by Scott, S. L.
He nods.
Shame for letting myself down coats my stomach. Now I have to confess how weak I was to Jet. Will he see me as weak now too? I hope not. I have to trust him. “I let him convince me I was the problem, that I drove him to cheat.” I watch him smoke; a sad distraction I needed so he wouldn’t focus on me.
He sighs. “So he threw stones in a bad attempt to break you. He’s an asshole. You realize that, right?”
“I realized two tour stops later in Dallas that it wasn’t just groupies I needed to watch out for. He was having sex with Dave’s girlfriend the entire tour. She confessed to Dave who confronted Hunter. But Hunter didn’t take it well, and he didn’t take his anger out on Dave, he took it out on me.”
“I want to fucking kill him,” he mumbles. His body is tense, though his arms still hold me loosely. “He’s a complete asshole, Hannah. How he disrespected you . . . used you . . . hurt you . . . Fuck, it makes me so angry.”
I like that it makes him mad to hear how I was hurt. I like that he looks at me like he believes me. I like this . . . this sharing stuff. He doesn’t need to hear the other side. He just needs to hear my side of the story. He has my back.
But there’s so much more I like about him. I like how even when Jet shaves, he’s got stubble by the time night rolls around. I like the hair on his chest—not thick but dark and masculine. I like how small I feel in his arms, but he makes me feel worthy and confident, not a shrinking violet. I can tell him how I truly feel without judgment. “He finally broke me.”
“No, he didn’t, Hannah. You’re right here, all in one piece. He didn’t win. You did. You got out. You’re the hero of your own story, and you didn’t even know it.”
“I’m at the mercy of my own pen.”
“You’re not a character in your story, but the author that creates your life. You’re not at the mercy of your pen, but the one who decides how it all plays out.”
“How does this story end?”
“You write the ending to your fairy tale.”
“You should write music,” I tease, feeling better in his arms while taking in his emotional wisdom.
That makes him smile. As the cigarette burns out, the hate I’ve carried inside me for so long lightens, but the shame that burdens my soul remains. “He let me leave. After all those years together, he let me walk away, and he’s never looked back.”
Jet’s arms hold me a little tighter as if he can tell I want to run away. “He didn’t fight for me. To him, to everyone, I’m not worthy of keeping.”
My body is maneuvered to face him when he sits straight up. His eyes are firm on mine when he says, “You were never meant to be kept. You were meant to be free until you found something more, something worth staying for.”
Running my fingers over his chest, I ask, “Are you my more?”
“I’m whatever you need me to be, but you have to promise to always be honest with me.” Honesty. I haven’t seen a lot of that from my family, but it is what I’ve craved the most.
“Such a simple request in exchange for so much. Why are you so good to me?”
“Because what we have between these four walls is more than I’ve had in years. Selfishly, I hope it can go beyond this bedroom. I just need you to trust me. I’m not him. Although you might think I sleep with different women all the time, I don’t. You were my wild night, a wild thing that I gave into. You were the wildflower demanding to be seen. And then you were gone.”
“I’m here,” I say, leaning my forehead to his. “I’m here. I’m here as long as you want me.”
“I don’t want you to stay for me. I want you to stay for you.” Pushing my hair back from my face, he holds my head in his hands and looks at me. My lips. My nose. My forehead. My freckles. My chin. My eyes that can’t lie to him ever again. Satisfied with what he finds, he smiles and it’s just for me. “If you stay, I won’t hurt you, wildflower.”
Wildflower.
I hate it.
As he said, they’re weeds, but it fits me better than a flower more pristine.
With a quirk of my lips, I ask, “So what you’re saying is that you want me?”
“Finally. You see the light.”
“It wasn’t the light that drew me to you.” I kiss the edge of his mouth.
“What drew you to me, baby?”
“Do you have all night?”
His smile broadens, and I kiss the gentle lines beside his eyes. “And all day.”
