Jet

Dex scowls.

I can’t hear what he’s saying on the other side of the glass that separates my brothers and me from Johnny, Dex, and Tommy, but Dex is clearly pissed. His sticks are tucked under his arms while he points his hand at us and gripes at the other guys.

The sound tech working the board is looking on but is clearly staying out of it.

Looking back at my brothers, Tulsa mouths, “What?”

Our mics are on, so Rivers shrugs.

I ask loudly, “What’s up, guys?”

Dex leans over the soundboard, punches a button, and says, “You can’t have a rock band without a drummer.”

He’s taken personal offense to our situation. We were upfront with them before we signed, so I’m not sure why this is an issue. We can just hire a drummer.

Letting my guitar hang, I speak into the mic this time. “I know enough to get by, but I’m rusty. Also, I can’t sing, play guitar, and add drums into the mix, so Tulsa gets relegated to the kit some nights when we’re short a steady drummer.”

Dex pushes the button again. “Get on the kit, Tulsa. Start from the top of ‘Evermore’ and let Tulsa kick off the song instead of Rivers.”

Tulsa is a pain in my ass most days, but his heart is always in the right place. He eyes me, and I nod once. When he takes off his guitar, I hear him sigh. “You can do it, bro.”

“I’m not as strong on the drums as I am on guitar, and now I’m playing for one of the best drummers out there.”

Dex’s voice comes over the speaker. “Rock Magazine named me Drummer of the Decade.”

We laugh. Tulsa spins on the stool and then adjusts it to the right height. With sticks in his other hand, he points at Dex and says, “That doesn’t help.”

“Sorry, man,” Dex says, chuckling. “Just do your best. I can work with you if we decide to keep you on the kit.”

Tulsa shakes his head. I know what he’s doing. He’s building his courage. He has to let the beat flow free. He’s just the vessel, the messenger of music. Let it flow. He says, “Here goes nothing.” Tapping his sticks together, he counts down and kicks off the song.

* * *

We’ve been in the recording studio in Ojai more than four hours. We’re all starting to get worn down, but Johnny says, “Play ‘Wildflower’ once more, but this time, I want more bass from Rivers and hit harder on that first chorus, Tulsa. I want the impact felt in the bleacher seats. You’re not just playing for front row VIPs. You’re playing for everyone. They’ve all bought a ticket to hear you play live. Jet, try going up an octave on the word stay, then lower on the second verse again.”

Tulsa mutters under his breath, “Damn, dudes, we must suck.”

Johnny adds, “You don’t suck. If you sucked, you wouldn’t be here. Now from the top.”

We must have played this song twenty times making tweaks, but this time it’s different. This time, I’m moved by the song, the words, and I recapture the feeling I had when I first wrote it so many months ago.

Call it kismet, but my wildflower walks in when I’m singing about her. Beautiful and brave.

Hannah’s the most gorgeous woman, her smile just for me. My heart beats faster, and I try to control the tempo, but I struggle when she’s near.

Next to her, our kid waves. Our kid. Hers and mine.

Alfie’s so happy to see me. I keep playing but watch as she leans down to whisper in his ear and point at me. They both smile, holding hands—my biggest fans.

Leaning into the mic again, I play my guitar and start to sing:

My wildflower grows free.

Free.

Free from worry. Free from me.

Leaving me craving the things she took away.

Stay.

Why can’t she stay instead of wrecking me?

Her happy fades, but she smiles—softer, sweeter—just for me. I’ve never played this song in front of her. We’ve never performed it live. This is for the album. This is for her. My wildflower. My sweet Hannah.

When we finish the song, I turn around. “Fuck, that was perfection.”

Rivers says, “You nailed it, Jet. It’s evocative and—”

Laughing, Tulsa hits him with a drumstick. “Evocative?”

“Not sorry,” Rivers snaps, “for using words you don’t understand.”

“Fuck you, Riv.”

