Spark

by S. L. Scott

  “Okay. Okay.” He sits up when he sees the guys walk in. “Shit. I feel like our entire future hinges on this meeting, and we don’t even know if they want us.”

  “It’s just a meeting,” I repeat, trying to kid myself. “That’s all.”

  Johnny and Tommy walk in, but Tommy stops and turns back, that guy who was pestering them last night at the bar trailing them. Tommy directs him out the door while Johnny looks at ease as he works his way over. A meeting. That’s all, I remind myself once more before standing up. After we all greet each other, we sit back down.

  Johnny says, “Thanks for meeting us.”

  It’s not like you get asked to meet with rock legends every day, but I play it off and shrug. “Yeah, of course.”

  “Tommy’s coming. We were followed from the hotel.”

  “I saw. Everything all right?”

  “Tommy will handle it.” He lowers his voice. “Anyway, as I said last night, Tommy and I really like your sound. We’ve started a label—Outlaw Records—and we want to sign a few bands that fit what we’re looking for.”

  “And you think we might be a good fit?” I drag the palms of my hands down my jeans, anxious to hear the answer.

  “No,” he replies. “We don’t think. We know.”

  Tulsa is the ideal poker opponent because he can’t contain his reactions. “No way! Really?”

  I kick his shoe, but Rivers and I are laughing. I like to visit cloud nine like Tulsa has always had the freedom to do. As the oldest, I had to be responsible. I went through bouts of the opposite, but for the most part, I stepped up when our father stepped out.

  Tommy joins us, leaning forward, and asks, “You put out an EP, but have you gone through the process for a full album before?”

  The waiter takes our order before I can answer. When we’re alone again, I reply, “We’ve started several times. We could have done one for ego and gotten a few local shops to carry it and uploaded it online, but we wanted to do an album when it was right and had some coverage. That’s not happened for us yet, and it’s too expensive to do on our own right now.”

  Tulsa adds, “We almost signed with a label once after playing South by Southwest, but the contract sucked, so we didn’t.”

  “Smart. Don’t sell your soul to sell a song.” Johnny picks up the water in front of him and takes a long pull before saying, “I think that’s what makes us unique. We’ve been there. We started from nothing, literally playing keggers and dive bars. My band played anywhere that paid or gave us exposure. We’re not looking to fuck over the artist.”

  Rivers says, “To be blunt, though, what’s in it for you?”

  Johnny replies, “We’ll help protect your interests and long-term royalties, but this is a business. If we’re sharing our connections, from producers to marketing, and fronting the costs, we need to make money on the back end. It’s all in the contract, and we can have it sent over.”

  I say, “Send it over. We’d like to see it.”

  Tommy says, “No problem. We’ll get one out to you tomorrow.”

  Johnny leans in. “I’d like to produce the album myself. I’ll be there in the studio with you developing and growing the sound.”

  I glance at Tulsa who is staring wide-eyed and shocked. I lean forward and lower my voice. “Why do you want to work with us? And what is the offer that you’re setting down on the table?”

  Tommy clears his throat, and then replies, “Five-year contract, two albums, possibly three based on sales of the first two. We work like the publishing world works. You’ll get an advance and a negotiated percentage of royalties after we recoup our investment.”

  Johnny adds, “We want to be a label that works with the artist, not against them. We need you making music and doing interviews. Basically, showing up every day ready to play, learn, and create. We’re not talking part-time work here. A lot goes into making a successful album, and we’d rather have you focused on that than figuring out how you’re going to pay your bills.”

  Rivers says, “Sounds amazing, but wanting our undivided attention needs to pay the bills.”

  The side of Johnny’s mouth slides up. Tommy outright laughs, hitting Johnny on the back. “I like these guys. They remind me of you, Dex, and Cory.” Then he turns back to us. “It’s all negotiable. Doesn’t mean we’ll accept the counteroffer, but it will cover your normal living expenses.”

  Tulsa asks, “What’s the downside?”

  Johnny sits back and replies, “We record in LA, and you’ll be in the studio daily until the album’s cut.”

