The Crow Brothers: JET - TULSA - RIVERS - RIDGE

by Scott, S. L.

  Our clasped hands are starting to sweat, our nerves getting the better of us. I pull my hand away but leave it on his thigh. I’m here for you whispers between our touches. I love you felt in each beat of our hearts.

  The judge stacks a file of papers loudly on the table in front of her and says, “I’ve reviewed everything from the will to each of your individual wishes. I’ve talked to Alfred Jet Barnett about his wishes because it matters what he thinks. We are here to find what is the best environment and situation for the child. We’ve already taken financial stability into account, and upon Mrs. Barnett’s request, we did a secondary formal evaluation of Mr. Crow’s assets and monies.”

  I don’t know how much Jet’s advance was for the album. I don’t know what his royalty cut will be after it releases. So I’m surprised when the judge says, “Congratulations on your record deal. That’s very exciting and the money in the account at the time of evaluation was recorded in the file.”

  “Thank you,” he says, his voice deep but soothing, calm even though I know he’s worried.

  The judge continues, “The situation has had a dramatic change that was not predicted, but is in the child’s best interest so I’m ruling full custody be given to Mr. Crow. As Ms. Nichols has given him her full support, no formal visitation schedule will be granted at this time. As a family, it is up to you to make sure this child receives the love where it’s given.” She looks at my aunt. “And if it’s given, which I hope it is, please put your differences aside for this child.”

  Jet’s head drops down, and he rubs his brow. His worries are expelled from his chest as he breathes out and relief is inhaled. “Thank God,” he mumbles under his breath. Taking my hand, he brings it to his mouth, kissing me openly.

  My aunt’s hands slam down on the glass table between us. “No!”

  Her lawyer is quick to warn her, “It’s not over.”

  Jet and I both turn back to the judge not sure what else there is. She says to us, “We understand that sometimes money can create issues among family members. Thank you for providing a copy of the insurance policy for the records—”

  Eileen asks, “What? Where did you get that, Hannah?”

  “I didn’t. I haven’t actually seen the policy, but you have, haven’t you?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Alfie’s my business. Cassie told us who the sole heir of her policy is, and it’s not you.”

  Jet’s relief turns to rage. “That’s the only reason you wanted my son? Not because he’s your own blood from your only daughter, but because he inherits a policy she was wise enough to take out right after having him and before she had cancer. Think about that, Eileen.” He stands, his fingers whitening as he presses on the table. “A twenty-year-old girl knew to protect her child, to take care of him in case anything happened to her. The question that remains is why she wouldn’t include you. But I think you’ve made your motive and intentions more than clear. She knew you best and didn’t trust you with her son or his inheritance. That’s what you’re left to live with.”

  “Mr. Crow, sit down,” the judge cautions.

  He does, but never takes his eyes off my aunt. She slides a file to our lawyer and then one to Eileen’s. “Alfred loves you very much. My opinion in custody cases is based on the children’s thoughts and preferences. Alfie has a lot of wonderful things to say about you and Ms. Nichols, who has helped him work his way through a very difficult time in his life. His love for you is obvious in the way he speaks about both of you. Take care of him and live happy lives. This case is resolved and will be recorded as I’ve already stated, giving full legal rights to Mr. Crow.”

  She wraps up with the formalities so they’re on the record, but then our lawyer taps our arms, telling us to go.

  The last time I walked out of the courthouse, it was with Eileen by my side. This time, it’s different. Not because I chose Jet over her, but because she chose money over blood. I’m tempted to stop and talk to her, extend an olive branch to make peace. I hate feeling unsettled in my emotions and the pain that frequently circulates inside me.

  I don’t stop.

  Holding Jet’s strong and protective hand, I walk by his side, knowing I’ve found the love I never thought I deserved. He saw me through the sadness and the pain of my past. He loved me when I didn’t love myself. He taught me we are worthy, whether together or apart.

  I am enough.

  Three Months Later . . .

  I’m restless in this sterile hospital waiting room. After three days of being here, I need good news. “I thought a stroke affected his motor skills and his speech. Why isn’t he coming back from this?”

  The doctor replies, “Your father has had a series of minor heart attacks. We were waiting for the tests to come back to confirm our suspicions.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we keep him here a little longer and supervise. He’s awake if you want to visit with him. The nurse will be in with his dinner shortly.”

  “Thank you.” When the doctor walks away, I hold out my hand to Alfie. “Come on. We can go back in now.”

  “I want to go home.”

  “I know, but let’s stop by for a few minutes to say hi.” Going home to an empty house isn’t something I’m particularly looking forward to either. It’s a lose-lose situation.

  He huffs expressing his unhappiness and drags his feet. “Your dad will be home tomorrow.”

  “I want him home now.”

  Jet’s been gone for two weeks doing promotions for the single they released. The day after hearing it played on the radio, he had to hop a flight to LA for interviews and to meet DJs around the country. “So do I, buddy.”

  He wanted to come home, but I told him to stay. This is what he was working so hard to do, and he had to be there to support his dream and his brothers.

  Once we’re in the hospital room, my father is awake. “Hi.” I almost called him Dad but stopped myself. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to live with grudges or regrets. It’s been a daily battle for me for years. After walking out of the courthouse with full custody, I hadn’t heard from my dad. Not until I got the call from his secretary that he had collapsed during a meeting. The anger suddenly subsided, and my heart softened. “How are you feeling, Dad?”

  Even though I know he can’t speak, his blinks at least let me know he hears me. When he looks at the table next to him, I track his gaze to a pen and pad. “You want to write?”

  Fast blinks and a grunt. Yes.

  I move the rolling table in front of him, and he moves his right arm, picking up the pen. Alfie is restless and bored, making noise over on the chair behind me as I wait to see what my dad writes.

  The paper is pushed toward me, and I pick it up. He’s never had particularly neat handwriting, but his struggle from the stroke is evident. The two words, though, are very clear. Two words I never thought I’d hear, much less read. But now that I’m seeing them and looking up at his tear-filled eyes, I realize they are all I need.

  I’m sorry.

  My tears fall, landing on the note and seeping into the paper. He holds his hand out, and just as I slip mine into his, his eyes close and his body shakes. Alarms sound, the ringing making me jump.

  Alfie pops up, pressing against me. “What’s happening, Hannah?”

  The terror in his voice causes me to turn and grab him, holding him to me. “I don’t know.”

  Nurses run in, the door propped open. One turns to me. “Please wait outside the room.”

  “No.”

  When she glances at Alfie, I realize it’s best for him. We wade through the nurses and get out just in time for the doctor to run in. Alfie asks, “What happened?”

  “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. Alfi
e 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.