Page 7 of Final Serenade

There were some lines that didn’t blur. A very distinct one between them and us. And Ashton crossed that line the moment he tossed me into the fangirl zone.

My appetite disappeared. “I’m not hungry.” I was on my way out, fed up, drained, and angry. What started as a promising day had ended in total disaster.

Mind racing, I sat in my car with the music on. Heat burned in my chest as my finger skimmed over the contacts list on my phone. The realization that, despite knowing so many people, I had no real friends I could talk to hit me hard. Like a mallet. Of course, there was always Levi. And that was the number I called, but deep down, I was lonely. Lonelier than I’d ever been.

Once I called him and unloaded my frustration, we fell into a short stretch of silence.

“You want to know what I think?” Levi grunted.

“Sure.” I fiddled with the volume control button to hear the music a little better. The song playing was from Hall Affinity’s last album,Chasing Memories.

“Is that Frankie’s voice I’m hearing?” A chuckle.

“I need a refresher on the back catalogue,” I deadpanned. “I’m going to rock that interview.” I didn’t feel like adding “if we get it,” because at that moment, I needed the universe to know what I really wanted.I needed the universe to hear me.

“You will, Cass,” Levi assured. “You’re the fucking best. No one else knows how to take all these people apart without them even noticing it.”

“Thanks. At least someone has faith in me.”

“I have to. You’re my locomotive.”

“So what was it that you were thinking?”

“You need to get laid.”

“Like my list of potential booty calls is very long.” There was no list, and that made me sad. I was a pretty, young woman who talked to and occasionally appeared on camera next to celebs, and I had no one to turn to for a round of mindless sex.

“You’ve got a lot of anger, babe.” I heard a stifled laugh on the line.

“Any other suggestions on how to let steam off?”

“Get some ink?” Levi offered.

I let the thought settle in my brain. Tats were my weakness. I’d wanted them as far back as I could remember but waited patiently until I turned eighteen and had enough money to see a good artist. My first one was a small rose on my left calf. My second one was on my wrist. The third one was slightly bigger and took up a good portion of my right shoulder. I never planned on having too many or getting full sleeves. I liked them sparse and delicate with plenty of skin in between, but the idea of a new tattoo was alluring.

“You know what I think?” I said, glancing at the street. “I’m going to take your advice and go see my buddy Hank.”

“Have fun. Use a condom.” Levi laughed.

“Thank you for reminding me.” I laughed too, then ended the call.

I stood at the counter and absently flipped through the portfolio of a new tattoo artist while the shop attendant scanned my ID and checked my paperwork.

“When did Hank leave?” I was conflicted about letting someone I’d never met touch my skin.

“Hmmm.” The attendant handed me my driver’s license back. “Let me see.” A line on his forehead deepened from concentration. “Six months ago at least.”

“That’s a bummer. I wish I’d known.”

“Jax is great.” The attendant leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “He was on a TV show last year. Guy’s got a huge following. You’re going to love his work.”

Well, dip me in glue and sprinkle me with glitter.

Frazzled, I nodded slowly. The TV show tidbit didn’t impress me as much as the attendant had been aiming for. I sat down with people who entertained stadiums and arenas for a living.

I caught a glimpse of my own reflection in the mirror wall on the opposite side of the shop. That young woman looked nothing like the skinny girl with a pixie cut who’d come here seven years ago wearing platform boots and a band tee. I’d learned how to take care of myself. Physically, financially, spiritually. I’d figured out what clothes worked for my body type, what hair length and color complemented my features, what shadow made my eyes pop, and what gloss made my lips fuller. I tried to go to the gym at least three times a week because keeping in shape was crucial with the workload Levi and I handled. I liked what I saw. Cassy Evans, successful music journalist extraordinaire who had her shit together.

Or did she?

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