by Scott, S. L.
“I’m not here to argue.”
“Why are you here, and who’s the mother?”
“I’m here because of Cassie Barnett.”
Hearing Cassie’s name after all these years is sobering. I know the name well. I knew the woman better. It was a short-lived love affair. I broke her heart before she had a chance to break mine, apparently. I was twenty and didn’t know a good thing when I had it. “Cassie Barnett.” I say her name just to taste the sound of it again. But nothing makes sense. “How do you know her?”
“She’s my . . .” She sucks in a jagged breath and looks away while tilting her head back. If I’m not mistaken, her eyes are suddenly glassy with tears. “She’s my cousin.”
Whoa. This world just got a little too small for my liking. “You’re cousins?”
“Yes. We were.”
“Were? I’m confused. Just spell it out for me.”
“I have temporary custody of Cassie’s son, Alfie,” she says, stopping again. When I turn back to her, she adds, “Your son.”
“No, I don’t think so,” I reply, scoffing at the thought. “Cassie and I broke up a long time ago. If we had a kid, she would’ve told me, so I think you have the wrong guy.”
She seems hesitant and looks down. Tucking some hair behind her ear, she lowers her voice. “I need you to sign paperwork formalizing custody. This shouldn’t be an issue since you’re claiming he’s not yours anyway.”
Something is off, not sitting right in my gut. A lump forms in my throat, my thoughts jumping to conclusions I’m not ready to face. “Where’s Cassie? Why do you have custody of her kid?”
She looks away, her hair falling to the side and hiding her face from view. “She passed away a few weeks ago.”
After that punch to the heart, I’m left speechless and staring at the woman in front of me. “Cassie . . . She’s gone?” The deafening cheers from the bar still ring in my ears as her words rumble around my head. “How?”
“Mr. Crow, it’s late.”
Mr. Crow? “One in the morning, but here we are, Ms. Nichols.”
“I was given . . . we—”
“We?”
“My aunt and I.”
“Cassie’s mom?”
“Yes.”
Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I remember Cassie’s mother well. “She never liked me.”
“I’ve heard.” It’s not a hateful response, but factual. I hurt Cassie, so I’m not surprised that she and her mother didn’t have nice things to say about me.
“We only have seven days left to locate Alfie’s next of kin and get the paperwork signed.”
“Or what happens?”
“He’ll be removed by Child Protective Services. We’ll have to start legal proceedings to get him back.”
Her pain is evident. Sighing, I feel bad that I can’t help her. “I’m sorry. I can only imagine how horrible this is for you, but I can’t sign custody over when I’m not his dad. Cassie would have told me if we had a kid.” I think. Surely, she would have . . .
Hannah’s smile is as tight as her grip on her handbag. “Time is running out. All you have to do is sign the papers for us to get custody. You’ll never have to hear from us again.”
Before tonight, I would have loved to hear from Hannah again. But this? A son? Why didn’t she tell me?
“Hannah, if the kid is mine, I’ll take him. If I’d known I’d had a kid, I would have been a part of his life. Cassie would know that, too. But I haven’t heard from her in years. That’s why I’m finding it hard to believe he’s actually mine.”
She shifts, glancing at the back door of the bar and then to the opening at the end of the alley. I might be as uncomfortable as she looks, which makes me think we’re not going to make it to get coffee. When she turns back, she says, “I’m not here to ruin your life. I’m here so Alfie’s life isn’t ruined. Will you sign the paperwork?”
“Cassie and I broke up well over six years ago, so I can’t . . .” Doing the math, I remember she said the kid is six. “We weren’t together long, but would she really withhold something so important?”
Determination crosses her expression, and her chin lifts. Stubborn little thing. “I don’t know what to believe, but I’m caught between what I’ve been told and . . .”
“And?”
“And the man I once spent the night with.”
“I’m still that man, Hannah.”
“We shouldn’t speak as if we actually know each other. We don’t. That night was—”
“Amazing. I won’t let you call it anything less than what it was.”
Her demeanor relaxes before me. “I won’t because it was amazing. But that doesn’t change what we need to discuss. Alfie’s your son, but he doesn’t know you, and you don’t know him. Will you please just sign the paperwork, Jet?”
“I can’t sign paperwork that could be false. If he is some other man’s child, I will be committing a crime by denying a different man access to his son. If he is, in fact, my son . . . If he’s mine . . . I was never told about him. I wouldn’t walk away, not like that.”
“We don’t want to disrupt his life more than it already has been. I’m asking you to sign custody of him over to me. That was Cassie’s wish in her will. And he’s all my aunt has left. I’m her niece, not her daughter or her grandson.”
Shifting so she’s out of my shadow, I’d forgotten how small she was until it felt like I was towering over her. “I’m sorry to hear about Cassie, but if he’s my son, I won’t just sign my responsibility over in a stack of legal paperwork.”
Her eyes reflect not just her sadness, but also the desperation to get this deal done. The only problem is, this isn’t a deal to close, but a life to discuss.
2
Hannah Nichols
Jet Crow is too handsome for his own good. His good looks have become a distraction to my purpose.
