One Last Verse

by N. N. Britt

  “I want to be alone for a while,” he finally said, his gaze trained on the ocean.

  I felt rejected. “I can stay…We can talk about it if you want…” I offered meekly.

  “I don’t want to talk, Cassy. I want to be alone.”

  And just like that, he slipped away. From the world. From his responsibilities. From me.

  The news hit the internet when I was battling the gridlock on the PCH. My phone buzzed nonstop. Emails, texts, and notifications kept coming, and as much as I wanted to shut it off, I needed to call Levi to tell him I was running behind.

  I’ll be a little late,” I explained. My GPS, however, indicated the delay would be more than a little.

  “KBC just dropped your boyfriend!” he yelled, voice wheezy. “Did you know about this?”

  My mind was blank with rage. “Do we have to discuss this right now?” I was pissed at Frank for shutting me out and pissed at the label and the people there who deemed him another throwaway, someone they could use and abuse and then toss aside. Just like Isabella.

  “What the actual fuck!” Levi continued to ramble. “Firing the face of the band.”

  “I really don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Who the hell goes to see Hall Affinity for Johnny Z?”

  Levi was right. Johnny was merely a regular guy next door in designer clothes with a bass strapped over his neck. Carter was a hired gun. He didn’t have a say. His job was to smile for the cameras and keep those drums going during the shows. But then there was Dante. A guitar god. A virtuoso with the smile of a sinner and the manners of Casanova. He didn’t have the gift of the voice, but with the addition of the right singer, his charisma and his solos could probably still sell out an arena. He was everyone’s—women, fans, tabloids—favorite.

  So, yes, realistically, the band could totally pull off the tour with the proper replacement.

  My head pounded and I barely saw the road. It was all just a huge blur of cars. Different sizes and shapes with a wall of red brake lights and a throng of arms stuck out into the salty air.

  “You know what? My mom’s on the other line,” I lied. “See you in a bit.”

  Unsettled, I killed the call and tossed my phone in my purse.

  The Guitar Center was busy and the crowd made me oddly uncomfortable. I didn’t know what exactly it was—worry for Frank or worry for our relationship, but halfway through the meeting, I excused myself and rushed to the bathroom to call Janet.

  My emotions got the best of me.

  I needed to know he was okay.

  “I believe he’s sleeping,” Janet said.

  “Will you please call me if there’s an emergency?” I had no idea why I’d said that. It was my gut’s idea.

  “He just needs some time to process, child. He’ll come around.”

  I returned to the floor, but my head wasn’t right. Levi did most of the heavy-lifting for the remainder of the meeting, and I utilized the only tool in my arsenal that still semi-worked. My smile. My cheeks soon started to hurt from the constant flexing, but hooray! The rep seemed very interested in the project, specifically in Frankie Blade’s involvement. He even joked about Dante needing to switch to Schecter. Poor sap probably hadn’t heard about Dante and Frankie getting a divorce.

  I felt like I should have mentioned this tidbit, but then again, what kind of a guitar company rep wouldn’t know something that big?

  When the meeting was over, Levi walked me to my car.

  “I’m going to throw something out there,” he said, tone serious. “Just don’t get all wound up, okay?”

  “Sure.” I didn’t think it was possible for me to get more wound up than I already was. My body ached. It was a strange phantom pain I couldn’t explain, but I wondered if that was what Frank was feeling at this moment.

  “This may be a good thing.” He lowered his voice since we were in a crowded parking lot and every other person here was probably a Hall Affinity fan. “KBC dropping your boyfriend.”

  I stared at him with my mouth agape.

  “Hear me out. If this is the label’s final decision, going on record for Dreamcatchers can be our big break and his moment of truth.”

  “Are you suggesting he becomes part of the film? I thought we agreed this was going to be Isabella’s story. We can’t even begin to compare them. Their careers are light years apart.”

