“Fuuuck…” I grab the wall next to me with one hand and fist her hair with my other hand as she proves, once again—No. Gag. Reflex.
*
Three years ago,when I walked out Scarlet’s door, I never imagined I could overcome the feelings of betrayal, grief, and hatred for everything and everyone in my life. I made a piss-ass attempt at building a house on my acreage, because building it for myself gave me little motivation.
Instead, I turned to my first love—music. My old manager once told me there’s nothing more magical in the music industry than a broken heart. So I wrote and wrote and wrote. Thirteen songs later, I felt a helluva lot better. I packed up my stuff and drove back to Savannah to get the girl.
I waited a week to ask her to marry me, without asking Oscar’s permission. Asking for it seemed like a bad omen. She pointed to my guitar and the tattered stacks of paper with the scribbled lyrics to all of my songs and said, “I want to marry a rock star. When you’re a rock star. I’ll marry you.”
Seven months later, I signed a record deal and my marriage license.
My wife beat cancer. She’s my hero, my friend, my lover. Scarlet is the reason I’m living my dream. I nod at the crew as I make my way to the stage, with my guitar in one hand and her hand in my other. We stop at the bottom of the backstage stairs, both of us grinning at the thunderous roar of 18,000 fans chanting my name.
“Tell me a story, Theo.” She says the same thing before every concert.
I kiss her long and hard until I know she’s gasping for air. “I’ll sing you a song, Scarlet.”
“Make it a love song.” She releases my hand.
I take several steps up toward the stage. The adrenaline begins to burn in my veins. “It’s your song. They’re all your songs.” I wink and take my spot—center stage at Madison Square Garden. Tonight, I will perform every song from my debut album,Songs of Scarlet.
*
Scarlet
Two Years Later
My name isScarlet Reed. I enjoy counting breaths, observing the diversity of the human condition, and witnessing miracles. Oh… and I’m married to a rock star.
“Let me guess… you thought you couldn’t get pregnant?” Mary, our adoption agent, peers over the frames of her reading glasses, zeroing in on my baby bump. Theo signs the adoption papers then hands me the pen.
“How’d you guess?” I rest my hand on Theo’s leg. Six months ago I feared the worst—that my cancer had returned. After a trip to the doctor, we discovered I didn’t have cancer and my infertility from endometriosis was no longer an issue. I was diagnosed with a healthy case of pregnancy with the side effect of morning sickness. I didn’t speak for days, I was so gobsmacked. Theo, on the other hand, strutted around like a cock, claiming he had super sperm.
“I see it all the time, honey. Years of failed attempts leads to adoption. Then… boom! Once you stop actually trying, it happens. Most don’t go through with the adoption when that happens.”
I shrug, placing the pen on the paper after signing it. “We’ve been Maya’s foster parents for a year. She’s already family.” I smile.
Two years ago, Maya lost both of her parents and her older brother to gang violence in Chicago. Her closest living relative is a grandmother here in Nashville. Last year, her grandmother suffered a heart attack and was moved to an assisted living facility. Maya was put into foster care.
Theo met her through a school-sponsored music outreach program shortly after her parents died. At seven, she is nothing short of amazing. Theo calls her a music prodigy. Although, I think he fell in love with her smile before she ever played a single note. He said she has a small dimple on her right cheek when she smiles really big, just like me. I don’t have a dimple. We agree to disagree.
“Well, she’s a lucky little girl. Often times, black, adolescent children can spend their entire youth being bounced around in foster care until they turn eighteen.”
With everything finalized, we thank Mary and hurry to the car. Maya will have finished school in an hour which means we need to get ouradult activitiesdone before she gets home.
“Don’t speed.”
Theo shoots me a sideways glance. “I’m not.”
“You’re ten miles an hour over the speed limit.”
He returns his eyes to the road. “If you must know, I’m fifteen over.”
I laugh. “We’re not talking about how fast you’re going, are we?”
“He said four days and it turned into over two weeks.”
I roll my eyes. Although Oscar let Nellie go without so much as one guilty look at either one of us, Theo hasn’t forgotten that I was going to let Nellie get away with murder so that Oscar could have a chance at love and happiness. Theo claims he understands why I did it, but I don’t think he ever understood how anyone could fall in love with Nellie. He never had the chance to see that side of her.
