Jump Then Fall

by Alyssia Kirkhart

I opened my eyes, gazed up at the pale blue sky. “My name is Harper Elaine Evans.” My teeth chattered as I spoke in a whisper. “I’m eighteen years old, and I’m pregnant. I don’t know how to be a mom.” I paused to take a breath. “I also don’t know how to be a daughter to a criminal father.”

  Then I shut my eyes again, because it was all suddenly too much. The life I had, the mother who didn’t want me, a father I no longer fully knew. College, Lawson, the baby…

  Stop.

  “Head. Under. Control.” I ground my back teeth together. I couldn’t give in. Couldn’t give fear, or chaos for that matter, the satisfaction of besting me.

  Get up. I wasn’t certain whose voice it was. For certain it wasn’t mine. But it was there, clearer than anything. Urging my body to move. Urging me to keep going.

  Get. Up.

  Forcing myself up off the ground, I took a breath. Another and another until I found a modicum of calm. Clucked and patted my leg for Bella to follow. She did, tongue lolling, ears flying behind her head like a little girl’s bob hairstyle. She was so cute. Right on my heels as I stepped inside, her toes pitter-pattered across the tile floor to where Lawson had placed a water bowl. We had several all over the house. Apparently, he was concerned about hydration.

  “Worked up a thirst, did ya?” I wiped my face, tight with dried tears. “Come on.”

  Lawson wasn’t around, but I could hear him speaking to someone. Maybe Katie, maybe Darlene. I’d heard a car pull up in the drive while I’d been outside. Doubtless his mother had thoughts about all that had happened. Lawson had spoken to her briefly while we were in Ohio. Though I could tell by the tone of his voice that she wasn’t happy on the other end of the phone, it was clear Darlene trusted her son. But we hadn’t told her about the baby yet. Lawson wanted to do it together, maybe over dinner.

  The thought made me nervous as hell.

  Darlene and I had had a decent first meeting. But a lot had happened since then, and while it shouldn’t’ve mattered what Lawson’s mother thought of me, somehow it did.

  It mattered a great deal.

  The conversation continued as I attempted to follow the voices. Low, constant. A clear of a throat, Lawson’s.

  When I got to the kitchen, I stopped at the door.

  Katie was there, yes. But so was Jenna. And Lawson. And Lawson was close to Jenna or she was close to him or maybe they were just standing near one another, but why would they be? It was a big kitchen. Whatever the scene, their arms were almost touching. And that, too—that, too, was way too much.

  We’d just done the livestream. People wanted them back together. They didn’t like me. They didn’t want me with him. They wanted their star-crossed couple. The couple that looked good in photos and videos and whatever other fictions fans had created in their own minds.

  “Harper,” Katie said on an exhale. “Are you okay?”

  I looked to Lawson, who was hanging his head, staring at the clean tile floor. “I think the question is are you okay? What’s going on?” I took a single step forward. “Lawson?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Jenna’s lips pinched, and she breathed a sigh out of her nose. Her attention turned to Lawson. She set a hand to his back. A gesture of comfort. Of familiarity.

  Tendrils of dejection crawled up my throat, same way they did when the lieutenant called me with the news about Dad.

  “We just got a phone call from the label,” said Katie. “Lawson had three interviews scheduled over the next two days. To talk about new material, the possibility of another tour.”

  “Had,” I repeated.

  Lawson jammed his fingers in the front pockets of his jeans. Sniffed. Jenna’s hand was still on his back. Why was she touching him? Why was he letting her?

  “He also had a show this weekend at a café on the strip,” Katie continued. “Small, invitation-only. A chance for people to hear what he’s been writing.”

  Again. Had. “I don’t understand,” I said quietly.

  “They all cancelled.” Jenna. Her tone snipped, accusing. Her eyes glared at me, as if it was all my fault. As if I was the root of every problem in the room.

  And maybe I was. If I hadn’t come along, if Savana hadn’t introduced me and Lawson that night, none of this would’ve happened. Lawson’s reputation would’ve still been intact. Flawless. Sparkling. Unbreakable.

