Page 67 of One Last Verse

“I’m just nervous,” Maria confessed. “This is such a big deal for Izzy.”

“It’ll be fine.” I offered her a smile. “These things happen all the time. He hasn’t been feeling well for a couple of days.”

The song ended and I heard the rattle of the door. Then Ashton was pushing one of the cases down the hallway, and Levi was right behind him with his camera bag in tow. I almost wanted to tell them to hold off on setting up the gear but realized that would only alarm the rest of the team and the band.

Frustration pinched my chest.

“Let me see what his assistant says,” I told Maria and followed Brooklyn to the small lounge at the quieter end of the building.

“I thought you two were coming together,” she sputtered, shutting the door so we could both have a breakdown in private.

“I had to leave early to get Ashton’s car out of impound. Roman was supposed to drive him here.”

“I cannot believe this shit.” She stilled and squeezed the bridge of her nose.

“Did you call Corey?”

“He hasn’t spoken to Frank since last night.”

Artists were eccentric, but dropping from the face of the Earth today of all days?

“You said to give him space.” I threw my hands in the air, unable to control my emotions. My head spun from the raging pain zapping through it. “Now he’s probably somewhere halfway to Vegas, drunk and with a broken shoulder!”

“You need to cool the fuck down.” Brooklyn shoved her finger into my chest, her voice taut with anger.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” I slapped her hand away. “You can just say it. You don’t like me. You’ve never liked me. But I seem to be the only one who wants him to get better.”

Her face twisted. “And you don’t tell me how to do my job.” She whirled around and marched over to the door.

“Where are you going?”

She gave me a sideways glance. “To look for Frank.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not. You’re staying here.”

It hit me then. Being Frankie Blade’s girlfriend wouldn’t be easy. I’d be responsible for his every word and every mistake. People would be looking at me the way Isabella looked at me when I returned to the recording room—with bitter disappointment in her eyes.

I promised her she’d be heard. Instead, I’d let her down.

Frank’s no-show stunt made me feel like a complete failure of a person. I could only postpone the news for so long. It was nearing dinnertime when the message I’d dreaded all day popped up on my phone.

Brooklyn: He just came back home drunk and tried to fire me. I wouldn’t wait up.

What do you want me to do?

Brooklyn: It’s your project. Studio time is paid for.

I put my phone away and summoned the leftovers of my self-control to make an announcement. “It doesn’t look like Frankie will be able to join us today after all.”

A collective gasp filled the room.

“I know this is a big deal for you all.” Lying to everyone’s faces made me sick to my stomach. “He truly is sorry, but he hasn’t been well these past few days.”

I stood in the center of everyone and willed my mind to block their accusatory gazes.

“Is he going to be okay?” Story asked, fingering the strings on his guitar.

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