Page 96 of One Last Verse

“Can we please stop this?” I thrust myself between them. “What is it with you rock stars? What are you, in sixth grade?”

“See?” Dante giggled. “Listen to what your girlfriend says.”

“Why don’t you keep my girlfriend out of it?”

I turned to Frank and rested both palms on his chest. His heartbeat was scary loud. “Stop this. There’s press here. You two are going to be all over the tabloids. It’s not worth it.”

“Yeah, not worth it, Cassy. But you felt the need to be here tonight anyway, even after I asked you not to go.” A sad smile twisted his lips. “Is that how you love me?”

“Please don’t drag me into this.” My voice was low, but I knew that people could still hear us, and if they couldn’t, they’d be reading about this on TMZ’s front page in two hours.

“Why not?”

Johnny wrapped his arm around Frank and pulled him toward the edge of the stage. Marshall assisted.

The crowd swallowed them as they descended. I waited a second. Carter lingered in my peripheral. He held out a hand and helped me get down. My knees felt like they’ve been skinned and glued to my slacks.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m definitely better than your drums.”

“Ah, it’s not a big deal.” He shrugged.

The attention of the entire room was on Johnny ushering Frank to the exit. Cameras clicked, and then I heard a collective gasp. I ripped my way through the wall of security with Carter one step behind me.

In the middle of all the chaos, Frank and Dante were engaged in a pathetic fist fight. Or more like a drunk dance. I didn’t know how else to describe their swinging and shaking and the slew of profanities there were exchanging. It felt a lot like my high school. Only worse.

“Enough you two!” I grabbed Frank’s hand and stared at Dante. “Stop provoking him. He’s going to hurt himself.”

“Stay out of this, Cassy,” Frank growled, swaying backward. The crowd moved along with him to make room.

“I’m not going to stay out of it until you stop this,” I hissed.

Dante laughed. “Since you’ve got one hand. I’ll let you hit me first, Frankie-boy.”

“No one is hitting anyone.”

“Just get out of my way.” Frank gritted his teeth.

“I won’t!”

“Get out of my way, Cassy!”

“I won’t. You’re going to have to hit me first if you want to get to him!” Fists balled, I looked him in the eyes. Part of me almost expected a punch, but what came at me instead was worse. It was a kick to my gut, to my heart. A kick to all of me and everything I was.

“Just stop fucking suffocating me with your goodness!”

Cold dread hit my bones.

A murmur swelled in the ballroom.

“Fine. If that’s what you want, Frank,” I said. My voice trembled and broke. This was the last straw.

Swallowing down my unshed tears, I turned around and walked away.

Ten minutes later, I called Roman’s cell from where I was hiding in the hotel restroom. I didn’t have to. Not after the horrible words Frank had just thrown at me in front of three hundred people and a dozen reporters, but the sick part of me, the one that loved him stupid—loved him unconditionally—at least wanted to make sure he had someone to take him home.

“Could you please pick him up?” I asked Roman, then gave him the address.

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