Page 62 of One Last Verse

Levi: Someone posted a video of Dante and Marshall on Reddit thirty minutes ago. It just hit TMZ and BuzzFeed.

Thanks.

Levi: You need to see the video.

A link popped up on my screen next. I set my laptop aside and rose from the couch. Panic pulsed through me when Frank’s gaze flicked over to my face. Offering him the best smile I could muster, I then rushed out of the lounge and called Linda.

“I thought they weren’t going to announce the name for another week!” I fumed, pacing the small restroom.

“That was the plan,” Linda said with a heavy sigh.

“So someone leaked it?” I asked for clarification.

“Yes.”

“Why did it have to happen today?”

“I’m sure you know firsthand that this is absolutely normal these days. It’s not the nineties anymore.”

“Yes.” I stopped in my tracks and tried to think. Keeping Frank away from his phone these past couple of days had been difficult. “It’s just bad fucking timing is all.” A sardonic laugh escaped from my lungs. “Would you keep me updated? Please?”

“I’ll do my best, but it’s out of my hands now.”

Linda ended the call.

I drew my phone away from my ear and pulled up the message exchange with Levi. My panic grew bigger with each second as I watched the Reddit video of Dante and his new sidekick—Marshall Burns. He was a fresh face with the body of Adonis and the voice of Orpheus. A rock ’n’ roll version of a Greek god, who nailed all the high notes in a thirty-second-long snippet of “Adrenaline Lane” that had been uploaded by an anonymous user. If anything, Marshall’s looks would be distracting enough for the crowd not to realize he was an impostor. His own band’s sophomore album peaked in Billboard’s top ten last summer. I’d interviewed him a few times. The man could hold his own on and off stage. Obviously, he was no Frankie Blade, but he was younger and possessed enough charisma to fill the shoes of his predecessor.

When there was a soft knock on the door, I called out, “Just a second.” Then I slipped my phone in my pocket and took a deep breath. News had never rattled me like this before. Levi and I had lived through a lot of band break-ups, but everything was different with Frank. Too personal.

Putting my plastic smile back on, I marched out of the restroom and returned to the lounge, where I continued to pretend things were great until we finally left the studio at around midnight.

Exhausted, Frank climbed into the back of the Escalade and slumped against the seat. The silence thickened as the car steered onto the freeway. There was a certain level of awareness that hung around us like a rain cloud, but I was too scared to speak first.

“Something I should know about?” Frank finally asked, his voice low and raspy after multiple takes.

Contemplating, I grabbed his hand as if it would stop him from checking his phone. “I think this should wait till tomorrow.”

He turned his head to look at me and paused a few seconds before posing the question, “Who is it?” The faint lines in the corner of his left eye deepened.

The silence that filled the space between us was lead heavy.

“Marshall Burns,” I replied after a moment.

Frank remained abnormally calm. His gaze swept over my face, lingering on my lips. Suddenly, he was unreadable, surrounded by an impenetrable wall he’d built in a matter of seconds.

I squeezed his hand and brought my mouth to his. “Fuck Marshall Burns. Fuck Dante. Fuck them all.”

“You have a way with words, Cassy.” A light chuckle met my breath. “Especially the swear ones.”

“So I’ve been told.”

I wasn’t sure when exactly it happened, in the car or at home, that I sensed the turbulence Frank was experiencing, but it woke me up in the middle of the night—the invisible dread. Restless, I lay on my back and stared at the streaks of lingering moonlight seeping into the bedroom through the cracks between the shades. The pitter-patter of my heart against my ribs filled the deafening silence that reigned in the house.

Stretching my arm, I brushed the sheets on the side of the bed Frank usually occupied. They were uninvitingly cold. Had he slept at all?

I found him in the dining room. Legs spread, head tossed back, he was sprawled in a chair that had been positioned to face the ocean view. His silhouette, framed by the shimmer of the moonlight coming in through the unshaded window, looked dejected. A bottle and a glass sat next to him on a table. His phone lay beside them.

I smelled liquor on his breath from across the room. He was wasted.

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