“I’m not much fun to be around right now.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” I stood and slid my palm into his.
“No.” He shook his head, and the corners of his lips curled up. “I would never.” He squeezed my hand, then drew me closer to stand between his legs and released a breath against my chest. I felt it burn through my skin and bone, a flame to my aching heart. “You know I’ve been thinking…about us and all this hiding…”
My heart wobbled.
“I don’t want to hide anymore,” he whispered into my shirt.
I waited. I wanted to hear more, but he was quiet.
When he didn’t say anything else after several seconds, I let him off the hook. “Why don’t you lie down?” I brushed the strands of stray hair off his forehead. “The doctor said you need rest.”
“Come here.” He snaked his left arm around my waist and pulled me to him as hard as his fractures would allow. His face pressed against my breasts in a strange needy way that was sexual yet innocent. He slid his cheek across my chest, trying to breathe.
Our heartbeats mingled. Emotions began to jam my throat. I was conflicted, sad, and in love, and I didn’t know how to tell him.
If you could just read my mind, Frank.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured. “I really am. You’re the only good thing left, baby.” My clothes had muffled his words, but I still heard it—the crack in his voice, the panic, the weight of the entire world.
“Where else would I be?”
“Chasing your next story.”
“Stories can wait.” I lowered my face and kissed the top of his head. He smelled of medicine and hurt, and I wanted to wrap my arms around his body and melt into him.
The news broke the next morning. I woke up late and my head felt heavy. Frank wasn’t in bed. His side was a tangle of sheets, with an IV pole next to it and a tray of medicine on the nightstand. The room reminded me of the hospital ward in Cedars Sinai.
I reached for my phone and skimmed through my emails and social media apps. Every single outlet from Rolling Stone to TMZ was going berserk over the label’s accusations. They claimed Frankie Blade was responsible for the leak of the upcoming Hall Affinity album.
The air left my lungs as I read through the doubt-casting headlines. I made the mistake of reading comments left by the fans on the band’s Facebook page too. People were mean and heartless, and it saddened me.
In the kitchen, Hannah was working on Frank’s lunch. I grabbed a cup of black coffee and retreated to the terrace to call Levi.
“This smells like a major lawsuit,” he shared his theory. “Either your boy is going to drag their ass to court for libel if he had nothing to do with the leak, or they’ll sue him for all the millions he owes them.”
“I think you need to stop watching legal thrillers,” I deadpanned.
“Cass, you don’t have to be an expert to figure out why KBC is going public with this. They’re tired of waiting for Frankie Blade to deliver another three records.”
“Two,” I corrected, but Levi did have a point.
I could understand why the label was pissed off. I’d also be pissed if I were the investor whose investment wasn’t turning a profit. Hall Affinity signed a deal for five albums. Over ten years ago. Frankie Blade was part of the package. Their attempt to replace the singer was shut down by fans and I suspected by Frank’s lawyers too, but my brain struggled to understand all the legal nuances of the music business right now. Artists sued labels. Labels dropped artists.
Isabella was a prime example of how the industry worked. Suits used and spat out people who weren’t deemed worthy products, and Isabella was a new name on the block without a massive following and a disability that, for some reason, certain people saw as a drawback.
Only, Frank wasn’t just any artist. He was my artist. My goddamn lifeline. Anyone trying to cause him any harm, emotionally or physically, became my enemy.
Besides, I needed more coffee to get my thinking cells going.
“Let me call you a little later. I have some ideas for the screening, but I need to get my head in order.”
“Sure. Do you still want to do Bowl N’ Roll?”
“Yes.”
The annual charity event that took place every spring in Calabasas and I were in a there’s a thin line between love and hate type of relationship. I loved the concept. Bowling with celebrities was always fun. But I hated the pretentiousness. I also hated the fact that a lot of the money stayed in the pockets of organizers while they claimed all the proceeds went to local schools to support music programs for youth.
“I can find someone else,” Levi offered, sensing my hesitation.
“No. I’m going. By the way, don’t forget about Ashton’s birthday.”
“How could I? Your brother asked for a Sony a7. Twice.”
“How much is it?”
“It’s two grand for mirrorless.”
“Get out of here! Just give him a Best Buy gift card. Twenty bucks will suffice. My mother and I are already getting him a used car.”
“All right.”
“I’ll talk to you later.”
“Later, alligator.” He hung up.
I stood on the terrace in my PJs, with a cup of coffee in one hand and my phone in the other, and stared at the raging ocean beneath my feet. It was beautifully dangerous, the breathtaking drop that made me dizzy each time I looked down, and I wondered if Frank had chosen to live here because of the adrenaline-evoking view.
I heard the slide of the door and his footsteps as he entered the terrace.
“What’s going on, Frank?” I spun around.
Our eyes met. His face seemed tense, and a shiver zipped down my spine. “Nothing my lawyers can’t handle.” He attempted a smile.
“Is there anything I should know?” I pressed.
“No. Everything’s fine, doll.” He pulled me against the side of
