by Frankie Love
I can’t speak.
“Say it, Evangeline. Say I mean nothing more than a fuck. Say it.”
I can’t speak.
“I don’t care about this music. I care about the money, but I can find money another way.”
“You’d give it all up for me? A girl you’ve known one day?”
“I already told you, Evangeline—you are singular.”
I shake my head, squeeze shut my eyes.
“Say it,” he presses. “Say this means nothing.”
He’s a fool to consider throwing away the start of a future, for me.
I wouldn’t want him to.
And my father will hold this against him. My father will make it impossible for him. My father has ideas about me—about the girl I should be—and Cash Flow has no part in his plans.
And, yes, I am going to break from my dad’s ideals, but not by dragging Cash into the fray. He deserves a clean cut, a real chance.
Cassius deserves the world.
And this is the only way I can think of to hand it to him, this stranger who stole my heart in the space of a day.
“This means nothing,” I tell him, the cold words the kindest gift I can give him. But I know he doesn’t see it that way.
His hand raises, punches the garage behind me. Wood breaks, his knuckles bleed. His heart spills before me with a strength he can’t contain.
“I did not see that coming,” he tells me.
And then he walks away.
Chapter Fourteen
Cassius
Fourteen straight days in the studio.
I don’t want to think. I don’t want to do anything besides sink my teeth into the lyrics—even the ones I hate—because that’s better than giving into my thoughts. They are all bitter. Cold. Hard.
Gentle Evangeline isn’t so gentle after all.
That girl played me.
And I’m still mind fucked over what went down in her driveway.
Now, the album is done. Getting remastered. And I’m going on tour with Elle Camino tomorrow.
I’m fucking ready to get out of LA, to disappear on stage night after night.
Elle and I are in the studio together; we just listened to my entire album. It was a dream come true to have this girl from my hometown, who has come farther than anyone I know, sit beside me. She has legit chops, and I want to hear her opinion.
But it was also torture. I see every one of my flaws, and I know she’ll see them too.
“Sweetheart, that was off the charts!” Elle Camino gives me a fist bump, her braided hair swinging as she jumps around the studio. Her overalls, mesh tank, and Reeboks are a throwback, but this girl is so current. I want to learn to ride her creative wave in the music I create.
“I think track eight is the weakest,” I admit, needing to say something. What I want to do is scream that this album is not what I envisioned, and I am not what I envisioned, and at this point I don’t even care how it sounds.
“You’re looking at it all wrong,” Elle says, plopping down on a stool and shaking her head.
I raise an eyebrow, not believing a word she says.
“I mean it, Cash. Track eight was one of my favorites on the entire album. It’s all so subjective. As an artist, you never know which thing is going to take off, which song will be your hit. That’s why you gotta try, take a risk, listen to the advice from KMG. They know what they’re doing. They’ve been doing it a lot longer than either of us.”
“Your latest album, you were sold on every track you laid?”
She snorts, picking up her iced latte. Her hundred bangle bracelets jangle as she moves. “Not even close. But I infused my heart and soul in it, just like you did, and that’s enough. We can’t have it every way; we can’t be given complete creative license by the label. Hell, if they gave that to me, I think my entire record would be me screaming about the girl who broke my heart. No one wants to listen to that shit.”
I laugh. Elle is straight up.
“I can’t imagine anyone breaking your heart,” I tell her.
“Yeah, well, now I have a new girlfriend, Sasha. She’ll be on tour with us, and she’s amazing, but—”
“But what?”
“But going on tour is hard enough. And I don’t want the stress of all of this to fuck up what she and I have.”
I nod.
“You have someone?” Elle asks. We’ve met a handful of times over the past few weeks, in meetings prepping us for the tour, and at a photo shoot, but we don’t know one another very well. “I mean, I know you used to be with Gina, back in the day. But she’s with Chad now?”
I forget that Elle knows about me from back home. I wonder how much she knows.
I nod again.
“Well, I know it isn’t my business,” she says, “but I’d rather have no one than two people who aren’t looking out for me. You sure they have your back?”
I give her a hard look, because I trust Elle with this shit. She’s walked this road, walked away from home, and she’s still standing.
“I know they don’t,” I tell her coolly.
“Then I think it’s time you broke free—before we leave on tour. This is your time, Cash. Yours.”
“You think it’s that easy?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Honey, nothing worth having is easy. But you need to get your head on straight, and those two aren’t gonna help you do that. You’re all messed up about the album, second-guessing your motives. Do you have anyone in your life you can actually talk this shit through with?”
Of course my mind goes straight to Evangeline. She’s the only person I’ve ever laid it all out for, and she didn’t seem to judge me once.
She saw me.
But that girl caved the moment her father came into the picture.
I can’t help but wonder, if she and I had had more than just one day, what we could have been … but that’s fucking stupid to think about. She goes to Julliard. She’s the princess of the KMG empire. She’s a piano prodigy.
And, fuck yeah, I know how talented she is. I’ve watched her play the piano from YouTube clips back from when she was twelve years old. I memorized the way her fingers glide across the keys—and shit, I know it’s crazy, but I couldn’t help it. That girl found a way into my heart, and the grip is fierce.