  “I have a son,” I say. I don’t even know where that comes from. The case with Alfie is fragile at best with no determined outcome, but the words don’t feel entirely foreign like they used to.

  “I have a son named James,” he adds.

  “Mine is Alfred. We call him Alfie.”

  “That’s an old-fashioned name. After a relative?”

  Pausing, I answer as honestly as I can without revealing too much, “Mother’s choice.”

  “Cool. So what are your thoughts on working out a deal?”

  Tulsa nudges me, but when I look at Rivers, some of the excitement has worn off. He understands the situation with me is complicated, but he also knows that Alfie isn’t just a factor; he’s the only thing that matters. Until I have answers, I can’t make a decision.

  “I’m not sure what to say. I mean, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not sure how to swing living bi-coastal. My son will be living with me full time. There’s just a lot to work out.” I pause, but then add, “His mother recently passed away.”

  Johnny’s the first to speak. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Nodding, I crack my knuckles under the table. “So am I. The rest is . . . complicated.”

  There’s a pause in the conversation until Tommy says, “All great songs come from somewhere deep. I’m sure there’s a song in there somewhere.”

  Johnny says, “We won’t say no based on not having the answers right now. The last thing we want is to cause a problem for you.”

  Tommy sits back, his body sinking against the chair. “I’m sure we can find some options to handle the transition and get you some help. If you’re seriously considering the offer, then let us get back to LA and talk to our business manager.” He glances at Johnny. “Rochelle might have some ideas.”

  Johnny seems to be mulling over the suggestion. “She’ll get you what you need, but I’d like to know what your initial thoughts are after hearing the loose details.”

  Rivers speaks up first, “I can’t lie. Making music where I don’t have to worry about my bills sounds damn good.”

  Tulsa adds, “We’re getting the shot we’ve always wanted from musicians we’ve respected most of our lives.”

  Shaking his head, Johnny laughs. “We’re not that old.”

  He has a great sense of humor. “There’s no doubt we want to work with you guys.” Rivers’s shoe hits the toe of mine, nudging me on. “My kid is a priority. I have to do what’s best for him, so send us your offer and we’ll consider our options.”

  The food is delivered, and Johnny says, “I miss Tex-Mex food so fucking much. With business out of the way, let’s eat.”

  Conversation over the meal is full of laughs and music talk. I like Johnny and Tommy. As famous as Johnny Outlaw is, fame hasn’t gone to his head. His drive is obvious, and his passion is seen and heard when he talks about music as an art, something internal that possesses a part of one’s soul.

  I know what he means. It didn’t matter that I quit college as long as I had music. I didn’t need to be rich because I was living a good life.

  After stuffing ourselves, they head for the airport, and we head home. On the drive, Tulsa says, “It’s everything we’ve been working for, Jet.”

  I hear the concern in his voice, the future pending based on mine. I hate that I’m the reason for his worry. “The advance might cover rent and hiring someone to help me with Alfie when we play gigs, or when
we’re in the studio.”

  From the back seat, Rivers asks, “When we need to be in LA, he can come with us?”

  I’m already tearing him away from the home he knows. Can I take him to LA for three weeks as well? “I’m already stressed about the hearing. Let’s wait to hear about custody before planning. We’ll know before we receive the contracts.”

  “What about the offer?” Tulsa asks, but I already see that shit-eating grin on his face. He knows what I’m going to say before I even say it.

  I glance at Rivers, and my grin can’t be hidden. “If it’s decent money, and they seemed like they wouldn’t screw us over, then we just scored ourselves a deal.”

  Reaching out the window, he bangs his hand on the side of the truck and hollers. “Look at us now.”

  Rivers adds, “The Crow Brothers are heading for the big time. LA or bust, baby.”

  6

  Jet

  Staring down into the wide green eyes of my son, tears threaten mine while my hand tightens around his. He asks, “Does that make me a Crow?”

  I tap his nose. “You’ve always been a Crow, but you’re lucky to have such a cool last name like Barnett.” Kneeling, I add, “Looks like you’re coming home with me, little man.”

