8. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Scarlet
S tepping into Nate’s hospital room, my eyes immediately land on a young nurse diligently checking his vitals. She looks at him with dreamy eyes, but Nate is too absorbed in the TV to even notice. Not that he’d give a shit, anyway—my brother’s locked up his heart tight. It will always belong to the girl he lost all those years ago.
From my vantage point, I observe as Ace exits his car, marches towards the paparazzi, and forcefully hurls the camera to the ground. I smirk at the sight—he usually keeps his emotions buried deep, closed off, unlike Theo, whose nervous twitches always spill the beans. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ace this mad. But then again, I’ve never really had the chance to truly get to know him, so what do I know?
As the nurse wraps up and exits, I step into the room. Nate’s eyes remained fixed on the TV screen, refusing to look away. Some reporter is outside the hospital where everything happened yesterday, speculating that the tour is definitely going to be canceled now that Nate is stuck in here with a broken shoulder.
“Has the band made a public statement yet, Richard?” The news anchor’s voice reverberates loudly from the television.
As soon as Nate notices me approaching, he turns his head. “Can you believe this shit?” he says, before shifting his attention back to the TV.
Standing by his bed, we watch the footage of Ace playing on repeat, the reporter’s voice speculating about the future of the tour. “What the fuck was Ace thinking?” Nate says, grabbing the remote and turning off the television.
“He wasn’t thinking at all,” I reply with a smirk.
“It’s not funny, Scar. He’s a fucking idiot for losing his shit like that, especially with the media recording his every move.”
“Go easy on him. Theo's already been giving him a hard time.”
“Good,” Nate replies. “That dickhead deserves every bit of it. If it were Theo who’d fucked up, Ace would’ve ripped him a new one for that.”
“From what I saw yesterday, I think he’s already punishing himself enough over it.”
I reach into my bag and pull out a large bag of chips—Nate’s favorite swiped from the cafeteria. I make my way to the other side of the bed, where his functioning arm rests, and tuck them into his top drawer for easy access.
“Have Mom and Dad been in today?“ I ask, walking over to the window to admire the breathtaking view. Looking out from Nate’s room, the city sprawls out below, complete with the constant buzz of traffic on the highway and the silhouette of distant hills.
“Yeah, they left about an hour ago,” Nate replies. A heavy silence settles between us, filled with unspoken thoughts that hang in the air.
I settle back into the chair beside Nate’s bed.
Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice shattering the stillness. “I’ll rip that asshole apart when I lay eyes on him, Scar.”
As I lift my eyes to meet Nate’s gaze, I can sense his scrutiny directed towards the marks that are still visible on my face. The swelling’s gone, but the bruises are still visible, no matter how hard I tried to conceal them today.
“Just drop it, Nate,” I urge, trying to diffuse his growing anger.
“Fuck, Scarlet, you expect me to just forget that asshole laid a hand on you?”
“Nate, I just want to leave it in the past,” I say, hoping to calm him down.
"Yeah, but I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. Did you get a restraining order or press charges against him?”
“No.”
“Why the fuck not, Scarlet?” I can see the frustration written all over his face, as he tries to make sense of why I haven’t acted yet.
“Because Nate. What happens when the media gets wind of that? You’ll be all over the front page, and it’s got nothing to do with you.”
“So what? This has everything to do with me, goddamn it. You’re my little sis, Scar. Some asshole hurt you. That’s way more important than any shit that the media pulls.” He reaches out and grabs my hand, his grip firm and protective.
“I don’t know,” I say, staring down at our joined hands. “I suppose I just didn’t want the media to grab hold of it and broadcast it all over the news. It’s already embarrassing as it is. I don’t need the whole world knowing about what happened.”
“It’s not about being embarrassed, Scar. You did nothing wrong, so you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. This is on that dickhead, not you.” The soft pressure of Nate’s thumb running over the back of my hand sends a wave of comfort through me, but his words make my chest tighten. When he falls silent, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I finally look up at him. “Last night, when the guys came in, Theo mentioned that you declined the opportunity to take my spot in the band.”
I shift my eyes away from him and fix my gaze on the expansive view outside the large window as I speak. “Did he explain my reasons for refusing?”
“Yeah, he did. You know Theo—he can’t help but blurt things out. But I want to hear it from you."
I shift my gaze back to Nate. Our sibling bond has always been strong and close-knit. He’s been my protector, always there to shield me from harm. I know Theo would’ve painted a vivid picture of my conversation at that table yesterday; that’s just how those two operate.
“Why didn’t you ever let me in on that shit, Scar?”
"Because it's my problem, Nate. You didn’t need to know, plain and simple."
He falls silent for a moment, and when I glance up, I can see the frustration in his eyes—he’s itching to dig deeper but holds back, wary of me shutting him down. I hesitate, unsure if I should dive into this conversation. It’s not his fault that his talent shines brighter than mine, but I feel this irresistible urge to explain myself. With Theo, you never really know what might have slipped out.
