“Frank,” I whispered. “Maybe you should talk to him.”
“We don’t have anything to talk about.”
“You don’t need to give him your forgiveness.” My mouth neared his ear. “He’s not well. Just hear him out.”
“It’s his own damn fault.”
I took a step back and pressed against the coolness of the wall. My voice was a soft, tremulous murmur. “Don’t be a hypocrite, Frank. You wanted me to give you another chance after you publicly humiliated me, but you won’t give him two minutes of your time? All he wants is to be heard.”
I had no idea why I was siding with Dante. Our phone conversation had gotten under my skin. We were all part of a broken circle, quietly hating each other for the things we’d done to ourselves and the people surrounding us, and it had become tiresome, harboring grudges and animosity.
“Please,” I mouthed.
Frank’s eyes blazed with pain. The tic of his jaw told me he was struggling.
“I’m not here to rain on your parade, Frankie-boy, but I didn’t have a choice,” Dante shouted, his words soft around the edges. “Because you won’t fucking return my calls.” He paused. “I’m not asking for your friendship back. I just want to talk. Face to face.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Frank turned to look at him. Roman shifted to the side, but the urgency of his movements told me he was combat-ready.
“There’s a whole lot and you know it. Twenty years.”
“You threw twenty years away when you decided to find a replacement for me.”
“You know what?” Dante chuckled. “You haven’t changed a bit. I thought time off may have done you some good, but you’re still a stupid stubborn fuck who thinks he’s invincible. You don’t get it, do you?” A crooked, unfamiliar smile twisted his lips. “You don’t get to drive yourself into a fucking freeway divider and leave everyone to sort the shit you created for seven years and then come back and do the same thing you did in your twenties when you had all your bones. It doesn’t fucking work like that, Frank. You don’t get to start where you left off just to kill yourself for it.”
Frank whipped around and walked down the hallway. A few feet of space separated them.
“There’s no time for this,” Brooklyn tried to intervene. “You need to get ready for the performance.”
“Well, you don’t get to fuck my ex-wife, me, and my band and then pretend it never happened.”
A collective gasp filled the hallway.
“Let’s not make another scene,” I pleaded, rushing over to Frank. “Not today.”
Dante’s gaze swept over to me. “You look very nice, Cassy.”
“You look good too.” I nodded, eyeing his features and searching for something to validate my statement. The slight slant of his left eye told me he wasn’t well. The health issues triggered by his overdose weren’t publicized, but one look at him was enough to see he was a mess.
The door to the lounge flung open, letting the noise of the party spill into the hallway. “We’re about to get started!” a voice shouted. “Izzy’s looking for you, Frank.”
“Okay, I guess if that’s how you want this to end,” Dante mumbled. A small smile tipped up the corners of his lips. “I’m sorry I fucked Heidi. I’m sorry I was a shitty friend. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night. Say hi to Margerie for me.” His words were a confused string of whispers, rolling and tripping.
Frank didn’t move, but I felt the wild thrum of his pulse when I grabbed his wrist.
My mind was a warren of questions and ideas. I couldn’t imagine Dante doing anything remotely nice, except maybe talking about nice. Something as big as persuading the woman who didn’t want to work with us because of everything he represented took guts.
“We really need to get going,” Brooklyn whispered.
“So it was you who talked to Margerie?” I returned my gaze to Dante.
“She’s a tough one, by the way.” He offered a smiled that faded before I could register the full extent of the damage that the overdose had done to his body. “I was seriously considering asking the owners of the Chinese Theater instead, hoping they’d be easier to convince.”
“And you think this gives you a free pass now?” Frank asked, but the bitterness in his voice was gone. Sadness was what I heard. “You think one noble act is going to erase twenty years of wrongs?”
“No, I don’t.” Dante shook his head. His eyes shone under the bright stream of the overhead light. “I think I’m a shitty person and I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. I’m not going to explain why I did it or what motivated me, because it’s fucking obvious. I don’t know and I don’t fucking remember doing half of this shit.” He stopped to catch a breath. There were tears in his eyes. “It doesn’t hurt as much when you’re high, Frankie-boy, but I’m sure you know that. You felt it, didn’t you? When it sweeps you under and when it lies to you and tells you everything is going to be okay, but when you wake up sober, you’re fucking devastated. So you go looking for it again. You go looking for that feel-good that gets you through the day, that keeps you conscious and all your demons at bay.”
He paused again. His labored breaths roared inside my head.
“Dante, why don’t we talk after the panel?” I offered.
He continued to stare at Frank, tears rolling down his cheeks full force now.
“You have what you always wanted, Frankie-boy. Freedom. Don’t let your ego take it away from you.”
“Preaching doesn’t suit you,” Frank said quietly.
“It doesn’t suit you either. Let’s be honest. We both fucked up. We both did things we’re not proud of. I’m not looking for some kind of redemption. I’m just facing
