Page 33 of Final Serenade

“Her girlfriend was drunk. Drove the car into a tree. Isabella was the passenger. She’s in a wheelchair now.”

A strange mix of dread and adrenaline rushed through me. I reached over to the iPad, clicked play on the YouTube video, and turned the volume up. Seconds into the recording, I knew we were onto a hot story. The song had a mellow, soulful beginning but hit hard after the first chorus when the singer’s voice truly opened up. At only nineteen, she sounded fierce. By the end of the song, I stopped noticing the wheelchair. I saw a performer who gave it her all.

“Girl got some pipes, huh?” Levi grinned, his eyes lit.

“Absolutely,” I agreed. “Any upcoming live shows?”

“Yes. She and her band are playing The Viper Room in a couple of weeks. I’ve been talking to her manager—that’s her mom, by the way—and I think we can do something really meaningful here. Get an exclusive. Get live footage. Maybe involve some people.”

“Yes. We can and we should.”

Rewiredwasn’t just about numbers. Causes mattered to us. Especially when the talent was part of the equation, and Isabella definitely had a special gift. I didn’t need to hear her live to determine that. I’ve heard enough people sing to know gold from a piece of rust. Some voices were powerful enough to get you with a shitty cell phone video. Isabella’s did and it gave me goosebumps.

The radio silence pushed me into googling Frankie.

It was nearly one in the morning, too late to stalk a man online.Don’t do it, Cassy. Don’t do it,I reasoned with myself.

Besides, I’d told myself to set my expectations low. Better yet, to not have any expectations at all. But the reality of being one woman among thousands was tormenting. And sad. I wasn’t the type to make the first move as far as the man was concerned. Especially if the man was rich and famous. Deep down, I was old-fashioned, but all these strange feelings I didn’t want were surging through me like a broken floodgate disaster.

My ears burned when his photos from some red carpet event he’d apparently attended earlier today littered the screen of my laptop. To make matters worse, he wasn’t alone. Frankie Blade had shown up in the company of Taylor Rhinehart, two-time Emmy nominee and the most sought after actress under thirty in Hollywood right now.

I didn’t want to be upset or disillusioned, because I was mature and educated enough to understand the man led a very complicated life, but my ego screamed and I felt it. I felt it with my heart, my gut, and even my goddamn earlobes. It stunk. It hurt. And it made me want to erase the dinner.

My phone rang.

“Cassy,” my mother yelped on the line, her voice broken. “Your brother hasn’t come home and he’s not picking up his phone!”

Frankie and Little Miss Hollywood plummeted to the bottom of my priorities list. “Calm down, Mom.” I tried to sound rational, but anxiety had other plans. “Have you checked in with any of his friends?”

“I talked to Mike.”

“Mom, he hasn’t hung out with Mike since last summer.” Mike was busy with SATs and college applications.

“Well…who else should I call then? What if he’s hurt? What if someone took him?” My mother wasn’t making any sense. I didn’t even know if she had a good handle on what was happening at home anymore. Or if she cared. It enraged me, but at the same time, it saddened me. None of it was her fault. She tried really hard for us.

“Don’t panic, Mom,” I said, leaping over to my closet. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes and we’ll see if we can figure out what’s going on.” My intuition told me Ashton wasn’t in trouble. On the contrary, he’d be the one to cause the trouble. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s just acting out.” Probably to get back at me for grilling him the other day.

“Do you think maybe we should call the police?” she asked.

But the police called us first. I was already at Mom’s, rummaging through Ashton’s closet and looking for clues. I started to believe that maybe he was on drugs. Because, in my head, no person in his right mind would be able to spend an entire week in front of the screen shooting up virtual reality enemies. Getting law enforcement involved would be the next logical step. My mind was numb with rage and my hands trembled for some reason. I didn’t find anything incriminating except for a couple ofPenthouseissues, which wasn’t illegal. My brother was seventeen, after all. I had sex at seventeen left and right. I didn’t really enjoy it at that point, but I was curious. It was cool. Everyone was doing it.

In the living room, the phone rang. My mother’s gasp drifted through the apartment.

“What’s going on?” I rushed out, agitated and worried.

“He’s been arrested for public intoxication,” my mother muttered. “He’s at the police station.”

“You gotta be kidding me!” I tossed my head back and covered my eyes with the heels of my hands.He’s exactly like his father.

“They said I need to come pick him up.”

“We can take my car, Mom.” I shook off my anger and tried to act normal.

On the way to juvie, she wouldn’t stop talking. She didn’t seem to understand what was happening and how this little stunt could affect Ashton’s future. Public intoxication was a crime. Potentially, my brother could get a record, but I didn’t want to get ahead of myself until we received more information.

We sat in the waiting area for what felt like an eternity. I researched Isabella Solana. My mother filled out paperwork. It was almost six in the morning when the officer finally escorted Ashton out.

I didn’t speak to him until we left the building, but my patience cracked in the parking lot.

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