One Last Verse

by N. N. Britt

  “How did you find it?” I shot him another question, tossing the pieces of meat around on my plate with my fork.

  “A friend recommended it.”

  “I’m so sorry to bother you,” an unfamiliar voice spoke off to the side. I felt it, the presence of a foreign body. Someone invading my personal space. A stalker? Paparazzi? One of Frank’s fans? Heart in my throat, I tilted my head up to see who it was. A thirtysomething bearded man hunched over our table. Acid bubbled up the back of my throat when he gave me a grin, then followed up with a curt nod. I waited, but nothing came.

  His gaze swept over to Jax.

  “I know I’m probably way out of line here, man”—he tossed his large, heavily inked hands in the air—“but me and my wife are huge fans. We loved you on Mad Ink. Just came out here for a weekend from Minnesota.”

  Relief instantly replaced my agitation. Always expecting people to approach me in public by default, I’d forgotten about Jax’s TV show appearance.

  Smiling, he dropped his utensils on the table and held out a hand for a shake. “Thank you, brother. I appreciate it.”

  A large woman with dark curly hair and thick makeup, most likely the beard’s wife, was barreling her way through the cluster of tables.

  “Any word on the second season?” The man asked.

  “No second season.”

  “Bummer.”

  “I know, but it is what it is, brother.” Jax fished out his business card from the front pocket of his jacket and handed it to the beard. “Hey, if you want to get some ink, come see me.”

  “I’d love to, but we’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “Whenever you’re in town again.”

  The wife finally made it to our table. More handshaking and fangirling took place. I watched them through a curtain of hazy blur. My head, my mouth, my limbs were like cotton.

  “I’m so sorry again, but do you mind taking a photo with us?” The beard whipped out his cell phone. “Please.”

  Jax stood. “Sure. Absolutely.”

  A cell phone was thrust at me. I took it and scrambled to my feet.

  The Minnesotans sandwiched my date and grimaced for the camera. People inside the restaurant stared at us as I clicked the button. Moments later the couple was gone. Their squeals still rang in my ears when we settled back down.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Jax said with an apologetic smile on his lips.

  “It’s okay. I…” I paused mid-sentence, unsure whether he needed to hear about my regular run-ins with the paparazzi and creepy fans of my ex.

  The silence that swelled at the table felt heavy. Like my head.

  Jax cleared his throat. “Just so you know, I’m not a stalker or anything, but I heard about you and Frankie Blade.”

  My pulse jumped. “Oh.” I bit my bottom lip and continued to stare.

  “It’s none of my business,” Jax said, then went on, “You don’t have to tell me anything or explain anything. I’m just really glad you texted.”

  “It’s over,” I said quietly.

  He tilted his head in question.

  “Between me and him,” I explained. I had no idea why I was telling that to my tattoo artist. Except that I needed to vocalize it to someone other than my mirror reflection, to manifest my break-up as something real. Frank and I weren’t anything anymore. We parted ways over a month ago. Because I was suffocating him with my goodness, because he couldn’t keep his promises, because he was like everyone else—a rich ass who didn’t see how lucky he was, a selfish child who was wasting the second chance he’d been given.

  “I like you, Cassy,” Jax said quietly. “I really do. You’re funny. You’re smart. You know what you want.”

  “Except when I need a new tat.” I stifled a giggle.

  “Well, for that, you have me.” He smirked.

  “True. Sometimes I get tired of making all the major decisions.”

  “I know you’re probably not in a good place right now, but I really want this to work.”

  My throat was tight with sudden panic. I wanted it to work too. I’d never had a boyfriend before Frank. Men came and went. Kind of like tampons. Or seasons. Now that I’d gotten a taste of a real relationship, I wanted someone to cuddle with, someone as uncomplicated as Jax. Someone with a job, someone who liked rock music, and someone who wouldn’t scream, drunk-drool, and embarrass me in front of hundreds of people.

  Was that too much to ask?

