Page 127 of One Last Verse

Dante’s gaze swept over to me. “You look very nice, Cassy.”

“You look good too.” I nodded, eyeing his features and searching for something to validate my statement. The slight slant of his left eye told me he wasn’t well. The health issues triggered by his overdose weren’t publicized, but one look at him was enough to see he was a mess.

The door to the lounge flung open, letting the noise of the party spill into the hallway. “We’re about to get started!” a voice shouted. “Izzy’s looking for you, Frank.”

“Okay, I guess if that’s how you want this to end,” Dante mumbled. A small smile tipped up the corners of his lips. “I’m sorry I fucked Heidi. I’m sorry I was a shitty friend. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night. Say hi to Margerie for me.” His words were a confused string of whispers, rolling and tripping.

Frank didn’t move, but I felt the wild thrum of his pulse when I grabbed his wrist.

My mind was a warren of questions and ideas. I couldn’t imagine Dante doing anything remotely nice, except maybe talking about nice. Something as big as persuading the woman who didn’t want to work with us because of everything he represented took guts.

“We really need to get going,” Brooklyn whispered.

“So it was you who talked to Margerie?” I returned my gaze to Dante.

“She’s a tough one, by the way.” He offered a smiled that faded before I could register the full extent of the damage that the overdose had done to his body. “I was seriously considering asking the owners of the Chinese Theater instead, hoping they’d be easier to convince.”

“And you think this gives you a free pass now?” Frank asked, but the bitterness in his voice was gone. Sadness was what I heard. “You think one noble act is going to erase twenty years of wrongs?”

“No, I don’t.” Dante shook his head. His eyes shone under the bright stream of the overhead light. “I think I’m a shitty person and I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. I’m not going to explain why I did it or what motivated me, because it’s fucking obvious. I don’t know and I don’t fucking remember doing half of this shit.” He stopped to catch a breath. There were tears in his eyes. “It doesn’t hurt as much when you’re high, Frankie-boy, but I’m sure you know that. You felt it, didn’t you? When it sweeps you under and when it lies to you and tells you everything is going to be okay, but when you wake up sober, you’re fucking devastated. So you go looking for it again. You go looking for that feel-good that gets you through the day, that keeps you conscious and all your demons at bay.”

He paused again. His labored breaths roared inside my head.

“Dante, why don’t we talk after the panel?” I offered.

He continued to stare at Frank, tears rolling down his cheeks full force now.

“You have what you always wanted, Frankie-boy. Freedom. Don’t let your ego take it away from you.”

“Preaching doesn’t suit you,” Frank said quietly.

“It doesn’t suit you either. Let’s be honest. We both fucked up. We both did things we’re not proud of. I’m not looking for some kind of redemption. I’m just facing the consequences of the shitty choices I made. I never wanted you out of the band. I love you like a brother, but we both knew when you decided to come back it wasn’t going to work out. The only difference was that I saw it and you refused to accept it. Yes, I stood by and watched the label kick you out, but it wasn’t your battle to fight. Not anymore. This, right here”—Dante threw his hands in the air, motioning at the cement walls—“is your battle. This is where you belong. I just wanted you to understand that everything I did was for your own good, even if I did it backwards. That’s all I wanted to tell you. That I love you and I’m sorry. That I’m proud of you and that I want to part ways peacefully. I don’t want to leave any bad blood behind.”

Frank remained mute. My hand still held on to his, but all the signals were mixed. The silence swelled. Even Brooklyn stayed quiet. Behind the door, in the lounge, people screamed and music played.

I felt the uncertainty and the ache. It swirled around us like a cloud of dust above a dirt road that had just been touched by a set of tires.

Tense seconds ticked by as Dante wiped his left cheek with the back of his palm. “It’s good that you’re getting yourself sorted out. The bottle is a bitch. Once she has her claws in you, she’s never going to let go.” The words were slowly dying on his lips. “I know it. I’ve been trying to shake her off for almost two decades. Now I can’t even play a chord I wrote. A lost fucking cause.”

His helplessness crept through the air between the three of us.

I didn’t have the right to speak. This was their fight. Instead, I squeezed Frank’s hand. A reminder that today, he’d been given the benefit of the doubt and now it was his turn to give.

He cleared his throat and stared at Dante. “You want to try? It’s an acoustic set.”

“I thought you’d flaked out on us again!” Isabella shouted as guards ushered us into the dressing room. “We’re ten minutes behind.” She stared at Dante with frazzled eyes.

“¿Cómo estas, mija?” Dante jerked his chin and gave everyone in the room a once-over.

Andy and Kit looked mildly shocked. Story kept blinking.

“Thank God!” Maria cried out.

“You up for doing a Hall Affinity cover, Izzy?” Frank wrestled off his jacket.

“I thought we weren’t doing any covers?” Her gaze flicked over to Dante. “Didn’t you just quit the band, dude?”

“I did.” He nodded.

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