Page 76 of One Last Verse

“Are you okay, Cass?” Levi’s voice pulled me out of my daze.

“Yes. I am.”

I was lying. I was a complete mess for the remainder of the day. I had to shut off my phone because the calls and the messages from the reporters were too much. Deep in my heart, I understood I shouldn’t care, but I didn’t have enough experience dealing with bullshit. I couldn’t just turn my feelings off like Frank could.

But hey, I did give good head. My rock star boyfriend loved it. Or ex-boyfriend. I couldn’t really define what he was anymore.

I spent the next day glued to my computer, dealing with the fallout of Frank’s studio no-show stunt and dragging countless emails from reporters trying to get an exclusive into my trash folder. The tabloids were hungry for details and kept on blowing up my phone and my Facebook inbox. For the sake of my mental health, I had to change the privacy settings in all my social media platforms, which only made it worse.

In the afternoon, after Ashton got home from school, we set up a small camp in the living room and worked on Isabella’s article forRewired. To keep readers up to date with her journey, Levi and I had agreed to post weekly recaps.

I sat on the floor, cross-legged, coffee in hand. My brother was next to me, sipping on his Red Bull and staring at the empty screen. An hour later, we were still only two paragraphs in.

“This article isn’t going to write itself,” Ashton croaked as I got to my feet and paced. My brain was lagging. This week’s piece was supposed to discuss Isabella’s experience working with Frank, but since Frank was out of the picture and she recorded the single alone, I had no idea what to put in the goddamned article. The words didn’t want to flow.

“Anyone approach you at school today?” I checked.

“You mean like reporters?”

“Yes.”

“There was one dude. He was hanging out in the parking lot. I didn’t talk to him.”

“Good.” I gestured at my laptop. “Don’t touch anything.”

Ashton leaned over the screen and stuck his tongue out.”

“You’re sleeping in your car if you lick my shit.” Laughing, I retreated to my bedroom to make a call.

“He’s fine,” Brooklyn stated over the phone. “X-ray didn’t show any major damages or fractures.”

“Is Roman there?”

“Yes. He’s staying at the house.”

“Thank you.”

“You should talk to him, Cassy.” Brooklyn’s voice softened. “I really am tired of arranging flower deliveries for you,” she added sarcastically.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to talk to him at this point. We’re in such deep shit with the sponsors and Isabella and her mother.”

“Don’t worry about money. Jay Brodie’s services are paid for. They’ll just have to tailor the campaign to suit your needs.”

“I’m not worried about the financial part. I’m worried about how this might reflect on Isabella.”

“She’ll be fine. It’s best for everyone that Frank stays off the press’s radar for now.”

“Is he drinking?”

My question was met with silence.

“Have you considered calling his parents?”

“Billy’s here. He flew in today.”

A sigh of relief left my lungs.

“You should talk to Frank too. He’s not in a very good place mentally and it could help us get him to rehab faster.”

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