I’m not ready to let it go … even if she is.
I just need to get through this two-month tour, get a foothold in this business. Make a plan for myself, then I’ll come back for her.
“The thing is, Elle, cutting ties with them means I’m flying solo. I’ve never done that in my life.”
Elle looks wistful, her lips twisted just like my heart. “Maybe it’s time to see just how high you can fly on your own, Cash.”
I know she’s right. In my gut, I know.
But damn, it’s scary learning how to soar.
Chapter Fifteen
Evangeline
If I call Cassius, I know I’ll break my resolve, and break his focus.
And right now he doesn’t need any extra stress. I’ve been keeping track of his movements via his Twitter account, which I’m guessing his brother is managing. Cash leaves for his tour tomorrow.
If I call him now, I know his priorities will shift. And his music is his one shot. You don’t get many chances like this in life. Ever.
And I don’t think he can see straight. When he pinned me against the garage, his eyes told me he would have dropped everything to be with me. And choosing me would mean losing everything.
Dad may not have my best interests at heart, but that isn’t going to stop him from ditching Cash Flow and finding new talent to take his spot.
When Cassius told me about his mom, how he needs to care for her, I knew then that I would never get in the way of his family.
Because if money could have saved my mom, I would have thrown all the money we had her way.
I didn’t get a chance to save her with blank checks, but Cassius can save his mom with them.<
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So I made a plan for myself that has nothing to do with Cash, that has nothing to do with my father. A plan that only has to do with me.
First, I need to hash things out with my dad.
We haven’t spoken for two weeks.
Radio silence.
When Cash left my driveway in his brother’s car, with his ex-girlfriend, I turned to face my dad, terrified of what he might say.
“You know he beat a man, left him for dead,” Dad said. “He spent a year in prison. Grew up on the streets, in gangs, a police record starting when he was fourteen years old.”
“Yet you signed him.”
“I signed him because he’s the perfect image I’m trying to sell. Nothing more, honey, nothing less. Cash Flow is a cash funnel.”
“You don’t think he’s more than that?”
Dad smirked. “This is why I won’t let you step foot at KMG. You think you can be an intern when you don’t know how the world works? Evangeline, everything is about the bottom line.”
I pushed back, wanting to somehow defend Cassius, even though it was a lost cause. My dad had already won that round. “You let Jack Harris make his own calls with his music,” I said.
“Jack Harris has a different image than Cash, especially now, after all the shit that went down with the media. He’s a songwriter—a serious musician—now.”
“It’s all about the image then?”
“Exactly. I’m a firm negotiator; you’re an innocent pianist, just like your mother wanted you to be. We all have our roles.”
“You’re the one who always pushed me to play,” I said, watching the sun set behind him. The deep pinks and purples painted the sky, and I wanted to brush heavy strokes across the night sky. Blues and blacks. I didn’t want to see something vibrant, when the canvas he depicted was so forcibly bleak.
“Evangeline, your mom was the one with the classical dreams for you. I just indulged her. If you hate it, quit. Go out with what’s-his-name tomorrow, and let’s move on.”
“Go out with Cash?”
Dad laughed, “Cash? No, never. I meant go out with Thomas Bracken tomorrow night, like we planned. Tell him you want a diamond ring, and that I’ll buy you a house anywhere you like.”
“That’s so messed up.”
“I want you to have someone, so I know you’re taken care of.”
“You don’t want to be responsible for me?”
Dad exhaled. “I want you happy, so you don’t end up like your mother.”
“Dad, don’t.” I shook my head, not wanting to hear anymore. I know why my mother died, but I didn’t want dad to rehash it right there, right then. Not like that. The day had been too big, too long, too deep, and too wide already. “I need some space.”
He called after me: “No seeing that Cash boy, or his deal with me is done. You understand?”
I understood.
My dad holds power over Cash. But he doesn’t hold any power over me.
Not any more.
I call my cousin Jude. We meet for drinks at a hipster spot I’d never go to on my own. Newspaper clippings cover the walls, reporting on horse races from sixty years ago; black-and-white films of old Kentucky Derby races play through a projector.
It’s the middle of the day, and the bar is nearly empty. I see Jude in the back, in an oak booth.
“Hey, little cousin, long time no see,” Jude says, as I slide into the booth. He’s drinking bourbon out of a mason jar, from what I can tell.
Jude is all brooding eyes, grit, and tattoo—but he has a heart of gold.
That’s why I called him.
He has a reputation for always looking out for the underdogs, and right now, that’s me. Dad doesn’t seem to think I can make something on my own—but more than that, I’m wondering if I can.
“Thanks for meeting me,” I say. the waitress swings by, and I order an iced tea.
“Of course—though, I have to say I was surprised. Since when did you not have a life plan?”
“You know that plan was never my own.”
“My mom thinks you’re making a mistake.”
“You told your mom about this?” I ask, surprised. But as I lean back in my booth, looking at him, I remember that he and his mom were always close. Just like my mom and me—the only difference being, my mom wanted me to be a pianist, pushed for that, while my Aunt Katy never pushed Jude into a certain path. Jude carved his own, always.
