Page 94 of Shattered Chords

Janet was dabbing her watery eyes with a napkin.

“Okay...” Grinning, Frank ran his hand through his hair, then set the microphone back on the stand, which protested a little on account of him not looking at what he was doing because he was anxious. “We have a couple of new, never-before-heard songs for you.” His gaze shot to Izzy, who was in the very front, dressed in bright colors. “But before we get to that part…” He paused, then looked at Cassy. “I know how much you love this one, doll. So here you go…”

I recognized Buckley instantly.

His was the most soulful music I knew. Light as a feather, but the feather cut deeper than the sharpest knife.

I remembered how Frank and I once, before his accident, before Heidi, had gotten really high and spent the entire night listening toGrace.

Then some of my childhood memories began to cram my head. First guitar. First vinyl. First blowjob. First line of coke. It all snowballed, one mistake after another, and I started shaking. The weight of my cell phone in the back pocket of my jeans multiplied and now felt like a brick, tied to my neck and pulling me underwater.

“Hey.” I nuzzled Camille’s ear, my body tensing. “I’ll be right back. I have to make a call.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” I added and weaved my way through the crowded yard and into the empty house.

“She’s seeing someone!” Malik had shouted angrily as he burst into the kitchen two days ago.

There was a laptop on the kitchen counter and I was watching a YouTube video that demonstrated how to make fish tacos. I found the fact that I didn’t know how to cook the food that had originated in the country my family was from quite scandalous, so I was dead set on correcting this paradox.

Snowflake was sleeping soundlessly under the table.

Malik stomped over to me and set his phone next to the lettuce head.

I paused the video and looked at the images on the screen.

They were of Shanice, exiting some nightclub in West Hollywood. Quite blurry. Shitty quality. Shittier angle.

Behind her, in the shadows and partially obstructed by her bodyguard, was an unmistakably male silhouette.

I took a deep breath and flicked my gaze back to Malik. He seemed distraught beyond repair.

“So some dude was leaving at the same time,” I croaked, hoping it would sooth his worry.

“Come on, brother. You know better.” He slammed his fist against the kitchen counter. My laptop gave a small sound from the impact.

I rubbed my forehead with the back of my hand and read the headline.

The Real Reason Why Shanice and Malik Dixon Are Calling It Quits

“Listen, man, I wouldn’t stress over some gossip,” I said plainly.

“Of course you wouldn’t. It’s not your wife gallivanting around the city with another dude while still carrying your last name.”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“Am I?” He snatched the phone away. “Maybe she wouldn’t be citing irreconcilable differences right now if there were no other dick around.”

He stormed off without a word and retreated to the gym, then several hours later, I noticed a large bag by the front door.

“I’m going to Yosemite for a couple of days,” Malik explained as he hopped down the stairs, dressed warmer than the weather in Southern California required.

“What for?” I watched him cross the room, another smaller bag slung over his shoulder.

“Just need to clear my head. Gonna hike.”

“Okay, well. Call me if you need anything. Yeah?”

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