“My heart is in pain.”
“It’s just a car, Ashton. I said we’ll get you another one and we will.”
“It’s not just a fucking car. It’s a goddamn Z4.” He tossed his hands in the air. “Do you know how many people drive a Z4 in my school?”
“How many?”
“None, dude! None! Cuz I was the only one until you robbed me of it. My pride and joy.” He followed up with a pout.
I shook my head and turned up the music. “What would I do without you, Ashton?”
“You wouldn’t have anyone to yell at, and your couch would smell nicer.” He turned to me and grinned, all teeth on display.
“Uhh, about the couch. You’ll have to buy me a new one when you move out, buddy.”
“You took my car, and now you want me to buy you a couch. What am I? A winning lottery ticket?”
“No, you’re a responsible adult. Well, you will be because I’m going to make one out of you.”
A middle finger flashed in front of my face.
“I take it back.” I laughed at him. “I think you’re going to stay a man-child forever.”
“I like being a man-child. I’m gonna find myself a sugar mama.”
“Jesus, where do you get these ideas?”
“From my sister.”
“Asshole.” I shot him a sideways glance.
“Runs in the family.”
I bit back my smile and concentrated on the road. Having someone around, even if that someone was a total dud like my brother, was nice. His antics made me think of Frank a little less.
A small group of people were hanging out on the sidewalk when we reached the theater forty minutes later. Hall Affinity tees and limited edition Dreamcatchers merch lingered in the crowd while security guards lined the barricaded front entrance. The sun was perched high in the sky and the promotional poster above the marquee was bathed in its bright morning light.
Ashton snapped cell photos as I drove around the building and parked in the back near the trucks. Levi was already inside, talking to the sound engineer. He wore his favorite Doc Martens, and a poorly ironed dress shirt peeked from under his black hoodie. The dark shadows beneath his eyes told me he’d slept just as much as I had in the past twenty-four hours. Theater employees and event staff hurried to get their tasks done. People were everywhere—upstairs on the private deck, downstairs on the main floor, inside the auditorium. Their agitated voices mixed with the rattle of the rolling equipment cases and the buzz of the background music.
In the lobby, Carlos was taking photos of sponsor stands and humming along to the new Green Day tune.
“What are you doing here so early?” I questioned.
He dropped his camera from his face and flashed me a smile. “Documenting.”
I glanced at my phone. “We still have six more hours to go until the doors open.”
“You’re here.” He shrugged. “Levi’s here. Ash-man’s here.”
“Is that what my brother wants to be called now?” I rolled my eyes.
“Everyone needs a cool name.” Carlos shook his head and continued to snap photos.
I pulled up the planner app on my phone and verified all the tables. My heart raced. It was happening! After months of driving myself and everyone around me, including my mother, crazy, our hard work was finally paying off. Today felt like a dream. I just wasn’t sure whether it was a dream come true or a nightmare.
Were people going to like the film? Were critics going to slam us?
Tucking my phone into the front pocket of my fitted dress slacks, I crossed the lobby and walked outside. Carlos followed.
We made our way over to the sidewalk and stood for a silent moment staring at the massive film poster above the marquee, a black and white image of Isabella in her chair shot from behind against a shimmering, smoky background. An old dynamic microphone was erect on the opposite side of the frame. It’d taken Carlos almost five hours to get the angle and the lighting right. Haunting and exquisite, the photo made a statement. Hanging high above the affluent and trendy area of Sunset Boulevard, it challenged the entire industry. It challenged the minds and the eyes of people in luxurious cars taking this road every day.
“My best fucking work,” Carlos said quietly, knocking my shoulder.
“It is,” I agreed. “A picture is worth a thousand words, right?”
“This one is, Cassy.” He spun around and stepped back into the barricaded area. His camera flashed.
I raised my hand to block my face, but it was too late.
“Come on, you can’t take photos of me without permission,” I teased.
“Don’t worry. You look awesome.” He winked and hurried inside.
All the caffeine I’d consumed earlier made me jittery and I imagined others could probably tell by the tremor in my hands and the shake in my voice, but my brain was as sharp as ever.
Gazing back up at the poster, I soaked in the invisible power of the artistic rebellion it represented. The memories of our last week’s rehearsal flashed through my mind. At nineteen, Isabella had everything thousands of other artists spent years perfecting—stage presence, amazing voice, dark charisma. She was destined for greatness and I wasn’t going to let anyone take that greatness away from her.
Emotions tightened my throat. Certain stories had that effect on me. Stories about people who dared to keep going. Even when the odds weren’t in their favor. Isabella’s was the one that had to be heard. Raw, honest, real. A journey that deserved every ounce of attention it was getting and more.
Lately, I’d been wondering if Frank and Isabella had come into my life at the same time for a reason, if these two choices were given to me to help me decide which road to take and how to spend the rest of my life. With a man who’d given up or surrounded by people who didn’t accept failure as an option. It was a tie between love or an opportunity to
