One Last Verse

by N. N. Britt

  Exhausted, I dropped my head into the crook of Frank’s neck, my hands remaining on the couch to ensure his shoulder was out of harm’s way.

  His large palm cupped my head as he tried to catch his breath.

  “I know Christmas isn’t until the day after tomorrow, but Merry Christmas,” I purred. “Now we’re even.”

  “That was the best present I’ve ever gotten.” Still inside me, he continued to stroke my hair in his strange, almost fatherly manner.

  “I’m flattered.” I giggled.

  “You should be, doll. Making a man full of meds orgasm is very difficult.”

  “Mission accomplished.”

  He laughed, then I did too. There was something incredibly tender about this absolutely dirty moment. I didn’t want it to ever end.

  Later, when we finally summoned enough strength to get up from the couch, I ran a bath. We sat in a tub full of bubbles, the remnants of our sexual adventure washed away. The water level was low to ensure Frank’s stitches didn’t get wet. His skin around the scarring was bruised and discolored and he seemed tense at first—my gaze on his damaged nakedness terrified him. I wasn’t sure if it was his cuts and marks that he didn’t want me to look at or something else. Something he’d hidden from everyone for so long, he’d forgotten he had it, and I was going to find it first.

  “I don’t see any scars when I look at you,” I said, running a washcloth over his other shoulder. The elegant curve of his muscles made me want to lick him clean.

  “What do you see?” He stared at me somberly as I continued to tend to his body.

  “Passion. Heart. Music.”

  The intensity of his gunmetal gaze sent chills down my spine. I felt his fears. They were dark and deep.

  “Scars don’t take anything away from you, Frank. They give you what you may have not had before them. Strength.”

  A small smile touched his lips.

  “You have this ability to turn shit to gold with words.”

  “That’s what everyone tells me.”

  He snapped his index finger and sent a splash of soapy water my way.

  My washcloth dropped into the tub. “That’s totally not fair.” I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. “I can’t even get you back for another month.”

  His expression turned serious. “Remember when I told you the night we met that I don’t believe in coincidences?”

  “Yes. Why do you think we aren’t a coincidence?”

  He dropped his gaze to the blanket of bubbles and gathered some in his palm. “Meeting people is part of my job. Some days, I meet hundreds, some days, I meet thousands. It’s overwhelming. You begin to spread your spirit thin. At first, I tried to remember the names of those who I came across often so that I wouldn’t be that dude who doesn’t even know the people who support his music and his cause. But after a while, every face started looking the same. They all blurred. One meeting isn’t enough for me anymore. So I talk to a person, then I move on. I turn it off. I have to. Because if I don’t, I’ll go crazy. I’ll keep the other person’s emotions in me until there’s no room left for my own. It’s a terrifying feeling when you’re so susceptive to everything that’s going on around you. It weighs on you. The problems of everyone else. You have to have a switch. On, and you’re rich and famous. Off, and you shed the world’s heaviness and drown in your own. Then that day, fate kept pushing you into my arms over and over again. It was as if she whispered, Look at this woman. She’s going to change your life. Don’t be a wuss. Be a man and talk to her, not a fucking tool. Forget the switch. And by the end of the night, I started wondering why she wanted me and you together so much. Now I know.”

  Frank paused and gazed up at me. Our eyes met.

  I was in awe. His confession moved me yet alarmed me at the same time.

  “Don’t analyze it, Cassy,” he said as if he sensed me trying to paint a different picture of him in my head. A real picture.

  I understood him. I understood why he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He was scared. And I was going to let it go and be what he needed me to be. His light.

  “And here I thought you liked me for me.” My lips were twisted in a pout. “Turns out, some chick named Fate gets all the credit. Was my fun personality not enough?”

  “Your fun personality, your yoga, and your striptease skills.” He grinned and splashed more water in my face.

  “Grrrr,” I growled at him, balling my fists. “You’ll pay for that in due time, Frank Wallace.”

