When the physician finally pulled off the cuff and gave Frank a nod, my chest released a loud sigh of relief.
As the show progressed, Frank turned up the heat. A lick of aggression colored his voice. Even during the slow tracks. He was riding the adrenaline high along with the rest of the band, the audience, the guests, and the crew.
“Are you having fun yet, L.A.?” The words shot through the arena with some slight feedback. The crowd reciprocated.
He spun around, dashed over to the stairs, and climbed them up to the platform that occupied the right wing of the stage. Dante produced a few rapacious chords and grinned at the people on the floor fighting for room to breathe. He reveled in the chaos he’d created. It was obvious that madness fed his dark, tortured soul.
Including the encore, there were seven more songs to go, and every second that passed was another second I could scratch off my imaginary clock. In my head, this set was a race against the unknown, a race against time, a race against failure. Was Frank going to make it or was the same animal that had caught up with him yesterday going to take him down tonight before all the songs were sung and all the solos played?
“I can’t hear you, L.A.!” he screamed into the microphone as he walked to the middle of the platform. Another roar. His eyes met Carter’s and they exchanged subtle smiles.
Dante ripped through another sequence of ragged chords and whirled in his spot, which caused him to lose his hat, but he didn’t care to look for it. He seemed preoccupied with his guitar and the sounds it made. Notes finally fell together and the intro riff of “Adrenaline Lane” launched the arena into a state of absolute anarchy. Dirty, sweaty, music-infused anarchy.
I had no idea what was expected of me as the lead singer’s girlfriend. Was I supposed to stand still and smile? Was I supposed to clap politely? Or was I allowed to let loose? There were no rule books on how to behave around filthy rich people when you dated one of them. My gut told me to enjoy it. And I did. I moved to the beat and I shook my head. A stupid grin spread across my face and didn’t want to come off. My cheeks hurt, but at that moment, I truly didn’t care.
Music and memories took me over entirely. My pulse pounded in my throat. My blood rushed through my veins, hot and thick. Frank’s voice was everywhere—oxygen in my lungs, sparkle on my skin, and strength in my bones. We were an invisible cloud of dust and eternal ashes traveling through the universe and existing together.
Stage fog blurred my eyes and all I could register was Frank’s silhouette on top of the platform. The pyro went off and everyone began to stomp. I felt the heat crashing into my face. My hair rose from the blast, floated down, and slowly fell back into place, its soft brush warm on my shoulders.
Their feet trampling, the crowd chanted. I squeezed my eyes shut and sang along. Line after line until Frank’s voice perished among the clamor of the instruments.
Then came the gasp. It was a low, chilling sound that made my skin crawl. The drums still rattled, but the tremble of Johnny’s bass had melted away and Dante’s guitar went off key. Like a mile-long drop into an abyss of nothing. Heart clenching, I snapped my eyes open and scanned the stretch of space between me and the platform. Frank wasn’t there. The fog was thick and the lights spun uncontrollably, slicing through the darkness. I couldn’t see well, but I could hear the distressed screams as they grew louder. Then the music stopped.
Dread seized my chest. People behind me started to push, their whispers deafening. Static noise and panic took over the backstage area as paramedics barreled through. Janet and Bruce ran in after them. The fog was settling and bright lights flooded the entire arena.
That’s when I saw him. He was on the floor, face up. Dante sat next to him, cheeks abnormally pale. Carter stood behind Dante. Johnny, like the true gatekeeper, still held on to the microphone, but terror twisted his features.
A howl tightened my lungs. Frank wasn’t moving. I palmed my mouth and began my approach. My heart had fallen out of my chest somewhere along the way. It was the strangest sensation. The immediate need to know he wasn’t hurt overwhelmed me. My emotions were fragments of feelings, similar to a broken mosaic that clattered inside my head.
I didn’t make it past the safety line. Roman intercepted me and grabbed my arm. His grasp wasn’t rough, but it was firm enough to stop me from going any farther.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Evans. It’s best you stay back.” His voice boomed over the noise.
Then I saw Corey shaking his head furiously and waving his hands. He didn’t want me anywhere near Frank right now.
I understood. I would have become another unnecessary complication if I were to show up on stage in front of twenty thousand people in a dress that was made of a piece of fabric that was smaller than a bandana.
“Okay.” I gave Roman a nervous nod. “What happened?” I tried to sound calm, but I was having trouble holding it together.
“Not sure just yet, Ms. Evans.” Shaking his head, he released my arm and marched into the chaos surrounding Frank.
A stretcher was rolled on stage. I heard another collective gasp, then waves of worried murmurs rippled through the arena. The crowd was restless.
My shoes suddenly felt small, tight, and very uncomfortable. My spine stiffened. I balled my hands into fists and waited to the side while the paramedics tried to get Frank off the