“I said nothing, Nate, because I didn’t want you to see how your fame screws with my career.”
"Tell me, Scar. I need to understand what’s been happening," he presses.
I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He deserves to know, but I can already imagine the heavy burden this will place on him. I know my brother well enough to anticipate his reaction—his face will contort with guilt, as he worries that his success might be hindering mine.
"The day I came home and found Beck in my apartment, I had just finished an audition. I honestly thought I nailed it."
“And I’m sure you did, Scar.”
"Thanks, Nate," I say, managing a smile. That’s the thing about my brother—he’s always been my biggest supporter. “Everything seemed to be going well. It came down to me and another guy. From where they had me sitting, I could hear the questions they asked him about his past successes, so I knew it was down to just the two of us. But when they finished with him and called me over, they didn’t ask me anything like that.”
“Why? What did they ask?” Nate inquires, his curiosity piqued.
“Well, the first question they hit me with was about you,” I respond.
“What did they say?”
“They asked if I was related to you. When I said yes, the three guys exchanged looks, and I could feel it in my gut. This same thing has happened before.”
“I’m sorry, Scar,” Nate says softly, the sincerity in his voice evident.
“It’s okay; it’s not your fault. After I answered that question, I thought they’d shift their focus back to my audition, like they did with the guy before me. You know, asking about my music. But they didn’t. Instead, they asked if I was in their band, if I could get them on the opening list for your tour.” I choose not to mention the uncomfortable moment when one of the guys stared at my chest, giving me an uneasy feeling. But I suppose that’s just how things are in the music scene. Even male groupies can be way too forward with female musicians. In my previous band, I lost track of how many times I had to shut them down. “So I just got up and left. It felt like all those other times where they’re more interested in my connections than my talent.”
“I still don’t get why you turned down Theo’s offer.”
"But that's exactly why I turned it down. It's simple, Nate. I'm always being compared to you. If I joined, I’d just be setting myself up for even more comparisons."
"I think you're making a mistake. Fuck those assholes for treating you like that, but our fans would love to have you on board. Scar, we play exactly the same. Who better to join Broken Oasis than the drummer's little sister?"
"Yeah, but that’s the problem, Nate. Everyone will think I only got the gig for that reason."
"No fucking way they’ll think that Scar. You're overthinking it. The fans will love that my sister's stepping in for me. Once they hear you play, it’ll prove you’re the best for the job. The guys wouldn’t have offered it if they didn’t think you were good enough."
"But they haven’t even heard me play."
"No, but Theo and I have told Xander and Ace how badass you are. They know you personally, which is a huge plus. If they brought in someone else, what if Xander or Ace doesn’t vibe with them? Xander won’t tolerate anyone’s bullshit, and Ace—well, you saw how he was with that paparazzi guy. He’s got his own demons, just like Theo. If anyone pisses him off, he’ll lash out and do something even more messed up. Trust me, we don’t need more of that kind of chaos on our hands."
Despite his grumpy outburst, I can’t help but smirk at the memory of Ace hurling that camera. Nate’s words continue to echo in my thoughts. He’s right—Xander and Ace know me, and I know them. I get the dynamics of the band. The way Xander’s influence shapes everything, and Ace’s strategic mind that drives it all. Nate and Theo hold these guys in high regard, evident from the mutual respect and admiration they share.
"I think you should go for it, Scar," Nate insists. "Even if it’s a big 'fuck you' to all those assholes who never saw your talent and only saw you as a stepping stone for their connections."
Lost in thought, I absentmindedly chew on my bottom lip. Could I actually make this happen? Step into Nate’s shoes and learn their entire set list in just two weeks? The thought sends a rush of excitement and fear coursing through my veins.
“This is a fantastic opportunity, Scar,” Nate says, his enthusiasm infectious. “And who knows what doors this could open after those sixty days on tour?”
“So you really think I should go for it?” I ask, second-guessing myself again.
“I do. Theo feels the same way. Those assholes don’t see your talent, no matter who you audition for. This is your chance to prove them wrong. Show them just how damn talented you really are. Take this opportunity to make a name for yourself. Let them see that it’s your skills they should be recognizing, not just using you as a connection to exploit.”
I sit there, letting his words sink in as I contemplate the idea of making a name for myself. Can this opportunity truly be the turning point where I break free from my brother’s shadow? I’ve always thrived on challenges, and the rhythmic beat of the drums has captivated me since the day Nate got his first drum set. Learning every song on the band’s playlist and putting in the hard work wouldn’t be an issue. Right now, the most important thing is finding the strength within myself to seize this chance and prove to everyone, myself included, that I am a gifted musician in my own regard and not just a way to form connections.
"Okay," I say to Nate. "I'll do it."