Page 87 of Red Hot Harmony

I didn’t have his magical abilities to write fluffy, tear-inducing poems. I was a child of the slums and my art was just as dark and gritty as my upbringing. I said things exactly how I saw them, and most of the time, I saw them through the cracked lens of rejection and misunderstanding.

My only currency was faith in something better and I was going to hold on to that until my hands bled.

Outside, an engine rumbled, announcing Yanneth’s arrival.

A few minutes later, we found ourselves in the back yard, looming over my ash-filled pool.

“Ay, Dios mio.” I heard her mutter as she shook her head and looked up at me, the sleeve of her shirt pressed against her nose and mouth. “Raul’s going to charge you double for”—she motioned at the pool—“this.Está muy sucia.”

“Yeah, well.” I scratched the back of my neck and waved at the blackening sky. “Can’t control where the Apocalypse drops its spit, darlin’.”

She made atsk-ing sound and rushed back inside to start cleaning the upstairs while Snowflake waddled after me into the music room.

“You know you can’t be here,” I told him, slowly shutting the door to keep him out.

He responded with a hurt bark and attempted to worm his way inside.

“Go bother Yanneth, okay?” I gently nudged him into the hallway.

The first few moments alone with my guitar were messy and uncertain. My fingers fucked up multiple times until I was finally able to find my groove and re-create the piece I’d written yesterday.

Obviously, this wasn’t really the time to practice, but I was agitated and my anxiety wouldn’t let me concentrate on anything else.

My mind needed a small reprieve before I returned to the chaos my life had become.

It was a phone call from Frank that interrupted my session.

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound chill, but I knew him like the back of my hand. The tension in his voice was as obvious as the fact that I was pushing forty. “Are you...okay over there?”

“Yes. Why?” I set my guitar aside and stood up.

“Cassy and I are watching the news.”

“Oh, you mean that situation with hell taking over the Santa Monica mountains that’s happening in my neighborhood as we speak?”

“Yes.”

“Since when is my dark sense of humor no longer amusing you?” I asked, slightly baffled by his dry reaction.

“Since that time you fucked my ex-wife.”

“Well, you’re getting another one. Big deal.”

Dead silence greeted me on the line.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to stay positive when outside looks like a Mad Max spin-off movie set,” I said, walking out of the music room. My gaze landed on the window and what was beyond the glass.

“Maybe don’t make crude jokes about my fiancée.”

“Ooooh, touchy, are we?”

“Fuck you, Dante.”

“That’s what I’m talking about, Frankie-boy. There’s that anger we’ve all been waiting for! Get it all out.”

More silence followed.

“I guess you’re not as upset as I thought you’d be.”

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