“Yes.” Nolan laughs. “The first two members, Theo and Brodie, drove with some other friends to the Kentucky Derby in Louisville. Theo and Brodie weren’t really in to fancy hats, mint juleps, and in Theo’s words ‘tiny men beating horses around a track,’ so they walked back to the car where Theo had his guitar. The guy never traveled anywhere without it. I don’t even know if he still owns one.” Nolan frowns.
“Anyway, a couple hours later, their friends found them sitting on the trunk of the car, too drunk to drive, Theo riffing on his guitar and Brodie singing some song he just made up. That day was the official birth of the band called The Derby.”
I’m broken. The man I’ve come to love and equate with my new life—my new happiness—is leaving soon. Yet I can’t stop smiling. Theodore Reed was a rock star. Why couldn’t our paths have crossed before cancer wormed its way into my life, before I said yes to Daniel, and before Theo filled a metal trunk with weapons and clippings of his dead family?
“I heard him singing once. He didn’t know I was home, but man… I could have listened to him all day.”
“You should search them up on YouTube. I’m certain there’s still some videos up of them performing.”
That would require the internet, a computer, a smart phone… none of which I have because I chose to unplug from the toxic things in my life.
“Sure.” My smile slips.
“Here.” Nolan pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen a few times while he walks up the stairs. “This was their last concert.”
My hand trembles as I take the phone. I know what’s on the screen will multiply my pain. The roots of Theodore Reed are about to grow deeper into my soul, somehow I justknowit.
Theo… I stare at the video. He’s hunched over a bit, pressing the guitar to his body as his fingers move with effortless precision along the strings. His hair is short, his beard just a few days of stubble. There’s not a single tattoo on his arms. A hot pink bra lands on the stage a few feet from him. He doesn’t look up but his lips curl into a devilish grin. Four other blokes dance and sing on the stage, but I can’t tear my eyes from him.
“Scarlet,” Nellie says.
I didn’t hear her door open. “Good morning!” Jumping to my feet, I hand Nolan’s phone back to him. It takes every bit of strength I have to not run out the door, find the nearest place to buy a mobile, then crawl in bed and spend the day… or the rest of my life… watching videos of The Derby.
“I’m so happy you need company again.” Nellie smiles her usual lipstick-covered-teeth smile.
My gaze stays on her teeth. What happened to Nellie Moore? She has bright eyes and pretty teeth—although smeared in a red-orange hue. The sprouted ponytail of thick hair on the top of her head could be beautiful with a little bit of help. An equally lovelyand heartbreaking innocence exudes from her like one day her family gave up on her, stamped her head with “crazy,” and set her on a shelf to collect dust.
“You have some lipstick on your teeth, let’s—”
“Scarlet?” Nolan gives a barely detectable head shake.
I narrow my eyes at him. She may be confused, but she’s still his mum, she’s still human, and she’s definitely deserving of compassion not pity.
My name is Scarlet Stone, and I’ve always believed compassion is not earned, it’s given.
“Let’s get you fixed up a bit.” My glare continues to challenge Nolan as I lead Nellie back to her bedroom.
“Oh… thank you, dear.” She pats my hand that rests on her shoulder.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
My name is Scarlet Stone, and my nana told me I won’t know I’m in love until my heart is broken. Love doesn’t sound so great.
Yes. Nellie isquite lovely. Stunning, actually.
“You’re a hairdresser.”
I smile at Nellie’s reflection in the vanity mirror of the en suite bathroom. “No.”
She feathers her hand along her ginger hair that falls just below her shoulders. I’ve brushed it and added some soft curls to it, then I fixed her makeup, opting for nothing on her lips until we can go shopping for some new makeup. Whomever let her buy ten shades of orange-red lipstick should be beheaded.
“I forgot to tell you how much I like your shorter hair.”
My eyes shift to my own reflection. After Daniel left for London, I decided to cut my hair short, opting for a pixie cut with the top a chaos of curls and a few rebel spikes. The hairdresser said I looked like Halle Berry. I took it as a compliment.
“Thank you.” I smile. “Lower maintenance. Straightening my hair every day was too much work, and long curls with this southern humidity is not the best combination.”
“Humidity? You should visit southern Florida.”
