by N. N. Britt
Wind rippled the light skirt of my dress. “No dad.” I shook my head, not sure why I’d said that. Dante knew very little about my life outside Rewired.
“How come?”
“He left us.”
I heard a chuckle. A bitter one. “Shitty fathers are pretty common these days, huh?”
I tore my cheek from the glass and looked at him. “What about you?”
He held up his cigarette between his fingers. Thick, rancid clouds streamed from his nose. “My father is six feet under. Heart attack.”
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know about the nature of Dante’s relationship with his father. I knew he had passed. The news had circulated in the tabloids for a day or two when it happened. Dante was arrested for a DUI two days later.
“It’s been a few years. I’m over it.” His words hung in the air, somber. There was a pause followed by a long, shaky drag. “Did Frankie-boy ever tell you about his birth mother?”
“Some. Yes.”
“Did he tell you why social services took him away from her?”
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you how he fell into a pool once while she was out partying? He almost drowned.”
Heaviness filled my chest. Frank had mentioned a lot of horrible things, mostly neglect, but not this.
I shuddered at the thought.
“He doesn’t really talk about it.” Dante studied the burning tip of his cigarette for a few seconds. Hot ash sprinkled across his jeans and he brushed it off. “I only heard the story once. Years ago. We were on tour in Europe. Amsterdam. It was Johnny’s birthday and we decided to take him to a strip club. The elite shit with high-end dancers, bottle service, and all that jazz. Frankie-boy had a few drinks and got all sentimental during the fucking lap dance. Can you imagine?” Dante faced me, a one-sided smile twisting his lips. “That was before your lover boy married that Playboy cunt. He’s not a dog, just so you know. He’s not going to fuck around if he has a nice piece of ass like you.”
I didn’t understand why he needed to reassure me Frank wasn’t a cheater. I ignored the last reference too. Dante Martinez was a spoiled, self-centered jerk and a womanizer. Piece of ass might have been a compliment for all I knew. But we had more important matters to discuss. “Why are you telling me this?” I caught his gaze. This was the first time Dante had brought up Frank’s wife and I sensed there was a lot more history behind that infidelity.
“I don’t want you to think just because a man has access to all the pussy in the world that he can’t be faithful. It’s the same as going to an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet when you fucking hate seafood. You go because it’s convenient. Cheap, close to your house. The cook knows you. What you really like is fondue. Problem is, fondue is an acquired taste and your homeboys think it’s disgusting.”
“I’m not following.”
“Of course you’re not.” Dante laughed and slipped the cigarette between his lips again to take a drag. “You’re fondue, darlin’, and Frankie-boy likes fondue.”
Satisfied with his brilliant conclusion, Dante leaned back and pushed the smoke out. I noted a flash of a grin. The man was deranged.
“Are you seriously comparing me to melted cheese while your best friend is on the way to the hospital in an ambulance?”
Dante tilted his head and gave me the side-eye. “I’m trying to tell you a fucking story, short stuff. About your man, whose mother left him to fucking die. Good thing she’s gone. She was a shitty mother anyway. At least my mother cared enough to hit me.”
My stomach roiled. Everyone had a broken childhood. Not just Ashton and I. And in a sick way, it made me feel better.
“He’s not the best judge of character,” Dante went on. “Someone had to look out for him when he moved to L.A.”
“Let me guess. You were that someone?” I sifted through my mental notes. Hall Affinity was no different than any other band who’d hit the jackpot. One day they were playing opening sets in the clubs, the next, their songs were all over Billboard. A lot of money. Booze. Women. Drugs. I wasn’t sure these guys were in any condition to look after each other, but I knew Frank had always been the smart one. He stayed out of trouble.
“I did my best.” Dante nodded. “I told him not to marry the Playboy Bunny. He did it anyway.”
“Why?”
“Why’d he marry her?” Dante gave me a one-shoulder shrug, tossed the cigarette butt out and grabbed another. “The fuck I know.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Why didn’t you want him to marry Heidi Fox?”