  “Why don’t we pretend we just met,” I said, reaching for my glass to finish my drink.

  “We can do that,” Jax agreed. “Whatever pace you want this to move at.”

  “You’re very…” I stopped to look for the right word, but my brain was a spinning inferno. “…nice.”

  His features remained calm, but his eyes changed. There was a shift in the air. I felt it with every numb cell in my body. I didn’t know what it was. Apprehension. Malevolence. My drunk mind couldn't process his signals correctly.

  We talked some more and ordered dessert. Our conversation revolved around Jax’s work on the TV show and my larger than life documentary project that was failing miserably. We left late. I was inelegantly drunk and my mouth refused to stay shut. The streets were filled with people. Nightlife was at its peak. We drove along the busy stretch of Sunset Boulevard, top down and radio up.

  “Thank you for tonight,” I said when the car came to a stop at a red light.

  “Thank you for coming.” Jax turned his head to look at me. His face was a pleasant blur. I felt his palm slide over mine. He laced our fingers together ever so carefully. My body drew tight with awareness, but there were no sparks and electricity like with Frank, and I wondered if the fuck like a rock star expression implied that regular people didn’t click with each other the way rich, famous, and shamelessly hot did. Although I had to admit, Jax was insanely handsome. He’d caught my attention the moment I met him, but then again, we’d met before Frank came along.

  A commercial replaced a Five Finger Death Punch song on the radio.

  “Have you ever been to a car show?” Jax asked, his voice meshing with the hum of the traffic.

  “A long time ago.”

  “Would you like to go with me sometime next month?”

  “It depends on when. If it’s after the screening, I’d love to,” I yelled over the noise that swirled in the intersection.

  The first beats of the next song poured at us from the speakers. It took me a few moments to recognize the melody. My spine stiffened when Dante’s guitar pierced the air. I wanted to pull my hand out of Jax’s grip, but my body was so numb from all the drinks I’d had earlier at the restaurant that I just sat there like a statue, holding my breath, until the light turned green and the car moved.

  The song was from the new album. Hearing Dante and Frank together felt strange. They didn’t even speak anymore, yet millions of people were probably eating, kissing, or making love to their music right now. It was a moody ballad. A little dark and dramatic, but with a touch of tender light. The notes filtered through me, healing and hurting. Eventually, the music and memories became too much.

  “Do you like Slipknot?” I asked Jax after I lowered the volume. My voice and my hands shook.

  We were on the freeway. The wind swept my hair against my cheeks and stung my bare shoulders.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” He nodded and flashed me a grin.

  I docked my phone and opened my heavy metal playlist. A wall of angry sounds hit us a moment later.

  “You’re my kind of girl, Cassy.” Jax laughed.

  I smiled and let the song carry me into dark bliss. The ragged rhythm of my shattered heart matched the drums, and the hum of my pulse followed the bass thrum. When all else failed, music always came to my rescue. Music was my one true love, my driving force, my best friend, my pillow to cry on, my punching bag. Unlike people, music was always there when I needed it most.

  My recognition returned by the time the convertible rolled through my neighborho
od. The dog walkers and the runners were hidden in their condos, and the street was empty and quiet.

  Jax pulled up to the curb. I noted him putting the gear in Neutral, which could only mean one thing, he didn’t plan on letting me leave too soon. A disturbing knot twisted my stomach. I disconnected my phone and the music stopped. The silence between us thickened with each passing second.

  “I had a great time,” Jax said, shifting toward me. His eyes roamed my face.

  “Me too.” It was a partial lie. This date had given me whiplash. I’d gone from the lowest low of self-doubt to the highest high of drunk overconfidence at least a dozen times since he’d picked me up from this very spot four hours ago.

  Then it happened. He leaned forward and his face neared mine. I knew what was coming, but my body failed to respond to the pleas of my brain. I couldn’t explain the reason behind my stupor. Was it alcohol? Was it jealousy?

