Spark

by S. L. Scott

  “I don’t know.” I almost lie, telling him everything will be okay, but I can’t bring myself to do it. My heart is racing, and all I want is to find someone who will lie to me.

  We make it to the waiting area, and I stand, not sure what to do. Alfie goes to the basket of books. I hear him talking to me, but the words are muffled, the light too bright, my hope stolen from me.

  Looking down at my hand, I’m still holding the note. The two words precious to my well-being two minutes prior feel even more sacred now. I read them over and over, tracing the lines of the black ink until each letter’s complete.

  I’m sorry.

  I’m sorry.

  I’m sorry.

  I’m sorry.

  I’m sorry.

  A little hand covers the words. “Hannah?” Shifting my gaze, Alfie’s wide eyes are on me, and he says, “I’m scared.”

  I bring him to me, holding him against my body and bend to hug him. “Me too.”

  As soon as Alfie’s asleep, I start the shower and strip off my clothes. The water’s not hot, but I don’t care. I step under the shower spray and let the tears fall and wash down the drain.

  I’m sorry.

  I got those, but I will never get the three I realize I’ve been desperate to hear.

  When I dry off, I crack the window open and sit in the chair next to it with my legs curled under me. I’ve tracked the moonlight crossing the yard for hours.

  With a cigarette butt tucked in the corner of my mouth, I can taste Jet. My heart. My home. Spearmint to my cinnamon.

  “I hope you’re not smoking.”

  My eyes flicker across the dark room to the man standing in the doorway. “I wouldn’t. It causes cancer.”

  When he comes out of the shadows, I swear Jet’s ten feet tall. My big man with the bigger heart. He lifts me as if I weigh nothing and sits in the chair beneath me. “Why are you sitting in the dark with old cigarettes in your mouth?”

  “Because I missed you.”

  Removing the butt, he puts it in the ashtray. “Is this all you have to remember me by?”

  I don’t know why that makes me smile and feel equally bad. “Your scent has faded from the pillow.”

  “I came home to remedy that.”

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I lean my head on his shoulder. “He died, Jet. He died before he ever told me he loved me.”

  “He probably wouldn’t have ever said those words to you. My guess is that he loved you in a way that he thought was enough. But in my opinion, you deserve the world, so I’ll never forgive him for abandoning you.” His hand warms up my leg, the other rubbing my back

  My sobs are quieter, less forceful, but my hurt, this pain, still holds me hostage.

  He says, “Your mom did the right thing to run. I hate that she couldn’t keep you with her, but she was right to leave such a toxic environment. Somehow, you became strong within that environment.”

  “I wish I was weaker and had a dad who told me he loved me.”

  “No. Don’t. You’re a survivor. You survived everything you went through because you lived in spite of needing his permission. His love.”

  Lifting my head, I look at him, surprised by his line of logic. “You’re saying how he treated me was a gift?”

  “No, he treated you like shit. But you took that shit and turned it into gold. Don’t let the lack of words from him ruin you. You love because you feel, not because you speak.” My forehead is kissed and then my nose, my lips, my lips, my lips . . .

  Sweet kisses feel good, but him holding me begins to take away some of the pain. “You’re home early.”

  “I caught the last flight of the night out of Sacramento. I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

  “How did it go?”

  “Let’s not do that. Not tonight. I’m here for you.”

  “I’m better now that you’re home.”

  “I am home. Right here holding you in my arms. You’re my home, wildflower.”

  Home.

  My heart.

  My home.

  We don’t move to do more. We don’t need to. This is enough, just holding each other until the moonlight shines in someone else’s yard.

  35

  Jet

  Four months later . . .

  “We were thinking you might consider going on the road with us?”

  Dave’s head about spins off in shock. “Me?”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Why me?”

  Rivers says, “Because none of us could play that Van Halen solo, and you nailed it while you were drunk.”

  He laughs. “I can only play it drunk.”

  Tulsa adds, “Then stay drunk, but we need a guitarist, and we like you.”

  “And you’re damn fucking good,” Rivers adds.

  I ask, “What do you think?”

  “You’re paying me?” he asks, still blown away.

  I drink my beer while Rivers covers the business side of things. “We’re paying a lot more than the recording studio is paying you. Plus, you’ll be part of the band. The album comes out next month, and we’ll be touring all winter and early spring to support it.”

  “Fuck.” He stands. The table wobbles when he bumps it. “I’m not going to say no to that.”

  Tulsa shakes his hand. “You’ll be an honorary Crow Bro because the band’s name remains.”

  “Sold,” he says. He shakes Rivers hand, and then I stand to shake his hand.

  “I also wanted to tell you that I appreciate everything you did for Hannah. When she had no one, you stepped in. You saved her, man. I’ll always be grateful for that.”

  “I did what any real man would do. I just wish I had been there a few minutes sooner.”

  He’s a solid guy. Good character. Values. Badass guitar player. He’s a respectable addition to the band. “You were there. That matters. Thank you.”

  “When you sent me the album to listen to, I was already jamming with it. It’s gonna be huge, but if I’m coming on board, we’ll make it epic when we play live.”

