Chapter 15
Allegra
“Where are we going?” I ask as Derek leads me down a tiny alleyway. We parked over two blocks away and as my flip-flop catches on a cobblestone, I slow my pace.
He matches my stride, glancing at me. “I don’t come here often but I think you’ll like it. The food is good but the vibe, the vibe is chill as hell.”
“Okay,” I agree, following as he stops outside a cobalt blue door. “Oi! Out here,” he hollers.
The door opens a moment later and an elderly woman, with an apron tied around her hips and her silvery-grey hair pinned back in a low bun, beckons us inside. “Sit wherever, Reign.”
“Thanks, Lyd,” he replies, closing the door.
I pause, drinking in my surroundings. It’s not a house, like I originally assumed, but a restaurant, albeit a small one.
There are seven tables of varying shapes and sizes, surrounded by chairs or stools or a workbench.
Antique lamps dot end tables and a record selection takes up the back wall.
A phonograph plays throwback songs and I grin at Derek.
“This is cool,” I say, placing my little backpack down on a chair and spinning to take in the artwork, the floral wallpaper, the homey and vintage vibe. “I like it.”
“Lydia’s husband cooks and Lyd makes the drinks. But watch her, she’s got a heavy hand.” He winks.
“Heard that!” Lydia calls out seconds before she appears, carrying a tray with two waters and two coffees.
I sit down at a table and Derek takes the chair across from me.
“You’re right before the rush,” Lydia informs us as she places our beverages down. “Hungry?”
Derek nods. “She can eat.”
I grimace.
“Breakfast or dinner?” Lydia asks.
“I, um,” I stammer.
“Don’t think,” the little grandma explains. “Just say whatever comes to mind first.”
“Okay,” I agree, wondering what kind of game we’re playing.
“Breakfast or dessert?” she poses the next question.
“Breakfast,” I respond.
“Sweet or savory?”
“Savory.”
“Orange or green?”
“Green,” I guess.
“Got it,” Lydia says, nodding at me with approval in her eyes.
Did I make the right choices?
She glances at Derek. “I know what you’re having,” she informs him.
I sputter in laughter and Lydia gives me a cheeky grin. Then, she heads back to the kitchen. I take a sip of my coffee and cough, not expecting the sweet cream of Bailey’s to coat my taste buds. “She spiked the coffee.”
Derek grins. “Always. At least you got Bailey’s. She definitely splashed brandy in mine.”
I laugh, bewildered, but enjoying this strange experience. “Thanks for taking me here,” I tell Derek sincerely.
“Sure,” he brushes it off.
“Did you have fun today? At the lesson?” I was surprised when Dre said Derek would do the lessons. Until he entered the group home, I kept waiting for him to make an excuse and blow it off.
I haven’t seen him much in the past few weeks and whatever weirdness or residual hurt I thought I’d feel today has eased by witnessing his music lesson.
Seeing him interact with the kids, especially Jem and Sarah, was different. I understood what Dre meant about Derek being loyal and having emotions and heart underneath his blasé attitude and untouchable swagger.
“It was interesting,” he offers cryptically.
I laugh. “Come on, just admit it. You had more fun than you thought. Sarah is adorable and Jem is relatable. And you can’t wait to come back next week.”
The corner of his mouth twitches but his dark eyes remain serious. “Jem is relatable.”
“He reminds you of a younger version of yourself,” I guess.
Derek snorts and shakes his head. “At first, yeah. But Jem’s all Dre. Sarah reminds me of me.”
“Shut up,” I say playfully. No way is sweet, eager Sarah anything like young Derek was.
“I’m serious,” he says. “When I first met Dre, we had the same foster parents. Karen and Simon. Karen was nice, decent. She was a nurse and worked a lot of night shifts at the hospital. Simon—” He pauses and bites his lip.
I lean forward, hanging onto his words. It’s the most Derek’s ever confided in me about his past and I don’t want to miss a word.
I don’t want to overlook one well-meaning glance or half smirk.
My heart thuds in my temples and my stomach knots, painfully, as I know this story won’t have a happily-ever-after.
“Simon was a smarmy motherfucker.” Derek’s eyes glint with untamed anger. “He looked the part. Dressed and spoke well. But behind closed doors he was a mean drunk. Used to smack Dre around. And Dre, he was a tough motherfucker. Had to be to survive. But Simon would make him cower.”
Nausea rolls through me and swims in my stomach. I grip my coffee mug, feel my knuckles crack.
“I fucked up,” Derek continues. He bites the corner of his mouth and shakes his head. His eyes cut to mine. Hold and bleed. “I fucked up.”
I swipe my tongue along my bottom lip to wet it. My throat is dry, and my mouth feels parched, but I don’t lift my coffee mug. “What happened?”
“I looked up to Dre. We were together for nearly a year and he was good to me. Took the beatings Simon meant for me. I was still young, like Sarah. I wanted to do something good for Dre, pay him back for his kindness. I thought if Simon didn’t have liquor, he wouldn’t be so mean.
He was nice to Karen. He was even funny when he didn’t drink.
He was sober on the nights she didn’t work.
So, I drained his liquor cabinet. Emptied all the bottles. ”
“Oh, Derek,” I sigh, knowing what’s coming.
“Yeah,” Derek agrees. “Dre got blamed. He took the beating of his fucking life. Ran away that night.”
“Shit,” I swear.
“He’s seven years older than me.”
“Really?” I blurt out.
Derek snickers. “Yeah. I know, he looks younger.”
I shrug because it’s the truth.
“Dre lived on the streets for the next two years or so. He was fucking homeless, Allegra. Doing whatever it took to survive. That’s when Buck found him.”
