by N. N. Britt
“Oh, yes. I am, doll.”
“You’re just tired.” Needing to be closer to him, I slid forward and rested my chin on his knee. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
His finger skimmed through my hair, the brush of his fingertips soft as a feather. “Don’t ask me about the things I do to keep this body going, Cassy. It's the only way to make it work.”
It was wrong, unhealthy, and dangerous in so many ways. Yet I didn't argue. I pushed all my concerns to the back of my mind. He was stubborn to a fault. He was faithful to his vision and the brand he’d created. I couldn’t blame him for pushing his limits. I often pushed my own limits too.
We sat in silence for a long time, listening to the wild roar of the Pacific and watching the sun disappearing into the glazed surface of the water. The twisted calm was full of salty air that clung to my skin as the breeze whipped my clothes and hair.
Frank spoke first. “You don’t have to do this.”
“What are you talking about?” I lifted my head up and surveyed his fatigue-ridden face.
“Sacrifice your time.”
“I’m not. I’m just reprioritizing some of the things in my life.” Worry raced through my veins. “It’s not like I’m giving up the magazine for good.”
“I’m not much fun to be around right now.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” I stood and slid my palm into his.
“No.” He shook his head, and the corners of his lips curled up. “I would never.” He squeezed my hand, then drew me closer to stand between his legs and released a breath against my chest. I felt it burn through my skin and bone, a flame to my aching heart. “You know I’ve been thinking…about us and all this hiding…”
My heart wobbled.
“I don’t want to hide anymore,” he whispered into my shirt.
I waited. I wanted to hear more, but he was quiet.
When he didn’t say anything else after several seconds, I let him off the hook. “Why don’t you lie down?” I brushed the strands of stray hair off his forehead. “The doctor said you need rest.”
“Come here.” He snaked his left arm around my waist and pulled me to him as hard as his fractures would allow. His face pressed against my breasts in a strange needy way that was sexual yet innocent. He slid his cheek across my chest, trying to breathe.
Our heartbeats mingled. Emotions began to jam my throat. I was conflicted, sad, and in love, and I didn’t know how to tell him.
If you could just read my mind, Frank.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured. “I really am. You’re the only good thing left, baby.” My clothes had muffled his words, but I still heard it—the crack in his voice, the panic, the weight of the entire world.
“Where else would I be?”
“Chasing your next story.”
“Stories can wait.” I lowered my face and kissed the top of his head. He smelled of medicine and hurt, and I wanted to wrap my arms around his body and melt into him.
The news broke the next morning. I woke up late and my head felt heavy. Frank wasn’t in bed. His side was a tangle of sheets, with an IV pole next to it and a tray of medicine on the nightstand. The room reminded me of the hospital ward in Cedars Sinai.
I reached for my phone and skimmed through my emails and social media apps. Every single outlet from Rolling Stone to TMZ was going berserk over the label’s accusations. They claimed Frankie Blade was responsible for the leak of the upcoming Hall Affinity album.
The air left my lungs as I read through the doubt-casting headlines. I made the mistake of reading comments left by the fans on the band’s Facebook page too. People were mean and heartless, and it saddened me.
In the kitchen, Hannah was working on Frank’s lunch. I grabbed a cup of black coffee and retreated to the terrace to call Levi.
“This smells like a major lawsuit,” he shared his theory. “Either your boy is going to drag their ass to court for libel if he had nothing to do with the leak, or they’ll sue him for all the millions he owes them.”
“I think you need to stop watching legal thrillers,” I deadpanned.
“Cass, you don’t have to be an expert to figure out why KBC is going public with this. They’re tired of waiting for Frankie Blade to deliver another three records.”
“Two,” I corrected, but Levi did have a point.
I could understand why the label was pissed off. I’d also be pissed if I were the investor whose investment wasn’t turning a profit. Hall Affinity signed a deal for five albums. Over ten years ago. Frankie Blade was part of the package. Their attempt to replace the singer was shut down by fans and I suspected by Frank’s lawyers too, but my brain struggled to understand all the legal nuances of the music business right now. Artists sued labels. Labels dropped artists.
Isabella was a prime example of how the industry worked. Suits used and spat out people who weren’t deemed worthy products, and Isabella was a new name on the block without a massive following and a disability that, for some reason, certain people saw as a drawback.
Only, Frank wasn’t just any artist. He was my artist. My goddamn lifeline. Anyone trying to cause him any harm, emotionally or physically, became my enemy.
Besides, I needed more coffee to get my thinking cells going.
“Let me call you a little later. I have some ideas for the screening, but I need to get my head in order.”
“Sure. Do you still want to do Bowl N’ Roll?”
“Yes.”
The annual charity event that took place every spring in Calabasas and I were in a there’s a thin line between love and hate type of relationship. I loved the concept. Bowling with celebrities was always fun. But I hated the pretentiousness. I also hated the fact that a lot of the money stayed in the pockets of organizers while they claimed all the proceeds went to local schools to support music programs for youth.
“I can find someone else,” Levi offered, sensing my hesitation.
“No. I’m going. By the way, don’t forget about Ashton’s birthday.”
