Page 42 of One Last Verse

“This is pointless.” I shook my head.

“Look, darlin’.” Dante got to his feet and moved closer. “Do you really think standing in front of twenty thousand people is a piece of cake for someone who hasn’t done it in seven years?”

“No, I don’t, and look where it’s gotten him. You’re supposed to be his friend. You’re supposed to watch his back.”

“I never wanted things to happen the way they did. You know better than anyone that this is for the best. No matter what he wants others to think, the crash fucked him up. He can’t do it. His body can’t take the beating anymore. I’d rather have the label fire him so he can live a few extra years than have him continue to self-destroy. Tell me you don’t agree.”

In a sick way, I did. I agreed with what he said, but I still loathed him for his methods.

“You should have told him that yourself before the four of you made grand plans to tour the world.”

“I did.” Dante pulled out a cigarette pack and patted his pocket for his lighter. “He didn’t listen to me. He didn’t listen to his mother. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

I watched him walk off and climb into his Navigator with my heart pounding in my throat. Every single thing that came out of Dante’s mouth made perfect sense.

“You’re still invited to the album release party!” he hollered from the car before closing the door. “Frankie-boy wrote the damn thing.”

“Yeah, right.” Amused, I rolled my eyes. “Fuck you and your party,” I told him before he drove away.

The house was abnormally quiet. Brooklyn and the nurse had already gone for the day and I was expecting to find Frank either sleeping or on the back terrace, but he wasn’t in either place. Anxiety gripped my insides. He wasn’t well enough to be elsewhere. I checked the studio and the office next, then headed to the gym. Nothing.

Every one of my calls went to his voicemail. Panic rising, I rushed to the garage.

The Ferrari was gone.

“How the hell did you not see him leaving?” I fumed at Roman while Janet was having a breakdown in the living room. She looked every bit of her sixty-three years. Ruffled and on the edge, stress lines lodged deep in her face. Part of me wanted to hug her and tell her things were going to be okay, but I didn’t quite believe the notion myself. Frank was upset and full of meds that came from pill bottles with amay cause dizzinesswarning. Oh, and he had one good hand, the same one that hadn’t mastered the art of holding a spoon yet.

“Aren’t you supposed to be his bodyguard?” I stared at Roman expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

“He must have left when I was taking a lunch break.”

“Great.” I palmed my head to stop it from spinning. Of course, it didn’t help. “There are a dozen people in the house and no one heard him starting a car that sounds like a rocket launcher.”

“I can reach out to a buddy of mine at the sheriff’s station, Miss Evans, but that will complicate things. If the man doesn’t pick up his phone, he doesn’t want to be found.”

Janet was hysterical. “He’s in no condition to drive a car. He can’t even brush his teeth.”

“I’m going to call Brooklyn,” I muttered, stepping out to the terrace to get some fresh air. Despite the blasting AC, the house felt stuffy.

Brooklyn confirmed what Roman had said. If Frank didn’t answer or return my calls, he didn’t want to talk to anyone.

He just needs to cool down,she told me in a flat tone. Frank sure had an interesting habit of taking off without warning.

Minutes turned into hours, hours turned into an entire night. I tried to pass my time by alternating between checking TMZ headlines and pacing the terrace, but fear and memories twisted me inside out. Eleven years ago, my father did exactly the same thing. Left without telling anyone. And never came back.

No, Frank would never do something like that,my inner voice tried to cheer me up.He has responsibilities.

My father also had responsibilities. Us. Me and Ashton. He walked anyway.

Janet was passed out in the den and I was on my third coffee, checking social media and reading statistics on missing persons, when the cataclysmic rumble of the engine rolled through the front yard at five in the morning.

Phone clutched in my hand, I charged outside. The glimmer of headlights moved through the thick winter fog that hid the mountain ridges and covered the property. Sharp relief settled in my stomach when I saw the Ferrari mingling with the colorful blaze of the Christmas tree. The grind of its tires against the driveway was deafening as it pulled in. My gaze darted around the vehicle nervously, looking for damage or dents, but there were none. The front lights remained on, and they beamed bright, blinding me.

“Where the hell have you been?” I hopped down the stairs and hurried to the driver’s side. The ten-hour-long panic attack and too much caffeine caused a quiver in my hands. “Do you know what time it is?” I cried out.

The window was down, but Frank didn’t move. His left hand stayed curled around the steering wheel. His wind-tangled hair hung chaotically over his forehead and neck.

“You can’t do this! You can’t just take off whenever you feel the need.” Trembling like a leaf, I pulled the door open and looked him over. “You could have crashed.” The air outside was cold and small clouds of condensation left my mouth as I spoke.

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