The Crow Brothers: JET - TULSA - RIVERS - RIDGE

by Scott, S. L.

  When I finally make my way downstairs, Jet is eating cereal at the table. “You look like shit,” he says.

  “Back at ya, brother.” He does too. “Those late nights are catching up. Be careful or you’re going to lose your sex symbol status.”

  He even laughs at that one. He also flips me off, but I’m good with it.

  Glancing behind him, I see Hannah bouncing the baby on her knees on the back patio. “My wife can’t keep her hands off me, so I’m okay with looking like shit if she likes the way I look.”

  “And here I thought a baby would slow things down in the sex department.”

  “Maybe it does for some,” he muses, running a hand over his head. His hair’s growing out too.

  I walk past him. “TMI, and we both look like shit. What is it called when chicks talk about taking care of themselves?”

  Jet lowers his voice, and says, “Masturbation.”

  “No, and don’t ever talk to me about that,” I reply, disgust scrunching my nose. “When women say they need a bath and—”

  The door closes behind me. Coming inside, Hannah says, “Self-care?”

  “Yeah,” I reply, snapping my fingers. “That’s it. We need some self-care.”

  “I thought that’s why we got married?” Tulsa asks, coming in the front door.

  “Not what we’re talking about,” I say. Slapping our hands together, we do a slow slide back and wiggle our fingers. We both laugh, having perfected the handshake. Rubbing my hand over my head, I look up when I see my bangs flying over my forehead. “Shaggy. I need a haircut. Your brother does, too.”

  Tulsa rubs over his short hair. It’s longer than a military induction cut but not by much. “Nikki shaved mine. I was willing to take it all off. She put her foot down.”

  “Because she owns your ass.”

  With a tight mouth and no fight in him, he nods. “Truth, man. Truth.”

  I move from the breakfast room into the kitchen where Hannah is pulling a mug from the cabinet with Violet bundled around her. “Here you go.”

  Moving to give her a hug, she wraps her arms around my middle, and whispers, “How are you doing?”

  “I’m good.” Moving to the side, I bend down until I’m eye level with Violet, who’s cooing with a big smile and bright eyes. “Who’s a little lady? Who’s the cutest baby?” When I scrunch my face, she giggles.

  “She likes you,” Hannah says, leaning against the counter next to me.

  “I like her.” I tap Violet on the nose. Jet and Tulsa walk away, so I take the opportunity to catch up with my friend.

  Standing back up, I nudge Hannah. I feel like every time I see her, she looks happier than the time before if that’s possible. And although I’m no baby expert, Hannah and Jet’s baby is the cutest I’ve ever seen. Dark hair, almost jet-black like her daddy and blue eyes like her mama. “She smiles a lot. She has your disposition.”

  “She’s a happy baby. She has a dad who can’t get enough of her and a brother that tells anyone who will listen that his best friend likes too much pink.” Leaning in conspiratorially, she says, “Sometimes when he comes home from the road, I catch him waking Violet up in the night just to spend a few extra hours with her. She always gives it away the next day when she’s cranky, but it’s so sweet that I don’t say anything.”

  Remembering last night when he stopped by, I ask, “Does he know you know?”

  “No. I don’t want him to ever stop having those moments that are just his. We can make up for the lost sleep with naps.”

  Wrapping an arm around Hannah’s shoulders, we admire her baby together. “And a mom who anyone would be lucky to have.”

  Teasing, she double taps my ribs with her elbow. “Look at you being all charming.”

  “What?” I shrug, taking the mug to the coffee machine. “I’m always charming.”

  “Speaking of charming, did you spend any time with a certain someone while you were in Austin?”

  One day I’ll learn to control my instant reactions to certain topics. Today is not that day. She must pick up on something because she says, “That good, huh?”

  “Worse.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I laugh. “You don’t have to be sorry about anything. Not my mom and not my—”

  “Not your love life?”

  “Love is a little strong.”

  Looking around as if part of a covert operation, she leans in, covers Violet’s ears, and whispers, “Sex life?”

  “No, not doing this with you.”

