by S. L. Scott
Closing my eyes, I savor the feel of her lips on my face. Tilting my head up, I want to see her gorgeous eyes. “I’ll fly back as soon as we’re done.”
“We’ll be waiting for you.”
I kiss her quick and shift to get up. “I want to spend some time with Alfie before you guys go.”
She settles down onto the couch as I walk around. “Alfie, how about you and me versus your uncles?”
“Yes!” he exclaims, running into my arms. “I want Daddy on my team.”
Tulsa and Rivers do a double take and then look at each other with grins on their faces. Daddy. I freaking love when he calls me that. “So which stick do you want to use?”
I set Alfie down, and he takes off to grab a stick from the rack, giving me a chance to check on Hannah. Resting on her elbow, she watches us over the back of the couch with a smile on her face. Keeping her voice low to keep things between us, she says, “Go get ’em, Daddy.”
I’ve already won. She and Alfie are my prize.
31
Jet
My world left on a plane two days ago. Alfie and Hannah. Hannah and Alfie. We’ve been a family for too short a time to have it ripped away.
I’m booted in the ass, and Rivers says, “Play the fucking intro, Jet.”
Snapping back to reality, I look up to find all the guys in the studio standing with their arms crossed and staring at me. Not one friendly face found in the bunch. “Sorry. From the top.”
No breaks come for another hour, and when I go to smoke out back, I’m followed by Derrick Masters—guitarist for The Resistance. He’s not been around much since he’s not producing our album like Johnny, Dex, and Tommy. He’s sat in a few times, though, and drank and jammed with us afterward. He’s a badass musician with the fastest fingers I’ve ever seen move across a fretboard.
My cigarette isn’t even lit when he sits in a chair, keeping some distance. I nod, acknowledging him. “What’s up, man?”
“Getting fresh air, like you, even though you’re the one polluting it.”
He doesn’t laugh and neither do I. Since Hannah and Alfie left, I’ve been smoking more than I ever did before. At this rate, I can’t imagine quitting. It’s the only thing I have right now to help keep me calm. It used to be my music. But with Alfie and Hannah gone, the pressure of trying to get custody, the album along with this interview we’re doing tomorrow, nothing else is working.
Derrick says, “Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” I walk a little farther, down the steps, and stand on the grass. Johnny Cash’s “I Walk the Line” is heard in the distance, and I watch the horse working its way over to the neighbor’s pasture at the back of the property. I don’t know what that’s about, but I don’t think I’ll ever see a weirder sight than that.
I take a drag and look over my shoulder. Derrick sits, soaking up the sun. “Fine. Let’s talk about it.”
“I know what it’s like to be where you are now.”
“Where am I?”
“You’re caught between this dream that seems too good to be true, questioning your abilities on this instrument that’s gotten you this far, and where your heart used to be.”
I tap my chest. “It’s right here.”
“No, it’s not. It’s in Texas, but we need it to be here, to be heard in the music. You told us she’s fine. Your kid’s fine. Don’t get distracted from the right you’ve earned to be here.”
“How do I focus?” How do I not think about them?
“They’re with you.” He taps his temple and then his heart. “They’re just not physically here. I know you have a lot on your mind right now, and these concerns for her have weighed on you for the past few days. But she’d want you to be present at the moment, not worrying about her, which doesn’t do anybody any good anyway.”
He moves a little closer but still keeps some space between us. “We’re the same age, you and me. I was picked out of obscurity and suddenly living a life most dream about. You know why they chose me to join the band?”
“Why?”
“Because I had nothing to lose, and I played that way.”
“I have everything to lose.”
“That’s what makes your music different from mine. You have the soul I was missing in my earlier days. It’s something I had to learn.”
“So you want me to learn to play like nothing else matters?”
“No, I want you to channel the wasted energy you’re expending and pour it back into your music where it belongs. Call your girl. Call your son. Then give us three good days, and you can be on the first plane back on the fourth.”
He starts to walk inside, but the guy’s a mystery, so I ask, “What’s your story?”
“My story’s too long to tell on a ten-minute break, but if you’d asked me five years ago, it would have been full of highs and lows and a lot of rebellion. Asking me today, I think it’s a lot like yours in some ways. I’ve had a few surprises along the way, but I eventually found my way. You will too.”
I know he’s right. Hannah’s had no news since her return. Eileen and Hannah’s father, Ivan, haven’t even bothered to see them or call after they found out she returned. They don’t care about her or my son. They just want to control them.
I have to trust that she would tell me if something’s wrong. It’s her family I don’t trust.
Texting her, I type: I miss you.
Her response comes fast: Good.
I laugh, and type: That’s all I get?
Her: If I start now, I’ll never finish. There are just too many things I miss about you to text them all.
Me: Good.
Her: LOL
Her: I miss you.
Me: What happened to all the other things?
Her: Figured YOU encompassed everything and went with it.
Me: I’ll give that to you. How are you?
Her: I’m helping Alfie with his workbook. I think we should re-enroll him in school since we’re back sooner. He’s missed three days more than allowed, but we’ve stayed on track with the homeschooling, so I can petition the absences.
