by N. N. Britt
Dozens of different machines squawking in unison surrounded the bed. The room reminded me of a scene from a futuristic science fiction movie.
“Brooklyn will get a nurse,” he said, his fingers moving against mine subtly and carefully.
“I don’t want some random woman to bathe you.”
He smiled again, but his face twisted and I realized he couldn’t laugh, because he was in pain.
“Remember what you said to me in Aspen, Frank?”
“A lot of dirty things, as you requested.”
“That too,” I agreed. “You said you’ve never been in a relationship with someone who wasn’t a high profile person.”
He nodded.
“This is what a relationship with a middle-class woman is like. She’s not going to hide out from the press while her man is going through shit.”
“Nicely put. Going through shit. And I like that. Well, not that going through shit part, but how vocal you are about your dibs on me.”
We stared at each other for a few seconds. “You need to let me be there for you, Frank,” I said, our fingers still entwined.
“And you need to let me protect you from the shit I’m in.”
“Are we talking compromise here?”
“Yes. It appears we are.” The corner of his mouth tugged, but his voice was barely there.
“How are we doing this then?”
“First of all, you need to go home and get some sleep. The hospital will be surrounded by reporters while I’m here. I don’t want you to come back. It’s too risky. Just lay low.”
My heart drummed in my chest as I held his hand and listened. He sounded like an undercover agent who was trying to get us out of a life and death situation.
“When will you be released?”
“A couple of days…hopefully.” His jaw slackened. He was slipping away.
“Okay, then I’ll see you at home?” It was half-statement, half-question.
“Yes, I’ll see you at home, doll.”
Exhausted, I slid into the back of the car Corey had arranged for me. My entire body felt as if it were falling apart. Worry swelled in my chest as I rattled off my Burbank address to the driver. We pulled out from the rear parking lot and rounded the building. A large group of fans in Hall Affinity T-shirts and reporters with cameras crowded the entrance. I noticed a news van across the street.
Frankie Blade continued to make headlines. Even from the hospital.
I wanted to check on Ashton and grab a few things before returning to Malibu. My brother had been texting me all night, asking about Frank. There were a couple of messages from Levi and one from my mother. She’d read about the incident on Facebook.
And then there was everyone else. Thirty-five new emails in my personal inbox and another sixty-three in my Rewired folder. I drew a tired breath through my teeth and looked at the Twitter feed. It was becoming too much. The tabloids, the people, the messages waiting to be answered. My head was a raging volcano, ready to burst any second from the overload of information.
The car merged with the morning traffic and continued its drive through the streets of L.A.
Drained, I shut off my phone and closed my eyes. My body went lax against the crisp leather of the back seat. The engine’s hum lulled me to sleep. I passed out almost instantly and didn’t wake up until the car came to a stop outside my apartment complex in Burbank.
Chapter Three
Levi’s shadowed eyes stalled on my face. “Come again?” His brows pulled together. The thrumming vein on his neck told me he was in panic mode.
“It’s for the best.” Anxiety coursed through me as I spoke.
“Tell me this is a fucking joke, Cass.”
“It’s not a joke.”
We were in Levi’s living room. He was sprawled out on the couch across from me, his laptop and a large box of pizza sitting in front of him.
I occupied the chair. My heart pounded like a hammer. Everything had been falling apart. I felt it. He felt it too. We simply didn't have the courage to begin this conversation.
Frank’s accident was the final straw.
Gotta get your priorities straight, Cass, my gut kept whispering. Now is the time.
“I’m still going to cover all the events I’ve already committed to. Stewie can help you with the rest.” I tried to soften the blow, but my argument seemed weak.
Levi looked like he’d been hit by a truck, and I, Cassy Evans, was the damn truck.
I’d just told him I wanted a break from Rewired.
“Are you still pissed at me for not censoring Shayne’s review? Is that what this is?” He leaned forward, his Red Bull hitting the coffee table between us.
“No. It’s just become too much. The magazine and the documentary…” And Frank.
The silence between Levi and me dragged on. His foot was bouncing. He rested his elbows on his knees and absently stared at the slices of pizza inside the box.
“You knew when we jumped into this how much work the film was going to be. I can’t keep doing both,” I said. “It’s wearing me down.”
“Don’t lie to me, Cass. It’s because of him, isn’t it?”
“It’s not only him.” I shook my head. “But I can’t be in three different places at once. I’m exhausted.”
Levi was right. Frank was one of several reasons why I needed to give something up. He was still a hot mess after the surgery and Rewired ate up all my time.
“I need us to see it through, Cass,” Levi argued, his gaze focused on a stray pepperoni. “For Isabella.”
“We will. I promise. That’s why I want to dedicate more time to the project.”
“The odds aren’t in our favor.”
I knew exactly what he meant by that. Frank's involvement was now up in the air. Frank's career was up in the air.
He'd been released from the hospital two days ago into an immediate madness of countless meetings with the lawyers and a disaster in the press. Mind dulled by the physical pain and the pills fighting it, he hadn’t been able to produce a single coherent sentence.