  There were no fireworks when our lips collided. He had a nice mouth. Soft, warm, and positively unmemorable. It was like any other man that had kissed me before Frank.

  “I’m sorry,” I squealed, pulling back. My heart banged against my ribs so hard, I could barely breathe. “I can’t do this, Jax. I really do enjoy your company, but I don’t like you the way you like me.” My voice leaked torment.

  He stared at me with lost eyes, resolve and disappointment crossing his face. His breath, hot and minty from the gum, fanned against my cheeks.

  I snapped out of my half-drunken stupor and hurried to unfasten my seatbelt. “I’m sorry I led you on.” My trembling whisper filled the cold stillness surrounding us. “You’re a very nice guy. I just don’t think I’m ready.”

  All the blood in my veins rushed to my head. My entire face, including the tips of my ears, burned with embarrassment.

  Jax slid back into his seat and rested both hands on the steering wheel. “I guess it’s true what they say.” His throat bobbed as he spoke. “Nice guys finish last.”

  I wasn’t sure he wanted to hear encouraging words from me.

  “I’m sorry.” I pushed the door open and climbed out of the car. “Thank you for dinner.” Our gazes locked one last time.

  “Good night, Cassy,” he said with a sad smile.

  “Good night.”

  I stumbled through the empty courtyard, fighting the sudden tears. Ashton was still awake, watching TV, and for a second, I envied the simplicity of his life. His biggest problem was getting into a community college. He hadn’t had his soul crushed by the idol from his adolescent dreams. He didn’t have a huge nonprofit project that was failing to meet all possible deadlines. He didn’t have people trolling his social media or strangers emailing him even stranger photos.

  “Was the date that bad?” he bellowed from the couch as I trudged past him into my room.

  “Don’t talk to me for a week, will ya?” I slammed the door shut and tossed my purse on the chair. My head was full of cotton. My lips, still numb from the failed kiss, quivered. Flames of anger danced inside my stomach.

  Kicking off my booties, I scrambled for my phone and hid in the bathroom. The ache swirling deep in my chest pushed and pulled, threatening to crack my ribs open. My pulse roared. Back against the cold tiled wall, I dialed Frank’s number and waited.

  Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice message system recording…

  The line beeped.

  “You know what, Frank?” I began, my voice slurring and stuttering. “I hate you. I hate you for all the broken promises. I really thought you were different. I thought you understood what I was and what this project meant for me and for all the people involved when you agreed to be part of it, but you’re just like everyone else. Just another ignorant and selfish asshole who hides behind his money, who’d rather crawl back into his hole and watch the world and people in it go down in flames.” My throat was tight with worry. Tears swelled in my eyes. “I hate you because you won’t let me move on. You let me down and I’m all alone sorting through your shit. I wish I’d never met you. I wish I’d never known you, because I can’t fucking unlove you. I can’t fucking get you out of my head and it’s driving me nuts. It’s suffocating me. But I suppose you know a thing or two about that since my goodness is too much for you. Since you’d rather wallow in self-pity and let the alcohol numb the pain. I wish you’d seen it through. I wish you’d understood you’d been given a second chance for a reason. I wish you’d let go of the past and let music take you on a new journey. I wish you’d accepted your failures and moved on.”

  Tears spilled down my cheeks. My sobs muffled my speech. “I wish you’d let me be there for you instead of pushing me away. I wish you’d kept your promises. I wish you’d loved me back at least a little bit. At least for a second… I gave you my heart. I gave up everything I had for you—my career, my sleep, my sanity, my reputation, my privacy. And you know what you gave me? Memories that hurt and bruises to my soul. I don’t know how to stop thinking of you, how to stop worrying about you, and how to stop loving you. And I hate you for that. For making me love you so much.” My lungs were out of air. I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the blurred screen. There were more words, but they felt like an afterthought. Everything that I wanted and needed to say had been said.

  So I hung up.