  “Fuck yeah, we will.” Tulsa flies from the chair and orders another round of shots. When they arrive, we hold them up, and he gives the toast. “To fame, fortune, and women with big tits. To rock and roll music and mosh pits. To my brothers by birth and my brother by band, here’s to us. Fuck yeah, life is grand.”

  The shot is downed, and the laughter begins. “You’re a fucking poet, little brother,” Rivers says, rubbing Tulsa’s head.

  “Don’t mess the hair. The ladies are liking the new coif.”

  “I can’t with this kid,” Rivers says, laughing to me.

  Two Months Later . . .

  Hannah

  I’m about to boob punch a woman if she grabs between Jet’s legs again. How dare she. Not only is he mine, but he’s also not a piece of man-meat for her to eat. Screw her.

  I slide into the SUV, but Jet stops to sign autographs. The door is opened, and I’m called a bitch and whore. I think this is what Rochelle warned me about. Women are vicious to each other. Doesn’t matter that Jet has publicly declared his love for me at two shows, in three TV interviews, and on five blogs. I’m apparently the bad guy.

  I’ll play the villain for him. It could make for interesting role-play in the bedroom anyway. Catwoman could be fun to his Batman.

  The door opens, and Jet flies inside, his head hitting my shoulder before he rights himself. “Fuck, it’s crazy out there.”

  “Life of a superstar.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, not quite.”

  “But getting there.”

  “We’ll see,” he banters back. “I hoped the album would do well, but I never expected this.”

  Slipping into a more comfortable position—straddling him—when the SUV takes off from the concert venue, I wrap my arms around his neck. “I did. All those people are discovering what I knew all along. You were born for this.”

  “The Resistance being tied to us and having us open for them helps.”
>
  “It’s your music, babe. Your debut album hit top five on the charts. That’s why everyone is here. Not your connections. You still wrote the songs and played them.”

  His large hands cover my ass and squeeze. “I need you around all the time.”

  “Am I not going to be?” I know what he means. I just like to fish sometimes.

  “We’re going to be touring. I want you and Alfie with me.”

  “We’re there then.” I’m kissed, the back of my head held as he devours me kiss by kiss until I’m a writhing mess on top of him. “I want to feel you inside me, Jet.” Leaning to whisper in his ear, I say, “Fuck me hard and fast in the back of this car.”

  I watch as his gaze goes past me to the front. A button is pushed, and the security glass slides up. “Take those jeans off before I rip them off your body.”

  Scrambling to get up and find room to peel these tight jeans from my body, I fall onto my knees in front of him, my ass to his legs. I’m about to get up, but he touches between my legs. “You’re wet. So fucking wet for me. My horny woman. God, that’s so fucking hot.”

  “You turn me on,” I reply, lowering my head and not looking back.

  “Does this turn you on?” Slowly, he slides his fingers between my cheeks and circles my anus, which tightens, though I can feel my body getting wetter from it. “Do you like me touching you here?”

  My breath comes harsher, uneven, the car getting warmer as I let him take me in, and I remain wide open for him. “Yes.”

  “You’re so dirty. So fucking sexy. You’re mine, all mine, beautiful.” I hear the pause at the moment, his breath deepening, all my senses hyperaware. A button is pushed, and he asks, “How long until we’re back to Ojai?”

  “At least an hour, sir.”

  “Perfect. Thank you.” When Jet’s hands return to my body, he says, “We have an hour to kill. What should we do?”

  The tease.

  What is it about musicians? Why are they so damn sexy?

  I’m lifted by the hips and slide down his steel erection until I’m seated on his lap. I could stay like this for days. So full. So complete. So everything I’ll ever need.

  His hands are under my shirt, squeezing my breasts, and his breath covers my bare shoulder. I lift and come back down. With my eyes closed, his name comes in exhales of sin and inhales of ecstasy as I feel him in every part of me.

  As I pay homage to the blissful perfection of this connection, I know it’s not just the sex. That was just the spark that kindled the flame. Together, we’re a full-blown blaze.

  I used to worry about getting burned. Now I realize that I’m the one who handed him the match because Jet Crow ignites my soul on fire.

  I want to run to him, to wrap my legs around him and kiss his face silly. It’s only been a week since I’ve seen him, but I still want to jump him . . . I mean, jump on him.

  I don’t.

  Alfie gets first dibs as I stand back and watch a son jump into his father’s arms. I see the way Jet embraces him, the way he closes his eyes just to take him in. I see the smile that’s big and too handsome for every woman in the world to not want him. That’s what the journalists write about him.

  The Crow Brothers aren’t just taking the music world by storm, but they’re also winning women’s hearts at every stop of the tour. It’s a smaller tour to launch their album, but Outlaw Records is ready to plan a large stadium tour for next summer. That means another album, but I plan to leave this summer wide open for him. I can’t wait to tell him the news.

  With Alfie on his back and his suitcase in hand, he comes up the steps and kisses me on the porch. “Hey,” he says against my lips with that smile still on his kissable lips.

  “Hey.”

  He cups my face and leans his forehead against mine. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you,” I reply with a matching goofy grin. “Welcome home.”

