“I’ll do my best, but it’s out of my hands now.”
Linda ended the call.
I drew my phone away from my ear and pulled up the message exchange with Levi. My panic grew bigger with each second as I watched the Reddit video of Dante and his new sidekick—Marshall Burns. He was a fresh face with the body of Adonis and the voice of Orpheus. A rock ’n’ roll version of a Greek god, who nailed all the high notes in a thirty-second-long snippet of “Adrenaline Lane” that had been uploaded by an anonymous user. If anything, Marshall’s looks would be distracting enough for the crowd not to realize he was an impostor. His own band’s sophomore album peaked in Billboard’s top ten last summer. I’d interviewed him a few times. The man could hold his own on and off stage. Obviously, he was no Frankie Blade, but he was younger and possessed enough charisma to fill the shoes of his predecessor.
When there was a soft knock on the door, I called out, “Just a second.” Then I slipped my phone in my pocket and took a deep breath. News had never rattled me like this before. Levi and I had lived through a lot of band break-ups, but everything was different with Frank. Too personal.
Putting my plastic smile back on, I marched out of the restroom and returned to the lounge, where I continued to pretend things were great until we finally left the studio at around midnight.
Exhausted, Frank climbed into the back of the Escalade and slumped against the seat. The silence thickened as the car steered onto the freeway. There was a certain level of awareness that hung around us like a rain cloud, but I was too scared to speak first.
“Something I should know about?” Frank finally asked, his voice low and raspy after multiple takes.
Contemplating, I grabbed his hand as if it would stop him from checking his phone. “I think this should wait till tomorrow.”
He turned his head to look at me and paused a few seconds before posing the question, “Who is it?” The faint lines in the corner of his left eye deepened.
The silence that filled the space between us was lead heavy.
“Marshall Burns,” I replied after a moment.
Frank remained abnormally calm. His gaze swept over my face, lingering on my lips. Suddenly, he was unreadable, surrounded by an impenetrable wall he’d built in a matter of seconds.
I squeezed his hand and brought my mouth to his. “Fuck Marshall Burns. Fuck Dante. Fuck them all.”
“You have a way with words, Cassy.” A light chuckle met my breath. “Especially the swear ones.”
“So I’ve been told.”
I wasn’t sure when exactly it happened, in the car or at home, that I sensed the turbulence Frank was experiencing, but it woke me up in the middle of the night—the invisible dread. Restless, I lay on my back and stared at the streaks of lingering moonlight seeping into the bedroom through the cracks between the shades. The pitter-patter of my heart against my ribs filled the deafening silence that reigned in the house.
Stretching my arm, I brushed the sheets on the side of the bed Frank usually occupied. They were uninvitingly cold. Had he slept at all?
I found him in the dining room. Legs spread, head tossed back, he was sprawled in a chair that had been positioned to face the ocean view. His silhouette, framed by the shimmer of the moonlight coming in through the unshaded window, looked dejected. A bottle and a glass sat next to him on a table. His phone lay beside them.
I smelled liquor on his breath from across the room. He was wasted.
“Come to bed,” I said, approaching him.
Frank didn’t move. His face remained still, eyes dark, as if he hadn’t heard me at all.
“Please. You have a really long day tomorrow and you need to be rested.” I knew I sounded patronizing and policing, but I had no idea how else to talk to him when he was like this—like my father. Sometimes I succeeded. Sometimes I failed. There was no rhyme or reason behind his responses to the various approaches I’d tried.
“He’s pretty good,” Frank rasped out.
I rounded the chair and positioned myself in his line of view. “Why do you do this to yourself?”
“Because it’s my fucking band.” His icy gaze ran over the length of my body and stopped in the vicinity of my breasts, maybe too tired to go further, maybe too distracted by the sight of my nipples showing from beneath the lace of my slip.
“You need to let it go, Frank. For your own sanity. Please.”
“Can’t you tell how empty I am, doll?” he slurred. Each word, soft and slushy, felt like a struggle, and as much as I wanted to cuddle him and put him to bed, my common sense told me my kindness wouldn’t do him any good. I’d been too kind too long.
Popping my hip, I folded both arms on my chest and asked, “Do you know what else is empty?” My chin jerked up in the direction of the table. “That bottle.”
He raised his hand and pointed at his chest. “That’d be me.” A cheeky smile touched his lips.
Acid rose at the back of my throat. I had to look away for a moment.
“Don’t be mad, baby.” The crack in his voice cut so deep, it hurt to breathe.
“You have a chance to do something good, something really meaningful.” I paused to get more air in my lungs. My heartbeats were mad and loud. “But you choose to let people who don’t give a fuck about you drag you down.”
“Do you have any idea how it feels, Cassy?”
“It feels like shit. Doesn’t mean you should let it take over your emotions.”
He was silent. The moonlight gleamed over the ink and scars on his bare
