatin—”
“He hit you. Say it, Hannah.”
“He hit me.” Saying it is easier these days. “If I tell you the details, please don’t get upset.”
“I can’t make that promise.”
“Nothing can harm us now.”
When I try to wrangle my thoughts, to make my words concise with enough details to be honest, he reaches over and taps the table twice. “Hey, it’s okay. You can tell me anything. I’m here for you.”
“I know you are, Jet, and thank you for being my rock when others just thought . . . I don’t know what they thought. I just know that no matter how disappointed I was with someone I loved, I could never turn my back on them when they needed me most.” I look at his hand, palm up and open for me, and set mine on top. “I struggle to trust people because it’s not only my heart that was hurt.” I hate remembering.
I hate that I didn’t blackout and take each hit without my knowledge. I would rather deal with the consequences of the abuse then relive it over and over in my head. My jaw starts aching, so I move it back and forth.
“Hannah?”
Looking up, I realize he’s still here while I was trapped in my head. “He beat me until I started to black out.”
“Unconscious?” He mutters swear words under his breath.
“He was out of his mind, high as a kite. I didn’t know him at all that night. I’d never met the devil until I caught him fucking someone else.”
“When you say beat, you mean he tried to kill you?” The words are hard for him to swallow, a look of disbelief on his face as he chokes them down. “I knew it was bad because of the night he came by, but fuck, Hannah, it’s worse than I imagined.”
I can’t sugarcoat what Hunter did to me any longer, not if I want to heal and move on. Move on. Move forward. That’s what I want with Jet, for me and for Alfie.
I’ve protected my ex for too long. I’ve hidden secrets behind a façade of better memories and excuses, pretending it could never happen to me while trying to remember who he used to be when he was just the cute boy across the street who adored me. I believed my own deceptions, candy coating the truth to make the lies more palatable.
Jet’s eyes never leave mine, and I shift under the intense stare. The deeper hues of his widened pupils engulf the sweet caramel of his eyes, taking me in and inhaling every word and breath I take, and move I make.
The hand that holds mine, slips out, and begins to curl into a fist. Before it disappears under the table altogether, I lift and grab it. His gaze softens, and he gives in to me, resting his hand on mine again.
“I love you.” I don’t know why I say it other than I just feel how much he cares, and I want him t
o know what that means to me.
“I love you, too,” he replies, some of the fight leaving his body. His shoulders don’t relax entirely, but he’s calmer. “Was hitting you a regular occurrence for him?”
“One time was all it took. I was lucky I could walk away. He didn’t cause permanent damage—”
“He didn’t leave any visible scars.”
“Yes, visible.”
“Promise me you’ll never defend him or his actions again. Not ever, Hannah.”
“I won’t.” I didn’t realize I had until I said the words, making excuses for him. I hate feeling like a victim, but I hate being a victim even more. I will never own that title. I will never be labeled less than beautiful and brave again.
With Jet by my side, I know I’ll never have to.
“Sometimes, I remember how distant his eyes were when he was hitting me and how the blows came faster. I wonder what would have happened if his band wouldn’t have found us when they did. If Dave hadn’t been there, would I be dead?” My gaze shoots back up to his. “I fought.”
A little squeeze of my hand reassures me. “Even though you never should have had to, I have no doubt you did.”
“The band went on to play that night, and he never even washed my blood off his hands.”
“What the fuck? They pulled him off you. What—”
“Dave helped me. He never took the stage. Instead, he took me into the bathroom of the bar by shielding me under his jacket. He washed my face and let me cry on his shoulder.”
“Fuck. Glad he was there. Did you go to the hospital?”
“No. I had no money. My credit cards were maxed. No insurance. Nowhere to go.”
“Where’d you go?”
“We left and found a cheap hotel about a mile away. Dave went and got food, and we watched TV. Well, I listened because I had bags of ice on my face, and my eyes were too swollen to see anything anyway. He was worried I had a concussion, so he kept me up all night talking. I don’t even remember what we talked about, maybe a little of everything. Anything other than our exes and what happened.” Unburdening my soul lightens the worries that weigh me down. “The next morning when the sun rose, we slept. He held me all night.” Making sure he understands it was purely platonic, I add, “As friends. Nothing more. We didn’t do anything then and never since.”