“How could I? Your brother asked for a Sony a7. Twice.”
“How much is it?”
“It’s two grand for mirrorless.”
“Get out of here! Just give him a Best Buy gift card. Twenty bucks will suffice. My mother and I are already getting him a used car.”
“All right.”
“I’ll talk to you later.”
“Later, alligator.” He hung up.
I stood on the terrace in my PJs, with a cup of coffee in one hand and my phone in the other, and stared at the raging ocean beneath my feet. It was beautifully dangerous, the breathtaking drop that made me dizzy each time I looked down, and I wondered if Frank had chosen to live here because of the adrenaline-evoking view.
I heard the slide of the door and his footsteps as he entered the terrace.
“What’s going on, Frank?” I spun around.
Our eyes met. His face seemed tense, and a shiver zipped down my spine. “Nothing my lawyers can’t handle.” He attempted a smile.
“Is there anything I should know?” I pressed.
“No. Everything’s fine, doll.” He pulled me against the side of his chest.
His wild heartbeat told me he was lying, though. It just wasn’t until two days later that I found out what was really going on.
Later that morning, I left for the Valley to check on my apartment and look at a used Toyota at the small dealership down the street from my gym. Or former gym since I hadn’t been there in weeks.
A Navigator was parked in front of Frank’s house when I returned. And after I got inside, I heard Dante and Johnny’s voices battling for dominance in the office. The door was cracked and the unsettling words slipped out into the living room, ricocheting off the walls like invisible bullets.
The three of them weren’t quite arguing yet, but I felt the growing tension in Dante’s tone as he shot out a muffled string of sentences. The house was still, but the air was full of
an electrical charge.
I set my bag on the couch and walked over to the office, stopping outside the door. Restless and full of worry, I couldn’t calm my racing heart as I peeked inside. Frank sat in a chair. Johnny was leaning against the desk, gaze on the floor, arms folded across his chest.
“Why can’t you be upfront with us for once, man?” Dante sounded distressed. He was pacing. I recognized the rapid thumping of his boots against the floor. His frame was out of my line of sight, but occasionally, I could see his hand as he rounded the room.
There was a pause and the distant hum of the ocean that seeped inside through the open terrace filled the void. Finally, Frank spoke, “The answer is no.”
I didn’t know what was going on, but my pulse raged in anticipation of the upcoming disaster. Then it happened. Dante threw out his ultimatum. It was like a trigger pull, deafening and attention-grabbing.
“It's not just you.” His voice shook. “It's the four of us. We all depend on this tour. Our careers, our livelihood. You’re so fucking selfish, you’re ready to drag us all down.”
“It’s the best option considering your condition,” Johnny chimed in. “Your royalties stay the same. Everything stays the same.”
“How is it the same when someone else is going to sing my fucking songs?” Frank half-screamed, and his desperation broke my heart. I felt a tightness in my chest, as if invisible hands were pressing against it.
“It’s that or you’re out!” Dante took over the conversation again. “You’re blind if you still don’t see that this is for your own damn good!”
I swallowed hard to dislodge the rock forming in my throat.
The footsteps moved in my direction. It happened so fast that I didn’t have enough time to react. The office door flung open and a cigarette pack flicked past my eyes as Dante marched out. I felt the accidental brush of his shoulder and the spike of temper consuming the oxygen around me. He clicked his lighter and whirled around. His dark gaze drilled right through me. “This is between me and your boy. Stop fucking eavesdropping, short stuff.”
Blood rushed to my face. “Fuck you, Dante.” My comeback was far from ladylike, but I was too wound up by what I’d just heard to stick to my manners.
He headed for the door to the terrace without a word, shoulders stiff, strides wide and obnoxiously loud. I stood in my spot, angry, left with the horrible aftertaste of loss in my mouth and staring at the empty space in front of me.
“Don’t take it personally, Cassy,” Johnny said from off to the side. “It’s been a stressful week.”
My head snapped up, and he was moving toward me, an apologetic smile touching his lips.
“Sure. Two against one. How fair.” I scoffed.
In my peripheral, I saw Frank rise from his chair inside the office.
“Whoever said the music business was fair has never written a single song.” Johnny shrugged and shoved both hands in the pockets of his jacket.
My blood ran hot, and my ears rang. I watched Johnny tread through the living room, waiting for Frank’s final word, but none followed. The silence was both awkward and cruel. My sixth sense told me not to act on my rage, so I stayed mute. Frank was slipping away. He moved over to the window and glared at the mountains with his back turned to us.
Johnny circled the room again and started making his way to the front door. “It’s nice to see you, Cassy.” He yanked his hand out of his pocket and waved at me. The gesture was less than enthusiastic.
Outside on the terrace, Dante was finishing up his cigarette. He stepped back into the house for a short second and said, “Tell Frankie-boy to think about my offer. He still gets to keep his share and write songs if we look for a different singer to take with us on the road. If his dumb ass wants to fight us on this, he’ll lose. This is me being fucking civil, being his friend for once and seeing this shit for what it is, a fucking train going off the rails next time he decides to take the stage. The best thing he can do right now for everyone, for his own health, his parents, and his fans, who pay for all his houses and cars, is to stop trying to do the impossible. Ask his fucking doctor if you don’t believe me. He needs another surgery.”
