Frank’s gaze found mine. “Hi.” His voice was weakened by the medication, its seductive edge buried deep under many layers of stress. “How was your day, doll?”
I set my purse on the table and kneeled in front of him. My palms slid over his thighs. I didn’t know why I liked when he looked at me from above. He was the only man allowed to do so. Maybe it was his experience. Maybe it was my sick need to feel his paternal streak he hid so well. Maybe it was the best angle to watch the sun flares coloring his unshaven face. The golden glow made him look…happier. Alive. And I wanted to soak in his warmth.
Or maybe it was none of those things.
“My day wasn’t productive,” I confessed.
“How come?” Frank’s left hand covered mine and we stared at each other for a long minute before I gave him an answer.
“I saw Levi. I’m going to take a break from the magazine.”
“Did something happen between you two?”
“No.” I shook my head, and the gentle breeze ruffled my hair. “It’s temporary. Just until things with the film ease up a little. We need to start looking for a venue and I can hardly find any time. I think dedicating the next couple of months solely to the film is going to get it off the ground faster. “I paused to take a breath. “Besides, I don’t want to leave you alone right now.”
A meek smile spread to his cheeks. “Don’t be ridiculous. This house is like a hotel. I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve seen here today.”
“I know, but I’m not people…”
“No, you’re definitely not,” Frank agreed.
My throat caught. I wasn’t sure how to explain my true fears to him without making him upset or causing a fight. “I have to ask you something, but promise me you’ll tell the truth.”
The low wheezing sound in his chest told me he was trying to take a breath. His hand moved to my face and cradled my cheek. “I’ll do my best.”
I tilted my head, and the press of his palm against my skin made me dizzy. “I know Dante took something before the show,” I said quietly, keeping our eyes locked. “He didn’t deny it when I asked. Did you take something too?”
There was a pause. Frank’s eyes darkened. His hand dropped.
“I’m not judging you. I just want to know if you took drugs before the show.”
Another pause. The subtle grind of his jaw gave away his anxiety.
“Do you know what it's like to be trapped in this body?” he asked.
“You’re avoiding my question.”
“I almost drowned when I was three.”
There he was, doing his strange reminiscence dump.
My heart pitter-patted. I knew the story, but now that he’d brought it up, I wanted to hear him say it. Word by word. I wanted to hear him bare his secrets, because part of me was jealous of Dante. Jealous of their relationship, jealous of their friendship, no matter how fucked up. That was what made it fascinating, the test of time and the test of betrayal.
“My mother, my birth mother, went out and left me alone,” Frank continued, the dull pain of the memories twisting his features. “I was a curious kid. I sneaked into the backyard, slipped, and fell into the pool. I was too young to really understand what was happening to me. I remember only bits and pieces of that day. I remember water forcing the air out of my lungs. I remember not being able to breathe. Ever since the crash, I’ve been experiencing the same thing. I’ve been drowning these past seven years. The things I want to do aren’t possible anymore. It’s like all this music is stuck in me and I can’t get it out, because I need to take a fucking breath and I can’t. I’m broken beyond repair.”
Blood rushed to my temples. I heard it pounding in my ears, I heard the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below and the sound of my heart beating against my ribcage. Words, questions, and thoughts in my head spiraled. “Frank, music doesn’t care what you wear and how you look while you’re making it or delivering it. People listen to your songs because those songs mean something to them, because they touch them, because they aren’t simply a show with a bunch of fireworks. Those songs are memories. Moments. Smiles. Feelings. You don’t need to be anything at all to keep writing music. You don’t need to meet anyone’s expectations except your own.”
“You’re an idealist.” He laughed softly. “That’s why I like you so much.”
“And you’re not broken, Frank.”
“Oh, yes. I am, doll.”
“You’re just tired.” Needing to be closer to him, I slid forward and rested my chin on his knee. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
His finger skimmed through my hair, the brush of his fingertips soft as a feather. “Don’t ask me about the things I do to keep this body going, Cassy. It's the only way to make it work.”
It was wrong, unhealthy, and dangerous in so many ways. Yet I didn't argue. I pushed all my concerns to the back of my mind. He was stubborn to a fault. He was faithful to his vision and the brand he’d created. I couldn’t blame him for pushing his limits. I often pushed my own limits too.
We sat in silence for a long time, listening to the wild roar of the Pacific and watching the sun disappearing into the glazed surface of the water. The twisted calm was full of salty air that clung to my skin as the breeze whipped my clothes and hair.
Frank spoke first. “You don’t have to do this.”
“What are you talking about?” I lifted my head up and surveyed his fatigue-ridden face.
“Sacrifice your time.”
“I’m not. I’m just reprioritizing some of the things in my life.” Worry raced through my veins. “It’s not like I’m giving up the magazine for
