“I got it.”
“People will promise you money, Ashton. A lot. For exclusive info and photos. Your only response is no response. Capiche?”
“Okay.”
“If you open your mouth, Frank and I will never speak to you again and you’ll be off Dreamcatchers.”
“Geez, why you gotta be so mean?”
“I’m not mean. I’m just trying to make sure you understand the situation.”
“I’m not dumb. I get it.”
“Okay, great. Let’s call Mom tomorrow and see what day is good for a family dinner. Frank wants to meet her.”
Saying those words out loud felt strange. If someone had told me six months ago I’d be introducing Frankie Blade to my mother, I would have laughed in their face.
“And hey, Ashton,” I added before ending the call. “It’s probably a good idea for you to set your Instagram account to private. At least for now.”
Chapter Seven
Gary Torino was a fiftysomething no-nonsense guy who worked mostly out of his Sherman Oaks studio. On day one, the band was scheduled to arrive early to track the instrumental parts first. Frank and Isabella weren’t needed until after lunch.
It was a hectic morning with an incident of spilled coffee and a fight over the toothpaste tube. Frank had been on edge the entire week. The therapy sessions helped him to stay sane, but despite my attempts to keep all the electronic devices with internet access out of his reach, he still managed to find ways to read the news. I suspected Corey was the one who fueled Frank’s anger by purposely feeding him updates. Slimy bastard pushed for a lawsuit even after Frank had expressed his desire to postpone filing the paperwork with the court.
We left Malibu at noon with Roman driving us in the Escalade. Our windows were cracked slightly, just enough to let the salty scent of the ocean inside. It was almost peaceful, not counting Frank’s knee jerking to my left.
“I think your mother hates my guts,” he said as the car began to slow down in anticipation of the upcoming traffic light.
“No, she doesn’t.” I shook my head. “I think it went really well actually.”
“I’m pretty sure she’ll poison my spaghetti next time I show up.”
I laughed. “Why would she do that to the only boyfriend I’ve ever had?”
“Did you tell her not to believe everything she’s read about me in the tabloids?”
“She won’t hold your divorced status against you for long. Don’t worry.”
My mother wasn’t a woman who cared about celebrities, but after I told her who I was seeing, she read everything she could find about Frank on the internet. Including the rumors about all the women he’d dated and the rundown of his short-lived marriage to Heidi Fox.
“Did I hear that correctly?” Frank leaned closer, and his breath tickled my cheek. “Am I the only boyfriend Cassy Evans has had?”
I nodded. “My bar is extremely high, so most candidates don’t make it.”
“Is that so?” He nipped at my ear.
I loved him when he was playful and I missed our late-night drives and our secret dinners under the stars. I wanted that magic back. There were glimpses of it here and there—in his occasional smile or in a teasing kiss, but it wasn’t enough to make me forget about his slip-ups. The fear of losing him to the alcohol again settled deep in my gut like a soccer ball-sized tumor.
The second we stepped foot into the studio, Frank was thrust into the middle of the creative riot that dominated Gary’s sanctuary. Story, Andy, and Kit had already recorded several takes and were on a break. Isabella was in the booth with her headphones on, waiting to get started.
I waved a quick hello to everyone and claimed a small couch in the corner. My mind was racing in millions of different directions. I’d expected going public to cause some sort of a bang in the press, followed by the rabid crowds of paparazzi. We’d agreed that we’d just let it happen, let the story run its course. Without any fuss, without any announcements, without any interviews. The lack of gossip almost scared me, but at the same time, I understood that people couldn’t really know we were together unless we made appearances and flaunted our relationship in front of the cameras. We hadn’t so far. Frank spent most of his days at home or in therapy while I worked on Dreamcatchers. Today was the first time we’d actually gone somewhere together in one car, and contrary to my predictions, no reporters tried to attack us on the way to the studio.
Coming out felt almost anticlimactic and I couldn’t tell whether this calmness bothered me or I was happy that my family was off the paparazzi radar. At least for now.
Gary’s workspace was a dark jungle of glass walls, framed photos, shelved awards, and tables full of equipment. Invisible energy emanated from every corner of every room. I couldn’t believe I was in the center of this rock ’n’ roll mecca—a place where some of the biggest rock hits had been created under the supervision of a short, soft-spoken man with a receding hairline.
Isabella did several takes, trying out various things. She looked for the right match with the music. Her guttural voice jumped up and down. I could hear the raw power in her breath as she twisted the notes, dragging them, dropping them, then lifting them up.
Frank settled next to the monitors and watched Isabella until Gary had enough to create additional scratch tracks. I’d brought my laptop and attempted to get through an ever-growing pile of emails, but Levi and Ashton, who couldn’t come since filming during day one wasn’t allowed, kept text message attacking me with memes and video requests.
Maria had arranged catering and we took a thirty-minute dinner break at around six.
Frank was the last one to step into the booth later that evening. He stood behind the glass, tall and impressive, and his gunmetal blue eyes shone intently. I observed him carefully, devouring every move of his lips and every heave of his chest as if the song were my oxygen. His voice had a way with my heart. The experience felt far more intimate than a live show. I was witnessing the birth of something new, something I happened to help create.
My phone pinged during the second chorus. Not wanting to miss a moment, I finished watching the take, then checked the message.
Levi: It’s Marshall Burns!!!
My heart dropped to my stomach.
Is that official or still a rumor?
Levi: Someone posted a video of Dante and Marshall on Reddit thirty minutes ago. It just hit TMZ and BuzzFeed.
Thanks.
Levi: You need to see the video.
A link popped up on my screen next. I set my laptop aside and rose from the couch. Panic pulsed through me when Frank’s gaze flicked over to my face. Offering him the best smile I could muster, I then rushed out of the lounge and called Linda.
“I thought they weren’t going to announce the name for another week!” I fumed, pacing the small restroom.
“That was the plan,” Linda said with a heavy sigh.
“So someone leaked it?” I asked for clarification.
“Yes.”
“Why did it have to happen today?”
“I’m sure you know firsthand that this is absolutely normal these days. It’s not the nineties anymore.”
“Yes.” I stopped in my tracks and tried to think. Keeping Frank away from his phone these past couple of days had been difficult. “It’s just bad fucking timing is all.” A sardonic laugh escaped from my lungs. “Would you keep me updated? Please?”