The last time we were together, I got so close to falling for his lines and good time that I cut the ties starting to bind us together before it was too late. I’ve made the mistake of falling for a musician before, so I refuse to date or trust another musical Romeo. They’re all the same. Players who don’t understand the definition of commitment, much less live by it. Even when they say they love you, don’t believe it. I was a fool before. Not anymore.
Regardless of how amazing our one-night stand was.
But here’s Jet Crow with that dark hair and soul-soothing eyes staring into mine. Lips that once kissed me everywhere are licked just before he realizes we are now on opposing sides. With large hands, hands I remember holding me together after falling apart from ecstasy, hanging at his sides, I can tell he’s in shock, trying to process how his world just got flipped upside down.
I thought this would be easy. Jet walked away years ago. He wouldn’t want to take on a kid now. He’d sign Alfie over. End of story. But no. Just my luck. He wants to pretend to take the moral high ground.
Something in his eyes makes me want to believe that maybe he didn’t know. That makes no sense, though. My aunt wouldn’t lie to me while her daughter was on her deathbed, would she? Would Cassie just go along with some story where he’s painted as the villain? Or is he the bad guy?
Jet Crow would. Just like he did to Cassie years ago. He’s like every other guy I’ve dated. He uses his looks and charms to get what he wants and then betrays women. Eileen said he’s a cheater and a liar. I have to forget the time we spent together because it doesn’t matter now. I may have fallen into his bed, but I won’t fall for his act as Cassie once did.
Despite the memories of that magical night we spent in his bed, discovering everything that makes him lose the control he’s holding so tightly to now, I stiffen my resolve. My aunt and I haven’t always gotten along . . . not in a few years, but this could heal us, so I can’t let Aunt Eileen down. She made me promise to help hold onto the last part of her daughter that exists in this world. “I can see it’s a lot to take in, that you’re struggling to wrap your head
around a responsibility that you never wanted or asked for.” Breathing out, I drop my guard, trying to ignore the pain I see filter in his eyes and appeal to his more reasonable side. “His grandmother and I are here for him, ready to take on parenting and give him the solid foundation he needs.”
“You say that as if I can’t.”
No, Jet. I’m saying this because I doubt you would. “Can you?” Stepping closer, I plead with my eyes while trying to show him the light. “You play shows how many nights a week, Jet? Can you really fit a child into your lifestyle? You were born to play music. You’re truly mesmerizing on that stage. Are you ready to set your dreams aside for the next ten or fifteen years?”
“Why is it one or the other?”
“Because I’ve been there for the past seven months and lived it. I had to quit my job in Dallas to move down to take care of Alfie because his mother couldn’t.”
“So how will you take care of him financially? How is your situation better than mine? Where will he be when you find another job and who will take care of him?”
Resting my hand gently on his chest, I reply, “His grandmother. Eileen took early retirement to take care of Cassie. She just got a part-time job. She doesn’t make a ton of money, but he’ll be cared for and fed, have a good home, and he lives in a great school district. What district do you live in?”
I hate that he shifts away from me, but he does, his frustration seen in the tensing of his jaw. His eyes find mine before he turns back around. When he does, he says, “Maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves.” He crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes. “You say you have seven days to secure custody. I suggest we get a paternity test done tomorrow.”
“It’s not necessary. He’s your son.”
“You’re that confident? How do you know?”
“Because I’ve seen him.”
“Then maybe I deserve to see my own flesh and blood as well.”
“Okay,” I whisper. He’s right. He does. Whether he chose to walk out seven years ago or he was pushed out, he deserves to see the son who cannot be mistaken for anyone else’s but his. I pull up my photo app, but his hand covers mine.
“In person.”
“Fine.” I hold my phone out. “Add your number and I’ll text you a location and time tomorrow.”
“Sure.” While he’s adding his number, I take the time to look at him. His shoulders are broad, his hair not shaggy but not too short. The light shining overhead from the bar’s backdoor highlights the shadow of his jaw. His lashes dark like his hair.
He’s tall.
Six foot three to my five foot three.
I’m tempted to stand against him to verify, but I don’t. My gaze slips lower. I have clear memories of that six-pack stomach. By how fitted his shirt is, I’m thinking it’s still there if not even better. It’s cooler at this hour of the night, but the sleeves of his shirt expose his cut biceps.
When he hands my phone back, he says, “I’ll wait for your text.”
I nod and look down. He’s been nicer than I expected. A motorcycle farther down the alley roars to life, and I look up. “I should go.”
“I’ll walk you. Where are you parked?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will be, but humor me, Hannah.”
I exhale, the pressure of this dreaded conversation feeling more like it’s over as we stroll toward the street ahead. I shouldn’t like how much I like seeing him again, but I’ve thought of him so much, so many times over the past six months. The way he playfully bit the tips of my fingers when I fed him Cheetos and then licked the orange dust from them. His kisses on the back of my neck seared my skin that night, and now each place his lips touched still warms under the memories. The image I’ll never forget is when I sat in my car and looked back. He shared his soul in that exchange, wide open to be accepted or rejected. It pained me to leave, but I was in no condition to stay.