  “You can talk to Jet if you’d feel more comfortable.”

  Now I just laugh and keep laughing because this has gotten so out of hand I’m not sure where to go with it.

  Fortunately, like his guitar playing skills, Jet has perfect timing when he comes around the corner. Jet is every bit the rock star. Cool demeanor. Owns a room with his mere presence. By the way Hannah spoke of his appearance when they first started dating, he’s apparently “drool-worthy.”

  He’s not much older than me, having me beat only by a year, but our lives couldn’t be more different. First of all, he married my best friend. Now I don’t get to see her as much. Before that, they fought for custody of his son, Alfie. It’s all a jumble now. But to top off their year of greatness, baby Violet came along.

  Hannah and I have been through a lot together. Her asshole ex, my former best friend and the lead singer of our band, was fucking my girlfriend while we all toured. We gave some damn good years up to those losers but found each other along the way. We may be close, but we never hooked up, valuing the friendship we found.

  Jet’s eyes come alive when he sees his wife. Stopping to kiss his baby on the way, he’s gentle with Hannah, touching her face before kissing her. There’s no lack of love in this house, and Hannah deserves it. He’s not in a hurry or worried about the days ticking by too fast. He takes his time because he has that on his side. Lucky bastard.

  Turning to me, he says, “Rivers is here. We’re going down to the studio,” and then leaves.

  “Kay.”

  When the coast is clear, Hannah says, “I’m not telling you anything you don’t know already, but it’s not always easy even if it’s meant to be. Jet and I are prime examples of that. We had to fight to be together. Sometimes it just comes down to who’s willing to go the extra mile.”

  Thinking about all the couples who surround me these days, no one had it easy. Maybe Tulsa and Nikki, but I feel like they went through some stuff that we’re not all aware of. “I used to think it was supposed to be easier if it’s meant to be.”

  “Sometimes, I guess. Everyone’s different. I don’t think you should force anything. If the attraction is there, the relationship will hopefully come naturally.”

  I push off the counter and touch Violet’s tiny toes because they’re so friggin’ small. “If I keep talking about my feelings all the time, shut me up. I’m tired of myself at this point.”

  “Talking’s not bad. Lack of action is.”

  “Okay. Okay. Got it. If I love her, don’t let her slip away.”

  Her mouth falls open. “You love her? You love Meadow?”

  “What? No. I said like. Wait, I didn’t say anything about Meadow.”

  She’s still staring at me—silently, so I start rambling to fill in the blanks of what I guess she’s thinking. “I do like Meadow, but that’s it. We’re not anything.”

  Still nothing from her. She shifts the fabric and adjusts Violet onto her hip. Violet seems to want something else and fusses. Hannah strokes her head and then kisses her, calming her instantly. The magic of a mom kiss. Her attention comes back to me. “You said love, Dave.”

  My hands fly up. “I haven’t even had coffee yet. My brain’s not functioning properly. I thought we were talking in generalities.”

  “That you’re talking about love at all says a lot, so you can play this off however you want, but unlike your brain, your heart is fully functioning.”

  I roll my eyes.
The little action reminds me of Meadow, and I smile. Shit. Do I love Meadow Fellowes? How is that possible? We basically ended it last night . . . not basically. She’s frustrating to no end, indecisive when it comes to what she wants—from her food orders to her clothes. She’s all over the place, deciding things on whims and spur-of-the-moment emotions. She’s also fifteen hundred miles away.

  Nothing about us makes sense.

  Love? That’s not possible. “Nope. Nope. Nope.”

  Hannah’s brow is pinched in the center, so I assume I sound as nutty as I feel. Fuck. “Forget I said anything. I need to head down to the studio.” She’s not saying what she’s really thinking, but I can read it all over her face, so I add, “You can stop smiling like a fool now.”

  “What can I say? I’m a fool for a great love story.”

  Although I don’t give Hannah any satisfaction on the topic, I can admit, I’m also a sucker for a happy ever after. But in this instance, where I’ve been offered a haven and not a future, I’m not sure it’s in the cards for Meadow and me. Given how I’d do anything for her, though, maybe that’s what love is.