  I woke up late with a mean hangover and it took me a good minute to will my eyes to open. Ashton had gone to school and the apartment felt abnormally silent. I slid from the bed and wandered around in search of my phone. Vague memories of the overly emotional voicemail I left for Frank after the unsuccessful date with my tattoo artist swarmed in my head.

  Melodramatic seemed like a good word to describe yesterday’s verbal diarrhea. One more reason to stay away from drinks. They made me absolutely irrational.

  My phone was still in the bathroom. It sat on the counter, battery low, screen full of notifications. Deep down, I knew I wasn’t going to find any messages from Frank. We were past the point of no return. It’d been over a month since he’d disappeared. Yet I still looked. I skimmed through all my texts and all my inboxes. I even listened to all my voicemails. Most were from reporters wanting to talk about Frank. A couple wanted to speak about Dante. His exit from the band was still the hottest topic in music. And then there was one from a person I didn’t expect.

  Hi, Cassy. This is Margerie Helm. I’m writing to see if you’re still looking for a venue. I understand you might be hesitant to reach out to me since my initial reaction to certain events that were publicized online was very strong and I decided not to move forward with our arrangement; however, I’ve had a conversation with a friend of yours who wishes to stay anonymous at this time and some things that were brought to my attention during our chat made me reconsider my decision. So I’d like to meet Isabella. I’ll be at the theater all day tomorrow and Thursday. Give me a call back when you can.

  Chapter Twelve

  I adored April. Mornings were fresh. Evenings were crisp. It was the perfect month and we had the perfect venue, the beautiful Melrose Cinema that sat on the corner of Doheny and San Vicente, at the far end of the infamous half-mile-long stretch known as the Sunset Strip.

  Matters of my ruptured heart had to be put on hold.

  Margerie Helm had never revealed the name of the person who’d reached out to her, but all signs pointed to Frank.

  Almost three months later, he was still off the grid. Silent and invisible like a drop in the ocean while his million-dollar empire was being torn apart, trashed, and tarnished.

  The worst comeback of all time. That was how the newly postponed Hall Affinity World Tour was dubbed by the press. The label’s attempt to replace Dante after his sudden exit was met with a huge backlash from disgruntled fans. Nobody wanted to see Marshall Burns and a random guitarist doing karaoke.

  Without the Toxic Twins 2.0, Hall Affinity was just another nostalgia band. A piece of history. A bundle of memories. Memories I had to let go of to make more room for the new ones. Without Frank.


  Maybe it was my psychotic voicemail that had kicked his conscience into gear or maybe it was his desire to simply correct some of his mistakes before moving on to a new chapter of his life. All that mattered in the end was that we had everything we needed to make a big splash in the industry with Dreamcatchers. Even without Frank’s name on the banners, we were everywhere. On every website and in every inbox. An unstoppable force.

  Sleep wasn’t my friend the night before the screening. My head spun in dozens of different directions, like a broken carousel at a deserted amusement park. My brain obsessed over every little detail. After endless hours of tossing, turning, and staring at the ceiling, I gave up. The first rays of light had already sneaked into my room through the opening between the curtains. Trying to chase a sliver of sleep while the rest of the city was waking up seemed pointless.

  In the living room, Ashton was snoring up a storm as I tiptoed to the kitchen to make coffee. Nothing bothered my brother, not even the close proximity of technology. He slept with his laptop near and his phone clutched in his hand. It was equally disturbing and endearing.

  I spent the first half of the morning consuming caffeine while responding to urgent emails and working on Dreamcatcher’s social media posts. My personal accounts were still set to private, but the number of weird messages and follow requests from people I didn’t know had been declining steadily.

  My short-lived affair with Frank was becoming a thing of the past. Finally!

  At nine thirty, I marched back into the living room to wake up Ashton.

  “Rise and shine, brother!” The teddy bear in the corner was grinning as always. “Big day today. Gotta go save the world.”

  “Already?” I heard a groan and saw his chips and guacamole socks hanging off the end of the couch, which made me question us being related again. I didn’t understand how a person this long could have come out of someone as small as my mother.