  “I don’t doubt it. But until then, I’ll take a strip show every night before bed.”

  Chapter Six

  “I’m glad you decided to continue with us, Frank,” Linda said, smiling politely as she returned to her MacBook to make a few notes.

  “It’s not your fault my bandmates and the record label want me out.” His hand squeezed mine softly. He’d been taking off the sling for a couple of hours every morning per his doctor’s request, but temporary loss of motor function didn’t allow him to do much with his right arm yet. It was baby steps on the way to a full recovery.

  We sat at the table inside the den. Brooklyn stood off to the side with an iPad in her hands. Face screwed in concentration, she looked through the list of the venues that would work for the screening.

  Since Frank had finally expressed an interest in possibly doing an interview for Dreamcatchers, she wanted to be part of the decision-making process. I didn’t press for more yet, because Frank’s mind was preoccupied with the upcoming collaboration with Isabella, but my gut told me he was almost ready. I just needed to give him some space. Let him come to us on his own terms. Without pressure.

  As we discussed right before Christmas, he’d started talking to a counselor. His mood had improved greatly in the last couple of weeks, and I hadn’t seen him touching or looking at alcohol, which was a good sign. The only thing we still disagreed on was the lawsuit.

  Frank refused to let it go.

  “Half of these are union.” Brooklyn’s voice drew my attention back to the meeting. “I wouldn’t even bother.” She shook her head, her gaze jumping between me and Frank.

  I willed my mind to concentrate on the present. “This is a nonprofit project, so I don’t see why it matters.”

  “You’ll be jumping through hoops for months,” she countered in a snappy tone. “I’m just trying to save you some time.”

  “And I appreciate it.” Smiling, I freed my hand from Frank’s grasp. I didn’t need his protection when people in his entourage opposed me. Levi and I had already been jumping through legal hoops for a while since we’d had to set up a corporation to produce the film. More red tape made no difference anymore. That was one of the reasons why I’d taken a step back from Rewired—to ensure we had all the bases covered.

  Linda came to the rescue. “When are you looking to record the single?” she questioned Frank, making more notes. Her fingers tippy-tapped against the keyboard of her Mac. Dressed in a suit and with her hair styled to perfection, she was the definition of impeccable. Sometimes I wondered if the woman slept at all. Sometimes I wondered if she was even human. With a mile-long roster of celebrity clients she handled publicity for, Frank was probably the nicest. Despite all the luxury he enjoyed surrounding himself with, he was a simple man. Roman and Hannah loved him. I saw it in the way they spoke about him when he wasn’t near. Even slimy douche Corey adored Frank.

  And I adored being his girlfriend. He was like sunshine, even in his darkest moments, and everyone clung to him, hoping to get a bit of his warmth.

  “In the next month or two,” he said. I heard a lick of excitement in Frank’s voice. For the first time since the accident, he sounded like himself. “We’re trying to get Gary Torino on board.”

  “Really?” Linda gazed at me, looking for confirmation.

  I nodded.

  Gary Torino was best of the best, an industry veteran who’d produced over two hundred albums. Three quarters were platinum. Half of them sat at the very top
of the Billboard chart.

  Frank wanted to go all out with “Afterburn.”

  “I haven’t heard it yet, and I’m already impressed.” Linda typed up some more notes.

  “It’s still pretty rough,” Frank explained. He’d only attended one rehearsal, but now that he was finally on the way to recovery, three more sessions were lined up for the next couple of weeks.

  “Can you guarantee Billboard?” Brooklyn barked from her spot.

  I could almost taste her annoyance. It plagued the air like the smell of rotting leftovers.

  Linda flashed a cunning smile and the spark in her eyes told me she was going to make it happen. Despite the fact that there were no guarantees in this business. Never. “We can probably try for a Grammy nomination as well.”

  “I like that!” Frank beamed. It was a magazine cover-worthy grin. I hadn’t seen him this fired up in weeks. He was riding the high of anticipation, and I was hoping it would make him change his mind and give up the idea of the lawsuit.

