Page 106 of One Last Verse

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Levi asked as soon as the three of us were alone. “I can give you a ride home. We’ll pick up your car tomorrow.”

Another knock came. It was the band’s manager, Javier. He gave me an apologetic smile and approached Dante.

“I really am fine,” I reassured Levi. It was a lie. The tremor was everywhere. In my hands, in my knees. In my stomach. I was on edge, needing a moment of calm, needing resolve. Facing the crowd milling around the bowling alley terrified me. “I’m just going to chill for a bit.”

Levi shot Dante a warning glance. “If you get her into trouble, hot shot, I’ll make a blooper reel from all the footage we have of you and send it to TMZ.”

“I’d love to see that,” Dante came back with a droopy grin. “I’m told I’m funnier when I’m high.”

My drink, barely touched, waited for me on the bar. As soon as Levi and Javier exited the room, I rose from the couch and grabbed the glass. My head hurt and an invisible rock sat in my chest.

“Are you sure you don’t want someone to check you out?” Dante probed, pulling another lollipop from his pocket.

I blinked at him.

“Geez, get your mind out of the gutter, woman.” He leaned against the pool table and fought the wrapper. The top three buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned. “I mean…like a doctor.”

“Right.” I surveyed my surroundings and took another sip. “Is there a restroom in here?”

Dante motioned at the door behind the bar and shoved the lollipop into the corner of his mouth. “If you change your mind, let me know. The ER is open twenty-four seven.”

“Thanks.”

When I shed my shirt in the restroom, the huge bruise forming on my chest bone told me the attacker had every intention to hurt me. My anger intensified. Swallowing past the uncomfortable tightness in my throat, I studied my reflection.

You’re okay, Cassy,my inner voice said.Breathe.

The alcohol had already taken charge of my bloodstream when I returned to the pub area. Back against the edge of the bar, Dante sipped on his drink.

“You don’t look well.” He turned his head toward me. “You’re positive you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?”

Shocking revelation, but I noted a lick of concern in his hazy eyes.

“No. It’s just a nasty bruise.”

Dante skirted around the bar. The fridge door slammed. Cubes of ice clattered onto the counter.

“My parents use to beat the shit out of me,” he said matter-of-factly, fully concentrating on his task. “I’m not telling you this because I want you to stop hating me. Hate all you want. I deserve it.” His lollipop jumped from one side of his mouth to the other. “I’m telling you this because you’re about to try the world famous bruise remedy from casa Martinez.”

I couldn't see exactly what Dante was doing behind the bar. I sat on a stool and watched his hands fumble around as the seconds ticked by. Finally, he held up a plastic bag full of ice and a towel. “Voila!” A grin spread across his cheeks. “Put it where it hurts.”

“Thanks. That’s very thoughtful of you.” My shoulders quaked in inaudible laughter.

“Don’t make fun of me, short stuff. It was either this or nothing when I was growing up.” He shook his head and threw his unfinished candy in the trash. “Aspirin was hard to come by in my neighborhood.”

Frost bit at my fingers when I took both offerings. I wrapped the towel around the ice pack and then placed it against my chest. Cold hit my bones instantly, overpowering the pain.

Dante went back to his drink. “Works like a charm, huh?” He motioned at my glass and raised his brows as if to ask if I was ready for a refill.

“I think I’m good. I still have to drive home,” I politely refused.

The light buzz I was feeling was more than enough to chase away the distress the downstairs incident caused me. Unlike Dante, I didn’t need to get wasted to cope. There was a reason I hardly drank. Socially or otherwise. I feared I’d become like my father.And Frank.I feared I’d develop alcohol dependence.

Dante leaned forward and propped his chin on his hand. “You mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“Depends on the question.”

“Who ended it? Was it you?”

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