  “We already have an okay to use their footage from the last studio session. They’re dynamite together. If he sticks to his plans and records the song with her, this is going to jump-start her career, along with his solo one.”

  “He won’t do it.”

  “How do you know if you haven’t asked?”

  “I know. I’m his fucking girlfriend.” Although lately, it hadn’t felt that way at all. I felt like Frank’s roommate. We’d stopped speaking the same language sometime after his accident. We’d stopped having fun.

  “Well, don’t jump into it.” Levi rolled his eyes. “Feel him out first.”

  “He’s a fucking mess,” I hissed, instantly regretting the words. “Getting in front of the camera is the last thing he wants right now… Actually, I don’t even know what he wants anymore.”

  “He’s that bad, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry. I really am.” Levi rubbed the back of his neck. “I know dude’s going through hell after the surgery, and I’m not saying do it right this moment. But if you think about it, you’ll see—this is a good thing for all of us. For me, for you, for Isabella, for him. There comes a moment in every major artist’s career when he has to make changes. This is his. Dreamcatchers is a perfect way for him to be heard.”

  Levi’s words made sense, but Frank was a wreck, and I couldn’t fathom asking him to emotionally commit to my project.

  “Why aren’t you managing rock stars?” I asked with a smile. “You’d be pretty good at it.”

  “I already have a baby to grow and nurture. Besides, now that his mom is taking a break, it’s double duty for me.” He grinned.

  “Asshole.” I punched his shoulder. “Mom is on vacation. She’s coming back.”

  “She better.”

  I drove home with the music blasting full volume. My choice of album was almost symbolic. I had an overwhelming urge to live through the pain of my first teenage heartbreak, so naturally, I played Breathe Crimson.

  The first thing I saw when I pulled up to the house was the Navigator parked in the driveway and its owner smoking on the terrace. Roman stood nearby with his hands locked together. I called it his war pose.

  I cut the engine and stared at the picture before me. It made no sense. Dante Martinez hadn’t been on this property since the day he and Johnny came over to tell Frank they wanted a new singer. All the communication between the band members was done strictly via lawyers.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, stepping out of the car.

  “Hey, short stuff. How are you doing?” Dante hollered from the chair. His right leg was swung over his left one and he was mouth-torturing a cigarette.

  “Do you need a knife?” I gritted my teeth and began my approach.

  “A knife?” He quirked his dark brow.

  “Last time I checked, cigarettes weren’t cutting it if you planned on stabbing someone in the back.” I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and matched his hard stare.

  He blinked at me a few times, then laughed. His laughter was rough and deep. Smoke puffs floated from his mouth and nose. “You’ve got some dark humor, darlin’.”

  He pulled the cigarette from between his lips and brought his body forward. For someone who smoked so much, Dante had awfully perfect teeth. White, shiny, and even. I wondered if they were real. I wondered if anything about him was real.

  “Well, what can I say? Life taught me all my jokes.” I couldn’t read his expression. He was every bit the mess he should have been. Eyes bloodshot, cheeks sunken, hair tousled. Only, he wore his vices proudly. He didn’t hide any of his bad habits,
be it cigarettes or drug addiction. He didn’t look high to me right now, but I couldn’t think of any other somewhat logical explanation behind his visit.

  “Frankie-boy isn’t letting me inside.” Dante motioned at Roman. “I want to talk to him. Can you get your man to come out?”

  “I wasn’t sure if you were on something.” I hopped up the stairs and stopped in front of the door. “But I am now.”

  Dante’s gaze followed me. “Come on. I drove all the way from the West Side.”

  “You should have called first.”

  “I did. Asshole hasn’t picked up his phone since last century.” He stared down at the tip of his cigarette and ashed it into the planter near the chair. His manners were nonexistent. Just like his compassion and sense of brotherhood.

  “I don’t want to be the middleman. If you need to talk to him about something, don’t ask me to take messages.”

  “Come on,” he groaned in frustration. “You’re already the middleman. You’ve been one for a while now.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I brushed him off.

