I stopped on the threshold, unsure whether entering his private space where he created his songs was okay. It was one room inside the house I’d been to once briefly, the room that was off limits to anyone who wasn’t somehow involved in making music.
Cold danced along my skin.
“Hi,” I said, shuffling my feet.
Frank lifted his gunmetal gaze from the board and looked at me through the darkness. The studio didn’t have any windows, so its only source of light was the glimmer of the control buttons and the streak of moonlight hitting the stretch of hallway behind me.
He continued to stare. No words were said. I took it as permission to enter the room.
My eyes slid to the drink. I took a deep breath and tried to calm the burst of panic and rage forming within me.
“How was your day?” Frank asked absently, leaning back in his chair. His voice was a soft slur, and his right arm, which was still set in a cast, hung limp. He was scheduled for a second surgery next week.
“I saw my mom and hung out with Ashton. How was yours?” I skipped the part about the fan site my brother had come across. I’d send the link to Linda instead.
“Oh, you know. Same shit. My best friend is trying to steal my band.” The anger in his tone was disturbing.
I reached for his shoulder. “Let’s go to bed.”
He shifted and rested his left hand on my thigh. I felt the tremor of his grasp against my skin and smelled the liquor on his breath. Old memories of my father swept me under. He hadn’t been a violent drunk, but his indifference had hurt me just as much. He hadn’t been there for us when Ashton and I needed a ride to school, because our mother was working two jobs. He hadn’t been there for us when everyone else’s parents took their kids to Disneyland, because he didn’t want to leave the comfort of our apartment. He didn’t like the world and the world didn’t like him, and in the end, his responsibilities had crushed him. We, his own family, had crushed him.
The darkness inside the studio began to choke me, but I stepped closer and gave in to the lingering warmth of Frank’s sloppy embrace. I let him wrap his arms around me, let him rub his stubbly cheek over my shirt. He was like a child. Uncertain in his thoughts and his movements. Together, we were plummeting into an abyss of desolation. And I didn’t like the emptiness this fall filled me with a single bit.
“Come on,” I whispered, brushing my fingers through his hair. “You need to lie down.”
“I hate this,” he mumbled into my chest.
“Frank, you’re drunk and it’s late. Why don’t we talk about this tomorrow when your head is in the right place.”
“My head hasn’t been in the right place for years, doll.” He laughed bitterly.
“Don’t say that.”
“I counted all my surgeries today. Do you want to know how many times I’ve gone under the knife?”
I felt the hard press of his cast as he slid closer and molded his body to mine.
“Sixteen.”
“Do you want me to call the doctor?” I asked the first thing that came to mind. I didn’t know if he was in pain or just delusional from the mixture of pills and alcohol, but the shake in his voice worried me sick.
“No.”
“Do you want me to get Janet?”
“They’re gone.”
“Back to Arizona?”
“Yes. I’m tired of people.”
“Frank, you need rest. All this legal stuff is wearing you down. Can you stop worrying about it for a few days?”
“That’s easy for you to say, doll. You don’t own a fucking million-dollar enterprise.”
His words cut me open. I pulled my hands out of his hair and took a step back, needing to create some sort of distance between us. He hadn’t been the same since the accident, and each day that passed put us on completely different ends of our relationship spectrum.
“I’m sorry.” I heard his whisper. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?” I asked, balling my hands into fists.
The silence grew thick. The room felt hot and the air burned my lungs and throat. I couldn’t breathe. This, the way we were now, was suffocating me. It was as if he was speaking an entirely different language, a language I didn’t understand.
Ignoring my question, Frank posed his own. “Have you ever skydived?”
“No, Frank. What does that have to do with us?” Exhaustion clutched my voice.
“I did it a couple of times before the crash.” He fell back into the chair, his gaze never leaving mine. “There’s this moment, right after you jump out of the plane, when the wind hits you and all your bones vibrate… That’s always the scariest part because you lose control of everything you are and your mind freezes. It’s beautiful. That fraction of a second when you don’t need to decide or do anything. Instead, you just let the world carry you. Then it hits you. All the responsibilities that are waiting for you below. You have two options. Keep flying or deploy the parachute.”
Frank quieted.
My heart thump-thumped in my chest like crazy.
“You know what I always thought about when I was deciding whether I wanted to die flying or go back to Earth and continue being the puppet that I was?” He gave me a sad one-sided smile.
I shook my head.
“I wondered if people needed me. I wondered if I was making them happy. Because if I couldn’t make my own mother happy, how would I make a stranger happy? I felt her repulsion toward me every single day of the first three years of my life.”
“What are you talking about, Frank? You make your parents happy. You and your music make millions of others happy. You make me happy.” Not at this particular moment, but he did nonetheless.
“I made you sad, Cassy.”
“That’s not true.”
“That’s what you said when we met. Remember? ‘Ambivalent’ reminded you of your father. The ones we love the most hurt us the most. That’s the way it’s always been and that’s the way it will always be.”
“You made me feel, Frank. That’s what music is meant to do.”
“Feelings are overrated.”
That was the strangest thing that had ever come out of his mouth.
“You’re drunk.”
“Look who’s talking.” He laughed softly. “If my memory serves me right, you were hammered when we met.”
“It wasn’t my best moment.”
“Oh, it definitely was. I wouldn’t have asked you out otherwise. Yoga is a big turn-on.”
I bit back my smile as the memories of my first unofficial meeting with Frank during Dante’s party flashed through my mind. The man could be a charmer when he wanted.
“You don’t believe me?” He cocked an eyebrow.
“I believe you, but can we talk about it later?” I held out my hand, hoping he’d get the hint. “I have a really long day tomorrow. My mom and I are trying to find Ashton a decent car for his birthday, and I need to be up early to make it on time for Isabella’s studio session.”
“Give him one of mine.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I stepped closer, gesturing for him to get up. “He’s eighteen. A Ferrari will be out of his league probably for another ten or fifteen years.”