Page 24 of One Last Verse

“It’s that or you’re out!” Dante took over the conversation again. “You’re blind if you still don’t see that this is for your own damn good!”

I swallowed hard to dislodge the rock forming in my throat.

The footsteps moved in my direction. It happened so fast that I didn’t have enough time to react. The office door flung open and a cigarette pack flicked past my eyes as Dante marched out. I felt the accidental brush of his shoulder and the spike of temper consuming the oxygen around me. He clicked his lighter and whirled around. His dark gaze drilled right through me. “This is between me and your boy. Stop fucking eavesdropping, short stuff.”

Blood rushed to my face. “Fuck you, Dante.” My comeback was far from ladylike, but I was too wound up by what I’d just heard to stick to my manners.

He headed for the door to the terrace without a word, shoulders stiff, strides wide and obnoxiously loud. I stood in my spot, angry, left with the horrible aftertaste of loss in my mouth and staring at the empty space in front of me.

“Don’t take it personally, Cassy,” Johnny said from off to the side. “It’s been a stressful week.”

My head snapped up, and he was moving toward me, an apologetic smile touching his lips.

“Sure. Two against one. How fair.” I scoffed.

In my peripheral, I saw Frank rise from his chair inside the office.

“Whoever said the music business was fair has never written a single song.” Johnny shrugged and shoved both hands in the pockets of his jacket.

My blood ran hot, and my ears rang. I watched Johnny tread through the living room, waiting for Frank’s final word, but none followed. The silence was both awkward and cruel. My sixth sense told me not to act on my rage, so I stayed mute. Frank was slipping away. He moved over to the window and glared at the mountains with his back turned to us.

Johnny circled the room again and started making his way to the front door. “It’s nice to see you, Cassy.” He yanked his hand out of his pocket and waved at me. The gesture was less than enthusiastic.

Outside on the terrace, Dante was finishing up his cigarette. He stepped back into the house for a short second and said, “Tell Frankie-boy to think about my offer. He still gets to keep his share and write songs if we look for a different singer to take with us on the road. If his dumb ass wants to fight us on this, he’ll lose. This is me being fucking civil, being his friend for once and seeing this shit for what it is, a fucking train going off the rails next time he decides to take the stage. The best thing he can do right now for everyone, for his own health, his parents, and his fans, who pay for all his houses and cars, is to stop trying to do the impossible. Ask his fucking doctor if you don’t believe me. He needs another surgery.”

Dante’s speech was like a punch to my gut. Everyone seemed to know about it, and the fact that Frank hadn’t mentioned anything to me hurt. He had no idea that I’d overheard the doctor talking about it at the hospital.

“If you really care about him, you’ll see that I’m right.”

His words rattled inside my head long after the Navigator disappeared behind the gate. I walked across the living room to shut the front door Dante had left standing wide open, then returned to the office.

Frank still surveyed the mountain view outside the window, his frame a sharp work of art against the backdrop of the cloudless California sky.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the surgery?” I asked carefully. A strange fizzy feeling settling in my stomach. “I heard the doctor discussing it with your mother at the hospital. Why are you shutting me out?”

He dismissed my question. “They’re looking to get someone else to sing live.”

“But you’ll still have all the creative control?” I clarified as my brain struggled to stay calm.

“It’s my fucking band, Cassy.” Frank spun to face me. His arresting gaze was a black hole, a vortex of hurt, wrath, and misery. I felt his hopelessness clutch at my lungs. The air between us burned a destructive, invisible fire. “I created the idea. I created the music. I’m not going to sit and watch some imposter trying to butcher my songs and all that my art stands for.”

He sounded greedy and irrational. He wasn’t light anymore. He was dark. Dark I hadn’t had a chance to face yet but was about to.

Part of me blamed his anger on bad timing and medication, but another part of me blamed everything on Dante. He’d never given me a straight answer, but he’d never denied anything, just like Frank. It was as if their demons had conspired against me and their minds to keep doing the things that would bring them more grief and pain.

“You don’t have to make a decision right this moment,” I said as I watched him cross the room. He stopped in front of the mahogany cabinet and pulled out a bottle of what looked to be expensive whiskey.

Oh no.

My spine stiffened. Alcohol wasn’t his friend right now. Not while he was shattered and while a mean cocktail of painkillers and other pharmaceuticals filled his bloodstream.

“Frank?” I called, approaching him from behind.

Silent, jaw tight, he grabbed a clean glass and poured himself a shot. No ice.

“Frank?” I pressed, stepping closer. My hand reached for his forearm, and his vein pulsed hard under my palm. He stood motionless for a while, fingers wrapped around the glass.

“First, he fucked my wife. And now, he’s fucking me.” I heard him say.

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