  “Do you have any questions, Frank?” Linda asked.

  “I think you answered them all.” When he stood, she did too, and they shook hands.

  “I’ll have my girls start on the proposal today, and we’ll send it over to Brooklyn as soon as it’s ready.” Linda slammed her MacBook shut and slipped it into her bag. “As always, it’s a pleasure, Frank.”

  “Pleasure is mine.” He grinned.

  “I’ll walk you out,” I offered and rose from my chair. Brooklyn’s unhappy growl behind my back was the last thing I heard as I left the den.

  “He looks good,” Linda noted as we made our way over to her SUV parked in the driveway. She pulled the door open and tossed her bag on the passenger seat. “How’s his shoulder?”

  “Better. He’s seeing a doctor in a couple of days. So we’ll know more then.”

  The January sun was perched high in the sky, its rays glittering in the generous falls of the fountain water. The light breeze that danced across my cheeks was soft and cool, typical for a Southern California winter.

  “Any news on the replacement singer?” I asked carefully, my voice almost a whisper. Not that anyone could hear us. Frank’s yard was the size of my entire apartment complex. “Off the record, of course.”

  “Management is in talks with a few candidates right now. I’m sure you understand these are some big shoes to fill.” Linda narrowed her eyes and inched closer. “Looks like it’s going to be either Marshall Burns or Joel Frederick.”

  “Really? Frederick?” I tried to hold the sudden rush of anxiety at bay. “He can’t hold a note long enough for the crowd to hear it.” But he’s a great showman.

  “He had vocal cord surgery last summer.”

  “He did?”

  “His team just wanted to keep it under wraps while he was in recovery. I heard he nailed all the Hollow Heart Dream songs during his audition.”

  “Shit.”

  “Promise me you won’t tell anyone. Not even Frank.”

  “Of course. You have my word.”

  “It’s up to Dante to choose who he wants to play with anyway, and my gut tells me he’ll go with Marshall. He’s a bit more down to earth and easier to work with.”

  “Is it bad I want this tour to flop?”

  “It’s very difficult to stay impartial in your position. I’d probably feel the same way if I were dating Frankie Blade.” Linda laughed softly. “You made a smart move by distancing yourself from the magazine. You don’t want Levi and the rest of the team to be caught in the crossfire when the press finds out you’re dating Frank. Have you reached out to the social media agency I recommended?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You should do it before TMZ takes notice. I would also suggest talking to your mother and brother.”

  A shiver ran down my spine. The idea of going public was like a flu virus, incubating, waiting to hit me and my family. “I’m scared,” I confessed.

  “Which is normal,” Linda explained. “But as long as you prepare yourself for what’s coming and stay away from social media when it hits the tabloids, you’ll be fine.”

  I allowed her words to settle. My job was stressful enough to have taught me how not to let things get to me, and while I liked to think of myself as a thick-skinned gal, with Frank, everything felt different. It was as if he possessed all parts of me—my body, my mind, my heart. He was embedded into my thoughts every second of every day, and it was the most terrifying feeling ever.

  “Don’t you dare tell him or anyone else about Joel and Marshall,” Linda warned me as she got into her SUV. “Not even your imaginary pet.”

  “My lips are sealed.” I ran my fingers along my mouth and turned an invisible key to let her know I’d keep quiet forever.

  After our goodbyes were said, I went back inside. The thunder of Brooklyn’s voice raged in the den.

  “You shouldn’t have kept her,” she fumed, pacing around.

  Frank stood near the window and stared at the ocean, his faced withdrawn.

  “Your name will be in circulation with their Hall Affinity press releases. Do you really think it’s a good idea to share a publicist with your former bandmates?” Brooklyn continued, ignoring my presence.

  “First, I like her and I trust her instincts,” Frank responded in a flat tone. “Second, I want my name to be shoved into every inbox that gets Hall Affinity news. It’s still my fucking band. I made them. The world should remember that when they hear someone else singing my songs.”