“Because she was fucking around behind his back. Sooner or later, he was going to find out.”
My throat tightened. I swallowed hard and broke our eye contact. The flick of a lighter snapped in my ear. “You’re a shitty friend, Dante.”
In my peripheral, there was a cloud of smoke.
“I’d rather he found out his wife was a cunt the way he did than via the newspapers, darlin’. She wasn’t exactly keeping her affairs under the radar.”
“So you seduced her?”
Dante snorted out a laugh. His chest shook along with his cigarette. “Have you met me, Cassy Evans? I don’t need to seduce anyone.”
I wanted to kick him in the shins. “I always knew you were an asshole, but this is a new level of low.” The wicked drum of my pulse against my temples was deafening. Acid rose up my throat and coated my tongue.
“It’s only low when you do it for your own benefit. I did it for Frankie-boy. Quick extraction. The world doesn’t need to know what really happened.”
I had no words. My anger simmered beneath the surface, hot, deep, and acutely confounded.
The hospital was cold.
By the time Dante and I arrived there, Frank had been taken to surgery. The only thing I could pull out of Janet was that he had several fractures that needed immediate attention. There were no other updates. Not for hours.
Dante was on edge. Trying to get him to tell me exactly what happened during the set was like trying to make a toddler sit still for five minutes. My sweet-talking techniques didn’t even work on him for some reason. Desperate for some information, I hid in the restroom to check YouTube for footage. Frankie Blade Stage Accident was trending. The entire feed was littered with uploads from the show.
Different angles. Different quality. Same headlines.
The world was thoroughly disappointed.
Back against the tiled wall, I drew a breath through my teeth and skimmed through the links. My fingers felt clammy and the phone shook in my palm. I hit play. On screen, an image of Frank came up. Hair wild, eyes sparkling, he rocked out in the middle of the platform, unaware he’d be on the floor moments later. I wanted to dive in badly. To tell him to get off the damn thing. A sea of hands clapped beneath him. He moved to the beat and traced the edges of the structure carefully. Stage fog was everywhere and the image became unfocused and shaky for a brief second but quickly returned to Frank. The first blast of pyro went off. He shifted over to the truss in the corner, reached out with his right hand, and grabbed it to leverage himself while leaning over the edge.
That was the moment his arm gave out. His legs slipped and he went down.
One hand clamped over my mouth, heart thundering, I set the phone on the counter and replayed the last five seconds of the recording.
Why would he do that?
The door cracked. I heard footsteps. My mind was still spinning and I knew I needed to turn off the recording or at least lower the sound because the chances were high that the person who’d just occupied one of the stalls was a reporter or an overly enthusiastic fan. But shock hit me hard. My feet were rooted to the floor and I couldn’t move a single muscle.
Frank knew he wasn’t supposed to put any pressure on his right shoulder. Trying to hold up the weight of his entire body was stupid. And reckless.
I didn’t understand why he’d done it.
Another set of footsteps dragged me out of my stupor. The light in my brain switched
on. I exited YouTube, slipped the phone into my purse, and returned to the waiting area, where Brooklyn, Corey, Dante, and Carter had teamed up for a meeting. Johnny was slumped in a chair two rows over, face off-color, eyes on the floor. Security lined the hallway. I settled across from Billy and Janet and pulled at my skirt as much as the fabric would allow me to cover my shaking legs.
Messages from Levi and Ashton begged to be answered, but my mind wasn’t ready to face the rest of the world yet.
Dante disengaged from the group and disappeared down the hall. His voice carried from around the corner as he spoke to someone. I wasn’t sure if he was on a phone call or flirting with a nurse, but he returned two minutes later with a hospital blanket and tossed it to me.
“You’re going to turn into a popsicle.” He stood off to the side and watched me cocooning myself for a minute, then flicked his gaze to Frank’s parents. “Anyone want coffee?”