  “I’m not that stupid, Cassy. I understand you more than you think. You’re a young, idealistic, full-of-drive, never-bitten-in-the-ass-by-the-big-guys-before woman who thinks the world is still worth saving. I know he was open to my offer because of you. Because you agreed with me the first time around. Because you’re scared for him. Because your judgment isn’t clouded by all the love he’s been feeding on all these years. He’s so fucking terrified of letting all the people who worship him go because he still thinks he needs to keep making them happy in order to validate his existence.”

  My heart leapt into my throat. I turned to face him and took a step in his direction.

  “Guess what?” Dante’s gaze roamed my face. “He doesn’t. He just doesn’t see it. But I do. I have for a while now. You do too.”

  “And what do you see?”

  Dante slipped his cigarette back in his mouth and took a long drag. “The world can’t be saved, darlin’. As long as there are people like Lilly, your father, or my parents. The world is going to burn one day. We probably won’t be here for the final countdown, but who’s to say we need to carry its weight on our shoulders until our dying days. Especially if we systematically contribute to the reduction of our own term here, on this planet. Frankie-boy made history. He’ll be fucking forever remembered. Now it’s time he takes it easy.”

  Worry and confusion pulled at my chest. This conversation was more than I’d bargained for. “Why are you here, Dante?”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with the label’s decision to fire Frankie-boy. I stood by my original offer. I want to keep writing music with him. We make good shit together.”

  “Made,” I corrected.

  “That’s only if he wants to play the victim.”

  “I don’t think victim is the right word here.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.” A grin flashed at me.

  I rolled my eyes. Dante’s attitude was a crossbreed of narcissism and arrogance, a whiny illegitimate baby of two really horrible personality traits that could never figure their shit out, but my feet remained fixed.

  “If you want to be upfront, let’s be upfront.” I crossed my arms on my chest and waited.

  “I’m a what you see is what you get kinda guy, darlin’.” He put out his cigarette against the cement block the planter sat on and left it there. “Frankie-boy should at least get an ashtray.” I heard him mutter.

  “Whose idea was it?” I asked.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about, short stuff.” Dante gave me a lazy shrug, leaned back in his chair, and switched legs.

  “The cocaine,” I whispered.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think it goes all the way back to South American indigenous people. They didn’t have lessons on recreational drugs in my high school. So I can’t be too sure.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I was just trying to make you laugh. You look tense.” The corner of his mouth tipped up.

  “I wonder why.”

  Dante continued practicing his self-serving smirk on me. I continued to wait for his confession. We weren’t going anywhere.

  “You didn’t answer my question. You wanted to be honest, then be honest.”

  “Which question? You asked a whole lot.”

  “This is pointless.” I shook my head.

  “Look, darlin’.” Dante got to his feet and moved closer. “Do you really think standing in front of twenty thousand people is a piece of cake for someone who hasn’t done it in seven years?”

  “No, I don’t, and look where it’s gotten him. You’re supposed to be his friend. You’re supposed to watch his back.”

  “I never wanted things to happen the way they did. You know better than anyone that this is for the best. No matter what he wants others to think, the crash fucked him up. He can’t do it. His body can’t take the beating anymore. I’d rather have the label fire him so he can live a few extra years than have him continue to self-destroy. Tell me you don’t agree.”

  In a sick way, I did. I agreed with what he said, but I still loathed him for his methods.

  “You should have told him that yourself before the four of you made grand plans to tour the world.”

  “I did.” Dante pulled out a cigarette pack and patted his pocket for his lighter. “He didn’t listen to me. He didn’t listen to his mother. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

  I watched him walk off and climb into his Navigator with my heart pounding in my throat. Every single thing that came out of Dante’s mouth made perfect sense.

  “You’re still invited to the album release party!” he hollered from the car before closing the door. “Frankie-boy wrote the damn thing.”

