Spark

by S. L. Scott

  “You’re ridiculous,” she says, giggling. “I’m going now.” She turns to go but doesn’t leave. Turning back, she rubs my shoulder. “Safe travels.”

  “Thanks. I’ll call you when I land.”

  This time, she does leave. The walk is slow, but I enjoy every step she takes. “A text will do, Jet.”

  “Fine. Text you later.”

  She waves over her shoulder, the bell above the door chiming when it’s opened. I’m about to get up, but the waitress stops back by and asks, “Are you going to let her get away?”

  “Not a chance.”

  14

  Jet

  My guitar goes everywhere I go. Even so, for some reason, I didn’t expect to play this weekend in California. I thought I’d be stuck in business meetings, working out a schedule, and finalizing our negotiations.

  We did most of that, but a few too many beers, a full moon, and a chance to jam with legends led to me with a cigarette hanging out the side of my mouth while rocking acoustically around a fire pit in Ojai.

  The Crow Brothers will never forget this night. Never in a million years did I think I’d be getting drunk with the members of The Resistance much less playing music with them.

  Saturday night in the wee hours of the morning, my brothers, Johnny, Kaz, a guitarist, Dex, a drummer, and I are still up. Derrick, the fourth member and guitarist, went to bed with his woman a few hours ago, and Tommy’s crashed on the couch inside.

  Johnny stands with his guitar slung over his shoulder and a shot of whiskey in hand. “It’s been fun, but I want to put a baby in my wife.”

  Among the laughter, Dex says, “You try to put a baby in Holli while you’re drunk, and your ass is grass and sleeping under the stars.”

  “She can’t resist me, except if I stay out here until the sun comes up.” He stands and points. “It comes up over that clearing if you hang out a few more hours.” He shakes our hands before adding wood to the pit. “Kaz, take care of the fire.”

  “On it.”

  He downs the shot and tosses the red cup in the trash. “See you tomorrow, gentlemen.”

  Dex stands next. “I’m out. See you in the morning.”

  When it’s Kaz, Tulsa, and Rivers left around the pit with me, Kaz says, “We stay out here sometimes when we’re writing songs or recording.” Kicking his feet up on the low rustic rock wall, he looks up at the stars. “Johnny’s studio is outfitted with the best production equipment in LA. Plus, it’s quiet out here, away from the paparazzi and fans. The privacy gives us a bit of peace.” Turning to me, he says, “You’ll like it out here. Anyway, it’s easier than making the drive back to LA, especially if we’ve been drinking.”

  Tulsa asks, “What about women?”

  Twisting a bottle cap between his fingers, Kaz flicks it into the fire. “No single women around here.”

  I ask, “What’s your story?”

  “Happy. Lara’s career has taken off, so she’s busy. My schedule isn’t too bad when I’m home. If we’re recording or on tour, it’s tougher, but she flies out or I’ll fly home if we have a day or two off. Any of you hooked up already?”

  Laughing, Tulsa replies, “I’ve got a phone full of special someones.” Squeezing Rivers’s shoulder, he knocks him a bit. “What about you, Riv? Where you been sneaking off to so much lately?”

  “I haven’t been sneaking anywhere.” He looks down, messing with a blade of grass. Rivers is the quietest Crow Bro. He opens up slower, not like Tulsa who is wide open for the world to know all his business.

  Rivers is honest and can’t seem to lie to save his life or protect his privacy, so I ask him directly, “Are you seeing anyone on the regular?”

  “There might be someone.”

  That sends the guys to howl over the juicy information. “I knew it, fucker,” Tulsa says and then downs his beer.

  Rivers says, “I’m not telling you assholes anything more, so you might as well move the conversation along to Jet and Hannah.”

  My body stills when I hear her name, my heart beating a little harder.

  Kaz shows interest and sits up. “What’s the story with Hannah?”

  “Fucker,” I mumble under my breath to Rivers while shaking my head. Hannah is always in the corner of my mind, hiding in the recesses and coming into the light when I’m alone with too much time to think.

