Page 45 of One Last Verse

“You can’t do this,” I said. “You can’t just show up here unannounced and fuck up my brother’s birthday surprise.”

“You haven’t returned my calls.”

“You wanted to be alone.”

“Not anymore.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Frank. You hurt me and then send me cheesy presents, hoping a stuffed animal will earn my forgiveness back.”

“You didn’t like the teddy?”

“He’s too big. There’s not enough room for him in my apartment.”

“There is in my house.”

I took a deep breath to defuse the anger rushing through my blood. “I don’t want you to buy Ashton a car.”

“I’m sorry for being an ass.”

“You’re not hearing me, Frank,” I pressed, my voice firm but my legs wobbly. “He needs to learn that nice things only come to those who work hard. Getting him a car right now will undo months of effort. It’s not how you teach someone to be a responsible adult.”

“Please let him have a fun day.”

There was a knock on my door. “Are you ready or what?” Ashton bellowed impatiently and I knew then and there that I didn’t have a choice. It was either let my brother leave with Frank or tag along to ensure he didn’t buy a car he couldn’t drive. Or worse—a motorcycle.

“Okay,” I said into the phone, my tone flat. “You win. I’ll be downstairs in twenty minutes… Actually, make it thirty. I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

“We can buy coffee on the way,” Frank offered.

“I like my home-brewed coffee better.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll see you in half an hour.”

I took my sweet time getting ready, just to piss him off. There were nine hysteric messages from Ashton on my phone when I finally finished with my hair.

Downstairs, the Escalade waited across the street. Roman hurried to open the back door and I slid inside. Butterflies filled my stomach despite all the anger that still ruled my bloodstream.

Frank was seated next to me. “Hi, Cassy,” he said, flashing me his signature playboy smile, the one he used for the crowds during his shows.

“Hey.” I let my eyes wander over his body. He wore a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. A jacket was thrown over his shoulders, right arm in a sling.

We hardly spoke during the drive. My mind was preoccupied with my mother. I wasn’t sure how to tell her about this.

Hey, Mom! The man who may or may not be my boyfriend just bought Ashton a car for his birthday. You can put the money back into your 401k.

Thinking about the range of her possible reactions gave me whiplash.

Ashton enjoyed the spotlight. After assuming DJ duty, he and Frank launched into a lengthy discussion about the lyrical content of Body Count songs.

We eventually arrived at a car dealership in Beverly Hills. The lot stretched over the entire block and looked unapproachable with its glimmering rows of luxury vehicles that my brother had no business dreaming about, let alone driving.

“Frank,” I muttered over Ice-T’s rapping as we pulled into customer parking. “This is too much.”

Ashton killed the music. The door swung open and the hum of the lot poured inside. He jumped out of the car so fast, I didn’t even get a chance to blink.

Frank remained in his seat, his hand covering mine. He turned to look at me and I heard deep, anxiety-ridden breaths. “Please come back, Cassy.”

The words were a shockwave inside my head. A warm, gooey feeling filled my chest. The man didn’t waste time. He went straight in for the kill, bypassing explanations.

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