Page 93 of One Last Verse

“You know what, Dante? Fuck you.”

My heart hammered and my pulse raced. I brushed past him and hurried to the restroom. He was drunk and there was no point in continuing this conversation. Besides, I hadn’t come here to fight Frank’s battles. I’d come here to conduct interviews forRewired.

On the way back, I noticed Marshall’s perfectly styled blond hair swimming through the crowd near the bar. Shaking off my unease, I marched upstairs and found Levi and Ashton taking goofy selfies against the city backdrop. They’d bonded over the course of the past few months, but seeing them work together was still strange. Once upon a time, Levi had hated my brother. Hell, I’d hated my brother. Now he was everyone’s favorite. Even Linda had a soft spot for him.

Of course, nothing went according to plan. Dante was too busy. Dean Foster, bassist of the band who’d frequently toured with Hall Affinity before Frank’s accident, was too high to understand my questions. Tommy Bryce from Black Rain Coming politely refused to be interviewed.

We took a break at around eight when the party shifted toward the stage. Armed with a new bottle of beer, possibly his tenth, Dante staggered over to the microphone and rattled off a quick thank you speech, then asked for Marshall to come up. I watched them from the patio. They seemed at ease with each other, like old friends who’d been through thick and thin, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the label wanted a singer that had the same features as the original front man so the audience wouldn’t feel overly cheated.

Dante finished monopolizing the microphone and let Marshall speak. The man had a nice deep and raspy voice that soared across the ballroom and danced against the walls, and from what I’d heard from Linda, he’d nailed all the Hall Affinity classics during the audition. His range wasn’t as wide as Frank’s. He lost at least an octave, but the label probably didn’t care and most fans wouldn’t notice since Frank had hardly employed his higher pitches.

The crowd cheered.

Johnny and Carter jumped on stage and the four of them ripped through the intro of “Adrenaline Lane.” Marshall was great. Sexy, confident, young, and sharp. The full package.

I knew despising him wasn’t going to make me or Frank feel better, but I couldn’t will myself to enjoy what I saw.

That was the moment I understood that everything I’d been working on all these years was no longer valid. My personal life had completely taken over my professional and the notion terrified me because I couldn’t be objective anymore. And as a reporter, I needed to be objective.

This performance happening in the ballroom, no matter how messy, was good. Marshall Burns was good. He had the right chemistry with the rest of the band members. Sure, Johnny looked a little fazed, but Dante was having the time of his life, which was important since he essentially called the shots.

Objectively speaking, this was a great jam. Subjectively speaking, I wanted to throw a dozen raw eggs at them for having a good time while Frank spent his evening at home alone, struggling with depression.

The band played two songs and stepped down. The party went on. A couple of minutes later, Linda showed up upstairs with Marshall in tow.

“Look who I’ve got here.” Smiling, she nudged him in my direction.

He extended his hand for a shake. We locked gazes. His eyes were the color of mocha. Wide, bright, and looking for a challenge.

Swallowing down my emotions, I slid my palm into his and said, “Marshall. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Cassy withRewired. Congratulations.” My voice sounded foreign. Mechanical. I tuned out all my Frank thoughts and tried to think about interview questions and things to discuss.

“Likewise.” His grip on my hand was strong. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“Yes. A couple of times. Last summer. During theWalk the Darkcampaign.”

“That’s right.” The spark in his eyes and the slight tilt of his head told me he remembered me. Did he know I was seeing the man he’d replaced? “Backstage at the Palladium?”

“Yes.”

He shook hands with Levi and Ashton and settled on the couch across from me. My brother helped him with the microphone.

“Count me down, boys,” I blurted out into the space in front of me and rolled my shoulders to get rid of the building tension.

The noise of the party—drunk laughter, rock music, clanking of glasses—floated up from downstairs and cut into my speech, but I blocked it all out.

“Marshall. It’s great to have you here with us. So…” I smiled at him. A wide, professional, camera-friendly smile. “How does it feel to front one of the biggest rock bands in the world?”

My stomach was suddenly queasy.

“Well, in all honesty”—he laughed—“I still can’t believe it.” His words meshed into one muffled roar. My brain understood everything he was saying, but my heart was too restless to react accordingly.

Halfway through my second question, the chatter downstairs elevated. I heard a sea of footfalls moving up the stairs, but Levi’s camera was in my way and the LED light was blocking my view. Noise entered the patio. Marshall turned his head and leaned back to see what was going on.

Then I saw Frank. He was surrounded by a small group of people, most likely some super fans who believed groping a celebrity would give them power and talent. If only that were the case, I’d be on my way to the presidency.

Dressed in an ensemble that slightly resembled one of hisBreathe Crimsonera stage outfits—tight black leather pants, black see-through shirt, and a suit jacket—he looked all kinds of messed up. Though he was now allowed to take off the sling, he’d chosen to wear it, which made me wonder if the dependency was psychological or if he simply came here to play the role of a victim.

And he was drunk.

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