  “They can’t take the risk on their own reputations,” Katie explained. To her credit, she was trying to be gentle. However, I knew the truth.

  Katie was teeming with anger. I saw it in the slight tremor in her eyes, the rise of color in her cheeks. As a divorced woman in her thirties on a sole income, she was undoubtedly prepared to show her claws and defend her job—and Lawson’s—at any cost.

  I couldn’t blame her for that.

  Jenna’s voice rose from the cacophony in my head. “So, congratulations,” she said. “You’ve successfully ruined his career.”

  I fell silent. Mouth agape.

  “Jenna,” Katie chastised, but there was an edge to her voice. As if she’d been thinking the same thing but didn’t have the courage to say it out loud.

  “I need some air.” Lawson took off walking.

  None of us tried to stop him.

  chapter twenty-six

  Lawson

  Fame was never what I really wanted. As a kid from Foix, Louisiana, dreaming big equated to working your way up to the manager of a chain store or landing a job with benefits and a 401K. We knew college existed and, yeah, some kids went, but few survived. College wasn’t pushed, because no one could afford it. And there was no such thing as a full ride, unless a kid got a sports scholarship, which was impossible, as our high school hadn’t had a sports team for well-over a century.

  Which meant if you wanted to get out, you needed nothing short of a hail-Mary miracle.

  Mine came not when Mama had sent off the second or third or twentieth demo, or after I’d won first place at a youth talent show in Baton Rouge.

  It was at a bluegrass festival in Houma.

  Admission was free. I’d gone to observe, to listen, maybe get in on a few jam sessions. It was more incredible than I’d imagined. One of the pivotal moments of my life. Meeting fellow musicians, learning new runs, adding harmony vocals here and there. Never had I felt more in my element. Hours passed and I’d played at two, maybe three camper-trailers when the bassist of one of the headliners approached me. He explained their lead guitarist had gotten sick and asked if I could fill in. Elated, I’d said yes, of course. Thank you for the opportunity. An hour’s worth of practice later, we took the stage.

  Put plainly, that was the end of life as I knew it.

  The guys in the band were cool, appreciative. When they urged me to perform one of my own songs, I thought for sure I’d collapse from nervousness.

  I started singing, strumming, and the band came in as if we’d been practicing together for months. Heads began to turn. Conversations ceased mid-sentence. The small crowd responded like nothing I’d seen up until that point. Teenagers who’d obviously been dragged there by either their parents or grandparents were suddenly flocking to the front of the stage, staring up at me, cheering and swaying to the music.

  When the song ended and I looked over my shoulder to offer the mic to another member of the band, they shook their heads, waved me off, encouraged me to keep going.

  So, I did.

  In the blazing mid-July heat, sweat pouring down our faces, making our clothes stick to our skin, we held the stage for two and a half hours. I played until I couldn’t feel my fingertips. Until I’d begun to go hoarse. With no real vocal lessons, I didn’t know the first thing about taking care of my voice. Didn’t matter. I’d never had so much fun. Never felt so high, feeding off the crowd’s energy.

  The co-chairman of my record label saw me that day. Gave me his card, spoke to Mama about moving to Nashville. I could record in a real studio, he said. Possibly write for other artists. He’d seen a lot of talent in his ti
me, discovered some of the most famous faces, given them their big breaks. But none had impressed him as I had that afternoon on a rickety old stage in Podunk, Louisiana.

  I was fourteen years old.

  I hadn’t thought of being famous. Didn’t really understand it. The way people acted over celebrities? While I had heroes of my own—Garth Brooks, Tim McGraw, George Strait—I couldn’t fathom that ever being me. Even three years after mom and I moved to Nashville, after I’d recorded and released my first album and watched in awe as it bulleted up the charts, I didn’t feel any different inside.

  I was still the fourteen-year-old from Foix. The one who’d been raised by a single parent who worked two jobs and watched old romantic films in her spare time, when she had spare time. Sure, we’d come up in the world. We lived in the city, learned how to navigate horrendous traffic, and I’d made enough money to support both of us comfortably.

  At heart, however.