  She keeps me in the loop with anything to do with Alfie and makes sure he’s available to talk at eleven each day and again at six forty-five for me to say good night. He loves his time with her, but he’s vocal about missing me. I miss him too. But if I’m not with him, having them together gives me a weird sense of peace and comfort.

  “She helps me with my son, watching him while I’m gone.”

  Kaz doesn’t know the history, though it’s a short one, involving Alfie and Hannah. I’m not sure it’s wise to get into it either since I’ve been drinking. Liquor lowers my walls, and it becomes hard to keep my inner thoughts out of the story. It’s like a bad editorial that will make me sound like an idiot.

  Tulsa laughs. “He likes her.”

  “I don’t like her. Just because she’s good with my kid, thoughtful, and gorgeous . . .” The flames of the fire flicker, fueling my feelings. “Has the clearest blue eyes or the cloudiest grays, lips that I turned from pink to red and swollen.” I close my eyes as a million little stolen moments with her feel real once again. She has this tattoo on her right side, near the top of her ribs. It’s not visible to anyone unless she’s naked and twisted around your body, but damn, it felt like I had conquered new land when I discovered that tiny lotus flower. She made me feel new too. “The way she looks at me like I can do no wrong when all I do is fuck up—”

  Opening my eyes I find three pairs staring back at me. No one is laughing. There are no side conversations. Shit. “What?”

  Kaz is on his feet and shoveling dirt on the fire. “Nothing, man,” he replies, chuckling a bit. “I’m going to bed.” He moves around the pit and tosses his can in the trash bin nearby. Before he leaves, he says, “I’m no expert on women, but deep down, I knew when it was right even before I admitted it to myself. Sounds like Hannah might be as good for you as she is for your son. Just my two cents. Night.”

  Rivers is the first to stand. “C’mon, brothers. Let’s get some sleep. I have a feeling tomorrow’s going to be busier than they’ve let on. We dealt with the business side of things this morning. Tonight was about getting to know us. Tomorrow, we show them who we are as a band.”

  Just past the pool, the guesthouse on the property is about three times larger than my house. Made of stone and custom woodwork that Johnny helped not only design but also build in his free time. He told me earlier in the day to find a hobby that takes my mind off the job.

  My hobby has always been music.

  “Music is a passion that business will destroy if you let it. Protect it,” he said. “Find some other way to release the aggression, so when you’re playing your guitar or writing a new song, your head is clear of the shit storm.”

  I’ll hold onto any advice from him. With the hell he’s been through and the price he’s paid to find his place not just in music but in his own life, he knows what he’s talking about.

  Tulsa talks Rivers into a game of pool in the living room. My head is swimming after all the drinking, so I make my way upstairs to the bedroom where I dropped my bag earlier. After setting my guitar back in its case, I pull my phone from my pocket, letting liquid courage control my fingers instead of my mind, and text Hannah: I know you’re not awake, but I was thinking about you.

  A text buzzes back, bringing a smug ass smile to my face. It reads: Was?

  I’m quick to reply: Am.

  She replies: Why are you thinking about me?

  Me: How are you?

  Hannah: Alfie’s fine, if that’s what you’re asking.

  Me: I’m not. I know he’s in good hands when he’s with you. I was asking about you.

  I don’t like the lo
ng pause. She was fast in replying and now nothing. I crossed a line. Fuck whiskey. It really makes me do stupid shi—my phone lights up with a response: I’m fine. You?

  Me: Drunk.

  Hannah: You should probably go to bed before you say something you’ll regret.

  Me: I’ll just add it to the tally.

  Hannah: I have a few of my own to reckon with.

  Me: Tell me one of yours, and I’ll tell you one of mine.

  Hannah: Maybe one day I’ll show you.

  Me: I like the sound of that.

  Hannah: I have to get up soon. You should go to bed.

  Me: I should, but I don’t want to. Let’s talk until the sun comes up. I heard it would be soon.

  Hannah. LOL. You are drunk. I’m going back to bed.

  Me: Wish I was there.

  Hannah: That’s what I was talking about. Go to bed.

