Page 107 of One Last Verse

“Yes.”

Dante straightened. “Too bad for Frankie-boy. You’re one of the good ones.”

“He cost me a venue.”

Dante’s brows jumped up his forehead. “Do tell.” Curiosity laced his voice.

I readjusted the ice pack and took a deep breath. The ache was still there, but it was less severe. “There’s nothing to tell. The manager of the theater we really had our sights on pulled out of the project after the footage from the release party went viral.”

“Shit. That fucking sucks. Who’s the manager?”

“Margerie Helm. Peter Helm’s daughter.”

“Wasn’t he a movie producer back in the ’80s or something?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure my party is the reason she changed her mind?”

“Yes. I’m pretty sure. She was all chatty during the meeting and the morning after the party we received a very unwelcome decline. The woman did a complete one-eighty on us. Levi tried calling her, but she never responded. Considering Frank hasn’t kept a single promise in over six months, it’s safe to say no one in this city except the tabloids probably wants to be associated with him.”

“I gotta give it to you, Cassy.” Dante swung his drink in my direction. “You’re ballsy. I can see why Frankie-boy likes you so much. You’ve seen his ex. You’re a great upgrade after that dummy on a stick.”

“You fucked that dummy on a stick.”

“Good thing I was high when it happened.”

He spoke about all his shortcomings, mistakes, and faults with such ease, it made me wonder if he had any conscience left after two decades of doing coke and bathing in liquor.

“I guess he didn’t like me as much as you think if he chose the bottle over me,” I said bitterly.

“You should know better than anyone, it’s never like that. You don’t choose the bottle—the bottle always chooses you.”

His words were like a bitch-slap. Unexpected and weak yet irritating.

“Bottle, blow, cigarettes,” Dante continued as his cloudy gaze drilled into me. “It’s the only way some of us can do it.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Because you never had to play a fucking guitar in thirty arena shows back-to-back until your fingers bleed. It hurts less when you’re numb, darlin’.” The cranky twist of his lips told me he was losing his cool.

Acute silence met his statement. I was taken aback by his confession. I didn’t quite buy the reasons he’d given me, but they made sense nonetheless. They were his truths.

He downed his drink and slammed the glass against the bar counter. “No one wants to grow up and be a fucking pawn. You think all we dream about is blow jobs and drugs? When you sign up for this gig, you’re buying a one-way ticket to hell. You’re going to get abused left and right and the only way to stay relevant is to be two steps ahead in this game.”

“Does being two steps ahead entail betraying your best friend too?”

“Even after he fucked up your charity thing, you’re still taking his side.”

“I’m not. I’m stating the obvious.”

“Yourobvious. Not mine. He’s just as much of an arrogant asshole as I am. Do you really think I want to go on tour with Marshall Burns?”

“You seemed cozy the last time I saw the two of you together.”

“Part of the job.” Dante grimaced, his fingers dancing against the smooth surface of the bar. He looked ravaged. “Making sure people actually believe we’re thrilled to have a new singer who doesn’t need an army of medics.”

We fell back into silence. The tension building between us was thick with dark, conflicting emotions.

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