Page 128 of One Last Verse

“So is this like a mini-reunion?” Andy perked up.

“I guess you could say that.” Frank grinned.

“We don’t have time for this, guys!” Brooklyn flung her hands in the air and pointed at him. “You need to follow me.” She turned to Dante. “I don’t know what to do with you, so talk to Cassy.”

My brain went into high gear. I pulled out my phone and shot out a quick group text to Ashton and Levi.Livestream.This was an unexpected turn of events. Six hours ago, I had no idea Frank would be here tonight to perform with Isabella. Now Dante was here too and the three of them were going to improvise.

I took a spot at the side of the stage, trying to stay out of the way and let the crew get everyone ready. Levi seemed to enjoy the spotlight. He stretched his neck and rehearsed his speech. Frank stood next to the small opening between the curtains and peeked at the audience. The entire theater, quiet and at a standstill, was waiting.

I heard a swarm of whispers when the lights finally dimmed. Isabella spun her chair to face me and I gave her a thumbs-up.

She patted her knees and grinned. “Heard that break-a-leg saying?”

I bit back my smile.

“They better make me into a fucking meme after we hit Billboard’s top hundred.”

Levi squeezed his way onto the stage and marched over to the microphone. Noise rolled through the crowd.

“You’re good for him,” Dante’s voice said near my ear.

I turned my head to look at him. Up close, he appeared worn out. “Are you okay?” I asked, studying the faint traces of damage that lined his face.

“I’m good.”

“Are you getting help?”

He nodded.

“You’ll tell me if you need anything, right?” I didn’t know why I said that, but I needed to make sure I let it out into the universe. In a sick way, I was worried about him.

“You can’t keep trying to save everyone, darlin’,” he said with a smile. “Just save the ones who matter.” His gaze jumped over to Frank.

Thunderous applause wiped out the questions that swelled in my head. Isabella and the band took the stage next. When she reached the microphone, the auditorium went still. It was the strangest kind of silence. The calm that usually came before the storm, and the name of that storm was Frankie Blade. At least to those who’d gathered here tonight for an evening of music. To me, he was Frank Wallace. The man I loved.

The rumble of clapping hands and whistles swallowed me and my thoughts entirely when he finally walked out on stage. Story ran through a chord, and I recognized one of the original songs.

“I think you’ve probably noticed we had a little change of plans tonight,” Frank said, adjusting the microphone.

The audience laughed.

“We wanted to surprise everyone,” he continued. “Guess what? I’ve got a friend of mine hiding backstage right now. He plays a guitar, so we thought…”

I couldn’t make out the rest of the words. The noise inside the auditorium was hell on earth as Dante strode across the stage, waving at the crowd and smiling. A guitar was placed over his neck. Watching the three of them together was something out of this world. In a way, they were all beaten and broken by whatever life had thrown at them, but the music they made was just the opposite—healing and powerful, and I could feel each note, each pitch, and each harmony in my bones as the melody saturated the cool air with its rebellious bliss.

Stunned, I held my breath for what seemed like an eternity. It was only hours later when we were finally ready to leave that I could finally let the cool air settle into my lungs.

Frank and I were standing outside, near the idling truck that the crew was loading with gear, when he asked, “Do you want to go for a ride?”

“Sure.”

I didn’t know where the limo was taking us, nor did I care. The streets we passed were peaceful and void of nightlife, just what I needed after endless minutes of shaking hands, smiling, and occasional mini-panic attacks in the restroom.

Remnants of adrenaline still rushed through my blood, but the high of the accomplishment had dissipated. I was crashing. And I was crashing hard. My emotions were like apples, pears, and celery sticks tossed into a blender. A juice cocktail the taste of which one wasn’t able to tell anymore. Too many ingredients.

Frank stayed quiet. A light touch of exhaustion clouded his eyes. I could almost see it taking shape in the slack of his jaw, the flutter of his lashes, and the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath his layers of clothes. Tonight wasn’t easy for him. He hid his fears well, better than most, but I felt them. I recognized them in his every word and his every move.

Spent and wrapped in the purr of the engine, we sat next to each other. Thigh to thigh. Dangerously close yet not close enough. The invisible line of unuttered questions that separated us grew thinner. Our hands lay on my lap, locked together. The privacy screen was up and no music played.

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