My thoughts spun. I didn’t know how to explain to Levi what was going on in my life right now without jeopardizing Frank’s privacy. I didn’t know how to tell him I hadn’t been able to sleep at all since the accident. Instead, I’d tossed and turned in the huge empty bed in my lover’s Malibu mansion, hugging the sheets that still smelled of him, wearing his shirt, pretending he lay near, pretending he was still his charming, sexy self, pretending his name hadn’t been dirty-laundered online, pretending he hadn’t been severely medicated in the hospital.
“I know,” I said softly. “And trust me, I hate this as much as you do. I’ve given everything I have to this magazine, but I can’t split myself apart. I need to take a step back.”
We sat in silence for a little longer. My chest was heavy and stiff, and I felt the pain of the entire world gathering within me.
“You think I’m a traitor and a coward, huh?” I swallowed past the lump in my throat.
“I don’t think you’re a coward,” he corrected me. “I think you’re stupid, Cass. We’re on a fucking roll.” They were mean words, but there was no cruelty in his voice. He sounded more disappointed.
“Okay. Maybe I am.”
“Trust me, I know what’s going on in your head.” Levi sat back, his eyes on mine. “Too bad you don’t give yourself enough credit, Cass. If the two of you are for real, why hide it?”
“You know why.”
“Paparazzi is always a great excuse. You're throwing away all your hard work for a rich dick.”
“Well.” I drew in a deep breath. “Thank you for your honesty.”
“Hey, if it looks like shit and smells like shit, it’s definitely not daisies, baby.”
“You’re just jealous,” I called him out.
“Of course I'm fucking jealous.” Disdain and anger tweaked his face. “We spent seven years creating something meaningful, and we’re this close to making it to the top�
��—he held up his hand and pinched his thumb and forefinger together—“and he swoops in and takes you away.”
“I don’t think you understand that what I’m trying to do here is going to benefit both of us.”
“He can hire an army of nurses to tend to his needs. You don't need to be by his side at all times.”
Frank already had an army of nurses. We, along with everything happening and about to happen, were more complicated than that. I needed to be by his side and I needed to distance myself from Rewired.
“I’m simply refocusing my energy and time on what’s important. I’ll be able to get a lot more done working from home.”
“Right. Like Mr. Perfect hasn’t monopolized all your time already.”
“No, he hasn’t.”
“The last two months of your relationship have proved the opposite.”
“What do you know about relationships?” I scoffed. “When was the last time you went out on a date?” It was low of me to throw Levi’s lack of certain skills with women in his face, but he was starting to get on my nerves.
“Oh, so we’re comparing our sex lives now?”
“No.” I shook my head. “We’re not.” I needed to defuse this before it got out of control.
He let out a long exhale as if to regroup. “Look, just think about it again before you pull the plug.”
“I told you, I’m still helping you with everything already locked in on the calendar, but I don’t want to book more on-camera interviews or take on more editorials. My hands are full with all the end-of-the-year stuff. Shayne’s always wanted my spot. Let her have it temporarily. And don’t forget, you’ve got Ashton.”
“Come on.” Levi let out a bitter laugh. “You know your brother can’t weave words the way you do.”
“But he’s very persistent. And he loves the gig.”
“You’re fucking killing me, Cass.”
“Believe me, we’ll get things done faster this way. With me concentrating on securing sponsors and looking for venues while you work on the footage, the film will be ready right in time for the summer festivals. If we keep spreading ourselves thin, it’ll take us years to complete the project, and Isabella doesn’t have years. We need to do it now while there’s still interest on social media. You know better than anyone how to delegate. Let Stewie and Shayne take on more workload. Have Ashton do smaller bands.”
“Stewie has horrible grammar.” Levi scowled, and the tilt of his head gave away his unease.
“Tell him to install Grammarly.”
“Why do I feel like I just got dumped?”
“It’ll be fine. I promise,” I said, scrambling for my phone to check my emails. The app indicated there were currently nine hundred and seventy-five unread messages in my inbox.
Wonderful.
I left Levi’s place after we went over the revised Rewired calendar.
My anguish over an indefinite break from the magazine was like venom. It filled my veins and burned my cheeks as I drove back to Malibu, thinking about new business cards and all the social media and website changes I’d need to do. They seemed so trivial, almost meaningless compared to millions of disappointed fans all over the world who were awaiting news on the upcoming Hall Affinity tour that was now up in the air, just like Frank’s career.
Lately, I’d been feeling as if I were two different people. One was a self-made woman who desperately wanted her simple life back. The other was a woman who was crazy and irrevocably in love with Frank Wallace, a woman who wanted to shed her skin and dive into his bloodstream to give him what he needed right now, a second heartbeat to last through this battle. Because his own pulse was a fading flicker buried under a blanket of pain.
And it was tiresome—trying to find the balance amidst all this madness that surrounded Frank.
I made a small detour and went to Santa Monica Beach to clear my head. The roar of the ocean here was different than in Malibu. It was noisier, filled with the sounds of conversations crashing against the waves and the rattle of skaters rolling along the coastline.
