“Likewise.” His grip on my hand was strong. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
“Yes. A couple of times. Last summer. During the Walk the Dark campaign.”
“That’s right.” The spark in his eyes and the slight tilt of his head told me he remembered me. Did he know I was seeing the man he’d replaced? “Backstage at the Palladium?”
“Yes.”
He shook hands with Levi and Ashton and settled on the couch across from me. My brother helped him with the microphone.
“Count me down, boys,” I blurted out into the space in front of me and rolled my shoulders to get rid of the building tension.
The noise of the party—drunk laughter, rock music, clanking of glasses—floated up from downstairs and cut into my speech, but I blocked it all out.
“Marshall. It’s great to have you here with us. So…” I smiled at him. A wide, professional, camera-friendly smile. “How does it feel to front one of the biggest rock bands in the world?”
My stomach was suddenly queasy.
“Well, in all honesty”—he laughed—“I still can’t believe it.” His words meshed into one muffled roar. My brain understood everything he was saying, but my heart was too restless to react accordingly.
Halfway through my second question, the chatter downstairs elevated. I heard a sea of footfalls moving up the stairs, but Levi’s camera was in my way and the LED light was blocking my view. Noise entered the patio. Marshall turned his head and leaned back to see what was going on.
Then I saw Frank. He was surrounded by a small group of people, most likely some super fans who believed groping a celebrity would give them power and talent. If only that were the case, I’d be on my way to the presidency.
Dressed in an ensemble that slightly resembled one of his Breathe Crimson era stage outfits—tight black leather pants, black see-through shirt, and a suit jacket—he looked all kinds of messed up. Though he was now allowed to take off the sling, he’d chosen to wear it, which made me wonder if the dependency was psychological or if he simply came here to play the role of a victim.
And he was drunk.
I heard it in the crack of his voice, I felt it in the pull of his broken breaths, and I saw it in his red-rimmed eyes as he marched over.
Marshall turned back to me. “This is quite unexpected.” His smile faltered, but he was a trooper. He quickly mustered it up again. Our eyes locked, and I wanted to smile too. Only, my face froze.
Frank ignored the camera and approached the couch. My heart all but beat out of my chest when he offered his hand for a shake. “Marshall! Congratulations.” There was a great deal of sarcasm in his tone. “Great party.”
His frame blocked the LED panel and in my peripheral, I could see a mix of horror and amusement on Levi’s face. Ashton stood off to the side with his hands in his pockets, expressionless. Probably due to shock.
“Thanks, man.” Marshall shook Frank’s hand. “I hope your shoulder is getting better.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt… I won’t stay long. You mind if I steal my girlfriend for a couple of minutes?” His gaze slid over to me.
“Frank, we’re in the middle of an interview,” I gritted out, trying to keep my cool.
He didn’t seem to understand what he was doing. Any trace of recognition or awareness was buried deep under the euphoria of intoxication. Jaw slack, he reached over to me. His hot breath stuttered. Blinded by drunk affection, he dipped and attempted to kiss my cheek.
I leaned back to avoid contact. “Frank, I’m serious. This is not the time.” My face burned with shame.
“Why not?” Eyes wild, he straightened up and motioned at Levi. His body swayed. “It’s not like you’re streaming live.”
The crowd on the patio grew. We were surrounded by a wall of whispers.
“I’m sorry,” I mouthed at Marshall, getting to my feet. “Could we resume in a bit?”
He nodded apprehensively.
“Why don’t we step out for a second?” I hooked my arm through Frank’s and led him toward the stairs. Everyone followed.
“You look really nice, baby,” he muttered against my hair.
“Why are you here? I thought you didn’t want to come?” I whispered through my teeth.
“I missed you.”
He tripped as we moved down the steps, and his body careened into mine. I halted and threw his arm over my shoulder.
“Ah, the prodigal son returns!” Dante screamed from the bottom of the stairs. Beer in hand, shirt unbuttoned, he was even more pathetic than Frank. Sometimes I wondered if they subconsciously competed with each other for the train wreck of the year title.
Anxious murmurs rolled through the ballroom. People pulled in toward the staircase from all directions. I felt their gazes on me.
“Nicely done, brother!” Frank bellowed. “Great party. Love the poster.” He jerked his chin at the band photo on the wall. “Who’s the singer?”
This was war.
“Please stop it,” I hissed. “You’re drunk. You’re making a fool of yourself.”
A Guns N’ Roses song played in the background.
“Could have been you.” Dante raised the bottle and a mean smirk tweaked his lips. “If you weren’t so fucking self-centered and actually thought about the band, not about your name.”
We reached the bottom of the stairs. Frank slid his arm from my shoulder and stumbled over to the stage. I followed. So did the rest of the party.
“What was that you said to me earlier?” Dante swung the bottle at me. “That someone had to show me the path.” His smirk vanished. “Did you check on your boyfriend first? Does he know where he’s going?”
“Just don’t.” I shook my head. Hurt and embarrassment pushed against my chest. Hard.
Frank spun around and shot Dante a hateful look. “You stole my wife!” Oh God! Not this! “You stole my band! Now you want to steal my fucking girlfriend!” His hand danced in the air, pointed at Dante.
This wasn’t good.
“Please stop it!” I
