The Crow Brothers: JET - TULSA - RIVERS - RIDGE

by Scott, S. L.

  “I know,” I reply, finding a deep sense of satisfaction from this discovery. “I look like my uncle. I look like my uncle. Well, how about that.”

  “I didn’t know you had an uncle.”

  “He died when he was young. We never knew him.”

  “I’m sorry.” Rubbing my arm, she kisses my shoulder. “Oh. That’s why Jet made sure you stayed together when your mom passed away. Because you had no other family.” She leans on me, her arms going around my back. I love how she touches me, as if all of her needs to touch all of me. I understand the desire. “Read the rest of the email.”

  “There you have it, baby bro. You’re a Crow who was lucky enough to look like our mom’s side of the family.” I chuckle. “Now get off the computer and go spend time with your wife. Love, Rivers.”

  “I like Rivers,” she says, laughing.

  Kissing her on the head, I ask, “I want to spend all my time with you, but would you mind if I call Jet really quick?”

  “Of course not. After that, you’re all mine.”

  Hers. There’s no other way I want to be.

  After setting the laptop down, I log out and into her account, so we hear when she gets the email we’ve been waiting for. I spin the phone around in my hand. I don’t care how much it costs. I don’t care that it’s the middle of the night for them. I have to make this call.

  Jet answers on the third ring. “Hello?” He was sleeping, as expected.

  “Jet, it’s Tulsa.”

  “What’s wrong?” I hear the panic in his voice.

  “Nothing. I’m good. I’m great.”

  “I’m not. It’s four in the fucking morning, Tulsa. I just got Violet back to sleep an hour ago.”

  “Sorry, but I had to call you. I got the photo Rivers found. Guessing he sent it to you?”

  “Yeah, he did.” His tone changes from a whisper-yell to more awake. “I’m going into the bathroom. I don’t want to wake Hannah.” I hear the door slide closed, and he says, “You’re one of us. No one doubted that.”

  “It was good to see it, though. I don’t know why I thought a few similarities could make me a Cartwright, but there is no way I’m related to him. Thank fuck.”

  “He never mattered, Tulsa.”

  “Crazy how much you look like Brian, though, right?”

  “Really crazy. I know I’m a Crow, but deep down, that photo relieves me.”

  “Understandable, but you’re not his.”

  “Glad you feel that way because you’re stuck with me.”

  We may not be in the same time zone, but I know he’s smiling. “That’s nothing new, kid brother. The Crow brothers always stick together.”

  “Yeah, we do.” I sit on the edge of the bed. “I don’t say it much, but I love you.”

  “Love you, too. Get back to that wife of yours before she gets too lonely.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll never let her get lonely. We’ll see you when we get back to LA.”

  “Sure thing.”

  When I hang up, Nikki comes to me, standing between my legs and running her hands through my hair. “How do you feel?”

  “Like the luckiest man in the world.”

  “I can imagine the relief.”

  The computer dings, and I glance over to see an email from Tommy. “The song is here.”

  She squeezes her hands into little fists full of excitement in front of her chest. I say, “Don’t block the beauties.”

  After a dramatic eye roll, she says, “Play it.”

  I click the email and then open the file. Beneath a hut draped in twinkling lights, I give her the stars every day and night. As the song begins to play, I take her by the hips, settle her onto my lap, and kiss her collarbone while we listen to the music.

  Nuzzling her ear when the song ends, I take her lobe between my teeth and give a little tug. “It’s amazing, just like you.”

  “It’s amazing because of you.”

  I kiss her cheek, and then whisper, “I’m not lucky because I knew I was a Crow.”

  Kissing my temple, she rests her head against mine and then leans to kiss the newest Crow tattoo—the one I got for her. “Why are you so lucky, Tulsa Crow?”

  “Because sometimes we’re not only given what we want but what we need all in one smokin’ hot body.”

  “You need me?”

  “I need you more than ever, baby.” My hand slips between her legs, and I ask, “Did you bring your pink toy?”

  Adjusting, she wiggles her ass over my lap. “Why bring sex toys when I can have the real thing?”

  “True.” I pick her up and set her on the bed. Her top goes flying, and my shorts come off. “Get ready to be honeymooned, darlin’. We have seven more days of paradise ahead of us.”

  “I’ve been ready since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  “So, you were playing hard to get?”

  “Not playing. I was hard to get, but somehow you managed to bang your way right into my heart.”

  “You know what they say—drummers hit it harder.”

  “I thought the saying was drummers do it with rhythm?”

  “Either way, I’ve got you covered.”

  “You’re still talking about sex, aren’t you?”

  “Sure am.”

  “Oh, Tulsa.” She laughs, pulling me closer. “Don’t ever change, babe.”

  “Never.”

  When I catch her eyeing me, I give her a wink, call her darlin’, and vow to love her so hard she smiles when she sleeps.

  As for the rest of the world, I’ve got two pieces of advice: Live life to the fullest and always give ’em your good side.