Two very different sisters, who both had two very different children.
Still, Jude is the only cousin I’ve got.
“It’s not a mistake,” I tell him. “I just need a chance to figure it all out.”
“You’re so talented, Evie. You want to give that up to work as a gopher on my set?”
I look at him, hard. “Do you ever just want a redo, a second chance? An opportunity to make your life the one you want?”
He smiles, softly, and I know I’ve hit a nerve.
“How’s Rachel?” I ask.
Jude shakes his head. “Rachel is Rachel. Same as always.”
“You’ve been dating for like a year, though, right? And you’re living together?”
“Yeah. But enough about me.” He takes a drink. “You dating anyone?”
I lick my lips, won’t meet his eye.
“Guess neither of us want to talk relationships.” He runs his hand over his jaw. “Listen, I’ll get you a job. Of course I will. And my buddy Holden says you can stay at his guest house.”
“What?” I ask, indignant. “I thought I was crashing at your place?”
“Rachel doesn’t exactly want company.”
“Oh.” I roll my eyes, not quite understanding why a guy like Jude, who’s made a real name for himself, can’t seem to have a nice girlfriend. “Well, wouldn’t want to intrude on your love bubble.”
“Right,” Jude laughs sharply. “Love bubble.”
We’re quiet, and I don’t know how exactly to express my gratitude for him taking care of me.
“If my mom were alive, she’d make me stay at Julliard. Dad, though, he doesn’t care what I do.” I swallow, look up at Jude, knowing that right now he’s here, and willing to hear me. “It makes me wish everything were different.”
“You can’t wish your mom back, Evie.” Jude rolls the ice in his glass. “And we both know your relationship with her was fucked up in a lot of ways. It was built on you proving you were enough to make her happy.”
“I wasn’t enough to make her stay.”
“It’s not your fault she killed herself.” Jude’s voice is steady, and I don’t want to look at him. In the nine months since mom died, no one talks about what really happened.
All we know is she wanted something she didn’t have, something she didn’t think she could find anywhere on Earth.
“So you don’t want to play the fucking piano, that’s fine.” Jude says, a voice of reason. “In the end, you can’t live your life for anyone but yourself.”
“Life is easier, though, when you only make choices that you know will make other people happy.”
Jude shrugs. “Evie, I’m the patron saint of lost causes. You don’t need to tell me what I already know.”
I smile. “Yet you’re still living with Rachel.”
He smirks, knowing he needs to take his own medicine. “I can give you job, a place to live—but heaven knows I don’t have all the answers.”
“You’re giving me enough,” I tell him. “More than enough. Now, I need to stand on my own.”
Chapter Sixteen
Cassius
Chad’s pissed.
Well, that isn’t even the word.
Livid. Furious. Ready to take me to the motherfucking grave.
I don’t give a shit. Elle was right; this is my time. Evangeline was right; it was a fucked up situation.
“You think you can do this without me?” Chad screams, pacing the living room. I’m leaving for the tour in an hour, but I need to cut ties before I go. I can’t start my
life with his baggage dragging me down.
Gina fumes, ready to pounce. The girl’s claws are fucking out.
She can scratch all she wants. She’s not coming with me.
Maybe I’m a fucking pussy, to wait until the last minute, but better late than never.
“I don’t want your help anymore. I need to focus on the tour, on the thirty-six shows I’m performing before I come back to LA. I swear I haven’t even memorized all the new shit. I can’t do this while you guys are still part of my life. You’re fucking with my head.”
“We are the only ones who’ve stuck by you through everything.”
I laugh sharply. “You haven’t stuck by me, neither of you. Not even close. And you say you want to make a name for yourself as a manager or agent or some shit, Chad? Good. Then go do that. But leave me out of it.”
“You’re such a fucking dumbass. No wonder you were the one to take the fall and end up in prison, all alone.”
“Don’t fucking go there,” I shout, reaching for Chad’s collar, pushing him against the wall. “I got Mom out of this apartment, in a full-time care center while I’m on tour. I’m taking care of all her bills, trying to keep our fucking family together. You don’t get to make me feel like shit for being the only man around here.”
I slam his head against the wall, fury running over my skin.
Gina screams. I push Chad into the plaster wall. A picture falls, and the drywall crumbles as I press him deeper into the pain I keep trying to get past.
“You’ve always been a sucker, a fucking fool,” Chad sputters, gasping for breath as I pin him harder against the wall. He’s red-faced and yelling at me, but I refuse to let him go, even when Gina screams and pulls at my shoulders.
“Don’t tell me what I am,” I shout in his face. Rage courses through my veins. My knuckles are red; his face is going blue. “You’re the fucker, Chad—taking Gina, and trying to cash in on me. Go get your own goddamn life. I’m not sharing mine with you anymore.”
He gasps for breath. Gina begs me to let him go.
I don’t want his blood on my hands, and truly, I have nothing more to say, so I drop him to the ground. He reaches for his throat. Gina’s on her knees, crying, wrapping her arms around him—arms that used to wrap around me.