I contemplated revealing the truth but decided against it. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
That’s when it happened. The crack between us. I heard it loud and clear. We were on opposite sides of the barricade now. I was the person with secrets and Levi was the person who wanted those secrets. Only, they weren’t my secrets to divulge. They were Frank’s.
“I’m just asking you as your friend. You fuck the guy who let half the planet down last night and you can’t even tell me if he’s okay? I’m not some heartless douche. I worry about you.”
A ragged sigh rushed out of my lungs. I was torn. I knew he cared about me, yet his statement rubbed me the wrong way, so I was having a hard time choosing which direction to take. A snappy comeback lingered on the tip of my tongue and I held it in only for the sake of my sanity. “It wasn’t a very good night.”
“I see,” Levi grunted.
I slid from the chair and began to pace. My pulse thrummed hard in my temples. My heart thrashed. Anxiety, coffee, and shitty sleep weren’t a good combo.
His use of the word fuck to describe the nature of my relationship with Frank felt offensive. It wouldn’t have a month ago. We did fuck. A lot. But there was something else. There were real feelings, his and mine, entangled in a complex knot. And I didn’t want an outsider to call what we had a fuck.
“You understand where I’m coming from, right?” I pressed.
“I won’t ask you anymore.”
“Can you revise the last paragraph?”
“Just because you don’t agree with her thoughts doesn’t mean it’s a bad article.”
“I didn’t say it was bad, but we don’t speculate about things like this, Levi. She wasn’t backstage. She didn’t see what happened. She can’t simply write whatever she wants.”
“Robbie had a copy of the setlist before the show. They cut the last third out, Cass. You don’t need to be a mathematician to put two and two together. Your boyfriend can’t handle a ninety-minute show. Why can’t he just come out with it?”
“If the setlist wasn’t sent to him via official channels, which I know for a fact that it wasn’t, then you have no right to use that information to write a recap.”
Things weren’t as simple as Levi what trying to make them. A band of their caliber had to meet fans’ expectations. Frank wouldn’t do it differently. I’d witnessed both his stubbornness and his dedication firsthand last night. His decision to go back on stage was pushing the limits of sane and lingered somewhere on the edge of stupidity.
All great talents were crazy.
“The article is wonderful, but I’m asking you as your partner. Speculating is not what Rewired is about, Levi. We’ve never been that. I don’t want us to turn into another TMZ and feed the public with unconfirmed ideas and rumors.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Cass. You didn’t write it. You don’t get to play with it.”
“Why are you being so stubborn?”
I heard the second line beep. “I have to take this,” Levi barked and ended the call.
I stood in front of the glass wall and absentmindedly stared at the ocean. My heart was beating against my ribs fiercely. Part of me was convinced Levi pushed back on the post revision only because I’d pulled out from reviewing the Hall Affinity shows. It was his way of saying screw you. If I wasn’t on board, I had no say. It stung, but in a way, I understood. I hadn’t exactly been a good partner lately. The documentary was the only project I was involved with and cared about.
The conversation with Levi made me feel shitty, made me think about my priorities. What were they? Where did my loyalties lie? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my mom, and my brother was living alone in my apartment.
Frank was the worst kind of drug. He came first. Before all else. And this feeling, the dark, all-consuming euphoria that was him, frightened me. I was losing myself.
My lungs struggled for air and my brain needed a break. I walked out onto the terrace and tried to breathe through my sudden panic attack. Eyes closed, I lifted my face to the sun and let it caress my skin. The breeze tousled my hair. The ocean beneath me rolled.
For a brief moment, all my worries fell away and it was nice. Until the faint smell of cigarette smoke crept up my nose.
Snapping my eyes open, I whirled around and scanned the stretch of terrace running along the western side of the house. There, on the other end, was Dante. Shoulder against the wall and facing me. A cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth told me he’d given up his attempts to quit smoking… Or he was too wound up to resort to a lollipop to do the job of what nicotine usually did so well, take the edge off.
Conflicted, I stared at him.
“Like what you see, darlin’?” He chuckled. His voice, though horse and broken after last night, carried over the noise of the crashing waves. He wore a pair of loose jeans and a plain white T-shirt that was thin enough for me to see some of his ink beneath the fabric. Unlike Frank, he hadn’t gotten carried away and still had plenty of blank skin left. Back in the day, Dante didn’t shy away from flaunting his lean body on stage, but he’d stopped taking his shirt off after the Hollow Heart Dream release.
Thin-framed and elegant, Dante had a strange, dark appeal. Women loved his flashy personality. However, right now, he wasn’t anywhere near flashy. He looked…stressed. Hair pulled back, earring and other accessories absent, he almost looked his age. On the edge of forty. Of course, forty for a rock star was like another round of seventeen. People with money had access to all kinds of procedures to