  We’re not inside the house, but just standing there holding each other with Alfie’s arms wrapped around both of our heads. Jet says, “It’s good to be home.”

  After lugging the case inside and showering, Jet sits at the bar across from me while I wait for the lasagna to cool on the stovetop behind me. Alfie’s out back with his uncles, jumping on the trampoline, so I take advantage of the time alone and ask, “What do you think?”

  “About?”

  “The fame.”

  “The women?”

  I reach across and smack his arm while he laughs. “The fame. All the attention and the women, yes.”

  Catching my hand before I pull back, he kisses the top of it. “I don’t think of them at all because I have you at home.”

  Swoony. Resting on my elbows, I say, “I have news.”

  “Yeah?” I love that he always is genuinely interested in everything I have to say.

  “I got accepted back into college for the fall semester.”

  “That’s fantastic, baby.” He gets up and comes around to hug me. “Congratulations.”

  I love getting lost in him and his scent. He’s more spearmint than nicotine these days just like he promised. Maybe I’m becoming more spearmint instead of cinnamon as well.

  “Want a beer to celebrate?”

  “I’m good. Go ahead.”

  Grabbing a bottle from the fridge, he sits back down and rigs the cap off using the underside of the counter. “To you, Hannah.” After taking a large swallow, he asks, “What are you going to study?”

  “I did my basics before quitting last time, so I’m going right into my major. I’ve decided on social work.”

  The grin that appears gives me all the approval I need. “I think that’s great.”

  “After everything, I feel like I have something to offer, something to give back. But I won’t make much money.”

  “The first time I saw you, I could see your heart right there on your sleeve. It’s what drew me to you.”

  Swoony all right. Although I love what he just said, I have to give him a hard time. “That’s what drew you to me? My heart?”

  “Okay, your killer little body, beautiful face, hair that I couldn’t wait to mess up, and makeup I wanted to kiss right off your face.” He gets up and comes around, pulling me by the waist right into his arms and spinning us around once and then again. “And your heart that I swore right then and there to protect. You, the all-encompassing version of you, drew me like a bee right to your honey.”

  “You sure know how to sweet talk a girl, Jet Crow.”

  “I’ll do you one better.” He pulls his shirt off in that magical way, and while I admire every damn sit-up this man finds the time to do, he says, “Eyes up here, beauty.”

  When I look up, there are two more crow tattoos that match the ones for him and his brothers. The two new ones are on his chest, flying high toward the sky. I’m gentle when I touch the freshly inked skin, but I can’t help but want to run my fingers over the raised design. “I love them. They’re different. Beautifully done. The other three represent you and your brothers. And these?”

  He covers my hand with his and kisses my fingertips. “One is for Alfie.”

  Tears fill my eyes. “Jet . . .” My throat thickens thinking of how much this gesture will mean to his son. “He’ll love it. He’ll love it so much.”

  “I’m going to ask him if he wants to take my name. He can keep Barnett. That’s a link to his mother, but I’d like him to be a Crow if he wants to be. I want him to know that he’s a part of this family as much as any of us.”

  I squeeze this man. Holding him as tight as I can, I kiss his chest. “You are amazing.”

  “No. I’m just a dad who feels damn lucky to have a son.”

  “I love you.”

  “Why do you love me, baby?”

  “Because you didn’t just show up for him, but also for me when I needed you most.”

  His strong arms come around me, keeping me close. “And here I always thought you were the one who saved me.”

  A kiss is placed
on top of my head just before I lean back. “We never needed saving. We just needed each other.” I lift and kiss him.

  Touching the other bird, I ask, “Is this for Dave, the honorary Crow Bro?”

  “No.” His arms slide from around me, and he kneels on one knee. Pulling something from his pocket, he then holds a sparkling diamond ring before me. “I was thinking about asking you to change your name as well.”

  The waterworks begin, but I play along anyway. “Just thinking about it?”

  “No. I want you to change your name. Hannah Crow sounds really nice. What do you think?”

  My gaze volleys back and forth between his eyes and the stunning ring. I love the ring, but I prefer the soulful eyes that I fell in love with, so I admire them instead. “I think it’s a beautiful name.”

  “Hannah Lynn Nichols, I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, but it was your beautiful heart and kind soul, caring side, and feistiness that made me realize I wanted to be yours forevermore. Will you be mine and stay?”

  “There’s nothing I’d rather do than spend a lifetime and more with you. Yes, Jet.” The tears dry as excitement takes over.

  This time I jump into his arms and wrap my legs around him. I kiss him silly and find myself being kissed right back just as much.

  Love.

  He taught me what love really is. It’s not about the words. It’s about the action, about showing up and being there when someone needs you most.

  Love.

  I used to think it was only for those more worthy. But Jet taught me, through Holli’s words, that I don’t have to be anything but me. With him, I’m happy. With him, I am enough.

  With him, I am home.

  Epilogue

  Jet

  Hannah insisted on paying for the wedding, wanting to burn through the money she felt was tainted somehow. Eileen and Hannah were both left equal shares of her father’s estate, which included mostly money he kept in banks and rarely spent.

  Hannah never knew how much Ivan Nichols had amassed until the will was read.

  Eight hundred thousand dollars.