“I didn’t want to freak you out.”
“Really? That’s your excuse?”
“You have your hands full.”
“That doesn’t mean you should hide things from me. That’s not how it works.”
Frank was silent. His gaze wandered around the bedroom aimlessly. I’d left the shades up when I went to sleep and daylight was slowly creeping inside through the massive window. The ocean rumbled softly as the clouds of morning fog floated lazily across the sky.
Sensing his tension, I sat up and studied his face. “You wanted me near, so here I am. Talk to me.”
His features remained hard, his eyes dark and stormy. “The doctor said there’s a risk the plate fragments could reach the artery.”
Dread prickled my spine. I needed a moment to process. “What does that mean?”
He dismissed my question. “It’ll be fine. It’s only a temporary setback, doll. The surgery should take care of the problem.”
“Frank.” I turned to face him. “You need to take a break.”
He looked at me strangely. “I am taking a break.”
“No, you’re not resting enough.”
“What do you suggest? That I just let it all go? Twenty years of my life? I thought we had this conversation yesterday.”
“I know you’re going to hate me for saying this, and yes, Dante is an asshole, but he’s right. You’re not well enough to keep up with the touring schedule.”
“Don’t, Cassy.” He shook his head in denial.
“Okay, fine. Have it your way.” Annoyance coursed through me. I slid from the bed and grabbed my phone from the nightstand.
“Where are you going?”
“To do some work,” I said as I headed out. “Please get some sleep.”
The office was quiet. My laptop sat on the desk next to Frank’s. The first rays of light that peeked shyly from behind the mountain range spilled over the walls and floor. I flopped into a chair and spun, trying to get my thoughts in order.
Levi was right. Frank monopolized all my time, even when he wasn’t around, and I hated it because there were other things that required my attention. My brother, my mother, my prior commitments to Rewired. End of the year editorials. Lastly, Isabella’s documentary.
We’d already conducted over twenty interviews and collected a great deal of new footage. It made sense to start cutting the rough draft, but Levi wanted to wait a few weeks in case Frank was willing to make another appearance at the upcoming rehearsal or a live show. Only, I wasn’t sure he had the time or desire for philanthropy. At least, not right now.
I spent the entire morning researching potential venues for the screening and sending emails. It was nearly noon when a Jay Brodie PR press release hit my inbox.
An hour later, the news was all over social media.
KBC Universal confirmed they weren’t sure Frankie Blade was fit to continue as the lead singer of Hall Affinity.
There were no further comments from the label’s rep or the band’s management, but the following morning, Jay Brodie issued another statement to the press.
Dante Martinez Doesn’t Want to Tour with Frankie Blade, the tabloid headlines screamed.
Those weren’t Dante’s exact words, but he agreed with KBC nonetheless, and that was all the press needed to spin it the way they wanted for more shock value.
Something was coming. I felt it with every cell in my body. Something dark. Something disturbing.
It happened right after Thanksgiving.
The world was festive and happy in anticipation of the upcoming holidays. Brooklyn hired a designer to set up a huge Christmas tree in the front yard and another one in the living room. Billy and Janet flew back from Arizona because of the legal dealings with the rest of the Hall Affinity band members. Nothing was official yet, but it was going to happen sooner rather than later. Dante and Johnny were in talks with their attorneys as well.
The word lawsuit lingered in the cool air like a stray snowflake after a storm.
As opposed to Frank’s family, mine was modest when it came to celebrations in general. My father had always managed to make our holidays miserable.
Thanksgiving at my mom’s was quiet. On Black Friday, I took Ashton to the mall to buy him a video camera. Then we went to help our mother with her Christmas tree.
After six hours of unpacking, arranging, and hanging all the ornaments, we sat in the living room and stared at the results of our labor with cups of hot cocoa in our hands.
“When were you going to tell me about your boyfriend?” my mother questioned out of the blue.
I shot a sideways glance at Ashton. He slumped in his chair silently, eyes wide.
“When the time was right?” I squealed, slurping on my drink.
“What does he do? Isn’t he in some kind of rock band?” Apparently, my mother knew very little, which was a relief.
“He is.” I nodded.
“I hope he’s not doing drugs, Cassy.”
“No, Mom. He’s not.”
Liar! my voice screamed inside my head.
We left my mother’s an hour later.
“Did you tell her?” I punched Ashton on the shoulder as soon as we climbed into my Honda. I didn’t dare drive the Porsche in this part of town.
“Ouch.” He winced.
“You know this is just between me and you.”
“I know, but you’re gone all the time. She keeps asking where you are when she calls.”
“Tell her I’m in the shower.” I flung my hands in the air and gave him a dead stare.
“She’s going to find out sooner or later. It’s online anyway.”
My brother’s words were an equivalent of a kick in the head. “What’s online?”
“You and Frank.” Ashton pulled out his phone, typed something in, and handed it over to me.
There on the screen was a collage of our TMZ photos, along with the information about my height, weight, hair color, and a list of all the places I’d allegedly either been seen with Frank or in his proximity. Not all the information was accurate, but the blogger made a pretty good argument.
My pulse tripped as I read through the post. “Shit.” I heard myself mutter as I returned the phone to Ashton. “Can you send me the link?”
“Why can’t you just come out with it?” he pondered.
“It’s a little bit more complicated than that.” I started the car.
“What’s complicated about it?”
“Oh, Ashton.” I shook my head with a sigh. “Trust me. You’re about to find out. Adulting is hard.”
I dropped off my brother in Burbank and headed to Malibu. It was nearly midnight when I finally pulled up to the house. The lights inside were off and the darkness worried me.
Frank didn’t care about electricity. There was always something blazing either on the terrace or in the living room at this hour, especially with guests over and the Christmas decor extravaganza set up.
I marched through the house, looking for signs of life, but the silence was thick, almost impenetrable. Chills rolled down my spine.
“Frank?” I called, traveling over to the east wing. The door to the studio was wide open, and that’s when I saw him. He was hunched over the mixing board, a drink sitting next to him.