Me: I agree. I wish I were there to help.
Her: Don’t worry about us. We’re fine. Just be your amazing self, finish the album, and come back to us.
Me: I love you. YOU encompasses all of you.
Her: I love you. That’s the all-encompassing YOU too. Call you later.
Derrick was right. They’re here in my heart. Now I can focus. Now I will make them proud.
I go inside, tucking my phone into my back pocket, and grab a bottle of water on the way back down to the studio. The guys are settling back in here and in the booth. Tulsa asks, “You with us, bro?”
“I’m with you.” I am too. All in and focused. I sling my strap over my shoulder and settle my guitar in my hands.
Dex comes over the speaker. “Ready to work?”
I look back at Rivers. “Let’s do this.”
Then I give a nod to Tulsa, who counts us in. “Four. Three. Two. One.”
32
Hannah
Staring at the TV, I’ve lost track of what cartoon we’re watching. My mind has been wandering for the past hour.
My gaze shifts to the framed photo of Cassie on the bookcase. The air becomes stale with her lost life and how isolated we are from our family and from Jet. The loss of Alfie’s mom being there for him, watching him grow up and love, and just being his amazing self hangs over my head, clawing at my heart and making me feel guilty. But what’s troubling me is how we got here—why did Eileen turn against us?
I love Alfie so much that it’s inconceivable for me to imagine Eileen loves him less—her flesh and blood, the legacy of her daughter that lives on.
She says she wants custody but then doesn’t bother to come see him or even ask us over. This is so confusing and twists my heart. Something’s wrong—more than Cassie’s death. This mission to destroy Jet ultimately makes no sense if she really doesn’t want to see her grand
son. Does it bother her that Jet cares? That he stepped up? That if he’d been told, he would have been there all along? Why would she ever want a child to have less love in his life?
I hate her. I hate her for keeping Alfie from his father. I hate her for keeping Jet in the dark about his son. I hate her for treating me like I mean nothing to her. I hate her. I just hate her, but I hate that I feel this much anger, this much discord toward my aunt.
Alfie’s been asking for his books again and seeing an available spot on the bookcase, I realize I need to get them for him. A confrontation with her is worth it when it’s something good for him. He misses his mom. He needs those books to hold since he can’t hold his mother.
I get up and open the front door, not wanting to darken the air that Alfie needs to breathe. The cartoons still play inside, but I sit on the swing outside.
My fingers run over the places I remember Jet’s touching that night I came over, the night I foolishly thought I wasn’t in love with the man. I was. I was the minute I saw him on that stage.
There was no saving me, my heart already his the moment he opened his mouth and sang that first song. That first night feels like forever ago as his fingers skated over me, each of my heartbeats becoming notes he played in his melody. Sultry. Sexy. Rolling the words he was singing around on his tongue as if they were me.
The lights shined in his eyes, but somehow, he found me. A girl lost in a shadowed sea of people. He found me like I found him as if we were always meant to be.
There was no reason I should have been out that night. A fight with my aunt made me walk out, trying to forget my life, and walk into the bar just as the opening act ended. The Crow Brothers came on just as two shots of Fireball began warming me through.
I never intended to stay. But once they took the stage, I couldn’t leave. As soon as Jet held the microphone, I knew he was singing to me, for me, because of me. And I did what I swore I would never do. I fell quickly for a musician, but not because of his voice or the way he held me captive throughout their set. It was because when the lights shined on him just right, I could see he was just like me.
Jet Crow sang about drunken nights under a moon tower and having his brothers’ backs. But he also sang about finding something that was missing, not knowing what it was until it walked right in.
When the set ended, I ordered another shot for the singer—
“Hello?”
I look up, my shoes dragging along the wood porch until the swing comes to a stop. A woman stands on the top step. Her bleached hair is smooth instead of teased. Her lips are nude instead of being deep red. There’s no cleavage pushed up under some too tight shirt, and her skirt is church appropriate. She looks different than I remember, but I know who she is from the other times I’ve seen her. Marcy. Before I have time to brace myself with concern to why she’s standing in front me, she asks, “Is Jet here?”
Standing up, I move toward the door I left open. I reach in and close it enough to hide Alfie from her view. “No, he’s not.”
“Oh, darn.” She looks at her watch like she’s late for something more important.
“Why are you here?” I can’t control my rude tone. This woman is dangerous because of her connection to Hunter, but also because the first time I saw her, she was clawing at Jet for his attention. So I save the courtesies for someone who deserves them.
A quick onceover covers me from head to toe and once more for good measure it seems. I’m not dressed particularly nice, not realizing I had to prove my worthiness to be here to a woman who was a two-time thing for him. I’m too exhausted to make an effort and play these games.
Then the clouds seem to clear, and she says, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
“I’m sorry for bringing Hunter to the house that night. I had no idea about you and him until I saw it—the fear in your eyes, the painful memories, the . . . I’m just sorry. He used me to get to Jet and Johnny Outlaw.”
