One Last Verse Read online

  “I’m just asking you as your friend. You fuck the guy who let half the planet down last night and you can’t even tell me if he’s okay? I’m not some heartless douche. I worry about you.”

  A ragged sigh rushed out of my lungs. I was torn. I knew he cared about me, yet his statement rubbed me the wrong way, so I was having a hard time choosing which direction to take. A snappy comeback lingered on the tip of my tongue and I held it in only for the sake of my sanity. “It wasn’t a very good night.”

  “I see,” Levi grunted.

  I slid from the chair and began to pace. My pulse thrummed hard in my temples. My heart thrashed. Anxiety, coffee, and shitty sleep weren’t a good combo.

  His use of the word fuck to describe the nature of my relationship with Frank felt offensive. It wouldn’t have a month ago. We did fuck. A lot. But there was something else. There were real feelings, his and mine, entangled in a complex knot. And I didn’t want an outsider to call what we had a fuck.

  “You understand where I’m coming from, right?” I pressed.

  “I won’t ask you anymore.”

  “Can you revise the last paragraph?”

  “Just because you don’t agree with her thoughts doesn’t mean it’s a bad article.”

  “I didn’t say it was bad, but we don’t speculate about things like this, Levi. She wasn’t backstage. She didn’t see what happened. She can’t simply write whatever she wants.”

  “Robbie had a copy of the setlist before the show. They cut the last third out, Cass. You don’t need to be a mathematician to put two and two together. Your boyfriend can’t handle a ninety-minute show. Why can’t he just come out with it?”

  “If the setlist wasn’t sent to him via official channels, which I know for a fact that it wasn’t, then you have no right to use that information to write a recap.”

  Things weren’t as simple as Levi what trying to make them. A band of their caliber had to meet fans’ expectations. Frank wouldn’t do it differently. I’d witnessed both his stubbornness and his dedication firsthand last night. His decision to go back on stage was pushing the limits of sane and lingered somewhere on the edge of stupidity.

  All great talents were crazy.

  “The article is wonderful, but I’m asking you as your partner. Speculating is not what Rewired is about, Levi. We’ve never been that. I don’t want us to turn into another TMZ and feed the public with unconfirmed ideas and rumors.”

  “It doesn’t work like that, Cass. You didn’t write it. You don’t get to play with it.”

  “Why are you being so stubborn?”

  I heard the second line beep. “I have to take this,” Levi barked and ended the call.

  I stood in front of the glass wall and absentmindedly stared at the ocean. My heart was beating against my ribs fiercely. Part of me was convinced Levi pushed back on the post revision only because I’d pulled out from reviewing the Hall Affinity shows. It was his way of saying screw you. If I wasn’t on board, I had no say. It stung, but in a way, I understood. I hadn’t exactly been a good partner lately. The documentary was the only project I was involved with and cared about.

  The conversation with Levi made me feel shitty, made me think about my priorities. What were they? Where did my loyalties lie? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my mom, and my brother was living alone in my apartment.

  Frank was the worst kind of drug. He came first. Before all else. And this feeling, the dark, all-consuming euphoria that was him, frightened me. I was losing myself.

  My lungs struggled for air and my brain needed a break. I walked out onto the terrace and tried to breathe through my sudden panic attack. Eyes closed, I lifted my face to the sun and let it caress my skin. The breeze tousled my hair. The ocean beneath me rolled.

  For a brief moment, all my worries fell away and it was nice. Until the faint smell of cigarette smoke crept up my nose.

  Snapping my eyes open, I whirled around and scanned the stretch of terrace running along the western side of the house. There, on the other end, was Dante. Shoulder against the wall and facing me. A cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth told me he’d given up his attempts to quit smoking… Or he was too wound up to resort to a lollipop to do the job of what nicotine usually did so well, take the edge off.

  Conflicted, I stared at him.