  Copyright © S.L. Scott 2018

  The right of S.L. Scott to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000

  This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-940071-69-5

  Cover Design: RBA Designs

  Marion Archer, Editor, Making Manuscripts

  Eve Arroyo, Editor

  Jenny Sims, Proofreader, Editing4Indies

  Kristen Johnson, Proofreader

  Lynsey Johnson, Proofreader

  RIVERS

  Rivers Crow has everything he could ever need—a rock star life, more money than the devil himself, and worldwide fame. Except he’s still missing the one thing he wants—the girl he left behind.

  Stella Fellowes has a life she doesn’t want—an unfulfilling job, debt without a ceiling, and lonely nights she spends pretending not to miss the one thing she needs—the boy who broke her heart.

  Five years later, the guitarist she once loved is back with a hit record, millions of fans, and that look in his eye that still makes her weak in the knees. Only she’s not the same girl he once knew.

  When these two star-crossed lovers come together, time starts to heal old wounds. Although she’s compelled to look past his sins, will he be able to look past hers?

  Prologue

  Rivers

  The rain doesn’t bother me.

  Gray clouds and dark skies fit my mood better than sunny days have in years.

  I’m better off without her.

  The lies come easier these days. I used to mentally stammer over the words even if I wasn’t voicing them out loud. I thought it would become second nature to tell myself she was wrong for me. That I was wrong for her. When we were together, she was a girl becoming a woman and a beautiful fucking mess of emotions. When we were together, I was a boy becoming a man, a fuckup compared to who I wanted to be.
/>   But I loved her. Loved us. I loved every fucking emotion and remember them like it was yesterday.

  Only it wasn’t. It was five fucking years ago.

  “I’m better off without her.” I repeat the lie, still not believing a damn word. The words are bitter on my tongue, such a contradiction to how sweet the memories taste.

  She was my everything.

  Until she wasn’t.

  My fingers tighten around the steering wheel, and I exhale a slow breath. The raindrops become sprinkles and then stop altogether. As if the universe is clearing the path for me to follow my heart, I get out of my 4Runner and lean against it, facing the school.

  Five years have dragged since I walked away, leaving my heart broken at her feet. I can’t go another day pretending she wasn’t my every-fucking-thing. That’s why I’m back. For her—Stella Lilith Fellowes.

  Star of the night.

  Star of my life.

  I miss her so fucking much, but I begin to debate if I have a right to be here at all.

  What am I doing?

  She hates me. This is such a bad idea. It’s after five, so she might not even be here. I open the door to leave but still when I hear, “Rivers?”

  Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and am slow to exhale. It starts drizzling again. Is this a sign? Will we always be trapped under a dark cloud, or can we find blue skies again?

  When I turn around, my breath stops hard in my chest.

  She’s absolutely stunning.

  I’ve rummaged through a box of photos a million times. I’ve watched video upon video on the loneliest of nights. I’ve had dreams that feel so real that I wake up expecting her to be next to me.

  But my memories don’t do her justice.

  I only remember the girl.

  Before me now stands a woman. The woman she’s become without me. Her brown hair is pulled up, but some strands have escaped, the misty air making them stick to her skin. I can’t stop from smiling.

  She’s better than any dream could ever be.

  The white shirt she’s wearing reveals lace under the wet fabric. Too much of her legs are covered by a skirt, but I still remember the great shape of her calves. Her glasses slip down, but she pushes the middle back up the bridge of her nose. She never wore glasses when we were together, so it serves as another reminder of what I’ve missed.

  “God, you’re beautiful.” I don’t mean to say it, but I don’t regret it either.

  She gifts me with the smile I’ve missed every minute of every year we were apart, but it fades away too fast. “What are you doing here?”

  What am I doing here?

  There are so many possible answers, and while all of them are true, none of them are right.

  I miss her. I love her. I’m so fucking sorry for ruining everything.

  My first album set the charts on fire, and all I wanted to do was come home and find her because celebrating this achievement or any without her was never in the plans. Shutting the door, I shove my hands in the back pockets of my jeans and shift. “I needed to see you.”

  She moves her bag to her chest and wraps her arms around it. “Needed?”

  “Wanted?”

  The rain still touches her, but she makes no move to leave, willing to brave the elements just like me. “Are you asking me, Rivers?”

  “I wanted to see you.” Shaking my head, I know I’m fucking this up. “I wanted to come because I needed to see you.”

  “Why?” She looks around as if to make sure there are no witnesses before she comes closer, keeping some distance between us.

  I take a few steps but don’t invade her space like I want to. “When did you start wearing glasses?”

  “Did you come here to ask about my glasses?”

  The answer to that question isn’t what she really wants to know, but maybe she’s stalling like I am. It feels good to be this close to her, to be talking to her again. I smile, and this time, it tempts one from her. But she’s stronger than I am. She held out longer, didn’t take my calls, didn’t return my texts, never contacted me.

  We stand face-to-face with a thousand unspoken questions jostling between us. I could take another step, two maybe, and breathe in the faint smell of oranges. I could extend an arm and touch her. But I don’t. She’s not mine anymore, and as natural as it would feel to do either of those things, I know there’s an ocean between who we are and who we used to be.