I laugh. God, it feels good to feel good again. He’s done that for me. He’s taken my heat, my ire, and turned it into embers. I feel lighter. “The way you hold the microphone when you sing and there is no music. Just your voice haunting me. When you play your guitar, you don’t think about the notes, only the melody. That’s how you treat me. As if I’m a song, you hear me. Listening to make sure I’m on key.”
“You should write music,” he whispers, not teasing.
“Careful or I might fall in love.”
He dips me into his arms, and I’m reliant on his strength. This predicament is not lost on me. With my head resting firmly in his hand and my body tilted to the side, he leans over me and says, “There’s no being careful when it comes to love. You’re either willing to fall in the moment or the opportunity passes you by. What will you do, wildflower?”
With my arms secured around his neck, I ask, “Will you fall with me?”
“I’ve already fallen. I’m just waiting to catch you.”
I pull him to me, wanting all this man as much as he wants me. We kiss, exchanging our hearts and uniting our souls. I’ve been burned before, but something tells me he’s a risk worth taking. Something tells me that he will catch me when I fall. Knowing he’s already there . . . He thinks I’m worth catching . . . “I love you, Jet.”
“I love you, too, baby.”
22
Hannah
How’d I go from being in a new relationship to falling in love?
Three words. Or should I say one name.
Jet Mercury Crow.
I only recently discovered his middle name was Mercury when I ran across an online article about the band announcing they had signed with Outlaw Records.
The name fits his unpredictability and his profession. When I think he’s going to react one way, he reacts the other. From discovering he has a son and his immediate acceptance to not judging me because someone else found me unworthy. But he lacks the temperament of an anger brewing deep inside. So mercurial moods do not apply.
I grab my charger from the wall and am winding it up when Eileen walks into my bedroom. Holding up the letter I left for her in the kitchen, she asks, “Do you think you’re going to get away with this?”
“Yes, because both I and Jet have approved the trip, and we’re the only ones who legally have a say. I left that for you, so you wouldn’t worry.”
“You can’t do this, Hannah. You can’t take my grandson away from me.”
“I’m not. We’ll only be gone three weeks and then we’ll be back.”
“But when you come back, that only leaves two weeks until the hearing.”
I set my shirt neatly on the other clothes in my suitcase. “This is the only way we could hold up the judgment. How can he see his son if he’s there and we’re here? How would I see Alfie if he’s with him in Los Angeles?”
“What about me?”
“I’m doing the best I can in a bad situation,” I reply, not letting her know that she’s the reason the situation is bad. I turn my back to grab my underwear out of the drawer so I can pack them.
“What are you doing, Hannah?” I don’t have to see her face to hear the distrust in her voice. “Are you trying to take him away from me?”
I stop sorting through the drawer and look down. Is that what I’m doing? It might be. Am I doing it for Alfie? Or for me? When I turn around, I reply, “No, I’m doing what the judge ordered, sharing custody.”
“Are you sure?” Her eyes narrow on me. “The tension between us
lately feels a lot like you’re going to betray me.”
Looking away, I say, “I’m doing what’s best for Alfie.”
“Where were you the past few nights? I called around looking for you, and no one knew.”
What? “Who did you call?”
“Your father. Your friends—”
“You don’t know any of my friends.”
Her hand waves me off like a bothersome gnat. “Friend, boyfriend. Whatever he is.”
My heart starts pounding in my chest, the irregular beat causing discomfort. “Hunter?”
“Yeah, that loser.”
“He’s not my friend. He’s not my boyfriend. You know that. Why would you call him?”
Shrugging like she doesn’t even care about me, she crushes the letter from the judge in her hands. “I had to make sure you weren’t involving my grandson in anything that could lead to trouble.”
Trouble.
The word reverberates around my head.
Trouble.
Hit.
Trouble.
Slap.
Trouble.
Slam.
Trouble.
Trouble.
Trouble.