  My heart remained in that small town. That’s why Jenna and I couldn’t work. I didn’t realize it during our relationship. From the arguments that didn’t make a lick of sense to the silent treatments that followed. We were too different. She was a city girl, born with a crown on her head, stars in her eyes and more ambition than a French general.

  I was a country boy raised on turnip greens and jambalaya. I thought Starbucks charged too much for coffee and that people who sent their laundry out were just plum lazy. Of course, money and notoriety changed a lot of my feelings towards certain things. But down deep, well…I couldn’t seem to stop hearing Mama when she’d quote Dolly Parton: I would never stoop so low to be fashionable. Forgetting who I was or where I came from, just to fit in? To me, that was a low stoop.

  So, yeah, with the help of a small number of people who’d earned my trust, I remained centered. Kind, even when others were unkind. Focused on my career, on keeping a clean image, and never forgetting who put me in the position to do what I loved: God and the fans. All while hopelessly, pathetically, hanging on to the belief that somewhere out there was the woman I was fated to be with for the rest of my life.

  Some pointed the finger, preached that I was too young to think about marriage and forever. I still had growing up to do, mistakes to make and lessons to learn. I agreed. But those truths didn’t change the fact I believed in soulmates and destiny.

  I just didn’t expect destiny to arrive in the form of a pre-college Yankee girl from Ohio.

  No. That wasn’t good enough. Didn’t do her the justice she deserved.

  I didn’t expect destiny to arrive in the form of a beautiful, intelligent young woman with eyes of aquamarine glass, the body of a goddess and a wit that forever had me guessing what she was thinking.

  “You’re in love with her.” I hadn’t expected Jenna. It’d been months since she’d crossed my threshold, and while she and Katie still talked on occasion, the morning after the Vegas awards show marked the first time we’d spoken since I-couldn’t-remember.

  She was once everything to me.

  Until she wasn’t.

  Now, when I looked at her, I felt nothing but a sense of acquaintanceship. She was still beautiful. Put together as if she had a show in five and a plane to catch in ten. But the observation ended there. Far as my brain knew, I could’ve been assessing a fern or an eggplant.

  Nonetheless, I attempted to avoid the statement. “It was nice of you to stop by.” Sitting on the tailgate of my truck, I leaned forward, rested my forearms on my knees. Clasped my hands together. “But there’s nothing to be worried about. I have everything handled.”

  “So, this is you refusing to admit it to yourself.” She rubbed her palms together, a tick of hers with which I was all too familiar. She was nervous. Why, I did not know. When I answered the door, questioned what she was doing here, she said she wanted to make sure I was okay, what with the media attempting to spit-roast my reputation.

  I’d told her I was fine, no worries, but she was already walking inside, and those annoying southern gentleman instincts Mama carved into my backbone wouldn’t permit me to insist she leave.

  Now, she’d followed me outside. I hadn’t wanted company. Didn’t expect anyone to go after me, not even Harper, though I knew she had to be hurting as much as I was.

  “Look, Jenna, I appreciate your concern. I do. But…” I rubbed the back of my neck, grappled for the right words. “My relationship is not up for discussion.”

  In those seconds, all I could think about was that Harper was pregnant with my child.

  We were going to have a baby.

  While that should’ve scared the shit out of me—at twenty-two, almost twenty-three, I hadn’t expected to be a father this early in life—I was reeling with happiness.

  From the moment I’d laid eyes on her, I’d known.

  Harper was it for me.

  The feeling had been overwhelming, incomparable to any other experience. A marrow-deep knowing of space and time. A conviction that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Regardless Savana and Chris had made a project out of my romantic life, scanning bars, grocery stores and dating apps for not only the perfect girl, but the muse I needed to write again, it wasn’t coincidence. She wasn’t.

  “It’s serious, then.” Jenna’s throat worked. Her eyes searched mine like they used to when she expected me to fight back. “Just like that. Practically overnight.”

  My entire body exhaled, not with relief but with weariness over this conversation. There was a time I would’ve given anything for just a few minutes with this woman. To be able to turn back time, be different, say different things. Foolish, sure, of course it was. I knew that now.

