by N. N. Britt
“He’s pretty good,” Frank rasped out.
I rounded the chair and positioned myself in his line of view. “Why do you do this to yourself?”
“Because it’s my fucking band.” His icy gaze ran over the length of my body and stopped in the vicinity of my breasts, maybe too tired to go further, maybe too distracted by the sight of my nipples showing from beneath the lace of my slip.
“You need to let it go, Frank. For your own sanity. Please.”
“Can’t you tell how empty I am, doll?” he slurred. Each word, soft and slushy, felt like a struggle, and as much as I wanted to cuddle him and put him to bed, my common sense told me my kindness wouldn’t do him any good. I’d been too kind too long.
Popping my hip, I folded both arms on my chest and asked, “Do you know what else is empty?” My chin jerked up in the direction of the table. “That bottle.”
He raised his hand and pointed at his chest. “That’d be me.” A cheeky smile touched his lips.
Acid rose at the back of my throat. I had to look away for a moment.
“Don’t be mad, baby.” The crack in his voice cut so deep, it hurt to breathe.
“You have a chance to do something good, something really meaningful.” I paused to get more air in my lungs. My heartbeats were mad and loud. “But you choose to let people who don’t give a fuck about you drag you down.”
“Do you have any idea how it feels, Cassy?”
“It feels like shit. Doesn’t mean you should let it take over your emotions.”
He was silent. The moonlight gleamed over the ink and scars on his bare chest.
“It’s my own damn fault,” Frank said finally, reaching for the glass. “I built something that I couldn’t handle. I sold myself to the devil, to the suits, to the fans. Everyone got the piece they paid for. There are no more pieces left. Nothing to create new music from. I’m fucking dried up.”
“That’s not true,” I countered. “You have a lot more music in you.”
“Don’t be naïve.” He chuckled, bringing the drink to his mouth. “This song you give me so much credit for isn’t mine. I’m just riding piggyback.”
“You’re drunk, Frank. I don’t see why we need to discuss this right now. Let’s go back to bed.”
He ignored me. “Tell me, you seriously think I deserve all the praise I’m getting?”
“You and Isabella are amazing together. Fans will love you both.” I stepped closer.
“You promised to be honest.” He dropped his gaze to the drink in his hand and scanned the leftovers of the liquor.
“I am being honest. I think what you’re doing is very noble.”
Frank drained the glass and set it on the table next to the empty bottle. Just like my father, he was a miserable drunk. Talking to him was like talking to a wall and I hated it. He made little sense and refused to compromise. But what I hated more was the horrible feeling of dread that had been clutching my gut all night. I was losing this battle to Frank’s demons. Everything we’d built over the past few weeks was crumbling right now like a house of cards.
He said it then, “She’s better off on her own.”
My heart stopped beating. Tightness pulled at my chest. “You’re going to bed.” I reached for his hand.
“In a bit.” He shook his head.
“Come on.” I slid my palm into his to lace our fingers together and made an attempt to get him up, but he was too heavy. “Frank, I’m serious. We have a long day tomorrow.”
His other hand rose from the arm of the chair and grabbed at my leg, pulling me closer. I stumbled and lost my balance. My chin landed on top of his left shoulder.
“You smell nice,” he slurred against my cheek as I tried to steady myself. His alcohol breath was hot and unpleasant.
“I’m really tired. Please, let’s just go to bed.”
Frank’s hands continued to roam my body aimlessly. “You’re the best girlfriend I’ve ever had, doll.”
At that moment, the compliment didn’t matter much, because something dark lurked between us. We weren’t whole anymore.
I woke up at the crack of dawn. My head pounded and every muscle in my body ached from last night’s struggle with Frank. It’d taken me a good hour to get him to calm down.
He slept like a rock while I paced the bedroom and checked my phone. Marshall Burns was all over Facebook and Twitter and judging by the comments, most Hall Affinity fans weren’t as upset as I’d thought they’d be. Of course, a few die-hard Frankie Blade followers didn’t shy away from posting their opinions, but objectively speaking, Marshall was a good choice.
In the kitchen, Hannah was preparing breakfast. She sensed my anger instantly. The bags under my eyes were probably another reason why she asked me if everything was okay.
I shook my head and tossed my phone on the counter, needing a break from Marshall’s face. “He was drinking again yesterday.”
“Aye!” Hannah’s brows knitted together. She palmed her cheeks and gave me a sympathetic look.
“I don’t know what to do,” I confessed. My mind roared after my hell of a night and I couldn’t imagine pulling another twelve-hour day in the studio. Besides, it’d be double the work with Ashton and Levi there today. But the main question was whether Frank would be able to lay vocals hung over.
“Maybe you should tell Mr. Billy,” Hannah whispered, handing me a container with creamer as I fixed myself a cup of coffee.
“Maybe I will.”
My phone rattled against the marble countertop. The call was from Ashton, and while I was tempted to let it go to voicemail, my brother calling me this early could only mean one thing—an emergency.
The panic in his voice twisted my stomach. “My car is gone!” he screamed as a wall of noises came from the background.