My hands are shaking, and my breathing is shallow. She watches me in rapt fascination as I’m unable to hide my reaction to the abuse I once suffered. Coming closer, she brings me to her and hugs me. While rubbing my back, she says, “It’s a pity that you’re so weak.”
I push away from her, my back hitting the dresser, my shoulder blades banging into the open drawer. “You’re despicable.”
“You know what I also am, little girl? Dangerous. You’ll return in three weeks or I’ll come after him. We were in this together. Remember? It was going to be the three of us.”
“I now see that Cassie wanted otherwise, or else she wouldn’t have named me in the will.”
There’s a plea to her tone when she says, “She was not in her right mind at the end. You know that.”
“I know that her dying wish was for me to care for her son.”
“You can’t even care for yourself!”
The sting remains long after the words were spewed. I’m so tempted to say something just as harsh in return, but I hold my tongue. I can smell the red wine on her breath, and her teeth are a grayish purple shade of drunk. I’m hoping she’ll leave me alone.
I knew I wouldn’t be that lucky. And she’s off . . . “No judge will deny me my flesh and blood. Neither will you or that man Alfie calls his father.”
She turns around to leave. Makes it as far as the door when I ask, “Why are you so mean?”
I see the way her shoulders rise and fall with each breath, her anger visible through her body language. She turns back to me. “Your mother was never good enough for my brother.” She gets reminiscent when she drinks and that never ends well for me. She says, “He could have had anyone. I still don’t know why he chose her, and you’re so much like her. You look like her, and you’re weak like her.”
Her hand twitches at her side, and I cringe, though I know she’s too far to hit me. I level my eyes on hers. Jet’s new nickname embodies me. I’m a wildflower, a weed sturdy enough to endure the harshest conditions. I’m a survivor. “You may think you won because you ran her off, but who is the real winner? My bets are on her.”
“Your father is going to be very unhappy to hear about all of this.”
“He can go to hell right along with you. And before you tell me to get out. Don’t worry. I’m on my way.” I’m not done packing, but I’ve got enough to survive. I grab my backpack and swing it over my shoulders. The suitcase is zippered closed before I tug it onto the floor from the bed. I take my purse, putting the strap over my head, and walk to the door where she still stands with her arms crossed.
She steps to the side, and I wheel by, but stop just on the other side of her. “I used to love you. I used to love my father. But you’re both too bitter to see that I was all you had left, and now you have nobody but each other.”
“I have Alfie. I thought you would have a better chance of winning against that monster of a man, Jet Crow. I was mistaken, but it won’t cost me my grandson. Your father will help me win custody.”
“Just make sure you’re fighting for Alfie’s best interest and not out of revenge.” I drag my suitcase down the hall and pick the small one I packed for Alfie up in the other hand. As I work the cases out the front door, I add, “Per the letter, I’ll keep you updated on Alfie’s well-being, and he’ll be able to call you whenever he would like. The fate of your relationship now rests in his hands.”
The door slams behind me, but that’s okay. I’m good. I’m so good. Another mountain is behind me. One more battle won. I’m not just saving myself from this horrible way of life, but I’m also saving Alfie.
Walking away from the house, I felt strong, but driving away, I let the doubt creep in. My aunt is one thing. She needed me, not just physically to be there to help with Alfie, but financially to help her because of Cassie. Eileen lost her job for missing too many days of work. She’s working again, but she’s still in the hole because of medical and legal fees.
If she asks him, my father will bail her out and then help her fight for Alfie. There’s only one way to save him. I need to make sure that Jet wins full custody.
I parallel park on the street and walk to the front of the school. I’m so ridiculous, but that dark-haired man makes me smile uncontrollably. Jet stands out in a crowd, but really stands out at school pickup among all the moms in their yoga gear. I sidle up behind him, slipping my hand around his.
Eyeing me up and then down, he tightens his hand around mine. “Aren’t we supposed to be a secret?” he asks with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and a roguish smile on his face.
