Spark Page 3

  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.”

&nbs
p; 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.

  She had no money to fight my father for custody. His insurance company was booming, and she walked away with twenty dollars. I still consider her the lucky one because she got out. She remarried and had another kid when I was ten.

  But summers? They were ours. Summers with her were my favorite time of year. I realized I didn’t need to accept every negative word said to me. Some people, like my dad’s sister, Eileen, were just cruel and cold. Saying goodbye to my mother and little brother was the worst.

  And now? I’m stuck in the middle of a different custody battle, trying to save Alfie from drowning in the negativity. I want to show him the ocean, let him run free in the sunshine. I want him to feel like I felt in the summertime. Loved. Cherished. Affirmed.

  That’s the life I want to give him, the one he deserves. Cassie asked me to raise him in her absence, so I can’t expend energy where it won’t do me any good. I’ll need it for the battle ahead.

  Thinking of the energy I need, I finally pour my first cup of coffee and down one more while getting ready for the day.

  After texting Jet the time and place, I’ve gone through at least four outfits and none feel right. I take my aunt’s suggestion and pull a sky blue dress from the hanger, put it on, wrap my waist with a thin leather silver belt, and slip on a green sweater to end this battle. I slide on a pair of wedges because height means power, and if shoes give me any kind of advantage against Jet Crow, then I’ll take it.

  3

  Jet

  I could have asked one or both of my brothers to come with me, but I didn’t. This just feels like something I should do on my own.

  You don’t find out every day you have a kid. Feels right to find out first before he’s subjected to the crazy that are my brothers. If this kid is mine, I don’t want him overwhelmed. He might need time to adjust to me much less the Crow clan.

  Sitting in my truck, I stare at the building in front of me—DNA Testing Lab. Hannah said I’ll be able to tell he’s mine just by looking at him. If that’s true, then why did she ask me to meet her here?

  I guess it’s good to be sure.

  A familiar blue car pulls in a few spaces down from mine. I’m tempted to lean over and get a better look inside, but I don’t. I try to play it cool, but my heart’s thudding against my chest. I’m twenty-six years old, and the idea of being a dad is way out of my comfort zone. But if I am?

  Shit.

  Why am I so nervous?

  Hannah’s right. My whole life is about to change, but I think I’m okay with it.

  I pop the lock and get out. After closing the door, I run my hands down the front of my thighs. I’m nervous. I’m fucking nervous. I’m never nervous. I play in front of hundreds of people every night. I’ve played in front of thousands before and didn’t miss a beat.

  This is different. Today, I might be about to hop right on this parenting train and hope I don’t fuck this whole thing up. He lost his mother. For him, I’ll need to be both. I’ll need to be everything he needs and hope it’s enough.

  Not sure what to do, I put my hands in my pockets and wait in front of my car. Hannah gets out, and she steals my breath away. She’s springtime come to life in a pretty blue dress and green sweater. Her long brown hair is worn in a ponytail high on her head, and her lips are sweet pink.

  “Hi,” I dare to say, not sure how to react and trying not to sound like an idiot.

  “Hey. How are you?” she asks, walking to the back door and opening it.

  “Nervous.”

  She laughs. “Me too.” Turning her attention to the back seat, she says, “Come on, Alfie. It’s okay.”

  A little hand reaches up, and she holds it as he jumps out.

  This is it.

  I might have a son. I never thought this would be the way I’d meet my child.

  Did Cassie know she was pregnant the last time I saw her? Is that why she was so angry with me? Why she came at me after we had already broken up?

  Had she intended to tell me the last time I spoke to her, but instead, got mad and walked away? Was it anger that blinded her to what she knew she should do—tell me that she was pregnant with my child?

  Knowing I’ll never get answers is what drives me mad. I barely slept last night because the more I thought about this kid and how he needed his dad, the more I realized that maybe I needed him too. Maybe he was my redemption for all the trouble I’ve been in. Maybe he’s a gift from the heavens, my mom watching over my brothers and me and giving us something good again. Something we wouldn’t want to screw up. Something for me to make the changes we probably need to make with my life.

  Do I want to live my life content, or do I want to make it amazing?

  This doesn’t just affect my life, though. My brothers and the band will forever change—whether good or bad remains to be seen.

  I became the man of Mom’s house when she needed backup with my brothers. I became more after she died.

  I’ve played that role before, but this could be real. This could be my role for life. That’s a lot to take on when just last night I was fucking around on stage barely getting by paying my bills but loving every second of playing those songs in front of a crowd.

  I’m satisfied right now. Sure, I want more—a deal and some security—but this has
been a good life. I can live off what I’m paid to pursue my passion.

  I can’t if I’m supporting two. Kids have needs, expenses, and need more than love to give them the life they deserve.

  Am I equipped to do that? Am I ready to do it?

  I quit college after two years so Rivers and Tulsa could go—tough decisions a twenty-one-year-old had to make for the future of his family.

  I understand sacrifice. When needed, I’ve always found a way.

  Will that be enough?

  I’ve missed so much that I’m unsure if he’ll even accept me into his life at this point.

  Lying in bed last night, I couldn’t turn my brain off. I imagined every possible scenario when meeting Alfie.

  Will I be enough?

  What if he hates me?

  What if he’s a terror?

  What if . . .

  If he’s a Crow, that’s enough for me. There’s no way to predict how much things will change, but I’ll do my damned best for him, to do right by this kid.

  Standing here, my hands are sweating. Nothing prepared me for this.

  My nerves, my fears settle when I see his little face.

  It’s not bewilderment on his face, though. It’s recognition and a smile. While I stare at this kid like I’m seeing myself at that same age, he says, “I know you.”

  “You do?” I reply, my nerves put to rest.

  “Where’s your ka-tar?”

  Chuckling, I ask, “My guitar? It’s at home.” I kneel, though there’s still some distance between us. “Do you like the guitar, Alfie?”

  “I like music. Will you play for me?”

  “Sure. Anytime, buddy.” My gaze slides to Hannah. Standing back up, I ask, “Are you wanting proof?”

  Moving Alfie in front of her, she holds him as if she’s trying to keep him with her forever. “Are you?”

  I could go in and take a paternity test, but I don’t have to. Not only is Alfie a little version of me with his dark hair and the matching and frustrating cowlick at the crown of his head, but everything from his eye shape to dimples are versions of mine too. He may have the color of his mother’s eyes, but the rest is all me. “I don’t need it.”