One Last Verse

by N. N. Britt

  I wasn’t sure what exactly I felt at that moment. Pity, sadness, anxiety, or anger. He clung to me like a metal object to a magnet. Even after I’d harmed him. It was perverse.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” he rasped softly. It rattled in the cool air between us like the fragments of our broken relationship.

  I closed the door to make sure we didn’t wake Ashton. My head spun. I could feel Frank’s despair deep down in my body, but my pride rebelled against his natural charm.

  “You’re drunk,” I said quietly, taking him in. Apart from the sling being in place again and a couple of scabs littering his wrist, he was fine physically. My heart pounded somewhere in my throat and my voice was a measly squeal.

  He moved closer so that the space separating us shrunk to a few inches. “I’m sorry.”

  Still conflicted, I stepped back until my head brushed the cold wall of the building. “Why are you here? And how did you get here?”

  “Roman brought me. And I’m here because I wanted to see you. You’re not answering my texts.”

  “I think I have a right to be upset.”

  “Yes. Yes, you do. And I’m really sorry for flaking. Please come back.”

  Eyes clouded, Frank leaned forward to snatch a kiss. He wasn’t as wasted as before, but I didn’t know what to expect from him at this point. After the madness I’d witnessed the other night, I had no clue what he was capable of. The fact that he didn’t care someone might see him here with me, drunk, told me he’d completely ignored his sense of self-preservation.

  “Don’t.” I rested my palm on his chest. “You humiliated me.”

  “I’m lost without you.”

  “You’re not lost without me, Frank. You’re just lost. And you don’t need me to show you the way. I tried. Look where it got us. You need to figure it out on your own.”

  “Don’t say shit like that, baby. You know you belong with me.” He rocked forward and his body lingered against mine. The closeness was intoxicating and I hated everything about it.

  “Frank.” I grabbed his chin. “How am I going to tell a nineteen-year-old girl you don’t want to work with her anymore after you commissioned a fucking PR campaign for a single you were supposed to record together?”

  “This has nothing to do with Isabella.” He shook his head. “I’m still producing the album. Studio time, marketing, venue. I’ll cover all the expenses.”

  There he was with his wallet, showing off his money.

  “This film is important to me. It’s not something I’m doing to boost my ego. I believe in Isabella’s talent and I believe she, her story, needs to be heard. I love you, but I won’t sacrifice my life and my career to be with you unless you have an idea of where you’re headed. People come and go. They don’t stay. You know it. I know it. And if you can’t make up your mind about whether you want to stick around or keep walking, I can’t be with you. I can’t let you put me on the spot. I can’t let you embarrass me in front of people I work with. My credibility and my professionalism are all I have.”

  His gaze was dark, deep, and full of questions. “I don’t want to write music or perform anymore.”

  “You decided that halfway through recording a song with another artist?”

  “Look at me. I can’t even button my shirt. Who wants to see someone like me on stage?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Self-pity doesn’t suit you, Frank. You have a lot more than you think. You can walk.”

  We stared at each other in silence. His hot, tingly breath licked my cheeks. I wasn’t sure he understood what I meant. His eyes seemed distant one second and stormy the next.

  “So you’re just going to leave me now that I need you the most?” he finally asked, pressing me to the wall.

  “I’ve been there for you, Frank. Through all your drunk nights. I asked you to get help, but you kept pushing me away. You ignored me, then you fucked up my project and put a stain on my name.” I paused to get more air. “But you know what the worst part is? The worst part is that I’m in a state of constant terror. For myself and for you. Because you keep challenging death, and my heart can’t take it anymore.”

  Our bodies lined up and I felt the buzz. Even drunk, Frank was still hot like a flame. The gentle graze of his knuckles against my cheek and the hard press of his chest against my breasts made me dizzy.

  I missed this, him being so radiant with me. The intimacy we had wasn’t just about sex. It was about the stories we exchanged, about the breakfasts we shared, about the evenings we spent staring at the ocean. Our lives were intertwined like the strands of a rope.

  “I’m getting help.” I heard him whisper, then his lips touched my temple. “I promise it won’t happen again. I promise you’ll never ever have to be scared again.”

  “Okay.” I inhaled deeply. His scent—sex, money, depression, and expensive cologne—filled my lungs. “What kind of help? What’s your plan? I need to know.”

  “Will you come back?”

  “What’s your plan, Frank?”

  Hungrily, his mouth captured mine. The kiss caught me off guard, and the soft brush of his lips sent shivers down my spine. My brain told me to push the man away. My heart told me to stop listening to my brain. It was a lost battle, and I gave in. Our tongues met. Our breaths lingered. We were spent from the adrenaline racing through us as we continued to indulge in each other.

  I couldn’t remember the last time Frank had kissed me like this, with this much despair and need. Or had he ever kissed me like this?

  I almost caved. I almost asked him to come inside so I could put him to sleep in my tiny bed and cuddle against his rock solid body.

  Almost.

  Then I remembered how ashamed I felt the day he didn’t show up at Gary’s studio. My reputation was all I had and he jeopardized it by pulling out of “Afterburn” in such a shitty manner.