  Considering I removed the options from the dating table last night, I think it’s best if I let things lie. Not forever, but for now.

  15

  Ridge

  “Married. Married. Married. Single.” The DJ points to each of us like we’re playing a game of duck, duck, goose.

  Rivers says, “I’m engaged.”

  The rest of us know it’s going to happen before it does. The radio DJ leans on her hand, making eyes at him. “So there’s a chance for the right woman to come along and steal your heart before you walk down that aisle?”

  I’m fucking offended for him. He should have never spoken up, drawing her attention to his personal life. Tulsa is the comedian in the group, always there with a smile and joke to cheer everyone up, so it comes as a surprise to hear him use an unfamiliar firm, slightly raised voice when he says, “He’s marrying the right woman, the woman who already owns the ring. The marriage is tradition and legalities, but trust me, my brother’s already married in all the ways that matter.”

  She seems a bit taken aback by his tone. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

  Jet sighs. “We know what you meant to imply, but you also disrespected his fiancée.”

  “He’s engaged but not married. Noted for the listeners. Another Crow bites the dust.” Tapping the desk, she adds, “Thanks for being here, guys.”

  Her headphones are dumped on the desk, and she says, “Our listeners like the single rock star angle, so we pursue it when we can. I’m married, but no one knows. It doesn’t jive with the persona. It’s all in fun.”

  No, it’s not okay. No placating or making her feel better. She crossed a line, but it’s admirable how the brothers not only stand up for each other but everyone who’s important to them, their wives and kids the most.

  When the DJ leaves the sound booth, Rivers hits my chest. “How’d you manage to dodge that bullet? You’re the actual single one here.”

  “I lay low, and my last name’s not Crow.”

  “Lucky fucker. Stella’s gonna be pissed when she hears that shit.”

  When we walk out of the room, Rochelle is waiting. “I don’t care if she is married. She crossed a line and can fuck off.”

  Jet laughs. “Tell us how you really feel.”

  “I’ve been in this business a long time.” Her hands go out to stop us, and she lowers her voice so no one else can hear her. “Being on this side of a relationship with someone famous has taught me that people are unscrupulous when it comes to their personal pursuits. I wear a Teflon suit most days, but when I think of Stella, I remember being in her shoes. This life, being in the spotlight because she fell in love with someone who’s famous, is hard. Just remember every time someone disrespects your family, they disrespect you.” She starts walking, and we follow in silence.

  I think half from fear. Half from wanting to hear her.

  She’s fired up.

  Rochelle’s a little thing, similar to Meadow. Both come up about yay high to me, but you don’t fuck with them when they’re mad. Rochelle stops again before we reach reception, right in front of the station manager’s open office door. “She’ll know better than to mess with your families next time. That level of disrespect will not be tolerated.” She follows with a rub to her right temple.

  The door opens, and the radio’s general manager spends the next ten minutes explaining how that program goes down with listeners.

  Excuses.

  That Rochelle sees right through. These guys have lost any future rights to us now. And they know it.

  Rochelle respectfully explains that we were here to promote an album, not our personal lives. When she left, we left.

  In the parking garage, she carries her purse but has her phone held firmly in the other. “Great show. You’re done for the day.”

  Our business manager kicks every other business manager’s ass in the music industry. No wonder The Resistance listens to everything she says. That, or they’re afraid to piss her off as well.

  * * *

  With my head resting back, I stare up at the wood beams running across the white wood ceiling. Hannah flops down next to me on the couch. “What has you so deep in thought?”

  I spread my arm wide on the back of the couch behind her and bring her to my side just as Jet walks by. “Hey. Hey. My wife is my life. Hands off.”

  Holding up my hands in surrender, I laugh. “I saw her first.”

  “I married her. I’m not going to say first because we’re forever. Right, baby?” He sets five beers and a Yoo-Hoo down on the table between us.

  Hannah replies, “Forever with you.”

  Sitting down, Jet looks up as Tulsa and Nikki come from the backyard. Nikki carries the baby to Hannah, and says, “I want one just like Violet. I love her.”