Tommy announces, “Take a break.”

The door swings open, and Alfie runs into the studio. Slamming into my side, he hugs me. “Miss me, Jet?”

I swing my guitar around to my back and pick him up, hugging him. “Missed you tons. How was the airplane?”

“Boring.”

Hannah comes into the room, looking shy, unsure what to do or maybe what her place is in this situation. I’m failing her. Going toward her, I say, “Couldn’t be that boring. You had Hannah with you.”

“Hannah’s not boring,” he replies.

“No, she’s not.” I set him down, and he runs to Tulsa. To Hannah, I tilt my head and smile. “Were you bored, too?”

“Nervous.”

“I know a way to help with those nerves.”

“I bet you do.”

“Are we still keeping us a secret?”

Johnny comes over the speaker. “You two suck at keeping secrets, and by the way, your mic is still hot.”

Fuck.

Hannah laughs and grabs me by the guitar strap. “Since the secret is out already, c’mere. I missed you.”

I am all for this kiss, but we both freeze when Alfie asks, “What secret?”

Shit.

Her hands fall to her sides, and we both sigh while taking a step back. We were almost caught. I’m ready to tell Alfie, stepping out of secrecy’s dark shadow, but there are other things to consider than how I feel.

She whispers, “We’ll talk later?”

I nod. Since we’re taking a break, I take my guitar off over my head and set it on the stand. Alfie comes back. “What secret, Jet?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, buddy.” Checking the time, I ask, “Are you getting hungry?”

Rivers walks by. “We all are. How long are we breaking?”

Alfie’s hand slips into mine, and we walk out of the studio and up another level to the main house. Johnny’s wife is loading a tray of sausage onto the table. “We have enough barbecue to feed an army. Help yourselves to brisket, ribs, sausage, and all the sides you want. There’s potato salad, coleslaw, and fruit. We have other stuff if you’re not digging this.” She casually strokes the top of her son’s blond head. “If you need something special or have allergies, just let me know.”

Johnny picks up his kid and grabs a plate, letting him point at what he wants for his dinner. Tightness in my chest causes me to look down at Alfie, wishing I had those early years with him.

I’ve been muddling through this since the day I found out I have a son. Watching the bond Johnny has with James makes me wonder if one day it will come more natural for Alfie and me. I feel like I’m still stuck in shock that I have a son, much less being all that he needs in a dad.

I grab a plate, totally copying Johnny, and we start moving around the table with everyone else filling their plates. “What would you like to eat, Alfie?”

He shakes his head no.

“Brisket?” I’m answered with a scrunched face. “Ribs?” A gagging sound is heard, and we get the kind of attention I don’t like. Squatting down, I take in the table from his eye level. Wow, I’m surprised how much you can’t see from down here. I’m about to ask Hannah what he will like but then give it one last shot. “How about a sausage?”

He nods enthusiastically. “And fruit.”

“Grab a fork and napkin.” We load some fruit and a brownie on his plate, and then he joins Rivers outside on the patio. Though by the size of the patio, I’m thinking technically it might be called a terrace. Either way, this place is decked out.

The sun has set, but it’s not too cold outside just yet. With full plates on laps or at the table, everyone is spread out. By the silence of the first few minutes, we’re all starving. We’ve all stayed close enough to be a part of the same conversation. After cracking open a can of soda, Tommy says, “We’re keeping the last track.”

“Wildflower?” I ask.

“Yeah, and the recording of it.”

“What? I thought we were warming up, not recording for the album.”

Pushing away an empty plate, Johnny settles back with his arm over Holli’s shoulder. Next to her are James and then Alfie. He says, “It’s going to blow your mind, man. I had complete faith when we signed you, but that song in there is pure gold. It’s going to hit big. Wait until you hear it.”

“Is it supposed to be that simple? Just go in and record.”

Dex puts his hands behind his head as he lies on a lounge chair. “When it’s right, it works like magic.”

