Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
SCARLETT
I ’m not gonna lie. I fucking love being famous. And it’s not for the reasons you might think.
Don’t get me wrong, the money is great. It affords me a lifestyle that most people pine for, and one that I never would’ve dreamed possible as a kid. And the perks of being a celebrity are endless. Private parties, fancy cars, more jewelry than most women could ever hope for, and A-list celebrities vying for front-row seats at my concerts. And my absolute favorite perk…award shows. There’s nothing better than strutting down the red carpet in a designer gown with an equally gorgeous escort.
But here’s what it all boils down to: I love fame because it was my ticket out of New Hope, South Carolina, the small town where I was born, raised, and never truly fit in. It wasn’t until my boots hit the bustling streets of Nashville, Tennessee, that I felt at home.
Music brought me fame, which in turn gave me the one thing I had been searching for: an identity.
Of course, I worked my ass off to get here, and I have God-given talent that I’m eternally grateful for.
So, when I burst out on the stage in front of a hundred thousand fans who all came to scream my name, it’s the thrill of a lifetime.
Every damn night.
“You’re on in three,” I hear in my ear. I’m in my green room alone, my hair and makeup done, and I’m wearing the first of twelve costumes for tonight. We’re on the last leg of my Starlight World Tour.
This is show one hundred twenty-three of one twenty-five in four months, and I’m exhausted. My voice is tired, my body is beat, and I want nothing more than to curl up in my California king and take the longest nap on record.
But not one soul in the audience will know that tonight. I’ll give them the best damn show they’ve ever seen in hopes that they come back for the next tour—and bring their friends.
I take a deep breath, smooth my hands down my white, off-the-shoulder T-shirt and ripped jeans held on with a few strands and a prayer, then grab my rose gold mic and hurry out to my spot under the stage.
The rest of the band is already in place, and I can hear the first few notes of one of my most popular songs, just as the stage floor opens above me, and I begin to rise onto the platform.
“Hello, L.A!” I scream, making the crowd lose their shit. For the next two hours, I work the audience, running from one end of the stage to the other, moving down the catwalk, and belting the lyrics to their favorite songs. At one point, I’m hoisted fifty feet into the air on ropes. My show is physically demanding, with no room for error.
If I screw up, I could get hurt, and I won’t let that happen.
I also don’t allow for any lip-syncing in my show. I sing all of my songs live, something I’ve always prided myself on.
After the fourth encore, I throw my hands into the air and decide to call it a night. “I love you, L.A.” A thunderous roar ripples through the stadium. Chants and screams, begging me for one more song. “You’re the best there is. I’ll see you soon!”
I take a minute to soak in the noise, the faces, the energy , before running backstage to spend another two hours doing meet and greets.
This is my life, and it’s amazing.
Part of it is the attention it brings. I enjoy it, and I won’t apologize for it. But really, I love everything about my job. They want me to stand for hours meeting with fans for autographs and photos? No problem. They want me to go to hospitals to spend time with sick fans? My pleasure. Another city, another tour, another song? Whatever it takes to breathe life into what I love to do.
But it’s not just the music and the notoriety, I also love the community of the country music scene. It’s smaller than you’d think. The artists are brilliant, kind, and down to earth, and writing music in Nashville is every musician’s dream.
And I’m living it.
I never plan to stop making music. I’ll do it until I’m on my deathbed.
“Excellent show, Scar,” my manager, Susan, says after the final fan leaves and I collapse in my green room, still wearing my last costume—a rhinestone-covered jacket and booty shorts over fishnet stockings—a bottle of water clutched in my hand.
“It was a fun one,” I agree with a sigh. Jesus, I’m sweating. My heart is still pounding, and I’m happily exhausted. “I can’t believe we only have two shows left on this tour.”
“Well, we need to talk about that,” Sue replies, and the concern in her eyes has me sitting up.
“What is it?”
“You need to call your sister.”
I frown. “You’ve spoken to Alexis?”
“In the middle of Small Town Girl ,” she confirms with a nod. “I reminded her that you were on stage and promised to have you call her when all of the madness was over.”
“Shit,” I mutter, reaching for my phone. I’m not looking forward to this call. My younger sister isn’t my biggest fan. In fact, I’m not sure she’s a fan at all. We’ve never really gotten along, but I had hoped that would change when we became adults.
It didn’t.
I moved to Nashville to pursue my career, and she stayed in New Hope, married her high school sweetheart, and had two kids. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.
It just wasn’t the path that I wanted for myself.
And Alexis has issues with that.
Here goes nothin’.
I take a long swallow of my water, then dial her number and put her on speaker. She answers on the second ring.
“’Bout time,” she says.
“I just got back to the green room. What’s up?”
“Daddy had a stroke.”
I stand, my hand covering my mouth. “What?”
“It’s not life-threatening, thank goodness, but it’s bad enough that he’s going to need some help for a while.”
“Done. Whatever he needs. I’ll hire the best,” I say right away.
“Your money won’t fix this,” Alexis snaps. “Jesus, why do you always think you can put a Band-Aid on everything with your damn money?”
“Lexi, I’m saying that whatever he needs, he’ll have.”
“He needs you,” she replies simply. “You need to come home.”
“Of course, I have a few days until the next show in Nashville. I’ll come home tonight, make sure he’s okay, and then?—”
“No, Scarlett, you need to come home to see this through. He’s going to need someone with him all the time, and I have a husband and kids. For the last ten years, I’ve been here making sure he has everything he needs and helping to maintain the house while you’ve been gallivanting around the world. I’m the one who makes sure he’s eating a balanced meal every night and making sure his house is clean, and the yard is maintained.”
“I—”
“You jet him from state to state so he can be at your precious shows so you don’t feel so guilty for not coming home, but that isn’t going to fly anymore. I’m done, Scarlett. Get your ass on a plane and take some responsibility for your family.”
With that, she hangs up, and my jaw opens and closes like a dying catfish.
“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Your sister’s just a joy.” Sue rolls her eyes and is already tapping on her phone. “I’ll cancel the last two shows and whatever interviews we have scheduled.”
“No,” I reply, shaking my head adamantly. “I’ll go home and see him, like I said, but I’m not canceling those shows.”
“Scar, your father had a stroke today. And as much as I don’t like Alexis, this is one time that I agree with her. Go be with your family.”
I get where she’s coming from, I really do. And I have every intention of going home and taking care of Daddy, but this is my family, too. The band, my dancers, my back-up singers, the crew, and the fans. They’ve been my family for more than a decade.
I shake my head again, but Sue stands firm.
“We’ll reschedule the shows for later in the summer. I’ve already got the crew working on getting us out of here, and I have you booked on a flight in three hours.”
“I hate red-eyes,” I mutter. “I’m not complaining. I know I need to get to him. Lexi didn’t even let me talk to him.”
The thought stops me cold.
Daddy had a stroke. Can he even talk? I’ve heard of stroke victims losing use of their extremities as well as their vocal ability. The severity of what’s happening really hits home.
This is my daddy.
The man who played the part of mother and father. The male who learned to put my hair in pigtails because I wanted to look pretty and went without so he could afford to get me the dress I’d been dying to have.
My face must show my turmoil because Sue puts a gentle hand on my arm. “Call him,” she urges me. “Your sister can’t stop you from talking to him.”
I nod, feeling tears prick my eyes.
“I just saw him last week. I flew him to the show in Miami.”
“And he loved it,” Sue agrees.
“Jesus, Sue. I haven’t been to New Hope since I was eighteen.”
“Well, I guess you’re going now.”