Page 97 of One Last Verse

Apparently, Frank hadn’t told anyone he was going to the party. Billy confirmed when I called home that Frank hadn’t taken any cars from the garage. My only guess was that he’d Ubered here from Malibu.

I heard a knock.

“Hey! You there?” Ashton called.

I scanned my reflection in the mirror. The tears had messed up my mascara and my hair looked like a bird’s nest.

“Are you okay?” He knocked again. My brother didn’t let up.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

It was such a lie. I was nowhere near okay. Hell, I wasn't even sure I would ever recover from what Frank had just said or the way he’d said it. At that moment, his eyes had told me he truly believed his own words. I was suffocating him. Me and my goodness. Whatever the fuck that meant.

“Can I come in for a second?”

“Why?”

“I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I just said I was okay.” My voice ugly-pitched. I was ready to punch the wall to get rid of the frustration and anger that filled me up, but my body ached from too much sex and my ballroom rescue mission. I wasn’t Frank. I didn’t want any more fractures and bruises. He’d given me enough. They weren’t literal, but they felt very real. They were a hole in my heart and a rip in my soul.

“You don’t sound okay,” my brother pressed.

Head pounding, I crossed the restroom and unlocked the door. Ashton slipped in and his eyes roamed my face and my outfit. For the first time in my life, my brother actually expressed concern about my well-being. It only took a millionaire rock star to humiliate me in front of the rock ’n’ roll elite.

“What are you looking at?” I tossed my hands in the air and paced.

“Levi and I can finish the interviews if you want to leave,” he muttered, fumbling with the sleeve of his shirt.

I wasn’t sure if anyone would want to do interviews after the scene Frank had made, but I didn’t care to stay anyway.

“Okay, you two are on your own then.” A ragged breath left my lungs. I was still in shock. My mind ran in thousands of different directions. My heart hurt. Physically.

“Do you want anything?” Ashton asked, inching toward the door.

“No.” I froze in the center of the restroom. “I just need to drive around a bit and clear my head.”

“I guess I’ll see you at home?”

“Yes. You’ll definitely see me at home.” I laughed bitterly and pushed back the new wave of tears that pricked my eyes.

“All right then. Later, sis.” Ashton stepped out and the door closed.

I was left one-on-one with the mess in my head. Anger and helplessness zapped me again. I hated that, despite making me cry and ruining my night and possibly my reputation, Frank was like a bad splinter, buried deep beneath my skin. Constantly reminding me about his presence.

I slipped out of the building through the back entrance a few minutes later and rushed over to the valet to pick up the Porsche and be on my way.

There was no plan. No destination.

Reeling, I drove down Sunset with the windows down and the music full blast. A sea of text messages began to assault my phone shortly after I left the hotel. I ignored them all. I knew some, if not most, were from Frank, but my heart was in pieces. Talking to him right now would only make things worse. There would be apologies, and then tomorrow, there would be another drunk fight.

Instead, I turned up the music and continued my drive. I welcomed the stinging of the wind against my tear-stained cheeks and the exhaust fumes crawling into my nostrils. I welcomed anything that didn’t smell like a bottle of liquor or a dozen broken promises.

My agony rendered desire for more pain, but a different kind, to offset the affliction that was already there, created by Frank. New ink. A good hour or two of lingering hurt.

That was how I ended up in front of my tattoo shop. The soft scent of burning sage greeted me as I stepped inside. The attendant flashed me a crooked smile.

“Do you have an appointment?” he asked as I neared the counter. My heart hammered in my chest. Being here after blowing off my new tattoo artist felt strange.

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