Page 43 of Final Serenade

“It’s not the singing, Cassy. Singing is the easiest part.”

“How many surgeries have you had?”

“Honestly, I lost count.” He shrugged. “I have a rod in each leg. I had my ribs realigned. There’s a plate in my right shoulder.”

Part of me didn’t believe him because he looked almost normal to me. Healthy even. “Are you in pain?”

“No, not now, Dr. Evans.” Amusement pinched his face, the side of his mouth curling upward.

“Are you often?”

“No.”

“Damn… You could give Iron Man a run for his money.”

“I sure could.”

We laughed.

“Wait! You can scuba dive with all that hardware?”

“With an instructor, yes. Roman is usually around too. Just in case.”

I was blown away. The man had almost died because of his addiction to bikes. Now that his body was half-metal, he was trying the underwater activities.

“Remember, this is still a demo,” his voice said as he pulled out his cell to connect it to the Range Rover’s Bluetooth.

I wasn’t prepared for the music. It poured over me like a torrential rain. The song had a haunting beginning. Dante’s signature riff came first, followed by a bass line. Frank’s voice, layered and soft, joined subtly. His vocals slid into the arrangement with caution, as if he needed reassurance this was still his vocation, his calling. The drums didn’t kick in until after the first chorus.

I listened to the song without looking at Frank. I couldn’t, because he’d kissed me less than an hour ago. If he wanted to hear my honest opinion, I had to separate the man on the record from the man in this car. And boy, was it difficult.

The music stopped and silence took over.

I expected a question from him, but none came.

“You’re going to break my heart all over again,” I whispered finally.

“That’s not what I was going for.”

“It’s really good.”Fucking terrific. “Cassy Evans-approved.” I didn’t know what else to say. This was a solid Hall Affinity song. Rich, deep, and very powerful. They hadn’t lost their touch.

“Thank you.” He nodded and put his phone away.

“Does it have a title?”

“Yes. ‘Awake.’”

“I love it.”

“Are you sure you can’t find someone to cover for you tomorrow?”

“No. I’m sorry.” I wanted to, but I couldn’t do that to Levi. There was Frank and then there was the rest of the world. And I had to make it work with each without sacrificing the other.

Chapter Seven

El Capitan was a hot, messy, screaming hell full of guys in Pearl Jam and Audioslave T-shirts and girls with neon hair and pictures of Kurt Cobain slapped over their clothes. Levi and I had six interviews lined up for the night, and the PR company that handled the event publicity was kind enough to give us a separate room backstage. Which didn’t happen often.

Carlos was in the pit, doing what he did best, securing live shots forRewired.

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