  “Frank,” I whispered, breaking the kiss as my chest heaved. “It’s best if you leave before someone sees you.”

  “Who the fuck cares? We’re all over the internet, doll. You’re my girlfriend. I don’t want to leave without you.” Stubbly cheek squished to mine, he slid his hand to the back of my neck. “Come home.”

  My stomach tightened. “I can’t be in that house with you when I’m not sure what you might break next. Your furniture or your neck.”

  “I really am sorry things got out of control. I promise it won’t happen again.”

  “Can you promise you won’t ride or get behind the wheel?”

  “You fucked up my bike and my garage door and I’m still here, begging you to come back.”

  He didn’t answer my question. “I think distance is a wise choice for us.”

  He sighed heavily as we stood in silence, cheek to cheek. His hand on my neck and his fingers threaded in my hair felt familiar yet strange.

  I cupped his face and looked him in the eye. “Levi and I are about to secure the venue. I have tons of work and you should figure out where you want to go from here.”

  “I don’t want to figure anything out without you.”

  “I shouldn't be part of the equation. You need to do it for yourself. Not for me. Not for anyone else.”

  I suspected this conversation was pointless. He didn’t get me. He hadn’t come here to talk about what had gone wrong between us and why. He’d come here because he wanted me to pat his back and tell him how unfair the world was.

  News flash. The world was unfair. Just not to him. It was unfair to people like Isabella, people who didn’t have the backing of millions of dollars and industry friends, people who couldn’t afford expensive surgeries, people who were overlooked because they didn’t meet the horrible standards of what society thought was acceptable to be a star.

  The world was indeed shit. And the one chance Frank had to make it better, he’d fucked up.

  “I can’t do this alone, doll.” His voice was small, shattered even.

  “You’re not alone, Frank. You have your parents and I’m still here, but we nee
d to have this conversation when you’re sober.”

  “The house is empty without you. My life is empty without you.”

  My hands slid down his chest. “Go home.” I adored his words. I just couldn’t get over the fact he didn’t tell me any of this when he wasn’t drunk.

  Chapter Eight

  Frank was quiet for a few days.

  The texting and flower deliveries stopped. I wondered whether it was the liquor that was keeping him occupied or Billy. I called Brooklyn twice, only to hear her snobby “you should be here” lines.

  Problem was, the damage had already been done. Despite Isabella’s overwhelming Spotify and Apple Music streaming stats, Frank’s sudden exit from the project cost us several sponsors, which didn’t sit well with Maria or Levi, or anyone on our team, for that matter.

  The Hall Affinity album release party invite reminder that hit my inbox on Wednesday morning was like another nail in the coffin. I’d been so preoccupied with the duet disaster and my own broken love life that I’d forgotten about the event completely.

  Later that night, when I was already in bed, Frank’s name flashed across the screen of my phone

  Don’t pick up, my pride whispered.

  As if on cue, stupid butterflies filled my stomach. My need to hear him was bigger than my hate toward everything he’d become. So I answered.

  “Hey, doll.” His voice on the line seemed abnormally sharp. Was he sober?

  “Hey.” I stared at the empty space in front of me, waiting. My wounded heart hammered.

  The silence between us thickened.

  “I need to see you before I leave town,” he finally said. As always, the man was blunt.

  Inside me, I heard something snap, the soft, barely there sound of my self-respect cracking from the weight of his broken-man charm. It was impossible to remain indifferent when a man spoke to a woman the way Frank spoke to me—irreverently. Boldly. Without holding anything back. Without fearing he’d sound weak. “Where are you going?”

  “There’s a rehabilitation center in Arizona…” The sentence slowly died on his lips.

  I felt the air tremble as his words reached my ears and swirled in my head.

  “I’m sorry about scaring you,” he continued in a hushed tone. “And I’m sorry about showing up at your place the other night. I want to fix this. Us. Our relationship. What we had.”

  Emotions swelled in my chest. “I’m glad you’re doing it, Frank.”

  “It’s a three-month program. I’ll probably have limited access to phone or email.”

  “Phones are evil,” I joked. “I’d burn mine if I could.”

  “I’m sorry for all the shitstorm in the press.”

  “It is what it is. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to go public. I only wish the timing had been better.”

  “I promise things will be different when I come back, doll. Just don’t give up on me.”

  “I’m not giving up on you, Frank. It was you who gave up on you. I know you understand why I need time to myself.”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “In a couple of weeks, but I have to see you before then. I miss you.”

  I was melting like ice cream that’s been shoved into a microwave. I didn’t like how easily he’d manipulated me into feeling the way I was feeling at that moment—lost.

  “I miss you too,” I confessed.

  “Then why aren’t you here with me?”

  “You know why.”

  He quieted for a few moments, then asked, “I disappointed you, didn’t I?”

  My throat felt tight and my voice grew tiny. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to keep saying you’re sorry, Frank. I know you are. I also don’t want you to promise me anything until you get the help you need.”

  “It’s going to be okay, doll. Just give me a little time.”

  His whisper was like a warm balm, soothing me with reassurance. I heard it in the faint pull of his breath and the subtle change of his tone. He wanted to get better.