“If you weren’t in on his plan, you don’t have to apologize. I just hope that night showed you what you were dealing with when it comes to him. He’s not a good person.”
“He hit me in the car when we left. I hit him twice as hard back, then he stopped the car and pushed me out the door, leaving me there.” She looks ashamed. Shame. I remember feeling the same. Sometimes I still do. I shouldn’t, but I’m a work in progress.
“You didn’t deserve that.”
“It was the wake-up call I needed, though. My life had been spiraling out of control for a while. Hitting that street was my rock bottom. The next day, I went home for a few weeks. I’m going back to San Antonio tonight, but I owed Jet an apology. I owe you one too. I’m glad you were here.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that. I’m sorry Jet’s not here, but I can tell him or . . .” As much as I don’t want women texting or calling Jet, I trust her. “Or you can call him.”
“Not sure if that’s wise.” She gets it. “Do you mind passing along the message for me?”
“Not at all.” We stand there in awkward silence, so I break it because she deserves credit for making the effort to make amends. “Your hair is pretty like that.”
She touches it and looks down, feeling shy from the compliment. I can see how we may not be alike on the outside, but on the inside, we have a few things in common. Holli’s words ring back through my head about learning to take compliments. I get what she meant. I am enough. I am enough because I like who I am. I am enough because Jet loves me. Despite the prickly parts, he always finds my soft side. “You deserve to be treated well, Marcy. Find someone who loves you for who you are and not who you know.”
When she turns to go down the stairs, she stops. “Thank you, and Hannah?”
Standing there, I almost expect the showdown that never happened. “Jet’s an amazing man, but you’re an amazing woman too. I’m glad he found you.”
“Thank you.”
We don’t hang out and chitchat or become besties, but I go back inside and feel happier that we’ve both found our way. But more importantly, when I sit on the couch and Alfie climbs onto my lap, I’ve found him. I didn’t know if I’d ever be a mother, but I’ve been given this child to raise, and he’s become my heart.
And soon, Jet will return to us, to his home, to our hearts right where he belongs. Together, this is family.
My family.
The only family I need.
33
Hannah
I knocked twice just to be polite, but my aunt doesn’t answer her door, so I let myself in. I’m here after promising Alfie I would finally come get his books while he’s at school. The time had come because Jet flies home tonight.
If he were here, he’d insist on coming with me, and I don’t want him and my aunt together. That war would end in bloodshed. Since the custody hearing is coming up, it’s best to keep them apart.
I have to be quick. In and out. If I can avoid her, that’s probably best as well. I’m in no mood to fight, and there’s no way she’s not going to start one with me.
I don’t see the books in his room. I dig around and then find one on his nightstand. I grab it and toss it in the backpack, but anxiety fills my stomach because I realize if the books aren’t in his room, that means they’re in Cassie’s. Her room is off-limits . . .
Alfie. It’s for Alfie. Cassie would want him to have his favorite books because he shared them with his mother. Eileen will understand, but maybe if I’m super quick, she’ll never know I was here.
It’s been a few months since my cousin’s death, and the room still smells of her perfume and the faint scent of cleaner that was used to keep things sterile. I tiptoe in as if I’ll wake her and try to avoid looking at the bed. I remember the last time I saw her and some of the things we talked about before she died.
Eileen was at the grocery store, so I asked the questions I’d always wondered and had never gotten an answer before. “How did you come up with Alfie’s name?” I asked.
; Cassie had a few rough nights and was struggling to keep her eyes open, though she held my hand tightly in hers as if begging me to keep her there, to keep her awake. We all feared she’d drift off to sleep and never wake up, but over the past few days, I had prayed she’d go peacefully. A smile, though weak, shined on her face. “I had the worst crush on Jude Law.”
I had no idea how the two were related, and before I had time to ask, she added, “Jet is Alfie’s father’s name.”
Her lids dipped closed, and I was relieved. If I’d been standing, I would have stumbled. Jet. Not a common name. I was always curious if it was possible that she knew the same Jet I’d met and fallen for him as I had. Walked away with more than the regret that I didn’t stay. She walked away with a baby.
My thoughts spun around my head. I’d heard such bad things about Alfie’s dad—lowlife, love ’em and leave ’em, heartless—which was why I struggled to connect that Jet to my Jet. The name may be uncommon, but how they described him could never be the man I’d met. He was nothing less than caring and responsive, romantic, and kind.
She said, “Promise me you’ll find him and tell him about Alfie.”
“Cassie—”
Her grip on my hand tightens, and the words rush from her mouth through heavy breaths. “Promise me, Hannah. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
She relaxes and says, “I have a will that my mom doesn’t know about. Make sure the lawyers get it.”
“Where is it?”
“Under a box in my dresser.”
My gaze flicks across the room. She’s been bedridden for at least a month now. She says, “Alfie put it there for me. He knows all my secrets.”
“What secrets are those?”
I know I’m not mistaken. I see the light in her eyes, the happiness shining through. “About his father.”