“What do you mean, gone?”
“I mean it’s gone from where I parked it.” The din of the street traffic muffled his hysterical sobs. “Someone stole it!”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at Samy’s. I went inside to take care of business. Came back out, the car’s gone.”
I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath through my teeth. Today hadn’t even started yet, but it already promised to be a total shitshow. “First of all, why are you at Samy’s? Second, where did you park?”
“I told you. Levi asked me to pick up a lens.”
Fucking Levi, I growled internally.
“I understand that. Where did you park your car? On the street? In the lot?”
“On the street.”
Somehow it didn’t surprise me at all. My brother and road signs weren’t friends. I should have seen this coming.
“Where on the street?”
“Behind the building.”
“Why didn’t you valet it?”
“A bunch of assholes blocked the entrance. I didn’t have time to wait around.”
Smiling apologetically at Hannah who was unwillingly subjected to my brawl with my brother, I took a generous sip of my coffee to get my brain going. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your car is probably on its way to some impound lot in Venice Beach.”
“Well, I have to get it back!”
“It’s not going to happen until tomorrow, Ashton.”
“I’ve got gear in the trunk. I need it for today.”
Of course, as if my life didn’t need more complications. Babysitting two grown men had never been so much fun. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I gritted out.
“You know what?” Ashton huffed. “You’re a shitty sister.”
“And you’re a shitty car owner.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and tried to think. Frank didn’t have to be at Sherman Oaks until eleven. Technically, he didn’t even need me to go with him, but last night’s drinking spree made me doubt his ability to make important decisions today.
“Okay, check the signs and talk to the attendant,” I told him on my way to the bathroom. “If the car was towed, please find ou
t what forms of payment they take and if they can take a credit card over the phone.”
There was a message with the address of the impound lot waiting for me when I stepped out of the shower.
“Great,” I muttered, staring at the text for a good minute. Annoyance brewed in my gut.
First, I called my brother. “Do you have proof of insurance on you?”
“Umm…” He paused.
“Ashton?”
“In my email.”
“Can they take my card over the phone?”
“No, they said the credit card holder has to be there to pay in person.”
“Okay, I’ll get you an Uber and I’ll meet you there in an hour.”
Then I called Roman. “Could you please come over right now?”
“I thought Frank said ten.”
“I have to go get the stupid BMW out of impound. You’ll need to drive Frank to Sherman Oaks.” I paused to catch my breath. “He was drinking last night, so he’s probably hung over…and not in a very good mood. I’m going to go ahead and wake him so that he can get moving, but I need you to be nearby since I won’t be here.”
Roman cleared his throat. “I understand.”
“You have to make sure he’s there by eleven. Gary is leaving for New York tomorrow, so vocals must be recorded today.”
“I got you, Ms. Evans. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
Frank looked frazzled when I woke him.
“I’m sorry, but you gotta get up.” I shook his shoulder lightly, my phone in my hand.
“What?” Hair mussed, face sleepy, he rubbed his eyes and absently stared at me through the shadow of his flitting lashes. His clouded gaze ran over my mouth as if I were speaking Arabic.
“Roman will be here in a bit. I’ll meet you at the studio.” I pulled the blanket aside and helped him sit up.
“What time is it?”
“It’s eight.”
Confusion crossed his features. “I thought we didn’t have to be there until eleven.”
“Don’t ever buy anything for my brother again. Asshole got the car towed.” Rolling my eyes, I nudged Frank off the bed and ushered him to the bathroom.
Dazed, he stepped into the shower cabin and fumbled with the controls. Water splashed against the glass.
“I’ll meet you at the studio, okay?” I said, putting the finishing touches on my makeup.
Frank’s hangover was evident. Palms against the tiled side of the cabin, head down, he lingered somewhere on the edge of awareness, and seeing this reminder of his recklessness the night before drove me mad. The last thing I wanted to do was leave him alone, but Ashton was blowing up my phone like crazy.
“Okay.” Frank nodded, lifting his face to meet the stream. There was weakness in his every move and breath.
“Hannah made waffles!” I shouted on my way out.
Ashton was already waiting for me when I pulled up to the office of the impound lot that was somewhere on the outskirts of Santa Monica. It was in a crappier part of the city, across from the cemetery. Beat up asphalt and plastic dumpsters greeted me as I maneuvered my Honda between the rows of vehicles. My head hurt from lack of coffee and sleep.
Inside, there was a mile-long line and it took me a minute to find Ashton.
“I thought you were going to ditch me,” he said under his breath as I wormed my way into the spot between his shoulder and some woman’s oversized Coach bag.
“I’m having an extremely bad day. Let’s just get this over with.”
“That’s why I need my own credit card.”
“Oh, really?” I stared up at him with every intention of mentally burning him to the ground. “So you can forget it somewhere too?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Then how was it, huh?” I hissed. “You dragged me all the way across town because you can’t read road signs.”
My observation was met with a dramatic pout.
We waited for nearly an hour. By the time Ashton finally received his precious car keys back, I had two missed calls from Roman, three texts from Brooklyn, and all signs of a heart attack.