  “You have all the time you need,” I said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You better not. We’re worldwide, remember?”

  A silly smile stretched my lips. At that moment, my heart believed him.

  “Look, Frank, I’d love to chat some more, but Levi and I are meeting with the manager of Melrose Cinema tomorrow morning. I’m hoping to lock in that venue and I don’t want to look like a zombie. I should get some sleep.”

  “Melrose Cinema?” Frank drawled, curious. “Isn’t that the red building on the corner of San Vicente?”

  “Yes. It is. Have you been inside?” My inner geek came out and I went on to describe the interior. The owner of the place was a retired entrepreneur who’d work for Warner Brothers back in the ’80s. His daughter, who managed the theater, was a tough woman to catch. Apparently, she handled several properties, and I hoped to impress her with our proposal. The venue was perfect. Location, capacity, vibe.

  “I don’t think I’ve been inside the building,” Frank finally said. “But we used to play in the club across the street. Right after I moved to L.A. They closed the place down in 2006.”

  “When was the last time you went to the movies?”

  “Hmmm, good question. I don’t remember.”

  “Do you want to go?”

  “To the movies?”

  “Yes.”

  He paused and I sensed his hesitation. Part of me wanted to rescind the offer. People like Frank didn’t go to the movies. Theaters were for regular folks who wouldn’t be recognized in public. Besides, the tabloids weren’t being kind to him right now.

  “You know what?” I shoved the thought to the back of my head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a really stupid idea.”

  “No, no. It’s a great idea.” He perked up. “How about tomorrow?”

  A ragged breath left my lungs. “I have a lot work.”

  “I have to see you, Cassy. I’ll be in the middle of nowhere for three months with no access to phone or internet. I can’t go without talking to you. You know we need to. One night. Let’s have one night to ourselves. Just me and you and nothing else; so I can take these memories with me instead of the bad ones.”

  He was too hard to resist. “Okay, but I’ll drive. I don’t want Roman taking us around town in a limo. Only the two of us.”

  “Okay. Fair enough. But in my car. We’re going in style.”

  “Deal. I’ll see you tomorrow. Let’s say five?” I couldn’t believe I was agreeing to this after everything that had happened between us, but deep down, I knew Frank needed closure. So did I.

  “Do you have a movie in mind that you want to see?” he asked.

  “I’m going to consult Google and get back to you on that sometime in the morning.”

  “It’s a date then, baby.”

  I hadn’t been this excited about a movie since the third grade when our mother took us to the Chinese Theater to see Harry Potter. That night, our father had come along and bought us a super-size popcorn pack and a bag of candy. Ashton and I had spent the first half of the movie fighting over the food and missed everything, but those three hours were still the best three hours of my entire childhood. For once, we weren’t a crippled version of a family. We were simply a family, and it’d felt incredibly nice, although it hadn’t lasted long enough for me to get used to it. Later, at home, our father had gotten so drunk, he’d slept on the couch because he couldn’t make it to the bedroom.

  When I was a child, life enjoyed teasing me with the things I knew I could never have, but I made sure I did better as an adult. To have all those things I’d missed out on. To do all those things my father had never cared to do with me.

  Freshly washed and polished, Frank’s Ferrari was sitting outside when I pulled into his driveway. Roman hung back on the terrace. Billy and Hannah were in the kitchen, cooking. Or rather, Hannah was cooking and Billy
was monitoring. His diabetes had been acting up lately and he was on a strict diet. I stopped for a second to say hello and made my way to the west wing.

  I found Frank in the bedroom. All dressed up, sling in place, he was putting the finishing touches to his hair. Music boomed in the background.

  “You’re taking this very seriously.” Shoulder against the doorframe, I took him in. These past few days that we hadn’t seen each other had done wonders. He’d shaved. Light pink colored his cheeks and his eyes shone bright, just like the night we met. I could tell he hadn’t touched the bottle. At least, not since our rendezvous outside my place. Everything about his outfit, black shirt that clung to his chest seductively, dark jeans that accentuated his long legs, boots that had probably seen better days, screamed hot, available, and a little dirty.

  Frank Wallace was playing for keeps tonight.

  “Of course, two hours of Blake Lively.” He smirked and circled around. “How do I look?”

  “You look like a man who’s competent enough to take care of himself in the movie theater if things get too hot on screen,” I retorted with a grin.

  “Are you jealous of Blake Lively?” Smug smile still on his lips, Frank walked toward me. My body drew tight. Then suddenly, he turned me and pressed my back against the doorframe.

  My knees buckled. “You really need to stop fantasizing about other women.” I jutted my chin and ogled the fine lines in his face.

  “There’s only one woman I’m fantasizing about.” He leaned in and kissed my cheek. There was an explosion between my legs. Goosebumps ran across my body and my skin burned from the soft touch of his lips. I missed the sober intimacy. I missed the sex and I missed the cuddles and talks after. I missed the showers together. I missed how our crazy schedules didn’t line up. I miss the old gym and healthy lifestyle obsessed Frank. I missed the old not a care in the world over-caffeinated me. I missed us.