“I suck at keeping secrets.” I shrug.
Two women without wedding rings move along. Good thing because I didn’t want to stake my claim on him. Our hands. Oops. Guess I already have.
He says, “I didn’t expect to see you here.” Leaning down, he kisses me, and I let him linger loving every second of it. “But I’m happy to see you.”
Glancing toward the door, I see the classes start to come out. Our hands part, and I say, “I need to talk to you about a few things, but in private later tonight.”
“Does that mean you’re coming over?”
“I packed a suitcase, so I hope it’s okay if I stay overnight since we leave for LA tomorrow.”
We try not to touch in front of Alfie, not quite ready to break the news of what we are to each other when we barely know what this is. When my foot is tapped twice, my heart flutters because he still touches any way he can.
“You can stay as long as you like. Are you okay?”
Always worried about me. He’s the hero of my story. “I’m fine. Better than fine actually. I’m good.”
“I’m going for great.”
“It turns me on when you go—”
“Jet! Hannah!” Alfie comes running with wide-open arms for both of us.
His little arms don’t reach around us, but ours do, and I close my eyes, enjoying the little family we’ve become. When our arms part, I spy Alfie’s teacher staring at us. She quickly looks away when she’s busted. “Is this what it’s like with you?”
“What?”
“Women always staring at you.”
Looking at us, Alfie asks, “Who stares? You told me it was rude to stare, Hannah.”
I rest my hand on his shoulder. “It is. That’s what I mean.”
Jet chuckles. “C’mon, let’s go.”
We each take one of Alfie’s hands, and he tries to swing between us. He’s getting tall. When he’s not successful swinging, Jet and I help out. Soon we’re crossing the street while swinging him between us. I love seeing Alfie so happy and hearing his laughter. He may not have dealt with the death of his mother the way he needs to, but I’m happy he can still be innocent and find joy in such a simple thing.
We reach the corner, a
nd Jet says, “I’m over here.”
“I’m down there.” I signal over my shoulder.
A low whistle is heard when I turn to leave, but I turn back to catch Jet call, “Hey?”
Floating on cloud nine, I ask, “What’s up, Crow?”
“I’ll see you at home?”
Home. Home. He’s welcomed me into his home, but I’m starting to think it’s not a location, but a person. Two people when I look back and see a man and his son bonding. Jet didn’t just hang the moon and the stars for Alfie. He created the universe, every star another note played on his guitar.
Does cloud ten exist? I hope so because I’m walking on air, or maybe it’s love. Love? Who would have thought when I least expected it, a musician would be the one to sweep me off my feet? For as handsome and tall as that man is, I truly never saw him coming. “See you guys at home.”
23
Hannah
Jet is always calm. He’s the voice of reason when I struggle to hear my own voice, much less express my emotions out loud. Unless he hides his worries in other ways. Does he keep them locked down tight in a place he visits when he’s alone?
I’d understand.
I’d become adept at that myself until I met him. I’m not sure how long I can hold onto the darker memories when he’s so insistent on me being free from them.
What about him?
The eldest brother.
The kid who stepped in as a dad to his younger siblings when his father left.
The man who had to bury his mother because his family looked at him to handle the arrangements.
Nineteen.
He was a kid himself.
We’ve not talked about that time too much. He’s a master at glossing over the details of the dark parts of life he doesn’t like to think about. But there are stress lines carved into his forehead. He’s too young so they won’t stay for long.
Jet is punishing his poor knuckles—pulling and popping—one by one. Leaning against the kitchen counter, I ask, “What did your hands do to you to make you so mad?” I’m teasing, but curious what’s going on with him.
His dark eyes do a onceover on me before he appears to catch himself from getting too deep. But I caught it. A look. A feeling. Anguish. It was only a flicker, but it was there for one split second. “Nothing.” He reaches for the remote. Such a guy move. I thought he knew better than to try to tune women out when they wanted answers.