In the dimly lit bar and dark of his bedroom is one thing. Seeing the real me, the damaged parts, in the light of day is another.
I’ll take this walk with him. It’s more for me, so I slow my pace wanting to savor every second of something I now know can never be. “I’m parked around the corner.”
We don’t talk, the weight of reality escorting us along the way. When we reach my car, I step off the sidewalk but stop before opening the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jet.”
He’s a musical god I once prayed to by tasting his skin as he came on mine.
Tonight though, standing before me is not the man I saw on stage six months ago or an hour earlier. He’s not that guy who got drunk on whiskey and wine just to have what I was having and then charmed me right into his bed.
In the wee hours of a Thursday in Austin, a man with flaws and feelings restrained in the hard muscles of his build has been given a choice to make, one that will change his life and mine forever. I worry what he’ll decide, and what I could lose, but I say what I feel because his kindness deserves a return, “Thank you for walking with me.”
“No problem.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jet.”
“Tomorrow . . .” He sounds as if he wants to say more but doesn’t, so I get in my car and start the engine.
I hate being the bad guy. I hate that Cassie died. I hate that Alfie is in the middle of this mess. A timer was always ticking when it came to Jet and me. A clock was counting down that night, not only stealing my days away, but also my happiness. A few stolen hours with him gave me hope only to find out he’s the one who caused my family so much pain. The reality is hard to come to terms with, especially when I remember him so differently. I didn’t know him then, but I thought I got a glimpse of who he was.
So now when I watch him walk away after exchanging numbers, my resolve lessens, wishing our lives hadn’t turned out this way.
* * *
Can I have my coffee first?
I feel bad that she wants answers and was up worrying, but Aunt Eileen needs to give me a moment. With my forehead in my palm, I slump over the table. “I slept terribly, and I have a headache.” Though it’s not my head that’s hurting, but a dull ache in my chest.
She sits across the table from me and covers my hand. “Please tell me he’s not fighting us on this. He walked out once, and I have no intention of letting him back into our lives.”
“It will be resolved today.”
Her hands slam down on the wood tabletop. “He abandoned his child and my daughter.”
Standing, I go to the cupboard and grab the ibuprofen. “You’ve told me, Aunt Eileen.” I hate when she gets like this. There’s no reasoning with her or calming her down once she’s riled up. I take a coffee mug and fill it with tap water.
When I turn around, she’s glaring at me. I grip the side of the sink. She says, “He broke Cassie’s poor heart, probably caused her to get cancer. Don’t go soft, Hannah. Alfie needs us. He needs people who love him and care about him. People who care about his mother, not disrespect her or her memory.” She huffs and turns to leave the kitchen. “Can you imagine the garbage he would feed our sweet Alfie about Cassie?” She looks back once. “We’re his only saving grace, Hannah. Don’t let me down.”
She should have let me get a cup of coffee so my patience wouldn’t be worn so thin. I’m in no mood for a fight, but if she’s starting one, I’ll finish it. “Don’t speak to me that way. I was here when you needed me.”
“When Cassie needed you.”
“You needed me. Alfie needed someone to take care of him, to feed him, to spend time with him and play.”
“Are you saying I didn’t give him enough attention? I refuse to spoil the child.”
“Giving him some of your time isn’t spoiling him. It’s called caring.”
“How dare you, Hannah Lynn Nichols. You have no idea what I’ve given up because of caring for others. So don’t come here lecturing me—”
“I’m sorry.”
The scowl digs deeper into
the lines of her face. Cassie’s illness aged my aunt well beyond her years. I understand the worry and concern, the sadness, and the love for a child after spending so much time with Alfie. I’ve got to cool down and remember she’s lost her daughter and now fears losing her grandson.
I repeat myself as tears fall from the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry, Aunt Eileen. I know you care. I’m just tired and stressed. I loved Cassie, and I miss her. I look at Alfie, and I’m worried I’ll lose him as well.”
“We won’t,” she corrects. “We’ll fight him if he fights us. Promise me you’ll help me save Alfred from that loser of a man.”
“I promise. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure we keep custody.”
She tugs at the hem of her blouse and straightens the front of her pants before her expression matches the formality of her outfit. Coming over to me, she evens out the collar of my T-shirt and then touches my face. “Thank you, Hannah dear. It’s good to see the Nichols fighting spirit in you for once. Family always comes first. Remember that.”
Family . . . my father has only seen me once since I’ve been back and that was because it was Christmas. He didn’t bother to stay long. He had work to do and was gone as soon as dinner finished.
I don’t think I’ll ever understand him. How can his business and money mean more to him than his own daughter?
As she leaves the kitchen, she adds, “You should really change into a dress instead of hiding under sloppiness. You’re such a pretty girl. You should show the world.”
I’ve learned to let her little digs—comments that are insults wrapped up as advice—go to save my sanity growing up. I understand why my mother left my father. It’s the same reason I left the first chance I got. My mom had better luck, and I wish I could have gone with her. She begged me to. My father stopped her, stopped me at the door holding my favorite Barbie in one hand and my gymnastics tote bag stuffed with my favorite leotard and tights in the other.
