Page 63 of One Last Verse

“Come to bed,” I said, approaching him.

Frank didn’t move. His face remained still, eyes dark, as if he hadn’t heard me at all.

“Please. You have a really long day tomorrow and you need to be rested.” I knew I sounded patronizing and policing, but I had no idea how else to talk to him when he was like this—like my father. Sometimes I succeeded. Sometimes I failed. There was no rhyme or reason behind his responses to the various approaches I’d tried.

“He’s pretty good,” Frank rasped out.

I rounded the chair and positioned myself in his line of view. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

“Because it’s my fucking band.” His icy gaze ran over the length of my body and stopped in the vicinity of my breasts, maybe too tired to go further, maybe too distracted by the sight of my nipples showing from beneath the lace of my slip.

“You need to let it go, Frank. For your own sanity. Please.”

“Can’t you tell how empty I am, doll?” he slurred. Each word, soft and slushy, felt like a struggle, and as much as I wanted to cuddle him and put him to bed, my common sense told me my kindness wouldn’t do him any good. I’d been too kind too long.

Popping my hip, I folded both arms on my chest and asked, “Do you know what else is empty?” My chin jerked up in the direction of the table. “That bottle.”

He raised his hand and pointed at his chest. “That’d be me.” A cheeky smile touched his lips.

Acid rose at the back of my throat. I had to look away for a moment.

“Don’t be mad, baby.” The crack in his voice cut so deep, it hurt to breathe.

“You have a chance to do something good, something really meaningful.” I paused to get more air in my lungs. My heartbeats were mad and loud. “But you choose to let people who don’t give a fuck about you drag you down.”

“Do you have any idea how it feels, Cassy?”

“It feels like shit. Doesn’t mean you should let it take over your emotions.”

He was silent. The moonlight gleamed over the ink and scars on his bare chest.

“It’s my own damn fault,” Frank said finally, reaching for the glass. “I built something that I couldn’t handle. I sold myself to the devil, to the suits, to the fans. Everyone got the piece they paid for. There are no more pieces left. Nothing to create new music from. I’m fucking dried up.”

“That’s not true,” I countered. “You have a lot more music in you.”

“Don’t be naïve.” He chuckled, bringing the drink to his mouth. “This song you give me so much credit for isn’t mine. I’m just riding piggyback.”

“You’re drunk, Frank. I don’t see why we need to discuss this right now. Let’s go back to bed.”

He ignored me. “Tell me, you seriously think I deserve all the praise I’m getting?”

“You and Isabella are amazing together. Fans will love you both.” I stepped closer.

“You promised to be honest.” He dropped his gaze to the drink in his hand and scanned the leftovers of the liquor.

“I am being honest. I think what you’re doing is very noble.”

Frank drained the glass and set it on the table next to the empty bottle. Just like my father, he was a miserable drunk. Talking to him was like talking to a wall and I hated it. He made little sense and refused to compromise. But what I hated more was the horrible feeling of dread that had been clutching my gut all night. I was losing this battle to Frank’s demons. Everything we’d built over the past few weeks was crumbling right now like a house of cards.

He said it then, “She’s better off on her own.”

My heart stopped beating. Tightness pulled at my chest. “You’re going to bed.” I reached for his hand.

“In a bit.” He shook his head.

“Come on.” I slid my palm into his to lace our fingers together and made an attempt to get him up, but he was too heavy. “Frank, I’m serious. We have a long day tomorrow.”

His other hand rose from the arm of the chair and grabbed at my leg, pulling me closer. I stumbled and lost my balance. My chin landed on top of his left shoulder.

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