“I don’t want to figure anything out without you.”
“I shouldn't be part of the equation. You need to do it for yourself. Not for me. Not for anyone else.”
I suspected this conversation was pointless. He didn’t get me. He hadn’t come here to talk about what had gone wrong between us and why. He’d come here because he wanted me to pat his back and tell him how unfair the world was.
News flash. The world was unfair. Just not to him. It was unfair to people like Isabella, people who didn’t have the backing of millions of dollars and industry friends, people who couldn’t afford expensive surgeries, people who were overlooked because they didn’t meet the horrible standards of what society thought was acceptable to be a star.
The world was indeed shit. And the one chance Frank had to make it better, he’d fucked up.
“I can’t do this alone, doll.” His voice was small, shattered even.
“You’re not alone, Frank. You have your parents and I’m still here, but we need to have this conversation when you’re sober.”
“The house is empty without you. My life is empty without you.”
My hands slid down his chest. “Go home.” I adored his words. I just couldn’t get over the fact he didn’t tell me any of this when he wasn’t drunk.
Chapter Eight
Frank was quiet for a few days.
The texting and flower deliveries stopped. I wondered whether it was the liquor that was keeping him occupied or Billy. I called Brooklyn twice, only to hear her snobby “you should be here” lines.
Problem was, the damage had already been done. Despite Isabella’s overwhelming Spotify and Apple Music streaming stats, Frank’s sudden exit from the project cost us several sponsors, which didn’t sit well with Maria or Levi, or anyone on our team, for that matter.
The Hall Affinity album release party invite reminder that hit my inbox on Wednesday morning was like another nail in the coffin. I’d been so preoccupied with the duet disaster and my own broken love life that I’d forgotten about the event completely.
Later that night, when I was already in bed, Frank’s name flashed across the screen of my phone
Don’t pick up, my pride whispered.
As if on cue, stupid butterflies filled my stomach. My need to hear him was bigger than my hate toward everything he’d become. So I answered.
“Hey, doll.” His voice on the line seemed abnormally sharp. Was he sober?
“Hey.” I stared at the empty space in front of me, waiting. My wounded heart hammered.
The silence between us thickened.
“I need to see you before I leave town,” he finally said. As always, the man was blunt.
Inside me, I heard something snap, the soft, barely there sound of my self-respect cracking from the weight of his broken-man charm. It was impossible to remain indifferent when a man spoke to a woman the way Frank spoke to me—irreverently. Boldly. Without holding anything back. Without fearing he’d sound weak. “Where are you going?”
“There’s a rehabilitation center in Arizona…” The sentence slowly died on his lips.
I felt the air tremble as his words reached my ears and swirled in my head.
“I’m sorry about scaring you,” he continued in a hushed tone. “And I’m sorry about showing up at your place the other night. I want to fix this. Us. Our relationship. What we had.”
Emotions swelled in my chest. “I’m glad you’re doing it, Frank.”
“It’s a three-month program. I’ll probably have limited access to phone or email.”
“Phones are evil,” I joked. “I’d burn mine if I could.”
“I’m sorry for all the shitstorm in the press.”
“It is what it is. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to go public. I only wish the timing had been better.”
“I promise things will be different when I come back, doll. Just don’t give up on me.”
“I’m not giving up on you, Frank. It was you who gave up on you. I know you understand why I need time to myself.”
“Yes. I do.”
“When are you leaving?”
“In a couple of weeks, but I have to see you before then. I miss you.”
I was melting like ice cream that’s been shoved into a microwave. I didn’t like how easily he’d manipulated me into feeling the way I was feeling at that moment—lost.
“I miss you too,” I confessed.
“Then why aren’t you here with me?”
“You know why.”
He quieted for a few moments, then asked, “I disappointed you, didn’t I?”
My throat felt tight and my voice grew tiny. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to keep saying you’re sorry, Frank. I know you are. I also don’t want you to promise me anything until you get the help you need.”
“It’s going to be okay, doll. Just give me a little time.”
His whisper was like a warm balm, soothing me with reassurance. I heard it in the faint pull of his breath and the subtle change of his tone. He wanted to get better.
“You have all the time you need,” I said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You better not. We’re worldwide, remember?”
A silly smile stretched my lips. At that moment, my heart believed him.
“Look, Frank, I’d love to chat some more, but Levi and I are meeting with the manager of Melrose Cinema tomorrow morning. I’m hoping to lock in that venue and I don’t want to look like a zombie. I should get some sleep.”
“Melrose Cinema?” Frank drawled, curious. “Isn’t that the red building on the corner of San Vicente?”
“Yes. It is. Have you been inside?” My inner geek came out and I went on to describe the interior. The owner of the place was a retired entrepreneur who’d work for Warner Brothers back in the ’80s. His daughter, who managed the theater, was a tough woman to catch. Apparently, she handled several properties, and I hoped to impress her with our proposal. The venue was perfect. Location, capacity, vibe.
“I don’t think I’ve been inside the building,” Frank finally said. “But we used to play in the club across the street. Right after I moved to L.A. They closed the
