Page 7 of One Last Verse

Brooklyn signaled for Frank to wrap it up. The woman ran a very tight schedule.

Another knock came. It was Dante. Hat on, shirt half-tucked in, jeans alluringly low on his hips, he was stage ready. The glint in his eyes told me the man might be buzzed.

He marched over to Isabella and dipped down in front of her. “Hola, mija. ¿Cómo estás?”

“Muy bien.” Isabella grinned. Unlike her mother, she wasn’t easily intimidated by famous people. “¿Y tu?”

He curled his fingers into a fist and they bumped knuckles.

“I don’t think we’ve met officially. I’m Dante. I heard some of your singing. You’re pretty good.” A cocky, ‘cool uncle’ smirk lingered on his lips.

“You’re not bad yourself.”

Dante shook his head and the smile lines around his eyes grew deeper. “¿De dónde eres?”

They carried on their conversation.

I’d never heard Dante speak Spanish before. He hardly had any accent. In the past, I’d sometimes wondered if he actually knew the language or was simply flaunting his Hispanic heritage to win over the huge Latin American fan base that Hall Affinity had amassed. But now I knew Dante wasn’t cheating.

“Don’t let this guy fool ya.” Frank patted his back. It was a light, brotherly tap. “He’s not as nice as he seems.”

A smirk touched Isabella’s lips. “Nice guys don’t sell rock ’n’ roll.” She returned her gaze to Dante. “Am I right?”

“Damn right, kiddo.” He stood and shot Frank a covert glance. “We’d love to keep chatting, but we’ve got a show to get ready for. How about we talk some other time? Maybe when Frankie comes over to see you play, I’ll tag along.”

Hands were shook. Goodbyes were said. Brooklyn left with Maria and Isabella to show them to their box. Corey ushered the stylist out and asked one of the security guards to let Bruce know they needed him for the final show rundown. Dante sat on the edge of the makeup station and played with his hat while the doctor checked Frank’s vitals.

“Blood pressure is a little low. Did you take your medication?”

Face grim, Frank nodded.

“He’s not going to pass out again, is he, doc?” Dante questioned.

“If he doesn’t overdo it, he should be fine.”

There was a frustrated groan. “We’re about to play a goddamn rock show, doc. What about Adderall?”

I shot Dante a warning look. He was getting overly creative.

“Adderall will interact with his pain medication,” the physician countered, taking the cuff off. “It’s not advisable.”

Frank stood and his gaze intercepted mine. His shoulders were tense, jaw set. Suddenly, I couldn’t read him. Sometimes he had these moments when he checked out, when he was far away. When his body was present, but his mind wasn’t. Right now, I was witnessing one of those moments.

I heard a knock. Next thing I knew, Bruce, Carter, and Johnny poured into the dressing room. Their voices meshed into one anxiety-ridden drawl.

“Hey, doll.” Frank walked over to me and ran his palm along the curve of my spine. “Give us fifteen minutes.” His whisper set my cheek ablaze.

“Sure.” I nodded.

A childlike plea followed next. “But come back, okay?” Hand still around my waist, he led me to the door, which closed after I stepped outside. I gave a small smile to Roman, who was standing to my right.

“How are you today?”

“I’m great. How are you, Ms. Evans?”

“You really need to stop calling me that.” I shook my head. Everyone who worked for Frank was so official, you’d think he was a senator, not a rock singer.

In the lounge, guests were pleasantly buzzed. Background music blasted. Conversations were in high gear, loud and passionate. A few notable faces were scattered throughout the crowd. Chin up, I walked over to the bar and ordered a margarita. While waiting for the drink, I checked Shayne’s article. Levi hadn’t touched it. Disappointment and annoyance crept up into my chest. No doubt they were going to reside there indefinitely.

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