Page 23 of Shattered Chords

Apparently, Malik Dixon was a big fucking deal. Entrepreneur. Health coach. Married to a smoking hot lingerie model. Rock’n’roll wasn’t on his list of interests, but that hadn’t stopped us from hanging out together. The only thing we had in common musically was Prince. I liked the solos. Malik was into lyrics.

“You all right?” he asked.

“I’m good.”

“You sure this has nothing to do with all the shit going on between you and Frank?”

“No. I’m just tired.” I tossed my head back to stretch my neck. The sunlight was like a vampire nibbling on my skin.

Malik knew about my disagreement with Frank. He’d seen our collective meltdown video too. Unlike other centers, Passages didn’t have any restrictions on electronic devices. We’d been allowed to go online, call friends, agents, managers. The thing about sobriety and toxin-free life was that it had awoken my consciousness. All the shit I’d done, including fucking Frank’s wife, had come back to haunt me in rehab.

I’d called him a few times a week like clockwork, hoping he’d pick up the phone and we could talk it out. He’d never responded. In the end, I’d ambushed him at the screening. That little stunt had almost cost me my sanity and my stay at Passages, but my therapist had let it slide because I’d come back clean and sober.

“You need to up your protein and cut down on your sugar.” Malik’s tone grew serious. He didn’t mess around when it came to nutrition.

A laugh erupted from my chest. I could count all the foods I was allowed to eat on the fingers of one hand. And he was going to take away the only unhealthy thing I was still able to consume—sweets. Naturally, I’d grown to like most of the tasteless crap I’d been eating. Getting off gluten and coffee was pretty similar to getting off coke. Painful but worth it.

Still, my candy was off-limits.

“Let’s get the hell out of here before I have heatstroke,” I said, climbing into my seat.

Malik slid behind the wheel, and we shut the doors.

Generous blasts of AC caressed my face as I fished out my phone to check the notifications. Eden was still pushing for a business meeting.

I liked the quiet life without temptations, so public appearances weren’t on my agenda just yet. I was working on building something new, and leaving the comfort of my lonely existence scared me.

I closed my inbox without responding to Eden’s email and pulled up my messages. There weren’t many. After checking into Passages, I’d blocked a lot of numbers. My life had required a major fix and that had meant getting rid of dead weight.

Malik turned up the music and steered out of the parking lot while I continued to flip through the texts. One in particular held my attention.

I’ll stop by tomorrow around lunch, it read.

I couldn’t understand why she bothered. My first reaction was to message her back and tell her not to come.

I didn’t.

“Does Frankie-boy know you’re cozying up to his nemesis?” I flopped into the patio chair and stretched my legs. Two clean glasses and a bottle of freshly squeezed carrot juice sat on the table in front of me.

Cassy’s gaze crept around the terrace. “Do you need help unpacking?” she asked.

Frank’s better half wasn’t the kind of woman to beat around the bush.

“Don’t do that, darlin’.” I gave her one of my signature smiles and watched her reaction. I needed to practice before Friday, and since the only woman in my life right now was a fifty-two-year-old mother of three from Guatemala who came twice a week to clean the house, Cassy was a far better target audience. Although I doubted my flailing charm could compete with the glory and righteousness of Frankie fucking Blade. The two were disgustingly happy together. I didn’t have a habit of stalking them online every day, but I’d done it a couple of times, and their photos on BuzzFeed had made me want to jump off a cliff.

“Excuse me?” Cassy arched a brow.

“I’m not one of your charity cases.” I motioned at the chair across from me.

“No.” A head shake. “You’re my friend.” She waved in the direction of the living room. “Those boxes have been sitting there unopened since last month.”

“I’m not in a rush to stuff my drawers. As you can see, it’s just me. If I want to keep my shit in boxes, I will.”

Cassy rolled her eyes.

“Come on, sit down. Have some carrot juice. It’s good for your eyesight.”

Laughing, she settled in a chair and gazed at the line of trees flanking the back of my property.

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