Johnny adds, “We’re not going to fu—” Holli’s hand flies to her right, landing smack dab against his middle. Glancing down at the kids, he corrects himself, “Mess. We’re not going to mess with perfection. If you guys don’t like it, we’re open to hear your ideas, but I’m telling you, you guys nailed it.”

Rivers asks, “A song a day. May not even take three weeks to wrap the album.”

Laughing, Tommy says, “Slow down. Trust me, you’re going to be sore, tired, and hoarse once we’re done here, but don’t worry. We have some days off built into the schedule.”

When Holli starts to stand, Johnny stands with her and pulls out her chair. He watches her walk inside with their plates, and then scoops James into his lap. I look at Hannah who’s sitting a few feet away. “Hi,” she says silently.

Dex says, “I think we had a good day. Maybe we should call it a night for the studio work. I want a beer.” He pushes up and goes inside.

Johnny adds, “I’m good for the night. I feel like we’re off to a good start. Make yourselves at home.” He swings his kid onto his back. “Ready, kiddo?”

“Weddy,” he replies.

Before they reach the door, Johnny looks back. “This is your home for the next three weeks. If you need anything, just let Holli or me know. We’ll get some rental cars brought out tomorrow so you can come and go as you want.”

Alfie says, “All done.”

“Take two more bites, buddy. This is dinner. You’re heading to bed soon, and I want to make sure you’re good and full.”

He shoves two pieces of sausage into his mouth and then darts inside. I know he wants to find James before they both have to go to bed. An awkward silence settles. My brothers and Tommy are up and out of their seats. Tommy says, “Rivers. Tulsa. Let’s go, umm . . . yeah, not stay here.”

Hannah starts to giggle. “How are you doing, Crow?” She gets up, comes to me, and runs her hand over my shoulder. Her touch feels good. My body stirs, a twisting in my gut, wanting some alone time with her, wanting to be deep inside her. I cover her hand, and taking her by surprise, I pull her into my lap.

Her hands, those same soft but strong hands, latch behind my back and her feet go up in the air. When her head tilts back, her hair almost touches the ground. It was only one glass of wine from what I saw, so she’s either tipsy or happy. I’m going with the latter.

Her laughter is carefree, her smile relaxed. When she lifts up, she tightens her hold on me. I tuck some hair behind an ear and pull her close enough to sneak a kiss on her cheek. “I’m happy to see you. How are you, Nichols?”

“Amazing. I haven’t felt this good in a while. Is it bad if I say I think it’s because . . .” She pauses, but then says, “I’m not on my family’s watch?”

“Is this how you’re going to be the entire three weeks?”

“Like what?” She sits up concerned.

I squeeze her ass and smirk. “Gorgeous in your happiness? ’Cuz if you are, I might keep you here forever.”

The tension lifts from her body, and she laughs. “I don’t think I’d mind staying here. Will you give me this life of luxury, Jet?” Although I know she’s teasing, I love how she also sounds dreamy and peaceful.

“I’ll give you whatever your heart desires, baby.” Her lip gets pulled between her teeth. I can see the need in her eyes. The more time I spend with her, the more I learn about this beauty. I know so much about her sexually, but now, I want to know everything about the woman. “What’s your favorite candy?”

“You’re asking me about candy?”

“Yeah, what do you like?” Her hand cups my jaw, her thumb running up and down my scruff. “I need to shave.”

“I like it like this.”

I hold her a little closer. Glancing toward the door, I check to see if the coast is still clear. “I like you like this.” I lean in and steal a kiss. Wine and barbecue. Sinful.

When voices carry from the inside out here for us to hear, she moves slowly off my lap. Before she goes, her hand touches my shoulder, and she says, “Red Hots and Hot Tamales.”

“Cinnamon.” Sweet and spicy, matching her personality. After tasting her sweet, I’m willing to get burned to taste her fire.