  “Like what you see, darlin’?” He chuckled. His voice, though horse and broken after last night, carried over the noise of the crashing waves. He wore a pair of loose jeans and a plain white T-shirt that was thin enough for me to see some of his ink beneath the fabric. Unlike Frank, he hadn’t gotten carried away and still had plenty of blank skin left. Back in the day, Dante didn’t shy away from flaunting his lean body on stage, but he’d stopped taking his shirt off after the Hollow Heart Dream release.

  Thin-framed and elegant, Dante had a strange, dark appeal. Women loved his flashy personality. However, right now, he wasn’t anywhere near flashy. He looked…stressed. Hair pulled back, earring and other accessories absent, he almost looked his age. On the edge of forty. Of course, forty for a rock star was like another round of seventeen. People with money had access to all kinds of procedures to keep them young. At least on the outside. Botox for starters. Although Dante didn’t look as if he needed it or had ventured into that territory.

  “A little birdie told me Frankie-boy took another dive last night,” he said. He took a long drag and his chest rose and expanded as he held the smoke in his lungs.

  I headed his way and stopped in front of him. Our gazes locked and his red-rimmed eyes roamed my face.

  “Are you cutting the set again tonight?” I asked.

  He shook his head and turned away to release the smoke. “No. We can’t. The fans will destroy us. Do you know how many people asked for refunds already? We’ll just rearrange everything. Yesterday was shit. We should have started with Hollow Heart Dream material.”

  “Why would people ask for refunds? You played for almost an hour.”

  “Yeah? Do you remember how long every single set lasted during Guns N’ Roses’ reunion show? Two hours at least.”

  “Well, people waited for their reunion double the time. Hence double the time on the sets,” I joked.

  Dante laughed and turned back to me. “People are assholes.” His lips stretched and the smile lines near the corners of his eyes deepened. “You know better than me, darlin’. You’re the fucking reporter.”

  “There’s press and there’s shitty press, Dante,” I countered. “Shitty press like to pull their headlines out of their asses to get traffic. I deliver real news and facts. There’s a big difference.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist, little lady.” He laughed. “I know you’re one of the good ones. I actually fucking admire your drive. You roped Frankie-boy into this little charity project of yours. He hasn’t been this excited about doing some good in years.”

  “Are you just going to hold out? No comments?” I didn’t remember seeing any Jay Brodie PR emails come in today. The band seemed reluctant to debunk rumors floating around online about Frank’s well-being.

  “Corey thinks it’s best we keep our mouths shut for now.”

  “So you’re not even going to respond?”

  “What do we say? I’m sorry the set was short. Our singer is a fucking cripple and can’t pull through the entire show without passing out, and we’re not sure if he can deliver tonight, but hey, we have paramedics on standby and we still want your money, come what may.”

  Dante’s words were harsh, but they were an accurate representation of what was going on right now. Frank was a ticking time bomb.

  “Well, when you put it like that…” I rolled my eyes nonetheless.

  A veil of smoke swirled around Dante. He finished his cigarette in silence while I stared at the ocean.

  “I’ll keep an eye on him, Cass.” I felt his hand on my shoulder. It wasn’t inappropriate. It was more of a friendly pat. Same type he’d give Frank or any
other guy in the band.

  “Are we friends now?” I looked at him.

  “We’ve always been friends.”

  “Are you going to apologize?”

  “Are you still pissed about the demos?”

  “I need you to apologize, Dante.” I stood my ground.

  He tossed his head back and covered his eyes with the heels of his hands. His T-shirt stretched across his lean torso.

  “I’m serious. You were wrong and I deserve an apology. From both you and Corey.”

  “I’m not responsible for the dude. You can ask him for an apology yourself,” Dante growled, dropping his face to look me in the eye. “Here’s mine. I’m sorry, Cassy.” His cigarette breath grazed my cheeks. “Are you happy now?”

  “Apology accepted,” I mumbled.

  “Okay, good. Now make sure Frankie-boy is happy too. He needs it.”

