Hannah

Staring at the TV, I’ve lost track of what cartoon we’re watching. My mind has been wandering for the past hour.

My gaze shifts to the framed photo of Cassie on the bookcase. The air becomes stale with her lost life and how isolated we are from our family and from Jet. The loss of Alfie’s mom being there for him, watching him grow up and love, and just being his amazing self hangs over my head, clawing at my heart and making me feel guilty. But what’s troubling me is how we got here—why did Eileen turn against us?

I love Alfie so much that it’s inconceivable for me to imagine Eileen loves him less—her flesh and blood, the legacy of her daughter that lives on.

She says she wants custody but then doesn’t bother to come see him or even ask us over. This is so confusing and twists my heart. Something’s wrong—more than Cassie’s death. This mission to destroy Jet ultimately makes no sense if she really doesn’t want to see her grandson. Does it bother her that Jet cares? That he stepped up? That if he’d been told, he would have been there all along? Why would she ever want a child to have less love in his life?

I hate her. I hate her for keeping Alfie from his father. I hate her for keeping Jet in the dark about his son. I hate her for treating me like I mean nothing to her. I hate her. I just hate her, but I hate that I feel this much anger, this much discord toward my aunt.

Alfie’s been asking for his books again and seeing an available spot on the bookcase, I realize I need to get them for him. A confrontation with her is worth it when it’s something good for him. He misses his mom. He needs those books to hold since he can’t hold his mother.

I get up and open the front door, not wanting to darken the air that Alfie needs to breathe. The cartoons still play inside, but I sit on the swing outside.

My fingers run over the places I remember Jet’s touching that night I came over, the night I foolishly thought I wasn’t in love with the man. I was. I was the minute I saw him on that stage.

There was no saving me, my heart already his the moment he opened his mouth and sang that first song. That first night feels like forever ago as his fingers skated over me, each of my heartbeats becoming notes he played in his melody. Sultry. Sexy. Rolling the words he was singing around on his tongue as if they were me.

The lights shined in his eyes, but somehow, he found me. A girl lost in a shadowed sea of people. He found me like I found him as if we were always meant to be.

There was no reason I should have been out that night. A fight with my aunt made me walk out, trying to forget my life, and walk into the bar just as the opening act ended. The Crow Brothers came on just as two shots of Fireball began warming me through.

I never intended to stay. But once they took the stage, I couldn’t leave. As soon as Jet held the microphone, I knew he was singing to me, for me, because of me. And I did what I swore I would never do. I fell quickly for a musician, but not because of his voice or the way he held me captive throughout their set. It was because when the lights shined on him just right, I could see he was just like me.

Jet Crow sang about drunken nights under a moon tower and having his brothers’ backs. But he also sang about finding something that was missing, not knowing what it was until it walked right in.

When the set ended, I ordered another shot for the singer—

“Hello?”

I look up, my shoes dragging along the wood porch until the swing comes to a stop. A woman stands on the top step. Her bleached hair is smooth instead of teased. Her lips are nude instead of being deep red. There’s no cleavage pushed up under some too tight shirt, and her skirt is church appropriate. She looks different than I remember, but I know who she is from the other times I’ve seen her. Marcy. Before I have time to brace myself with concern to why she’s standing in front me, she asks, “Is Jet here?”

Standing up, I move toward the door I left open. I reach in and close it enough to hide Alfie from her view. “No, he’s not.”

“Oh, darn.” She looks at her watch like she’s late for something more important.

“Why are you here?” I can’t control my rude tone. This woman is dangerous because of her connection to Hunter, but also because the first time I saw her, she was clawing at Jet for his attention. So I save the courtesies for someone who deserves them.

A quick onceover covers me from head to toe and once more for good measure it seems. I’m not dressed particularly nice, not realizing I had to prove my worthiness to be here to a woman who was a two-time thing for him. I’m too exhausted to make an effort and play these games.

Then the clouds seem to clear, and she says, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“I’m sorry for bringing Hunter to the house that night. I had no idea about you and him until I saw it—the fear in your eyes, the painful memories, the . . . I’m just sorry. He used me to get to Jet and Johnny Outlaw.”

“If you weren’t in on his plan, you don’t have to apologize. I just hope that night showed you what you were dealing with when it comes to him. He’s not a good person.”

“He hit me in the car when we left. I hit him twice as hard back, then he stopped the car and pushed me out the door, leaving me there.” She looks ashamed. Shame. I remember feeling the same. Sometimes I still do. I shouldn’t, but I’m a work in progress.

“You didn’t deserve that.”

“It was the wake-up call I needed, though. My life had been spiraling out of control for a while. Hitting that street was my rock bottom. The next day, I went home for a few weeks. I’m going back to San Antonio tonight, but I owed Jet an apology. I owe you one too. I’m glad you were here.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. I’m sorry Jet’s not here, but I can tell him or . . .” As much as I don’t want women texting or calling Jet, I trust her. “Or you can call him.”

“Not sure if that’s wise.” She gets it. “Do you mind passing along the message for me?”

“Not at all.” We stand there in awkward silence, so I break it because she deserves credit for making the effort to make amends. “Your hair is pretty like that.”

She touches it and looks down, feeling shy from the compliment. I can see how we may not be alike on the outside, but on the inside, we have a few things in common. Holli’s words ring back through my head about learning to take compliments. I get what she meant. I am enough. I am enough because I like who I am. I am enough because Jet loves me. Despite the prickly parts, he always finds my soft side. “You deserve to be treated well, Marcy. Find someone who loves you for who you are and not who you know.”

When she turns to go down the stairs, she stops. “Thank you, and Hannah?”

Standing there, I almost expect the showdown that never happened. “Jet’s an amazing man, but you’re an amazing woman too. I’m glad he found you.”

“Thank you.”

We don’t hang out and chitchat or become besties, but I go back inside and feel happier that we’ve both found our way. But more importantly, when I sit on the couch and Alfie climbs onto my lap, I’ve found him. I didn’t know if I’d ever be a mother, but I’ve been given this child to raise, and he’s become my heart.

And soon, Jet will return to us, to his home, to our hearts right where he belongs. Together, this is family.

My family.

The only family I need.