  I recognized the struggle in his breath, loud and heavy puffs against the muffled rumble of the ocean. He’d seemed fine just a few minutes ago, which made me wonder if Brooklyn had said something to him while I was gone or if he’d led me to believe he was getting better when he wasn’t.

  “It’s not like Linda Schwab is the only good publicist in town,” she retorted.

  “I’m keeping her. End of story,” Frank said and walked out of the den.

  There was a shift in the air. A change.

  “I can’t with him!” Arms flinging, Brooklyn rolled her eyes. Then her gaze jumped over to me. “He’s so goddamn stubborn.”

  “Tell me about it.” I shook my head. “I’m out of ideas on how to make him give up the stupid lawsuit obsession.”

  “Honey.” Brooklyn gave me a fake smile. “Nothing’s going to stop that man from trying to get back at KBC. He’s hurt, embarrassed, and angry. So you can take it down a notch with your daily deep throat treats.”

  What do you know? The woman had sense of humor after all.

  A week after our initial meeting with Linda, Dante’s first on-camera post-Frankie Blade interview hit the internet.

  It was a cool, foggy Malibu night filled with the distant rustle of palm trees and the croon of the ocean. Wrapped in a blanket, I was sitting on the terrace with my laptop, going over my pitch, when an email notification with Levi’s name popped on my screen.

  The link in my inbox that I instantly clicked opened a YouTube video. There were very few people in my life I truly hated. My father probably took the top spot, but at that moment, Dante’s name dominated my worst person of the year list. The headline pissed me off.

  “Hall Affinity to Reveal Their New Singer’s Name Very Soon: Guitarist Dante Martinez acknowledges the band has been going through a rough patch and fresh blood will definitely breathe life into the ensemble.”

  A time stamp indicated the video had been uploaded an hour ago. The view count was nearing two hundred thousand and I felt like I was late to the party.

  Drawing a loud breath through my teeth, I hit the Play button and started watching the interview. Dante’s smug face filled the screen of my laptop. Eyes glazed, smile tipped all the way up, he looked higher than Mount Everest. A thin fringe of dark stubble shadowed his jaw and cheeks. The man was in his element, as always.

  My stomach felt queasy as I listened to the string of slurry words pouring from the speakers. A strange sadness washed over me.

  Back
stabbing jerk, I thought, dragging the slider forward after the two-minute mark. This interview was an insensitive slap in the face. Dante could have done without it, but, of course, the man fed his ego with loads of attention. He had to go in front of the camera and tell the world how the band hadn’t been the same ever since Frank’s accident.

  My phone pinged.

  “Bad fucking timing, huh?” Levi muttered, his voice on the line low and full of worry.

  “You don’t say.” I minimized the window.

  “What do you think?”

  “Considering how many diehard fans Frank has and how much fuss they’ll make once the band announces the new name, Isabella will definitely get some of the attention. She’s in the center of a major battle. Not that I like it, but if that’s how KBC wants to do it, we can play along.”

  The upcoming mayhem in the press that Isabella would be dragged into right in the middle of recording “Afterburn” with Frank wasn’t my main concern. She was a tough cookie who’d been at war with the world ever since the shitty label in San Francisco had dropped her. Frank, on the contrary, wasn’t ready to fight. Not yet, anyway. His fragile physical and mental health were the main reasons why I kept on asking him to scrap the lawsuit. Having Dante flaunt the replacement singer news while Frank was trying to get on his feet again felt like a cheap trick.

  A thud snapped my attention back to reality. I quieted and listened with my breath caught in my throat. The noise had come from somewhere inside the house.

  “Let me call you back,” I told Levi, getting to my feet.

  More racket. My heart leapt.

  I set my phone on the table and stepped into the living room. All sorts of possibilities rushed through my mind.

  Were we being robbed?

  Roman hadn’t been sleeping on the property anymore. Janet and Billy had returned to Arizona after the holidays. It was only the two of us.