  I didn’t fully understand what he meant by that and he didn’t expand on his statement before walking off. All I knew was that something dark had lingered in the air all morning and my gut told me this was the part where the rollercoaster reached the top and I needed to get ready for a massive, once-in-a-lifetime drop.

  Chapter Two

  Contrary to popular belief, the controversial reviews of the first Hall Affinity night at the Forum didn’t deter the ticket holders from attending the second show. On the way to the venue, I carefully checked social media to get a better idea of what the fallout was like. The refund crisis Dante had referred to earlier wasn’t as bad as he’d described it. The man was overdramatic.

  Apparently, a lot of people simply wanted to see the band perform because they were scared the upcoming tour would get canceled due to Frankie’s health. Even if there had been any refunds, they’d most likely turned into crazy-priced resales, because there wasn’t an empty seat when we arrived. I had a chance to get a glimpse of the audience when Roman led us upstairs, and the floor was jam-packed. The security in the pit was doubled. Eager fans trampled over each other to get to the barricade.

  Further proof bad publicity wasn’t that bad after all.

  Ashton had begged me to get him a pass for tonight, but I’d decided to be a mean sister and told him he had to skip tonight to prepare for the second round of SATs and look for a part-time job because helping Levi with the documentary wasn’t going to pay any bills. Bottom line, my little brother needed a reality check since his eighteenth birthday was approaching fast, and he couldn’t just occupy my apartment indefinitely.

  I didn’t plan on being a total bitch, though. I was going to get him a pass for tomorrow. I’d also asked my mother if she wanted a ticket, but she wasn’t a fan of rock ’n’ roll. She’d politely declined my offer in favor of a movie night with her co-worker.

  The air backstage was static with anticipation. We sat in the dressing room and I watched the stylist work on Frank’s hair. Everyone was fixed on some task. No small talk took place. At some point, Janet and Billy stepped out, and then it was only me, Corey, Brooklyn, and Frank’s physician. The drone of the blow dryer mixed with a Muse tune pouring from the speakers. Occasionally a walkie-talkie crackled right outside the door.

  I felt as if I’d been thrust into the eye of the tornado that was Frank’s professional life, and to the casual observer, I might appear to be an unwilling participant.

  However, what they wouldn’t have observed was that until yesterday, Frank had kept me at arm’s length when it came to his career. Sure, we’d discussed his music and his relationship with the band members. And he’d taken me to a rehearsal, but that was the extent of my involvement. I’d been inside his home studio just once and I’d never accompanied him to any of his business meetings. Today was different. We drove to the venue together. He held my hand possessively as we marched through the backstage area, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was no longer dead set on keeping our relationship a secret.

  Something had changed.

  He didn’t ask me to leave during his meeting with Linda. I sat there and pretended to be on my phone while listening to their conversation. The look on her face told me she wasn’t sure what shocked her the most—to find me in Frankie Blade’s dressing room wearing a pretty daring dress with a sweetheart neckline or to find out Hall Affinity’s front man didn’t want his health issues to become public knowledge.

  “This isn’t the ’80s, Frank,” she countered. “Your injuries can be a big plus. It’s all about how we spin it during the campaign. Fans love when artists are upfront with their conditions.”

  “I don’t have a condition. I simply don’t want people to feel like they’re playing Russian roulette by buying a ticket to a Hall Affinity show. Is the singer going to come out today or is he taking a night off because he’s a fucking vegetable? The answer is no.”

  There was some truth to Linda’s words, but Frank was uncompromising. He wanted it his way.

  Brooklyn’s phone pinged. She checked the message and touched Frank’s shoulder to get his attention.

  “I’m going to grab your guest. Are you good?”

  He nodded and returned his gaze to Linda. “You know where I stand. Make it work. That’s what you’re getting paid for.”

  Frank wasn’t kind today. I hadn’t seen this harsh side of him yet, and while I didn’t like it, I knew where this animosity was coming from. The fear of failure had pushed him over the edge. He snapped at people for no apparent reason. Even Janet had been in the line of fire all afternoon.

