Page 1 of Sixty Days Of Summer

Chapter 1

Scarlet

As I make my way back to my apartment after another audition as a drummer for a band, I can’t help but feel crushed. I thought I did alright, but that drastically changed when they discovered my brother is Nate Reynolds, the drummer of Broken Oasis.

It fucking stings knowing that every audition I attend, my own identity is swallowed by Nate’s fame. I love him to death—always have, always will. But it’s disheartening that people constantly see me only as his little sister.

I want to make a name for myself, succeed on my own terms, and not always be in my brother’s band’s shadow, even if they’re the biggest thing in music right now.

It’s like a never-ending cycle.

Like today, when I sat down with the band after my audition, the conversation inevitably turned to my brother’s band. It’s as if I’m just a side character in my own story. Nobody gives a shit about my talent, my dreams, or even the struggles I’ve faced to get here. Sometimes, I think, is it even worth it? I might be better off pursuing something else where I’m not constantly living in Nate’s shadow. But then I remember music is more than just a hobby—it’s a part of me. It runs through my veins. It’s what makes me who I am and who I want to become. Without it, I am nothing.

Despite being two years younger, Nate and I have always been competitive. It all began when I was six and he was eight, challenging each other to drumming contests, trying to outdo each other with the perfect beat.

Theo, Nate’s friend, who has always been like an older brother to me and who I cherish just as much as Nate, was always the unbiased referee, keeping score of our friendly competitions. Deep down, I know I may never reach the same heights of success as Nate, and that’s fine with me. The most important thing is that I remain true to myself, my love for music, and make my own path, no matter how small it may seem compared to his.

In our younger years, it was always the five of us: me, Nate, Theo, Bianca - the girl who effortlessly charmed both Nate and Theo - and Quinn, her partner in crime. Those were some of the best times of my life—just hanging out with them, laughing, and making memories. Bianca’s tragic passing left an indescribable void that echoed through every one of us. I’ll never forget that day—the shock, the heartache, and the suffocating emptinessthat seemed to swallow everything. The pain I experienced paled in comparison to the agony Nate and Theo endured. I witnessed how it shattered them, their spirits broken in ways I could never fully comprehend. Despite the passage of time, the memory of that day remains etched in my mind, a constant reminder of how fragile life is and how love and loss can shape enduring bonds.

I jam the key into the door of my apartment, the gnawing worry of falling behind on rent eating away at me again. Despite Nate’s wealth and his readiness to give me anything I need, I’ve always been determined to stand on my own two feet. He’d hand me the world if I asked—that’s just who he is. But asking for help has never been my style—not even when he and Theo offered to buy me a place in a better part of town. I’m not one to rely on handouts, a characteristic likely influenced by the constant comparisons to Nate. I want to prove that I can make it on my own. The pressure is suffocating, weighing down on me like a heavy blanket, but my stubborn pride pushes me to keep moving forward, even though the fear of never escaping Nate’s shadow lingers.

The moment I push open the door, an eerie feeling settles in the air. Despite the silence and the unchanged state of my small apartment, a shiver creeps down my spine.

As I step inside, my ears strain to detect any sound that might offer an explanation for my unease. Am I just imagining things? I tell myself I’m being ridiculous—that it’s just the lingering stress from today making me paranoid.

I turn and lock the door behind me, feeling a sense of security as the deadbolt clicks into place with a satisfying thud. Taking a deep breath, I make my way to the fridge, craving a refreshing bottle of water. As I bend down to grab it, the floorboards let out a loud, ominous creak from behind, making me freeze in place. Fuck, I knew something was off. My heart pounds with such intensity that it feels on the verge of exploding.Stay calm, I tell myself. If it’s an intruder, just give them whatever they want. It’s just stuff—it can be replaced.

As I close the fridge and turn around, a sudden chill runs down my spine, causing goosebumps to rise on my skin. As my throat tightens and my muscles go rigid, I finally catch sight of him. Beck Wilder—my ex and the lead singer of my former band.

It’s been nine long months since our band fell apart, and we each went our separate ways. That day, my heart shattered into a million pieces as I walked in on him fucking Tasha, the band’s bass guitarist. Despite ignoring his endless phone calls and the flood of unanswered texts blaming me for his downward spiral, it’s clear it’s not just about the band anymore—apparently, he can’t live without me.

Someone told me two months ago that he’s been drowning his sorrows in alcohol nearly every day since. Well, tough shit. I’m sure he didn’t give me a second thought when he had his dick inside Tasha.

“Get out,” I say, my voice firm, but it falls on deaf ears. I try to move past him toward the door, planning to open it and shove him out, but his iron-like grip on my arm makes it impossible.

I try to yank my arm away, but he only tightens his grip.

“I want to talk,” he slurs, and I can smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Well, I don’t,” I snap, trying again to yank my arm free with all my strength. His fingers dig into my skin, tightening even more.

He steps closer. The foul smell of his breath becomes more overpowering, causing my stomach to churn. Despite my attempts to create distance between us, his grip is so tight that it feels impossible to step back. He forcefully pulls me closer to him and clamps his other hand tightly around my jaw. The look in his eyes and the crushing pressure of his grip on my chinsends a surge of panic through me. Still, I refuse to give in to his bullshit any longer.

“Let me fucking go!” I shout in his face, but instead of releasing me, he responds with a twisted, cruel smirk that makes my blood run cold. His gaze drops to my lips, and I brace myself for what’s coming next. “Please, Beck,” I plead, my voice trembling with fear.

When I try to turn my head away, his face contorts with rage. His intensity terrifies me in a way I’ve never felt before. Fear washes over me, urging me to take swift action before the situation worsens. With desperation I try to pry myself from his vice-like grip.

With brutal force, he yanks my hair, pulling my head back. His lips crash onto mine with such intensity that I fear I might crack a tooth. I struggle to break free, but his grip remains steadfast. I clench my jaw, refusing to give in as his tongue persistently attacks, desperate to gain entry.

With desperation, I wedge my hand between us and forcefully thrust upward, pushing his head away. He flinches for a moment, but his grip remains firm. I keep struggling, twisting to break free, but then his hand clamps around my throat, pinning me in place.

“Let me fucking go!” I scream into his face.

Fury blazes in his eyes as the pressure on my throat tightens, almost choking me. In a frantic bid for freedom, I claw at his hand, my nails scraping against his skin, but my efforts prove futile. His grip only tightens, showing no concern that I’m struggling to breathe.

“You’ve turned into quite the little bitch, Scarlet,” he growls, his spit hitting my face and making me feel nauseous. “You always thought you were better than everyone else because of your hotshot brother. Well, fuck you, Scarlet. You’re no betterthan me. You think you’re so high and mighty? Look at you now—trapped under my grip.”

Toying with me, he slowly loosens his grip. It’s just enough for me to catch my breath, while a menacing smirk spreads across his face. Two years of being with this man have shown me first-hand the extent of his drunken antics—how he revels in instigating fights with strangers just for his own twisted amusement.

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