I parked in a lot near the cliffside and sat in my car with the music on and a paper bag from In-N-Out in my lap, staring at the afternoon sun as it slowly slid toward the horizon. My mind was adrift and my burger was getting cold. Finally, I grabbed my phone from the cupholder and dialed the number I’d been itching to call all day.
Linda’s voice on the line was crisp and low. “I don’t have any specifics,” she spoke carefully, but I heard a lick of panic in her tone. “I’m doing you a favor so you can get your things in order before this goes public.”
My chest stiffened. “Thank you.” I had no idea what else to say.
The information Linda shared with me was still an unconfirmed rumor—the label blamed Frank for the album leak. Everything in me sensed trouble as a dark cloud of smoke loomed on the horizon with the bitter, pungent scent of defeat.
By the time I arrived in Malibu, the house had quieted. For the first time since Frank had returned from the hospital, we weren’t surrounded by other people nor was he knocked out by the pain meds. It was just me and him and the rumble of the ocean, and after giving him some space to adjust the past couple of days, I decided it was time to try to get some answers.
He was on the couch on the terrace, his body situated in a pile of pillows, and if not for the cast and the sling, he would’ve looked almost peaceful from where I stood.
I walked over and positioned myself across from him, needing to see his face, needing to take in every detail, needing to make sure his spirit hadn’t left him. The last rays of light glimmered across his disheveled hair and his sunken cheeks.
“Hi,” I said, then flashed him a small smile.
Frank’s gaze found mine. “Hi.” His voice was weakened by the medication, its seductive edge buried deep under many layers of stress. “How was your day, doll?”
I set my purse on the table and kneeled in front of him. My palms slid over his thighs. I didn’t know why I liked when he looked at me from above. He was the only man allowed to do so. Maybe it was his experience. Maybe it was my sick need to feel his paternal streak he hid so well. Maybe it was the best angle to watch the sun flares coloring his unshaven face. The golden glow made him look…happier. Alive. And I wanted to soak in his warmth.
Or maybe it was none of those things.
“My day wasn’t productive,” I confessed.
“How come?” Frank’s left hand covered mine and we stared at each other for a long minute before I gave him an answer.
“I saw Levi. I’m going to take a break from the magazine.”
“Did something happen between you two?”
“No.” I shook my head, and the gentle breeze ruffled my hair. “It’s temporary. Just until things with the film ease up a little. We need to start looking for a venue and I can hardly find any time. I think dedicating the next couple of months solely to the film is going to get it off the ground faster. “I paused to take a breath. “Besides, I don’t want to leave you alone right now.”
A meek smile spread to his cheeks. “Don’t be ridiculous. This house is like a hotel. I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve seen here today.”
“I know, but I’m not people…”
“No, you’re definitely not,” Frank agreed.
My throat caught. I wasn’t sure how to explain my true fears to him without making him upset or causing a fight. “I have to ask you something, but promise me you’ll tell the truth.”
The low wheezing sound in his chest told me he was trying to take a breath. His hand moved to my face and cradled my cheek. “I’ll do my best.”
I tilted my head, and the press of his palm against my skin made me dizzy. “I know Dante took something before the show,” I said quietly, keeping our eyes locked. “He didn’t deny it when I asked. Did you take something too?”
There was a pause. Frank’s eyes darkened. His hand dropped.
“I’m not judging you. I just want to know if yo
u took drugs before the show.”
Another pause. The subtle grind of his jaw gave away his anxiety.
“Do you know what it's like to be trapped in this body?” he asked.
“You’re avoiding my question.”
“I almost drowned when I was three.”
There he was, doing his strange reminiscence dump.
My heart pitter-patted. I knew the story, but now that he’d brought it up, I wanted to hear him say it. Word by word. I wanted to hear him bare his secrets, because part of me was jealous of Dante. Jealous of their relationship, jealous of their friendship, no matter how fucked up. That was what made it fascinating, the test of time and the test of betrayal.
“My mother, my birth mother, went out and left me alone,” Frank continued, the dull pain of the memories twisting his features. “I was a curious kid. I sneaked into the backyard, slipped, and fell into the pool. I was too young to really understand what was happening to me. I remember only bits and pieces of that day. I remember water forcing the air out of my lungs. I remember not being able to breathe. Ever since the crash, I’ve been experiencing the same thing. I’ve been drowning these past seven years. The things I want to do aren’t possible anymore. It’s like all this music is stuck in me and I can’t get it out, because I need to take a fucking breath and I can’t. I’m broken beyond repair.”
Blood rushed to my temples. I heard it pounding in my ears, I heard the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below and the sound of my heart beating against my ribcage. Words, questions, and thoughts in my head spiraled. “Frank, music doesn’t care what you wear and how you look while you’re making it or delivering it. People listen to your songs because those songs mean something to them, because they touch them, because they aren’t simply a show with a bunch of fireworks. Those songs are memories. Moments. Smiles. Feelings. You don’t need to be anything at all to keep writing music. You don’t need to meet anyone’s expectations except your own.”
“You’re an idealist.” He laughed softly. “That’s why I like you so much.”
“And you’re not broken, Frank.”