  I meant my bed and being with Alfie and hanging out with Hannah, but I don’t correct her. She’s right as well, so I type: Good night, Hannah.

  Hannah: Good night, Jet.

  I drop the phone next to me on the mattress and close my eyes; memories of her bare before me come easy when I let my mind drift. More than her skin was exposed that night. Her mind and heart were wide open for me.

  The needle of the record player had been skipping at the end of the album long enough for the sound to create a calming lullaby. I thought she was asleep when I got out of bed to smoke, but she rolled over to face me, that sadness in her eyes from earlier back and permeating the room.

  “Why are you so sad?” I asked, truly wanting to know her deepest thoughts, thoughts I had no right to hear.

  She smiled. God, how I loved seeing that smile. “You can’t fix it, so it doesn’t matter.”

  Since we left the bar, my heart had been beating in ways I tried to hide, ways that were loud in my ears and heavy in my chest. I haven’t known her long enough to share feelings attaching too fast. “It matters to me.”

  “If I told you, Jet, you’d be sad too. I like how you are.”

  “How am I?”

  She climbed out of bed, and her hair was messy. The black that rimmed her eyes had spread beneath her lower lids and her body naked. Fucking breathtaking.

  She came to me while I was smoking by the window and held out two fingers, a silent request for the cigarette. “The overcast I need, and the storm I crave.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “Worse,” she replied, her gaze turning down.

  I took hold of her hand, denying her what she originally wanted and giving her what she needed.

  I tilted my head and took a long drag, holding the cig between my thumb and index finger. Running my other hand over her smooth ass, I pulled her forward, encouraging her to sit on my lap. I expected her to turn around and rest on me, but she didn’t.

  Sexy fucking nymph.

  Hannah straddled me and clasped my face between her hands. Kissing me, she urged my lips to part, and the smoke flowed between us.

  Her tongue controlling mine, her body started rocking on top of me. She was damp, so wet for me, making me feel possessive, yearning to take her in ways I probably shouldn’t since we’d just met. But damn, when she started grinding harder, my whole body craved her. It would have been so easy to slip inside that slick little pussy, so easy to let her fuck me, her tits bouncing in my face until I pinched those taut pink nipples, causing her to cry out for more.

  Fuuuck.

  “Get a condom, baby.”

  She got up and sauntered across the room, not shy about her body. She had nothing to be shy about. The woman was dangerous curves and tits that begged to be held, squeezed, and fucked.

  The needle was moved, and the music began to play again, blending in with the winds that snuck their way in through the crack between the window and the sill.

  The moonlight that shone inside highlighted the golden strands of her hair hidden by night. Clustered tips grazed over the pink buds of her breasts as she walked.

  When she returned to me, she knelt, her tongue running over her bottom lip. Her grip was tight around my hard cock. Lifting up, she licked the tip but held out her hand again. “Share,” she requested, wanting my smoke.

  “No. You’re too beautiful to taint yourself.”

  I hated when she fucking looked away, the confident woman disappearing under a cloud of self-doubt. “It’s an illusion, Jet. Makeup, clothes, and alcohol.”

  “I was talking about the beauty inside.”

  She sat back, seeming to ponder my words as she watched me. I didn’t mind silence except when I was with her. Could she hear the thundering of my heart or see my thoughts? Would she forgive me for trespassing against the façade she had in place? Every touch of her body made me crave another until I was buried deep inside again.

  Slender fingers with bad intentions crawled over my thighs and she lifted up. Her mouth covered me again, taking my erection deep inside her.

  Setting the remainder of the burning cigarette in the ashtray, I slid my hands into her hair, wanting to get lost in her for hours. It would only be minutes. A mere mortal had no defenses in the presence of a goddess like her.

  As good as her lips felt wrapped around me, her tongue teasing, I wanted to kiss her while I made love and watch her pretty face while I fucked her until she released that sadness holding her captive.

  Watching her take me deep and slide back up, I wasn’t going to last. She felt too good, too hot, too wet, making me think about how damp she was between her legs.