  Last year, Tulsa would have broken out in a bad rash of commitment-phobia, but since he met Nikki, he seems to have calmed in so many ways. He still has a big and very loud personality, but he doesn’t even bat an eye when he hears his wife talk about having a baby. Interesting.

  Jet stands. “I’ll take her. I’m trying to force Hannah to take a night off. I’m even trying to tempt her with a beer.”

  I bump into Hannah, and whisper, “Take a night off.”

  “I’ll take an hour or two off, but no beer for me. I’m still breastfeeding.”

  “I know we’re best friends, but that’s a little much for me.”

  When she laughs, she lights up the whole room. Even though we’re all exhausted from the day of interviews, it’s hard to be grumpy around her. Despite my best efforts, I find myself smiling. I knew whoever won her heart would score in life. “He’s lucky to have you.”

  “I’m the lucky one.” Her eyes never leave Jet as he sits down again with the baby, making her appear smaller in his arms. He’s a big dude. Not that I’m small at six foot two, but damn, those Crow brothers are big.

  As if Tulsa, the youngest Crow, can read my mind, he asks, “You workin’ out lately, Ridge?”

  “I’ve slacked the past week. I’ll be hitting it again tomorrow.”

  “Text me. I’ll meet up.”

  Nikki settles on his lap in the chair and touches his nose. “What if I have plans for you?”

  “You’ll be too tired tomorrow.”

  “From what?” she asks.

  “Tonight.”

  She laughs, but when he whispers in her ear, all traces of her smile disappear. “Promise?”

  “I can guaran-fuckin’-tee it, darlin’.”

  She kisses him, and then says, “I have no doubt.”

  Normally, I’d laugh or just ignore them. They’ve been married just over a year, so I get the hands all over bit, but today their intimacy is hitting a raw nerve with me. I stand, grabbing a cold bottle of beer while trashing my empty on the way out to the backyard.

  Hannah touches my hand as I walk by, causin
g me to look back, and asks, “You doing okay?”

  “No,” I grumble under my breath. Stella is coming inside when I walk out. Rivers strumming his guitar as the sun sets. “It’s cold tonight.”

  He looks up. “The fire’s warm.”

  I pick up an acoustic guitar from a chair and sit on the other side of the fire pit. After two long swallows of beer, I put the bottle on the ground next to my feet and start strumming along. He’s playing one of the newer songs we wrote around March, six months back. “That’s a sad fucking song, man.”

  He chuckles, and although he looks up, his fingers find every note. “You were a sad fucking man when you wrote it.” His hand goes palm flat against the strings. “So what’s going on with you, my single friend?” A smile creeps in as he mocks that the DJ didn’t called me out.

  “That’s a sad song for another day.”

  “Today’s the day, my man.” That’s something I’ve heard him say before. Losing his mom the way he did made him realize that you had to live every day as if it was the last. Today’s the day.

  “My mom’s sick. Dad’s giving me shit about not being home.”

  “Jet told me about your mom. Fuck.”

  “Yeah. Exactly.”

  “Sorry, man.”

  “Me too.”

  “And Meadow?”

  “What about Meadow?” His eyes stay steady on me, not giving me an inch of wiggle room when it comes to expecting an answer. I’m too tired to play this off. “What can I say, man? She’s in Austin. I’m here. I wanted more; she said she just wants to be friends. It’s just fucked.”

  “The song you wrote . . . You were shit then, and you’re even worse now.”

  “Our story is tragic. From lovers to friends to lovers to . . . nothin’.”

  This time, he scoffs and shakes his head. Looking me square in the eyes, he says, “I know tragic. You two not getting your shit together is stupid and stubborn. Not fucking tragic.”

  Fuck. Stella almost died. I remember the fear, the worry he went through. “I’m sorry. I’m an asshole.”

  Setting the guitar down, he stands. “You’re not an asshole, so stop acting like one. Either go after her or move the fuck on, but don’t waste your time caught in the middle. You’ll either make a move, or you won’t. You’re tired all the fucking time. Did you ever think it’s because you’re not actually dealing with all the shit on your mind?”