“I don’t think you understand that what I’m trying to do here is going to benefit both of us.”
“He can hire an army of nurses to tend to his needs. You don't need to be by his side at all times.”
Frank already had an army of nurses. We, along with everything happening and about to happen, were more complicated than that. I needed to be by his side and I needed to distance myself from Rewired.
“I’m simply refocusing my energy and time on what’s important. I’ll be able to get a lot more done working from home.”
“Right. Like Mr. Perfect hasn’t monopolized all your time already.”
“No, he hasn’t.”
“The last two months of your relationship have proved the opposite.”
“What do you know about relationships?” I scoffed. “When was the last time you went out on a date?” It was low of me to throw Levi’s lack of certain skills with women in his face, but he was starting to get on my nerves.
“Oh, so we’re comparing our sex lives now?”
“No.” I shook my head. “We’re not.” I needed to defuse this before it got out of control.
He let out a long exhale as if to regroup. “Look, just think about it again before you pull the plug.”
“I told you, I’m still helping you with everything already locked in on the calendar, but I don’t want to book more on-camera interviews or take on more editorials. My hands are full with all the end-of-the-year stuff. Shayne’s always wanted my spot. Let her have it temporarily. And don’t forget, you’ve got Ashton.”
“Come on.” Levi let out a bitter laugh. “You know your brother can’t weave words the way you do.”
“But he’s very persistent. And he loves the gig.”
“You’re fucking killing me, Cass.”
“Believe me, we’ll get things done faster this way. With me concentrating on securing sponsors and looking for venues while you work on the footage, the film will be ready right in time for the summer festivals. If we keep spreading ourselves thin, it’ll take us years to complete the project, and Isabella doesn’t have years. We need to do it now while there’s still interest on social media. You know better than anyone how to delegate. Let Stewie and Shayne take on more workload. Have Ashton do smaller bands.”
“Stewie has horrible grammar.” Levi scowled, and the tilt of his head gave away his unease.
“Tell him to install Grammarly.”
“Why do I feel like I just got dumped?”
“It’ll be fine. I promise,” I said, scrambling for my phone to check my emails. The app indicated there were currently nine hundred and seventy-five unread messages in my inbox.
Wonderful.
I left Levi’s place after we went over the revised Rewired calendar.
My anguish over an indefinite break from the magazine was like venom. It filled my veins and burned my cheeks as I drove back to Malibu, thinking about new business cards and all the social media and website changes I’d need to do. They seemed so trivial, almost meaningless compared to millions of disappointed fans all over the world who were awaiting news on the upcoming Hall Affinity tour that was now up in the air, just like Frank’s career.
Lately, I’d been feeling as if I were two different people. One was a self-made woman who desperately wanted her simple life back. The other was a woman who was crazy and irrevocably in love with Frank Wallace, a woman who wanted to shed her skin and dive into his bloodstream to give him what he needed right now, a second heartbeat to last through this battle. Because his own pulse was a fading flicker buried under a blanket of pain.
And it was tiresome—trying to find the balance amidst all this madness that surrounded Frank.
I made a small detour and went to Santa Monica Beach to clear my head. The roar of the ocean here was different than in Malibu. It was noisier, filled with the sounds of conversations crashing against the waves and the rattle of skaters rolling along the coastline.
I parked in a lot near the cliffside and sat in my car with the music on and a paper bag from In-N-Out in my lap, staring at the afternoon sun as it slowly slid toward the horizon. My mind was adrift and my burger was getting cold. Finally, I grabbed my phone from the cupholder and dialed the number I’d been itching to call all day.
Linda’s voice on the line was crisp and low. “I don’t have any specifics,” she spoke carefully, but I heard a lick of panic in her tone. “I’m doing you a favor so you can get your things in order before this goes public.”
My chest stiffened. “Thank you.” I had no idea what else to say.
The information Linda shared with me was still an unconfirmed rumor—the label blamed Frank for the album leak. Everything in me sensed trouble as a dark cloud of smoke loomed on the horizon with the bitter, pungent scent of defeat.
By the time I arrived in Malibu, the house had quieted. For the first time since Frank had returned from the hospital, we weren’t surrounded by other people nor was he knocked out by the pain meds. It was just me and him and the rumble of the ocean, and after giving him some space to adjust the past couple of days, I decided it was time to try to get some answers.
He was on the couch on the terrace, his body situated in a pile of pillows, and if not for the cast and the sling, he would’ve looked almost peaceful from where I stood.
I walked over and positioned myself across from him, needing to see his face, needing to take in every detail, needing to make sure his spirit hadn’t left him. The last rays of light glimmered across his disheveled hair and his sunken cheeks.
“Hi,” I said,
