Page 97 of Final Serenade

And at that moment, I knew he was going to make every single person who’d come here tonight happy. Including me.

I’d forgotten how seductive Frankie Blade could be on stage. Every word that came from his lips pushed me deeper into a state of dark sexual glee. The sound was a chaotic rattle from where I stood, and even though I couldn’t fully enjoy the songs the way the crowd did, I was stupefied. The chemistry between the band members alone made my head spin from the overload of sensations.

I was a teenage girl again, lost in a time warp, high on music, high on the memories of my first crush and my first heartbreak. My body swayed to the beat and my chest was full. This was the worst kind of ecstasy. The most dangerous one, but oh so good.

My hungry eyes followed Frank’s every move. He was magnificent. Commanding, sexy, charming. The fans were going crazy. The line of security inside the pit had a busy night. Hall Affinity wasn’t exactly a wild band, but people were too excited not to crowd surf. Bodies sailed above other bodies. Hands clapped.

If there was a way to chase an orgasm without having actual intercourse, this—watching Frankie Blade, my lover, unravel twenty thousand people—was it.

He wasn’t part of the show. Hewasthe show.

Three songs into the set, Taylor Rhinehart emerged in my peripheral. She had a drink with a colored umbrella and her bodyguard lingered in the background. I knew I had no reason to be scared of this woman. Frank belonged to me. But a pinch of jealousy twisted my stomach. Not because I feared she’d steal my man, but because she had the freedom to be herself with him while I didn’t. I was the secret only a handful of people knew about. Today, he didn’t speak to me outside the dressing room. He didn’t hold my hand like Johnny held his girlfriend’s while they hung out in the lounge.

He didn’t want anyone to see us together.

And I’d been okay with that from the beginning. Or I thought I was. I kept telling myself that keeping my name out of tabloids by hiding our relationship was for the best, but my heart stopped believing it tonight. And I hated my heart for it.

My heart was stupid.

I couldn’t tell when exactly things went wrong. There was an inaudible exchange between Dante and Frankie during the “Hollow Heart Dream” guitar solo. To me, this looked like any other performance. They were having a moment. Musicians communicated on stage all the time. But the second Frank turned to face the backstage area, I knew he wasn’t okay. His silhouette moved slowly through the wall of colored fog that spilled on stage. All but a single spotlight dimmed. Dante was now the center of everyone’s attention. He ripped through the chords on his Stratocaster. It was a mean progression that rose until it hit its screeching top. The crowd responded with a delighted shriek. The comedown was just as elegant, note after note, the solo descended. Drunk or high, Dante knew how to play guitar. He wasn’t on the list of 100 Greatest Rock Guitarists of All Time for his smoldering looks.

Heart clenched, my eyes followed Frank as he stumbled off stage and into the middle of a human mess. Mayhem was everywhere. I saw Billy, Janet, and Brooklyn rushing over to him. Corey’s face was whiter than the first snow. People yelled into their walkie-talkies. Bruce was running around in panic and giving out orders.

Dante kept playing.

The blend of the intricate riff and the screams of the crowd crashed into me really hard. My stomach lurched. The noise was a raging pulse in my ears and I didn’t understand what was happening. Then I saw it. The paramedics. The crowd dispersed to make way and I pushed through. A flashlight pierced the darkness

“Take a step back, please!” Roman’s voice ordered.

He waved his arms and signaled for people to move away. Frank was sitting down, face abnormally pale, hair damp. A layer of sweat glistened across his forehead and chest. The doctor leaned over to hand him an oxygen mask. Frank shook his head but took it. He breathed hard and I could tell his lungs were struggling. My mind scrambled through all the scenarios I’d overheard during his meetings with Reese and his doctor. He needed to watch how much pressure he put on his right shoulder and he needed to make sure he didn’t overdo it with the acrobatics. He was great during the rehearsal. He went through the setlist with ease. Whatever was going on with him wasn’t what the doctor had feared most.

I stepped closer and caught Janet’s arm. She glanced at me over her shoulder, her eyes filled with genuine terror.

“What’s going on?” I mouthed.

“I think it’s his blood pressure.” That was all she said.

On stage, Dante was entertaining the audience. Carter joined him on drums, and now this was a two-man show and people who’d bought tickets had no idea the singer was in no condition to walk. When were they going to catch on? How long was too long for a guitar solo? Five minutes? Ten minutes? Twenty?

I got closer to the front of the circle surrounding Frank. The paramedics were taking his vitals. His physician hovered.

“We need you to lie down, sir,” someone said.

“Large bore fully open,” another voice boomed. “Get the line started.”

An IV needle was stuck in Frank’s arm. Oxygen mask back in place.

This felt a lot like witnessing the end of the world. Worst part was, I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

The onstage shebang was just Carter now. The spotlight shifted over to the drum kit, where he was pounding out a wicked beat.

Ignoring the medics, Dante nosed his way in and leaned over to Frank. They were cheek to cheek, and he hovered there for a few seconds. The contrast of their skin tones, cream gold versus bronze olive, was striking. Frank’s eyes were lost and unfocused as he breathed through his breakdown with a needle in his vein, and Dante’s shoulders were tense with worry as his lips moved. He whispered something to Frank, then glanced at the doctor. They talked. Bruce ducked in. Their voices meshed with the cymbal-filled drum sequence that rattled on stage.

Uncertainty clutched my mind.

“You sure?” I caught Dante’s words.

Frank nodded and drew the mask away from his face. The medics were still administering fluids.

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