Frank never made it to the studio.
Panic crawled up my throat as we hurried to leave the building and get to our vehicles. I dialed Frank’s cell twice but was greeted by the same generic service provider programmed voice message.
“You owe me the Uber fee and the three hundred bucks I just paid for your car,” I snapped at Ashton as we walked through the lot.
“You’re joking, right?” He gave me the side-eye.
“It’s called adulting, buddy.”
I knew he’d never have that kind of money unless he started smuggling drugs or got a job as a male stripper, but I couldn't resist the urge to yell at someone, and between Roman, who, according to our phone conversation, had missed Frank earlier this morning, and my brother, it was obviously going to be my brother.
On the way to Sherman Oaks, I called Frank’s house phone and asked Hannah to check the garage. Of course, the Ferrari was missing. My anxiety shot through the roof. It clawed at my thundering heart like a predator, tearing it into small pieces. This wasn’t happening. Not today, I thought as I dialed again and again, only to hear the same recording.
The burst of cool air blasting from the vents pricked my cheeks and I could barely feel my face, but the tremor that took over the rest of my body compensated for that numbness tenfold. The seconds seemed to drag by as if this were a three-day cross-country drive.
When I arrived at the studio, Ashton and Levi were already there, unloading their equipment. Without saying a word to them, I brushed past the cluster of cases and hurried to find Brooklyn.
Inside, a dozen stupefied gazes were shot at me. Isabella was in the booth, doing a take. Her voice felt dangerous, stronger and riskier than yesterday. Hunched over the control board, Gary didn’t see me come in.
Maria, however, looked concerned.
“I thought Frankie was supposed to be here by lunch?” she whispered as she pulled me to the side.
“He’s coming down with something, but he should be here soon.” I felt like shit lying to her, but I had no idea what else to say.
Hey, Maria. No one knows where the man who’s supposed to record a duet with your daughter today is. But he did get drunk last night and threw himself one hell of a pity party, so chances are, he’ll be gone anywhere from two days to two weeks.
In my peripheral, Brooklyn was waving at me.
“I’m just nervous,” Maria confessed. “This is such a big deal for Izzy.”
“It’ll be fine.” I offered her a smile. “These things happen all the time. He hasn’t been feeling well for a couple of days.”
The song ended and I heard the rattle of the door. Then Ashton was pushing one of the cases down the hallway, and Levi was right behind him with his camera bag in tow. I almost wanted to tell them to hold off on setting up the gear but realized that would only alarm the rest of the team and the band.
Frustration pinched my chest.
“Let me see what his assistant says,” I told Maria and followed Brooklyn to the small lounge at the quieter end of the building.
“I thought you two were coming together,” she sputtered, shutting the door so we could both have a breakdown in private.
“I had to leave early to get Ashton’s car out of impound. Roman was supposed to drive him here.”
“I cannot believe this shit.” She stilled and squeezed the bridge of her nose.
“Did you call Corey?”
“He hasn’t spoken to Frank since last night.”
Artists were eccentric, but dropping from the face of the Earth today of all days?
“You said to give him space.” I threw my hands in the air, unable to control my emotions. My head spun from the raging pain zapping through it. “Now he’s probably somewhere halfway to Vegas, drunk and with a broken shoulder!”
“You need to cool the fuck down.” Brooklyn shoved her finger into my c
hest, her voice taut with anger.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I slapped her hand away. “You can just say it. You don’t like me. You’ve never liked me. But I seem to be the only one who wants him to get better.”
Her face twisted. “And you don’t tell me how to do my job.” She whirled around and marched over to the door.
“Where are you going?”
She gave me a sideways glance. “To look for Frank.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re not. You’re staying here.”
It hit me then. Being Frankie Blade’s girlfriend wouldn’t be easy. I’d be responsible for his every word and every mistake. People would be looking at me the way Isabella looked at me when I returned to the recording room—with bitter disappointment in her eyes.
I promised her she’d be heard. Instead, I’d let her down.
Frank’s no-show stunt made me feel like a complete failure of a person. I could only postpone the news for so long. It was nearing dinnertime when the message I’d dreaded all day popped up on my phone.
Brooklyn: He just came back home drunk and tried to fire me. I wouldn’t wait up.
What do you want me to do?
Brooklyn: It’s your project. Studio time is paid for.
I put my phone away and summoned the leftovers of my self-control to make an announcement. “It doesn’t look like Frankie will be able to join us today after all.”
A collective gasp filled the room.
“I know this is a big deal for you all.” Lying to everyone’s faces made me sick to my stomach. “He truly is sorry, but he hasn’t been well these past few days.”
I stood in the center of everyone and willed my mind to block their accusatory gazes.
“Is he going to be okay?” Story asked, fingering the strings on his guitar.
“Hopefully.” I despised myself for this farce. Frank wasn’t ill. He was a coward. “I do think we should finish the single.” I turned to look at Gary, unsure if he was up for it.
The man gave me a one-shoulder shrug. “I’m good until midnight.”