  Glancing at one of the few cars that remain in the parking lot, she says, “I should go.”

  As I try to come up with something to say, I start memorizing everything about her in case I’m not given another opportunity.

  She doesn’t wear a ring on her left hand.

  I used to kiss the soft skin behind the earrings that dot her earlobes.

  A simple thin gold necklace highlights the delicate curve of her neck.

  Even though raindrops coat her lenses, her green eyes still shine behind them.

  When my gaze dips to the lace that clings to the skin I used to kiss, I search for the one thing that will always bind us together. She turns to leave, so I say the first thing I can think of to keep her here. “Your earrings. I remember buying them at a stand in South Padre during spring break.”

  Two fingers touch her right earring and spin the little turquoise teardrops. When she looks back at me, she replies, “You did. I remember.”

  Relief washes across her face, and she finally smiles as if we’ve come to an understanding. The smile is smaller than I want, but more than I deserve. “It was good seeing you again.”

  My heart lurches in my throat, desperate to keep talking to her, even if only for a minute. But I can’t find the words when I need them most. “Stella—”

  “Goodbye.” She turns on her heel and heads across the parking lot. Water splashes under her feet as she moves quicker than necessary.

  With each step she takes farther from me, my mind races faster. And by the time she’s backing her beige sedan from the parking spot, I’m next to her window. She takes a deep breath and exhales before rolling it down. “It’s good to see you,” I choke out.

  Her glasses are on the seat next to her, and she tugs at the seat belt across her body. Although she peeks up at me, she’s quick to look away again. With her head down, she says, “It’s hard seeing you on TV and hearing your songs on the radio . . .” When her eyes find mine again, her shoulders drop as if she’s given up. “But hearing your voice, and you standing so close that I can touch you but . . . but can’t. It . . . Why are you here? Tell me, because I was doing just fine, and now . . .”

  The rain isn’t to blame for the water in her eyes.

  I am.

  Pressing my hands against the car, I lean over, looking into her eyes while ignoring the lump burning in my throat. “Because I’ve spent five years regretting every day that didn’t have you in it. Can I see you again? Can I come over and talk—”

  She shakes her head, and then says, “It’s too late for us.”

  “But I just want to—”

  “I’m taken.”

  Of all the things I expected to hear, that wasn’t one of them. My hands fall off the car as I take a step back. “Stella?”

  “No, Rivers. Just . . . no.”

  She pulls away, and I realize I wasn’t prepared for that. I wasn’t prepared for goodbye. I look at the sky, broken open and raining, and that familiar feeling returns. What I’ve felt for so long.

  Empty.

  1

  Rivers

  I was a disaster years in the making.

  Haunted by my mother’s death, I tried to drown myself in booze and drugs to cover the pain. But when I eventually lost Stella, I lost myself for good. Traveling through the past five years like a ghost, I don’t even recognize this life as my own.

  As soon as the cab dropped me off from the airport, I threw my stuff in the back seat and took off to see her before I changed my mind. Two hours later, I shift my SUV into park, sitting in the driveway of
my brother’s house knowing I’m going in there alone. I didn’t think showing up at her work unannounced would have her dropping her life to breathe life back into mine, but it didn’t exactly go as planned either.

  Sometimes, I get caught up in the image I portray in my day to day. To the outside world, I’m the bass guitarist for a world-famous band. My face is on the cover of magazines, and I have the world at my fingertips. But they don’t see the dark I carry inside, the grieving I never do because the devastation overwhelms me. I’ve become a master of disguise, hiding who I am on the inside.

  Smile for the camera.

  Play for the fans.

  Do the paparazzi dance, pretending nothing’s fucking wrong.

  A week ago, I was at a party in New York City celebrating my band’s success. Surrounded by my brothers and bandmates, our producer, mentor, and idol—Johnny Outlaw—his wife who helped us launch a line of apparel, Holli Hughes, and our manager, Tommy. I dragged my hand along the glass edge that separated me from the street fifty-five stories below. The world at my fingertips. The toast of the town. All the money in the world.

  Something inside me is unsettled. We’re unsettled because we never closed that chapter of our lives. We ended too fast, drastically, and without parting words to satisfy a broken heart to carry on and find someone new to love, but my heart is incapable of loving anyone but her.

  Fame can’t heal a broken heart.

  Money won’t fill a body missing its soul.

  Only a soul mate can reconcile the two. And Stella is mine.

  Six days, five interviews, four performances, and three cities later, I set my suitcase down in the living room and toss my backpack on a chair. Letting my jacket slide down my arms, I throw that and my hat on the chair. I look around the old house, not knowing what to do with myself.

  I had gotten a text before leaving Vancouver this morning that my sister-in-law, Hannah, had the fridge stocked for me. Jet, my oldest brother, Hannah, and my nephew Alfie moved out of this house a few months ago when they made Los Angeles their new home. Since they had my niece a few months ago, the house here in Austin hasn’t been a priority. I’m taking advantage of the vacancy before it goes on the market. It will be a nice crash pad for the next ten days.