Page 38 of One Last Verse

“The label feels he’s a liability now. We kept the second surgery under wraps. I don’t know how they found out, but they want him out altogether.”

“How can they do that? Why now?” I couldn’t wrap my head around what I’d just heard. Yes, I agreed with Dante. Frank wasn’t fit to tour with Hall Affinity. I’d seen it with my own eyes—the misery he’d been in. But kicking him out while he was down was low, even for KBC. Their methods had been deemed questionable in the past, but this didn’t sit well with me.

“They have a strong case.” Brooklyn rubbed her temples to relieve pressure. “They’re free to let artists go as they please, Cassy. We’re not talking about a middle level record label here whose biggest client is bringing in all the money. We’re talking about a major company who has all the money and who owns one of the biggest rock bands on the planet.”

“Can’t Frank’s lawyers build a case too?” I sounded desperate. Like a child whose candy was being confiscated.

“For God’s sake, Cassy!” Brooklyn whipped out her hands and waved them in the air, her eyes blazing with anger. “He had enough cocaine in his system to kill a damn cow the night of the accident. He clearly doesn’t understand what he’s doing anymore. One day he’ll kill himself trying to somersault on stage per the fans’ requests.”

She knew! She fucking knew.

I felt as if someone had just punched me in the throat. My breath caught. I didn’t know what exactly upset me more—the fact that Frank’s personal assistant was privy to his medical records and I wasn’t, or the fact that his record label was kicking him to the curb. Either way, things were shit.

Then came a long pause. Brooklyn paced the office, chewing on her bottom lip and cracking her fingers.

“Since when did drugs become a crime in rock ’n’ roll?” I muttered.

“Parts of the contract were revised last year before the label went public with the reunion. Because of possible complications, neither KBC nor the insurance company want to be responsible for accidents caused by his mismanagement of his health. That includes narcotics.”

“But that’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not.” She shot me a blank stare. “Hall Affinity is an investment, and KBC wants to protect that investment. There’re plenty of bands that replaced the original singer and did quite well. Journey, Black Sabbath, Stone Temple Pilots. It’s business, Cassy, and Frank is a casualty.”

Whether I liked it or not, Brooklyn was right and I appreciated her honesty.

“I still need to tell him.” She dropped her arms to her sides and strode past me. “Is he awake?”

“Yes. Do you want me to tell him?” I asked as I followed her.

“No, honey.” She shook her head. “It’s best you take a back seat for this one.”

We found Frank on the terrace. I stood in front of the sliding door and watched Brooklyn through the glass. He sat in a chair and gazed at the waves crashing into the rock formations.

I had to remind myself to breathe. My heart thudded against my ribs, and my stomach turned. I couldn’t see his expression while Brooklyn delivered the news. Only his back and the slump of his shoulders. But I imagined the color leaving his face and the anger brewing in his eyes, and the scariest thing was that I could picture all these changes in such vivid detail, my brain almost hurt physically.

Brooklyn’s features went sour. She waited for Frank to react, but he continued to stare into the distance as if the answer to all his questions was hidden somewhere on the horizon.

“He needs some space right now,” she rattled off, stepping inside, and marched to the office.

My gut told me to stay away, but I went against its wishes and wobbled onto the terrace.

“I’m s-sorry.” There was a stagger in my voice.

Frank remained silent. A mask of indifference covered his face.

I walked over to the chair and rested my palm on his shoulder, needing a physical connection with him. His muscles twitched from my touch, but he didn’t react otherwise.

“Do you need anything?” I tested the waters.

“No.”

“Do you want to lie down?”

“It’s fine,” he slurred. His stitches were still raw and sensitive and he’d taken a whole lot of pain meds earlier, which probably only worsened his current state of mind.

I could only guess what the news Brooklyn had dumped on him was doing to his head.

“Are you sure? You don’t look very good.”

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