  He smiles, reassuring me, reminding me of his mother. Cassie and I were casual, or so I thought. I guess she was a little more serious than I was even though I’ve never had a bad thought about her. She told me I broke her heart, so when she kicked me to the curb, I was left dumbfounded. I thought I must have deserved it, that I wasn’t good enough for her. Back then, I was all ego and attitude on the surface, but on the inside, I was struggling to deal with my mother’s death. I’m not sure I’m any better now, but let’s hope so since I was just given a chance to earn full custody of this little human.

  I’ve thought a lot about the time I spent with Cassie, thinking of this child and wishing I’d known she was pregnant before we went our separate ways.

  Alfred Jet Barnett.

  My son was born eight months after the fight that ended us for good.

  Almost seven years later, he gives my hand a little squeeze and says, “It’ll be okay. I’ll make ramen noodles.”

  “You know how to make ramen?”

  “Yes. Hannah says it’s good, and they make us feel less sad on bad days.”

  “Are you having a bad day?”

  “I was happy, but then I saw Grandma and Hannah. They’re sad. That makes me sad.”

  “They want what’s best for you. We all decided that for the time being that all of us getting time with you will be best.” Glancing across the aisle of the courtroom, the woman whose happiness was traded for mine stands staring down at her hands. I miss those hands, the softness of her hands against the roughness of mine.

  Fuck. It’s not just her hands I miss.

  I miss her.

  She pulls a tissue from her pocket and wipes her eyes, making me feel bad for how things turned out, my heart hurting for hers. It makes me wonder how she would feel about me if she had won.

  We didn’t know how entangled our lives were when we first met. They’ve become more twisted since. When our eyes meet now, I understand the sadness I saw in them then, but I’ve layered more troubles to make them grayer.

  Alfie is my son, though. I get that Hannah Nichols is protective of him. She was there when I wasn’t, but it wasn’t by my choice but his mother’s. I’m here now, and it wouldn’t be right to let someone else raise him when I created him. He’s not just a responsibility. He’s a part of me.

  Hannah may be sad to lose him full time, but we’re both stuck in this odd temporary arrangement of shared custody for the next two months. I’m determined to make her see that I can be what he needs long after this deal expires.

  When I stand, she leaves her aunt’s side, comes over, and bends in front of Alfie. Taking his free hand, she says, “My number is in your bag. Call me anytime you want—day or night. If you need anything—”

  I say, “I’ll make sure he gets whatever he needs.”

  Standing up, she tightens her mouth into a straight line, her eyes blazing with the things she wants to say. Her tongue is still slick, willing to burn me with an insult. “You’re new to parenting.”

  “I’ll learn.”

  “What happens when he gets a fever?”

  “I’ll call his doctor.”

  “What about if he falls off his bike?”

  Crossing my arms over my chest in annoyance, I reply, “I’ll make sure he’s wearing a helmet before getting on.”

  “And if he scrapes his knee?”

  “Then he scrapes his knee and we’ll bandage it.”

  “What about—”

  “Is this a pop quiz?”

  Her shoulders fall, and she looks down. “I’m sorry. I just—”

  That’s when I see her, the real her, the girl I once knew for a night when the world wasn’t trying to ruin everything good we had. Reaching out, I touch her wrist, tempted to encircle it with my hand. It’s small enough, at least in comparison. It’s probably just a memory making me want things I can’t have. I shove down my personal wants because they don’t matter anymore. When she looks up, I say, “I understand. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

  Her aunt snaps, “Hannah.”

  “I’ll be right there,” she replies, looking back. Eileen Barnett has not said two words to me since she walked in. She barely acknowledges my existence, but she had plenty of nasty things to tell the judge while I sat there and bit my tongue.

  All of it bullshit she’s made up in her head.

  I defended myself as if I was charged with the crime of taking her daughter out on a few dates. I was nineteen when I met Cassie. I wasn’t in love, but I liked her a lot. Her mother never approved of me, and even then, my gut told me she was behind the change in Cassie’s feelings for me too.

