Page 106 of Fractured Rhythm

“That’s fine this time, but you were so wasted that you needed someone else to tell you what happened last night. We can’t go through this again, Bash. We’re getting back on track, and I thought you were past this…” He trailed off.

“I am. Cassie.”

He held up a hand, cutting me off. “Get your shit together, man. What happens next time you want to get bombed and there isn’t someone around to fill in the blanks?”

“Fuck you, Tris. We spent all day recording a song that my dead best friend wrote. I needed to drink.”

“That’s the problem. He was our best friend, too. We’re all grieving for him. Not just you. Now get in the fucking shower and meet us at the studio in an hour. We still have an album to finish,” Tristan said before he spun on his heel and stomped out of my room.

As soon as the door shut behind him, I pulled up Cassie’s number. It rang once before being sent to voicemail.

Shit.

Cassie:I can’t believe you did this to us.

Bash:Cassie. Baby. It’s not what it looks like.

Cassie:Of course not.

Bash:Please. I can explain.

Cassie:I’m working and I need some time. I can’t talk about this now.

Bash:Please. I didn’t cheat on you. I never kissed that woman.

But there was no response. Twenty minutes later, still nothing. I growled my frustration and got in the shower. I had to find a way to get her to listen to me.

Less than anhour later, I walked into the studio. Cassie still hadn’t responded.

“Look who finally sobered up and showed up,” Jax said, a sneer on his face.

“I didn’t cheat on Cassie. I need to go back to New York and explain it to her. She’s not talking to me.” I had to fix this, and it wasn’t going to happen if I stayed on the other side of the country from her.

“We know you didn’t, you drunk asshole,” Jax said. “Tris filled us in.”

“But you’re not going anywhere. We have an album to finish and Cassie needs time,” Tristan said.

Time was the one thing I was afraid to give her. I didn’t want her to stew in the fact that I’d been beyond wasted.

Two days later,Cassie still refused to talk to me. I had no idea how many messages and texts I’d left. How many times I’d dialed her number only to be sent to voicemail. I’d even sent her the screenshot of my texts with Cameron to show her I hadn’t cheated, but she still wouldn’t talk to me.

I had no clue what to do, and I was stuck in LA until the album was done. Which was taking longer to complete because I was nursing my heartache and frustration with whiskey, and screwing up my cues and the lyrics left and right, like I hadn’t written all the fucking songs myself.

I swiped on my phone and dialed her number for the millionth time. Given my current state, it was definitely a mistake, but I hadn’t been thinking clearly in days.

“Stop calling, Bash,” she said, exasperation in her voice.

I couldn’t believe she’d actually picked up the phone.

“I have to explain,” I said.

“Are you drunk?”

“No.” But even I heard the slight slur in my voice. Fuck. I should’ve waited to call her, but I’d needed to hear her voice, even if it was her voicemail.

“I can’t do this now,” she said.

“I didn’t cheat, Cas. Please.”

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