Billy accepted the offer and thanked him. Janet was quiet, dread lining her thin face.
“What about you, short stuff?”
I shook my head. It was an instant reaction. I was hungry and needed caffeine, but my brain hadn’t processed the words correctly. I was still rattled by the YouTube video and our conversation about Frank’s ex-wife. Part of me wanted Dante to take it all back. Shove the confession into his mouth and keep it there.
“Gonna be a long night, darlin’.” He spread his arms wide and took a step backward. A juicy, devilish grin lit up his face, which was sprinkled with light stubble. “Last chance.”
I reevaluated. Coffee sounded good. Best way to stay up. Besides, Dante Martinez was acting nice and human for once. Fetching drinks for others unless they were shots at a party was so out of his character. It almost felt as if he was trying to redeem himself.
“Okay. Sure.” I nodded.
He marched off and never returned. At least, not for a while. I had to go and look for him in the cafeteria half an hour later because poor Billy and Janet really needed that coffee after the doctor came out to tell us that Frank was out of surgery.
“Can we see him?” Janet asked. She was wringing her hands and trembling like crazy I wasn’t positive the woman was mentally equipped to be here right now, but what did I know? I’d been in Frank’s life only a few months. She’d been with him through three decades of highs and lows. Those numbers scared me. They were just another reminder of how fickle, short-lived, and possibly not very serious this affair actually was.
“Not yet,” the doctor said as he continued to ignore my presence. “He’s still unconscious and I want to run a few more tests, so sit tight.”
Fear trickled down my spine as I maneuvered through the rows of plastic tables in the cafeteria. Dante was leaning against the register chatting with the cashier. He had his smug face on.
Unbelievable.
I walked over and tugged the side of his shirt.
“Oh, hey, short stuff.” He spun around and his gaze darted between me and the girl in the bleak hospital visor. “This is Leticia. She’s making us fresh coffee.”
“Really? Since when does it take thirty minutes to brew a new pot?” I said in a low voice and pulled him away from the register. “Frank is out of surgery.”
The cafeteria was empty, not counting the cashier and the security guard at the door who’d been following me all night. Probably because Brooklyn had told him to. He did keep his distance, which I appreciated.
“Any news?” Dante sniffed and palmed his head. His eyes, blood red and wide, stared me down for a long moment.
It hit me then. I almost didn’t want to believe my discovery, but the signs were all there. Come to think of it, he’d been like a cat on a hot tin roof all night. Especially in the car with his diarrhea of secrets. “Are you high?”
Ignoring my question, Dante turned to the cashier and yelled, “Make it six, darlin’! And throw in a couple of breakfast sandwiches too.”
Talk about acting weird. I’d never seen the man lift a finger to do anything except for playing his guitar.
“Hey!” I called. “Did you hear me?”
He returned his scattered attention to me. We shared a glance for only a second.
“Answer me,” I gritted out. “Are you high?”
“Are you my therapist now?”
“Oh my fucking God.” My voice was a hiss. Wrath pulled at my chest. “You are high, aren’t you?”
The cashier was packing our breakfast. The rustle of Styrofoam filled the cafeteria.
Dante’s lack of response angered me. I slapped his arm to get him to say something. “Was he high too? Did you give him something?”
“Keep your fucking hands off me.” He jerked his shoulder in a particularly childish manner.
Rage blinded me. Horrified, I hit him in the chest with my purse. “Is that how you look out for him, you asshole?”
The corner of the blanket fell to the floor and my heel tangled in it as I tried to stumble my way out of the cafeteria. Tears pricked my eyes for the second time tonight. I held them in, but I hated all these emotions fighting for room within me. There was a reason why I’d never gotten so involved with a man. Men were trouble. Men ruined the balance. Frank was the worst. He’d destroyed my perfectly normal life.
I didn’t know where to go to be alone except the restroom. While I understood why the floor was packed with security, the fact that someone was shadowing me at all times felt a lot like an invasion of privacy. I didn’t want some stranger to watch me having a meltdown.