  Hannah dips down again to hug Alfie, so tight as if she’ll never see him again. Desperation coats her voice and mingles with the tears she’s stifling. “I’ll see you in a few days, okay?”

  “Okay,” he replies with his arms around her neck. He kisses her on the head and smiles. “I’m going to make ramen noodles for Jet. Just like I make for you.”

  “Your specialty.” Her smile is wide, but I can see it’s put on for him. When she stands again, she says to me, “Two days. Please have him ready at noon.”

  “We’re not enemies, Hannah.”

  Her hands fly to cover Alfie’s ears, and she grits her teeth. “Don’t talk about us in front of him. There is not an ‘us’ except when it comes to him. For him, we have to stand as a united front, not talk of being enemies.”

  Her anger is palpable, but I have a feeling it’s more than anger she’s feeling. The pain is heard in her voice. I want to make her feel better, to ease the heartbreak that rivals her joy, but I also have a right to spend time with my son and a chance to get to know him without an audience judging everything I do. Time with him was stolen from me prior to now, and I intend to make up for it. “We should get going.”

  Stepping back, she gives us space. “You have my number if you have any questions, Mr. Crow.” We’re back to Mr. Crow again?

  “You don’t have to be formal with me. Jet will do.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  She was damn sure of my name when she called it out three times. “It seems our past is clearly another time and place, far from this reality.”

  Reaching to cover Alfie’s ears again, she snaps, “I made a mistake.”

  Her claws come out when she feels threatened. Good to know. “We weren’t a mistake. You may have walked away that day, but I could see it meant more than you were letting on. You were just too caught up in your head to recognize what we were.”

  “Caught up in my head? My cousin was fighting for her life. I’ve not had the luxury of being caught up in my own head in longer than I can remember. So don’t come at me like we were more than . . .” She stops talking and lo
oks around. Her aunt is impatiently waiting at the doors to leave. Her hands tighten over Alfie’s ears, who’s looking a little annoyed, and she whispers, “For Alfie’s sake and mine, let’s forget anything ever happened between us.”

  Impossible, sweet Hannah. She really has no clue . . . Leaning in, I whisper in her ear, “It will be hard to forget one of the best nights of my life, but I guess I’ll try.”

  My confession seems to catch her off guard. Her lips part as I pull back, and she stares into my eyes. Just when I think she’s about to say something, she takes a deep breath instead and drops her hands to her sides. “He should be in bed by seven, and his favorite nightlight is in the bag. Make sure he brushes his teeth both morning and ni—”

  “Got it. See you Friday.”

  Alfie smiles. “Bye, Hannah.”

  “Love you,” she says, causing me to look back. Her eyes dart from Alfie’s to mine.

  “Love you, too,” he replies as we walk out of the courtroom and into the lobby where my brothers have been waiting. He’s looking around, over his shoulder, and back down the open lobby. I know he’s looking for his grandma. “Where’s Grandma?”

  Though I wish she didn’t, she can hate me all she wants, but Alfie, he doesn’t deserve anything less than love and support. “I don’t know, buddy. Maybe she’s outside. Let’s go look.”

  Rivers says, “Go get the truck, Tulsa.”

  Tulsa doesn’t question the order. He feels the tension. We all do.

  When we exit, she’s still nowhere to be found. I really hope she doesn’t make this situation worse by her actions, judging by her words inside.

  My brother’s Bronco is parked at the curb, so we follow Rivers down the steps. I stop Alfie just out of hearing distance from everybody else and squat so I’m at eye level. “My home is your home. Are you ready to go see it?”

  Out of the corners of my eyes, I see her walking to her car in the distance. Her aunt is waving her hands, furious if I’m reading her body language correctly. “Hey, there’s your grandma.”

  “Grandma,” he shouts, dashing toward her.

  Standing there, I watch carefully. I won’t let her hurt him. He won’t be a casualty in her war. I’m relieved when she hugs him. He jumps up into Hannah’s arms, and she squeezes him tight, just as tight as he hugs her.