  “Yeah, right.” Amused, I rolled my eyes. “Fuck you and your party,” I told him before he drove away.

  The house was abnormally quiet. Brooklyn and the nurse had already gone for the day and I was expecting to find Frank either sleeping or on the back terrace, but he wasn’t in either place. Anxiety gripped my insides. He wasn’t well enough to be elsewhere. I checked the studio and the office next, then headed to the gym. Nothing.

  Every one of my calls went to his voicemail. Panic rising, I rushed to the garage.

  The Ferrari was gone.

  “How the hell did you not see him leaving?” I fumed at Roman while Janet was having a breakdown in the living room. She looked every bit of her sixty-three years. Ruffled and on the edge, stress lines lodged deep in her face. Part of me wanted to hug her and tell her things were going to be okay, but I didn’t quite believe the notion myself. Frank was upset and full of meds that came from pill bottles with a may cause dizziness warning. Oh, and he had one good hand, the same one that hadn’t mastered the art of holding a spoon yet.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be his bodyguard?” I stared at Roman expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

  “He must have left when I was taking a lunch break.”

  “Great.” I palmed my head to stop it from spinning. Of course, it didn’t help. “There are a dozen people in the house and no one heard him starting a car that sounds like a rocket launcher.”

  “I can reach out to a buddy of mine at the sheriff’s station, Miss Evans, but that will complicate things. If the man doesn’t pick up his phone, he doesn’t want to be found.”

  Janet was hysterical. “He’s in no condition to drive a car. He can’t even brush his teeth.”

  “I’m going to call Brooklyn,” I muttered, stepping out to the terrace to get some fresh air. Despite the blasting AC, the house felt stuffy.

  Brooklyn confirmed what Roman had said. If Frank didn’t answer or return my calls, he didn’t want to talk to anyone.

  He just needs to cool down, she told me in a flat tone. Frank sure had an interesting habit of taking off without warning.

  Minutes turned into hours, hours turned into an entire night. I tried to pass my time by altern
ating between checking TMZ headlines and pacing the terrace, but fear and memories twisted me inside out. Eleven years ago, my father did exactly the same thing. Left without telling anyone. And never came back.

  No, Frank would never do something like that, my inner voice tried to cheer me up. He has responsibilities.

  My father also had responsibilities. Us. Me and Ashton. He walked anyway.

  Janet was passed out in the den and I was on my third coffee, checking social media and reading statistics on missing persons, when the cataclysmic rumble of the engine rolled through the front yard at five in the morning.

  Phone clutched in my hand, I charged outside. The glimmer of headlights moved through the thick winter fog that hid the mountain ridges and covered the property. Sharp relief settled in my stomach when I saw the Ferrari mingling with the colorful blaze of the Christmas tree. The grind of its tires against the driveway was deafening as it pulled in. My gaze darted around the vehicle nervously, looking for damage or dents, but there were none. The front lights remained on, and they beamed bright, blinding me.

  “Where the hell have you been?” I hopped down the stairs and hurried to the driver’s side. The ten-hour-long panic attack and too much caffeine caused a quiver in my hands. “Do you know what time it is?” I cried out.

  The window was down, but Frank didn’t move. His left hand stayed curled around the steering wheel. His wind-tangled hair hung chaotically over his forehead and neck.

  “You can’t do this! You can’t just take off whenever you feel the need.” Trembling like a leaf, I pulled the door open and looked him over. “You could have crashed.” The air outside was cold and small clouds of condensation left my mouth as I spoke.

  “Been there. Done that,” Frank gritted out, shutting off the engine. The soft shimmer of the Christmas lights skated across his cheeks.

  Anger ripped into me. “Are you serious?” I dipped down, and my hands quickly roamed his chest and stomach. I didn’t know what I was searching for. Maybe traces of blood, maybe scars that hadn’t been there before he left, maybe my sanity. “We were worried sick.” My voice broke as I continued to fumble with his clothes absentmindedly.