In my peripheral, I saw Frank rise from his chair inside the office.
“Whoever said the music business was fair has never written a single song.” Johnny shrugged and shoved both hands in the pockets of his jacket.
My blood ran hot, and my ears rang. I watched Johnny tread through the living room, waiting for Frank’s final word, but none followed. The silence was both awkward and cruel. My sixth sense told me not to act on my rage, so I stayed mute. Frank was slipping away. He moved over to the window and glared at the mountains with his back turned to us.
Johnny circled the room again and started making his way to the front door. “It’s nice to see you, Cassy.” He yanked his hand out of his pocket and waved at me. The gesture was less than enthusiastic.
Outside on the terrace, Dante was finishing up his cigarette. He stepped back into the house for a short second and said, “Tell Frankie-boy to think about my offer. He still gets to keep his share and write songs if we look for a different singer to take with us on the road. If his dumb ass wants to fight us on this, he’ll lose. This is me being fucking civil, being his friend for once and seeing this shit for what it is, a fucking train going off the rails next time he decides to take the stage. The best thing he can do right now for everyone, for his own health, his parents, and his fans, who pay for all his houses and cars, is to stop trying to do the impossible. Ask his fucking doctor if you don’t believe me. He needs another surgery.”
Dante’s speech was like a punch to my gut. Everyone seemed to know about it, and the fact that Frank hadn’t mentioned anything to me hurt. He had no idea that I’d overheard the doctor talking about it at the hospital.
“If you really care about him, you’ll see that I’m right.”
His words rattled inside my head long after the Navigator disappeared behind the gate. I walked across the living room to shut the front door Dante had left standing wide open, then returned to the office.
Frank still surveyed the mountain view outside the window, his frame a sharp work of art against the backdrop of the cloudless California sky.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the surgery?” I asked carefully. A strange fizzy feeling settling in my stomach. “I heard the doctor discussing it with your mother at the hospital. Why are you shutting me out?”
He dismissed my question. “They’re looking to get someone else to sing live.”
“But you’ll still have all the creative control?” I clarified as my brain struggled to stay calm.
“It’s my fucking band, Cassy.” Frank spun to face me. His arresting gaze was a black hole, a vortex of hurt, wrath, and misery. I felt his hopelessness clutch at my lungs. The air between us burned a destructive, invisible fire. “I created the idea. I created the music. I’m not going to sit and watch some imposter trying to butcher my songs and all that my art stands for.”
He sounded greedy and irrational. He wasn’t light anymore. He was dark. Dark I hadn’t had a chance to face yet but was about to.
Part of me blamed his anger on bad timing and medication, but another part of me blamed everything on Dante. He’d never given me a straight answer, but he’d never denied anything, just like Frank. It was as if their demons had conspired against me and their minds to keep doing the things that would bring them more grief and pain.
“You don’t have to make a decision right this moment,” I said as I watched him cross the room. He stopped in front of the mahogany cabinet and pulled out a bottle of what looked to be expensive whiskey.
Oh no.
My spine stiffened. Alcohol wasn’t his friend right now. Not while he was shattered and while a mean cocktail of painkillers and other pharmaceuticals filled his bloodstream.
“Frank?” I called, approaching him from behind.
Silent, jaw tight, he grabbed a clean glass and poured himself a shot. No ice.
“Frank?” I pressed, stepping closer. My hand reached for his forearm, and his vein pulsed hard under my palm. He stood motionless for a while, fingers wrapped around the glass.
“First, he fucked my wife. And now, he’s fucking me.” I heard him say.
The room felt small. The entire house felt small. The world suddenly wasn’t big enough for the two of them.
My stomach quivered and my breath caught. I didn’t know what to say or do, because this, the battle against all the vices that drove people to their graves early in life, was new territory for me. Sure, I’d seen what it did to my father, but I had no idea how to fight it, because I was scared of it.
Frank drew away from my touch and moved to the center of the office. He stared at the glass in his hand, his chest rising at each strained inhale.
“Some kind of friend he is, huh?” His voice was a chill against my bones. His clouded gaze flicked over to me.
Wave after wave of angst flowed through the room. I felt it wrapping around my neck like a rope, squeezing me, cutting off the air.
“Frank,” I squealed, trying to breathe through yet another episode of brain freeze. “You don’t have to do anything about it today.”
“Sure, I don’t.” He scowled. “Then they can all get a head start on stealing what’s mine.”
I wasn’t prepared for what came next. Frank hurled the glass and it shattered when it hit the window. My body shook with awareness. He hurried out of the office without looking at me, and I followed him on a whim. We didn’t speak. It was a silent run through the house as he marched past the paintings lining the walls of the hallway, leading us to the east wing, where his studio was.
I didn’t have the right words, but I was too scared to leave him alone. Hannah wasn’t around and Janet and Billy had gone back to Arizona for a few days to give us space. If Frank planned on acting stupid, I needed to be near to at least try to stop him.
“I want to be alone for a while,” he said when we reached the studio.
I halted. My heart unhinged at the sound of his words.
Tilting my chin up, I asked, “Should I pack?”
Frank looked at me and confusion came into his eyes. They roamed my face in search of something, but I had no idea what. “No.” Then came a slight shake of his head. He pulled the studio door open and disappeared inside.
I was left standing there by myself. No explanations. No apologies.
A small fraction of me resented Frank Wallace at that moment because my gut told me that this was the beginning of the end. Our end. I just didn’t want to believe my gut. For once, I wanted my instincts to be wrong.
Chapter Four
He crawled into bed at sunrise. The mattress dipped under the weight of his body as he settled against the pillow. Soft fingers reached for my hair.
“I’m sorry about yesterday, doll,” his voice, low and flat, came from above.
My chest felt heavy and my stomach squeezed. I hated everything about Frank’s tantrum, but at the same time, I worried for him like crazy. My emotions had been at war the entire night. My pride told me to leave and let him stew in his anger. My heart had a different opinion.
“You didn’t deserve it,” Frank whispered as if he’d just read my mind. His knuckles brushed my cheek.
I rolled over to my back and stared up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me about the surgery?”