  She’d steal peeks every time she came up and close her eyes on the way down. I remember thinking that heaven can’t feel better.

  I was too close, but I managed to stop her, making her wait impatiently until I was sheathed. Then I lifted her by the shoulders until she was seated on my lap, her body embracing the hardest part of me. “Fuck,” I muttered with my head falling back as one hand wove into her hair. Bringing her lips to mine, I didn’t kiss her. I seduced her mouth with mine, my tongue finding a new home in the welcoming warmth twisted with hers.

  I came.

  I came.

  I came when she came, her body choking everything from me—hidden emotions, an orgasm, and a confession that shouldn’t have been voiced. “Stay,” I whispered. “Stay with me.”

  . . . Just like that night, my body betrays me too quickly. I don’t find peace in this California bedroom because Hannah may be fifteen hundred miles away, but our unsettled business remains.

  I release my cock, my orgasm hitting hard and covering my stomach while I was lost in a past that will only ever be a memory. My breathing evens and my lids are heavy.

  Meandering my way into the bathroom, I clean up, and then fall back into bed. Picking up my phone, I text her: I once met a woman who for one night turned my world inside out.

  Hannah: You were lucky it was only for one night. I’m still recovering.

  A grin slides into place. I thought she’d be asleep, but I’m glad she’s not. I reply: Maybe one day we’ll find a cure.

  I’m tempted to add together but don’t.

  I wait but no reply comes, so I close my eyes. I’m about to drift off to sleep, but then my phone buzzes in my hand. Holding the phone above my head, her text reads: Maybe.

  Maybe is not a no. I’ll take it from the girl with sad eyes. I’ll take that maybe and turn it into a yes one day.

  15

  Hannah

  I have to stop thinking about him.

  My body is sticky. My mind still in a haze as my body recovers.

  Maybe—That was not a good text to send. It could give hope or imply that there could be more between us. Maybe he’ll take it how it was meant—that one day, I’ll find the man made for me, and my history with my ex and with Jet will be replaced with new memories.

  Eileen should know my plans. I’ve not been brave enough to tell her that I’ve decided to work for him. It’s in the name of Alfie, but still, I dread her reaction. No matter how I spin it
, she’ll shoot bullets right through it.

  My family would tell me it’s wrong to remember that night like it was yesterday, like we don’t have problems and debts to pay.

  Jet’s right.

  He sees right through me. The conflict I try hard to hide that comes in bouts of anger or softens in the light of his kind eyes. I struggle to see him as bad when I only remember the good.

  An ultimatum was thrown down during an alcohol-fueled rage, my aunt and dad worse when they’re together. My father never takes my side, which is one of the reasons I left the first time.

  They’re not good solo but get them together, and they’re vicious. Two bitter and angry individuals . . . I’m terrible. I’m a terrible niece and a worse daughter. I have to remember that Eileen is grieving. She just makes it so hard sometimes.

  I just can’t play along anymore. This turmoil is destroying me, stealing my sanity. I hate the hate I’m expected to feel toward him, but they’re determined to make Jet Crow enemy number one of the Barnett and Nichols families. I’m told I have to save Alfie from the big bad wolf.

  I’ve realized there are days when I’m not exactly certain who that is. But I’m torn.

  I’m so torn between the two sides, the divide too great to bridge.

  Would he really abandon Cassie when she was pregnant?

  Would he walk away without a second thought of his child? He said he didn’t know about him.

  Not the man I see, the one I’m getting to know. Jet would have been there for her, like he is for Alfie now. How can I doubt him, though? From the moment he believed Alfie was his, he has fought for him. Fought to keep him. To raise him. To love him. He’s a good man.

  But can I really be considered a good judge of character? Especially when sexy musicians make me lose my better judgment. For the family, it’s probably best if I keep things strictly professional.

  Is that even possible? I’ve seen him carrying the burdens of the custody case. And I’ve witnessed happiness etched on his face so deep that I smiled just because he was while teaching Alfie to play guitar, and eyes with fire inside burning with desire for me. I’ve seen so many sides to this complicated man that sexy musician seems shallow compared to who he really is.