  The stylist shut off the blow dryer and stepped back to evaluate. Truth be told, I didn’t know why Frank needed someone to mess with his hair. He looked great and he was going to turn into a sweaty mess after three songs anyway.

  His stage outfit differed from last night’s. He wore a pair of tight black pants and boots. His shirt had strategically-placed rips on his chest, abs, and back to give the audience a little peek of what was underneath.

  Corey was tapping out an email. The intense thrum of his fingers against the MacBook’s keyboard matched the light rattle coming from the makeup station as the stylist began to put away some of her items.

  Face hard, Frank slid from the chair and rolled his shoulders. His chest rose with his inhale, stretching the fabric across his pecs. Phone clutched in my hand, I watched. My heart thundered. There was something extremely primal about him today. Something dark and dangerous. Just like the night he took me for a ride in the mountains and then fucked me on his dining table. I adored that filthy side of him. Adored it to the point of physical pain.

  “I didn’t tell you”—Frank spun to face me, his gunmetal blues capturing my gaze—“but I invited Isabella and her mother to tonight’s show.”

  “Oh.” His confession rendered me speechless for a second. I hadn’t expected him to get this involved. “I bet they’re over the moon.”

  “I hope so.” He let out a nervous laugh and approached me. His hands reached for mine, and I stood. We were mere inches apart and his heat started to consume me. He took all the air from my lungs. Being calm next to him when he was like this, sexed up for the stage, was impossible.

  Frank dropped his mouth to my ear and whispered, “Did I tell you how gorgeous you look in this dress?”

  I shook my head, my voice lost in my throat.

  His broad palms encircled my waist. “I can’t wait to take it off after we’re done.”

  A light burn spread between my thighs. While I knew Frank’s words were only for me and no one else could hear him, he said them with everyone in the room, as if he needed to make a statement.

  “I can’t wait for you to take it off,” I uttered quietly, head dizzy. A small part of me wasn’t sure he’d be fit for anything after the set, but I wanted to give him what he craved—hope that last night wouldn’t be repeating itself. Hope that today’s show would be great.

  A knock snapped us out of our delirium. Smiling, Frank took a step back, his heat still a kindled flame on my skin and a maddening blaze in my chest. His fingertips slid over
my knuckles softly as our hands parted. The door swung open and Isabella’s wheelchair rolled into the dressing room. Hair teased and rock concert-ready, she pushed through with a big grin on her face. Maria and Brooklyn strode in next, then handshakes and hugs took place. The room came alive with a blend of laughter—Isabella’s throaty and confident and Frank’s deep and rich. I stood aside and listened to their banter. My heart was full and happy and I felt the same way I’d felt that morning. I felt love. And it was terrifying.

  My gaze swung over to Brooklyn. She seemed content with the outcome of this short meetup while, eyes wide, Maria watched her daughter talking to a man who was about to perform in front of twenty thousand people. I could only imagine what was going on in Maria’s head right now. She looked both flustered and shocked.

  Frank had that effect on people.

  “Did Brooklyn show you your seats already?” he checked with Isabella.

  “Yes. Thank you so much for inviting us.”

  “Of course. I hope you enjoy the show.”

  Brooklyn signaled for Frank to wrap it up. The woman ran a very tight schedule.

  Another knock came. It was Dante. Hat on, shirt half-tucked in, jeans alluringly low on his hips, he was stage ready. The glint in his eyes told me the man might be buzzed.

  He marched over to Isabella and dipped down in front of her. “Hola, mija. ¿Cómo estás?”

  “Muy bien.” Isabella grinned. Unlike her mother, she wasn’t easily intimidated by famous people. “¿Y tu?”

  He curled his fingers into a fist and they bumped knuckles.

  “I don’t think we’ve met officially. I’m Dante. I heard some of your singing. You’re pretty good.” A cocky, ‘cool uncle’ smirk lingered on his lips.

  “You’re not bad yourself.”

  Dante shook his head and the smile lines around his eyes grew deeper. “¿De dónde eres?”