  Now, the craving did not exist. At least not for her.

  Yes. Jenna was right in her assumptions.

  I was head over heels in love with Harper Evans.

  “Look, Jenna, I’ve got things to do.”

  “Damage control?” She laughed humorlessly. Funny. The sound didn’t have the same effect on me as it had before. “You’ve got a lot on your plate. I just wanted to stop by and let you know I’m here for you if you, I don’t know, ever wanna talk or whatever.”

  “I appreciate the offer.” I meant the statement as a dismissal. I needed to think. Needed to figure out my next move. Between Katie, my agent and the label execs, we’d get this sorted out. I trusted my team.

  True to form, however, Jenna wasn’t ready to relinquish the grip she believed she still had on me. She said, “Can I just tell you one thing? Okay? And I don’t want you to get mad or embarrassed. I just…”

  “What?” Didn’t mean to sound so demanding, but there it was. Out in the open.

  “I miss you. Okay? There, I said it.”

  Sighing, I squeezed the bridge of my nose. “No, you don’t, Jenna. You don’t miss me.”

  “Yes, I do!”

  “You miss having a man who buckles under pressure at every turn, because he’s afraid of losing you.” I glared at her, unable to hide my frustration. “You wanted me to be someone I wasn’t.”

  “That’s not true!” If she were a toddler, she might’ve stomped her foot.

  “It is—you know what?” I huffed out a laugh, shook my head. “I won’t argue with you. Not now, not ever again. We’re done here.” I gestured to her convertible BMW. “Careful going out the gate.”

  I jumped down off the tailgate. Harper. I needed to see her, speak with her, hold her in my arms. Did I have it all figured out yet? No. But she was blameless in all this. We both were.

  “Lawson, wait.” Jenna moved for me, set a hand to my chest, and I couldn’t help it, I sucked in a sharp breath. Not because I wanted her to touch me. But because it felt wrong for her to touch me. A betrayal to Harper.

  I had no intention of ever betraying the woman I loved. Harper was mine. Mine to adore, to love and to cherish. She belonged to me, and I belonged to her. Wherever our roads were leading us before, they were merged now, and I’d be damned if I’d allow anyone to tear us apart.

 
; I put another two feet between us, my back hitting my truck.

  The hand Jenna had used to touch me curled into a fist, suspended in the air for a moment, and dropped at her side. A smirk curved her lips. “You were gorgeous up there, you know. In Vegas?” She took a step toward me, her hips swaying. “I didn’t tell you when we saw each other at the hotel the next morning, but I wanted to. Wanted you to know how much I enjoyed watching you, how very different you seemed. Older.” Another step. “Sexier.”

  I was thinking about Harper the entire time I was on stage. That’s what I wanted to tell her. That’s what I wanted to say, the truth. No one’s opinion of that performance mattered to me more than Harper’s. I wanted to impress her, God, how bad, because she wasn’t like everyone else. Before taking a YouTube crash course, she’d never heard of me or my music. I wasn’t multi-Grammy winning country artist Lawson Hill, not to her. I was just Lawson: small town country boy, who happened to play the guitar and sing.

  And that meant more to me than Harper would ever realize.

  Truth was I had no desire to hurt Jenna. Oh, she’d hurt me. There was no doubt about that. But to reciprocate seemed pointless, a complete waste of time and energy.

  So, I said, “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but you should really go.”

  She arched a stenciled brow. “You don’t like being told you’re sexy? Because you are, you know.” She moved closer, closer still, and there was nowhere for me to go without bolting sideways and running like a punk in my own house. “Don’t you remember what it was like between us?” Her fingers alighted on my chest, trailed down my right pectoral muscle. “How good we were—” she stood tiptoe, aligned her face close to mine “—in bed?”

  My throat bobbed. Hands fisted at my sides. “I remember you telling me I lacked spontaneity.”

  “Did I?” Her lips formed into a pout. “I couldn’t have meant that. Not with all this—” her gaze swept down then up my body “—moving over me, under me, behind me. Inside me.” She palmed my chest as if to emphasize her point.

  Problem was there was no point to be made.