Dante’s speech was like a punch to my gut. Everyone seemed to know about it, and the fact that Frank hadn’t mentioned anything to me hurt. He had no idea that I’d overheard the doctor talking about it at the hospital.
“If you really care about him, you’ll see that I’m right.”
His words rattled inside my head long after the Navigator disappeared behind the gate. I walked across the living room to shut the front door Dante had left standing wide open, then returned to the office.
Frank still surveyed the mountain view outside the window, his frame a sharp work of art against the backdrop of the cloudless California sky.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the surgery?” I asked carefully. A strange fizzy feeling settling in my stomach. “I heard the doctor discussing it with your mother at the hospital. Why are you shutting me out?”
He dismissed my question. “They’re looking to get someone else to sing live.”
“But you’ll still have all the creative control?” I clarified as my brain struggled to stay calm.
“It’s my fucking band, Cassy.” Frank spun to face me. His arresting gaze was a black hole, a vortex of hurt, wrath, and misery. I felt his hopelessness clutch at my lungs. The air between us burned a destructive, invisible fire. “I created the idea. I created the music. I’m not going to sit and watch some imposter trying to butcher my songs and all that my art stands for.”
He sounded greedy and irrational. He wasn’t light anymore. He was dark. Dark I hadn’t had a chance to face yet but was about to.
Part of me blamed his anger on bad timing and medication, but another part of me blamed everything on Dante. He’d never given me a straight answer, but he’d never denied anything, just like Frank. It was as if their demons had conspired against me and their minds to keep doing the things that would bring them more grief and pain.
“You don’t have to make a decision right this moment,” I said as I watched him cross the room. He stopped in front of the mahogany cabinet and pulled out a bottle of what looked to be expensive whiskey.
Oh no.
My spine stiffened. Alcohol wasn’t his friend right now. Not while he was shattered and while a mean cocktail of painkillers and other pharmaceuticals filled his bloodstream.
“Frank?” I called, approaching him from behind.
Silent, jaw tight, he grabbed a clean glass and poured himself a shot. No ice.
“Frank?” I pressed, stepping closer. My hand reached for his forearm, and his vein pulsed hard under my palm. He stood motionless for a while, fingers wrapped around the glass.
“First, he fucked my wife. And now, he’s fucking me.” I heard him say.
The room felt small. The entire house felt small. The world suddenly wasn’t big enough for the two of them.
My stomach quivered and my breath caught. I didn’t know what to say or do, because this, the battle against all the vices that drove people to their graves early in life, was new territory for me. Sure, I’d seen what it did to my father, but I had no idea how to fight it, because I was scared of it.
Frank drew away from my touch and moved to the center of the office. He stared at the glass in his hand, his chest rising at each strained inhale.
“Some kind of friend he is, huh?” His voice was a chill against my bones. His clouded gaze flicked over to me.
Wave after wave of angst flowed through the room. I felt it wrapping around my neck like a rope, squeezing me, cutting off the air.
“Frank,” I squealed, trying to breathe through yet another episode of brain freeze. “You don’t have to do anything about it today.”
“Sure, I don’t.” He scowled. “Then they can all get a head start on stealing what’s mine.”
I wasn’t prepared for what came next. Frank hurled the glass and it shattered when it hit the
window. My body shook with awareness. He hurried out of the office without looking at me, and I followed him on a whim. We didn’t speak. It was a silent run through the house as he marched past the paintings lining the walls of the hallway, leading us to the east wing, where his studio was.
I didn’t have the right words, but I was too scared to leave him alone. Hannah wasn’t around and Janet and Billy had gone back to Arizona for a few days to give us space. If Frank planned on acting stupid, I needed to be near to at least try to stop him.
“I want to be alone for a while,” he said when we reached the studio.
I halted. My heart unhinged at the sound of his words.
Tilting my chin up, I asked, “Should I pack?”
Frank looked at me and confusion came into his eyes. They roamed my face in search of something, but I had no idea what. “No.” Then came a slight shake of his head. He pulled the studio door open and disappeared inside.
I was left standing there by myself. No explanations. No apologies.
A small fraction of me resented Frank Wallace at that moment because my gut told me that this was the beginning of the end. Our end. I just didn’t want to believe my gut. For once, I wanted my instincts to be wrong.
Chapter Four
He crawled into bed at sunrise. The mattress dipped under the weight of his body as he settled against the pillow. Soft fingers reached for my hair.
“I’m sorry about yesterday, doll,” his voice, low and flat, came from above.
My chest felt heavy and my stomach squeezed. I hated everything about Frank’s tantrum, but at the same time, I worried for him like crazy. My emotions had been at war the entire night. My pride told me to leave and let him stew in his anger. My heart had a different opinion.
“You didn’t deserve it,” Frank whispered as if he’d just read my mind. His knuckles brushed my cheek.
I rolled over to my back and stared up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me about the surgery?”
“I didn’t want to freak you out.”
“Really? That’s your excuse?”