Hours went by. The doctor let Janet and Billy see Frank at around four in the morning. I waited patiently and watched more people trickle in. Some wore suits, some wore casual attire. Dressed sharply but looking tired, Linda showed up at dawn.
“Have you seen him yet?” she asked as we settled in the corner, away from the eyes and ears of others.
“They’re not letting me. Only immediate family for now.”
“Then you should go home and get some sleep, hon.”
“I will. After I make sure he’s okay.” He wasn’t okay, though. I knew it.
Linda reached to pat my knee. “It’s best if you leave now, Cassy. Trust me.”
“Are there a lot of people outside?”
She nodded.
“What’s next?”
“I need to see what the doctors say before I can assess the damage.”
Damage. It was a word I’d come to hate lately. I breathed in hard and stretched my stiff neck.
“If someone sees you here looking like this, you’ll be all over the internet,” Linda urged.
“What, you don’t like my poncho?” I joked.
She gave me a small smile. “How about I call you if I hear something?”
“Thank you, but I’ll be careful.”
Truth was, I couldn’t leave the hospital without seeing Frank. I just wanted a glimpse.
Linda patted my arm, then rose to her feet and walked off. Reclining my head against the wall, I closed my eyes and waited.
It was nearly nine and I was chugging my third cup of coffee, trying to stay awake and alert, when Roman finally came to grab me.
My anxiety rushed back in as I stepped into the room. The lights were bright and sterile, and the monitors were obnoxiously loud. It made me wonder how someone could even sleep through this noise. Then I remembered Valium.
At first, I couldn’t tell if Frank was awake. His head, limp against the raised top of the bed, was turned away and his eyes weren’t in my line of view. The door behind me swung shut and I stood in my spot, hugging the blanket and staring at his sandy hair splayed across the pillow, until his cheek pulled and a hint of a smile stretched his lips. He turned his head slightly to see me better.
I held his gaze and tried not to look at the cast and the tubes prodding his veins.
“Why are you still here, doll?” Frank’s voice was soft around the edges from medications and anesthesia.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” I walked over and gr
abbed a chair.
He didn’t move, but his eyes ran over my body, curious. I heard the swallow followed by a loud, shallow attempt at taking a breath. “Love the new cape.” The corners of his lips curled up slightly.
Not sure who he was trying to fool, me or himself, I returned the smile. Mine was just as weak. “It’s been a little chilly here.” I settled in a chair and stared at his hand for a while, hesitant to touch him. Suspicion was driving me mad. The confrontation with Dante was like a fungus, growing bigger with every second. I’d never seen Frank do drugs, but the more I thought about it, the more his sudden boost of confidence before the show made sense, and the words danced on the tip of my tongue.
“Cassy,” Frank spoke. “You should go home.”
I felt the fear creeping through. It was everywhere. In the dullness of his gaze, in the tremor of his voice, in the shortness of his breath, in the dark shadows beneath his eyes. His cheeks were the color of diluted white paint. He looked…shattered.
Emotions consumed me. Biting back all my questions, I slipped my fingers between his and brushed our hands together. “I don’t want to go, Frank. I want to stay here. With you.”
“The next couple of days are going to be difficult with the press. Why don’t you and Ashton get out of town until all this blows over? Brooklyn will arrange your tickets.” His speech slurred. “Pick a place. How about Hawaii?”
“You want to send me away?”
“It’s safer.”
“Frank. I’m not a little girl who needs saving. Ashton is getting ready to retake his SATs. He has school. We can’t just leave. It doesn’t work like that.”
He got quiet.
“You’re going to need some help anyway.” I motioned at his arm. The knot in my stomach tightened. My brain was still processing the consequences of the accident. I didn't know any details yet, but I’d overheard Janet speaking to a doctor. There were multiple fractures in the clavicle area and the fragments of his broken plate in his shoulder. Frank was going to need another surgery, which meant there would be no shows. At least, not for a while.