“Buck,” I whisper, pieces clicking together in my mind.
“Buck got him on a good path. And my stupid fuckup nearly ruined his life,” Derek concludes.
“It was an accident. You were just a kid,” I point out. “You were trying to do something good. The right thing.”
“The right thing,” Derek scoffs. “I should’ve known better.
” He dismisses my words. “Deep down, I did know better. Maybe it was fucking denial. But after that, after I lost Dre, yeah, I stopped being Sarah.” He smirks.
“I started taking Simon’s beatings. Every fucking night.
He and Karen were on the rocks by then and living under their roof was pure hell.
I started acting out, getting into fights, being a hothead. ”
“What changed?” I ask.
“Music,” he explains. “My music teacher knew I had it rough and took me under his wing. Let me hang in the music room and fiddle on the guitars. I started staying after school to take lessons and when Mr. Robertson gifted me a guitar, everything changed. My world opened up. Music saved me.”
“Wow,” I murmur, viewing Derek through a new lens. Seeing the boy behind the man who endured years of hardship and loss and abuse to become a bona fide rockstar. “That’s, your story is—”
“A disaster?”
“Incredible,” I protest. “Hopeful.” I sigh. “Uplifting.”
Derek snickers. “You’re too goddamn good, Allegra.”
I shake my head. “Derek,” I say slowly, wondering if I should ask the next question or let it go.
“Ask me,” he states, correctly reading the hesitation in my tone.
I bite my bottom lip. “Did you ever know your mom and dad?”
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I knew my mom. She’s an addict but I spent my childhood with her. Even spent some time at Maybelle’s House.” He grins to take the pain out of that statement.
My heart breaks and my stomach twists as I think of Derek as a little boy, huddling in the women’s shelter the way I’ve witnessed other kids do. I clear my throat. “I had no idea.”
He shrugs. “She left when I was seven. Never knew my dad except…”
“Except?”
He shakes his head. “I keep getting these emails from Jess that my father is trying to connect with me.”
A rush of excitement runs through me and I try to tamp it down. “And?”
He chortles. “And nothing. I mean, the guy is doing it the right way, through a lawyer and all that. But I don’t buy it. What? He found me now? Now that I’m worth millions.” He scoffs. “Could all be bullshit. It most likely is.”
“But aren’t you curious?” I wonder.
He cracks his neck. “Curiosity killed the cat, Allegra,” he teases.
“A cat’s got nine lives, Derek.”
He grins. Nods in agreement. But then he quips, “I’ve already used most of mine.”
He says it teasingly, but I read the truth behind his tone. It sobers me and I drop my eyes. I can’t imagine Derek’s childhood and all he endured to get to this point.
When I look up, he’s watching me closely.
“Don’t feel bad for me, Stellina,” he whispers. “I do just fine.”
“I know,” I reply.
“Your food is ready!” Lydia hollers.
Derek gives one final nod and the heaviness of our conversation eases as Lydia appears. She places a savory crepe filled with ham and cheese and mushrooms in front of me. It’s plated on a sage green dish and I laugh.
“Oh, this looks delicious,” I comment.
Lydia beams. “It is!”
Derek snorts and glances at his dish. Mac and cheese. He grins at Lydia. “Thanks, Lyd. Tell Henry thanks too.”
“Of course. I’ve got a tin of chocolate chip cookies for you too.” She pats his head like he’s still a little boy. An enthusiastic, eager, open kid who didn’t take beatings or carry around crushing guilt or search for survival in the chords of a guitar.
The realization makes the back of my nose burn and unshed tears pierce the corners of my eyes. Who would Derek be if he never lost Dre? Who would he have become if he remained a Sarah?
Lydia moves back toward the kitchen.
I lift my fork in the air, let it hover between Derek and me. “Truce?” I offer, thawing the remainder of our cold front.
He smirks and clanks his fork against mine. “Truce.”
Should I tell him that I’m coming on tour? Should I gauge his reaction to having me traipse along Europe with him and the band?
I turn the idea over in my mind as we tuck into our food.
“Oh my God!” I moan appreciatively at how good my crepe is.
Cutting off a piece, I place it on Derek’s plate. His eyes snap up to mine, surprise and something I can’t read in their depths.
“You’ll like it,” I promise.
“Yeah,” he agrees.
“You deserve good things, Derek,” I tell him sincerely.
His mouth twists. “I have good things, Allegra. You see my life, it’s what dreams are made of.”
I open my mouth to press my point. To confide that Levi invited me on tour. To tell him things. But his phone buzzes, skittering over the top of the table.
Derek and I glance at it at the same time.
Jenn appears on the screen, and I swallow back my words, relieved I didn’t say them yet.
Of course, he’s seeing her. Screwing her. Maybe even dating her?
Derek’s nostrils flare and he exhales noisily, reaching out to flip his phone screen facedown. He silences the call.
Tendrils of hurt, of disappointment, crawl through my chest and flare up into my throat. I take a long sip of my spiked coffee to wash them away.
“You still deserve good things,” I repeat quietly.
His eyes darken, unfathomable pools of regret. Of guilt and shame. But in their centers, I spy a flicker of determination.
My heart rate jumps, and I grip my fork tighter.
“No,” he replies, and my hope dies. “I don’t deserve any of the things I truly want. Never have and never will.”
I stare at Derek for a long beat and search for slivers of the eager, enthusiastic, whole little boy he described. I’m met with his resistance, all anger and bitterness.
I shake my head and cut another piece of my crepe. I drop it onto his plate.
Partly as reluctant acknowledgement, partly as quiet resignation.