“You’re wrong, East. So wrong.”
“Of course, you’d say that. You’re good. Just like her.”
She bites her lower lip, silencing whatever words are on the tip of her tongue. After the silence gets too much for me to bear, she asks me another question, ending my anxious state.
“Is that when your mom met your stepdad? At the hotel?”
“Pretty much, yeah. I was seven when Dick began staying at the hotel. One look at my mom, and that’s all it took for him. The asshole moved into the penthouse suite just so he could have an excuse to see her every day.” I chuckle half-heartedly. “Mom still gave him a run for his money, though. It took him two years before he was able to lock her down.” I chuckle softly.
“I don’t understand. Why do you hate him?”
“I told you. I don’t. He loves my mom, so how could I ever hate him? Sure, I wish he wasn’t such a workaholic and spent more time with her. But in the end, he treats her like a queen. He makes sure she feels safe and loved. But our relationship has always been strenuous, and that’s because he sees the real me, even if my mother refuses to.”
“And you resent him for that?” she asks, her forehead wrinkled in confusion, trying to piece together all the jagged edges of my life’s fucked-up jigsaw puzzle.
“I resent him because he’s right. When he looks at me, I can’t escape who I am. Does that make sense?”
“No.” She frowns.
“So stubborn,” I tease, leaning in to kiss her nose.
“Does anyone else know?”
“The guys have an idea about my fucked-up past. I’ve never told them outright what happened to my mom like I just told you, but they know it’s messed up enough that I’m reluctant to talk about it.”
“But they accepted you for you, regardless?”
“I guess.” I shrug, not seeing where she is going with this.
“So, is it possible that people love you for the man that you are, and not for the one who made you? That his sins are not yours, and that you shouldn’t be punished for them, or feel any less than because of it?”
“Scar—”
“No, listen. I heard you. I have. Down to every last self-deprecating word. I took it all in. I understand why you feel the way you do, and I’m not going to sit here and dismiss your feelings. They’re yours, and only you know how the past has affected you. All I’m asking is for you to consider that just because you were a product of such a heinous crime doesn’t mean you are just as evil. Only you get to decide what kind of man you want to become. Who made you shouldn’t factor into it.”
I wish it were that simple. To ignore that a monster’s blood courses through my veins. But it’s not. I’ll always look in the mirror and see the devil hidden within.
Desperate to move away from my demons and concentrate on hers, I trail a light finger over her burns and ask, “You want to tell me this story now?”
She bows her head, pushing her glasses to the bridge of her nose.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I assure softly.
“I want to. I just don’t want your pity, that’s all.”
“I’m a heartless bastard, Scarlett. If you haven’t been paying attention, I think I already established that tonight. I don’t even know the concept of pity,” I joke, hoping it’s enough to get her to open up to me. “You and me, remember? You hurt, I hurt.”
She gives me a clipped nod, and on bated breath, I wait for her to share her inner demons just as mine have been thrown at her feet.
“Momma was a singer like me, only better. When she sang, it felt as if the sun were kissing your skin. She brought so much joy with just her voice that you couldn’t help but be in awe of it. But she was brought up in a very conservative household, where talents should only be used for praising God, and nothing else. She ran away from home the minute she finished high school, hoping to get her big break out west. She never got it, though. But she was happy. She sang in Vegas lounges and bars and lived off that. Just like you and your mom, we were all each other had. I never met my dad. I asked her once about him, and she told me he was a struggling singer, too, who moved to Nashville to try his luck. She said I wasn’t missing much not having him in my life. He wasn’t fit to be anyone’s dad since he couldn’t even take care of himself.”
“So you never met him?”
“No. I was never really interested, either. When Mom died, social services notified him, but he never showed up for me. Not a single call or visit. Not even a postcard to say he was sorry. Nothing. The only people who were there for me were Owen and my Uncle Jack.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. It’s life, I guess.”
“How did your mom die, Scarlett?” I venture, wondering if she’ll be brave enough to talk about the subject.
She scrunches her nose, her brown eyes taking on a saddened hue.
“As I told you, Momma was really talented. And so beautiful, both inside and out. She had a knack at making everyone feel like they were the most important person in the room. She had that light about her, you know? But her kindness was sometimes misconstrued for something else. Momma was always so playful and lighthearted that it was easy for people to believe she was flirting with them when, in reality, she was just being herself. Some men were pushy with her, unable to distinguish between being nice and genuinely interested in their attention. Especially one.”
I watch her hands begin to shake, so I grab them and lightly kiss each knuckle until her tremors stop.
“At first, Momma thought it was just another fan with a crush. She thanked him for all the flowers and gifts he’d sent her, but when they started to be a bit over the top or too intimate in nature, she began to send them back.”
“What do you mean? What kind of gifts?”
“Expensive jewelry, at first. The type you buy a girlfriend or a wife, not some woman you’ve never had more than a five-minute conversation with. He followed those gifts with lingerie and hotel keys. Creepy things like that.”
“Hmm, I see.”
“Those were fine if that’s all he ever did. But then he started sending Momma really scary letters that freaked her out. She tried to minimize her terror for me, but I knew she was scared. I heard her calling Owen every day, telling him how afraid she was for both of us. When she told me we were moving to Asheville, just until her stalker’s infatuation cooled down, I thought all our problems were over.”
“But that never happened, did it?”
“No. One night, I was sleeping in my bed when I heard a crash. It startled me, so I got up to see what was wrong. To this day, I have no idea how he got into the house, but he found a way. When I reached Momma’s room, she was tied to the bed by her wrists, her dressing gown ripped from her body, and the room set ablaze. She couldn’t scream because she had a gag in her mouth, but the way she shook profusely while her eyes were begging me to save her is something I will never forget. I didn’t think. I just held my forearms up to my face and dove into the burning room so I could save my mother. It hurt like hell, but I needed to set her free. That’s how I got these.”