Frank’s hangover was evident. Palms against the tiled side of the cabin, head down, he lingered somewhere on the edge of awareness, and seeing this reminder of his recklessness the night before drove me mad. The last thing I wanted to do was leave him alone, but Ashton was blowing up my phone like crazy.
“Okay.” Frank nodded, lifting his face to meet the stream. There was weakness in his every move and breath.
“Hannah made waffles!” I shouted on my way out.
Ashton was already waiting for me when I pulled up to the office of the impound lot that was somewhere on the outskirts of Santa Monica. It was in a crappier part of the city, across from the cemetery. Beat up asphalt and plastic dumpsters greeted me as I maneuvered my Honda between the rows of vehicles. My head hurt from lack of coffee and sleep.
Inside, there was a mile-long line and it took me a minute to find Ashton.
“I thought you were going to ditch me,” he said under his breath as I wormed my way into the spot between his shoulder and some woman’s oversized Coach bag.
“I’m having an extremely bad day. Let’s just get this over with.”
“That’s why I need my own credit card.”
“Oh, really?” I stared up at him with every intention of mentally burning him to the ground. “So you can forget it somewhere too?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Then how was it, huh?” I hissed. “You dragged me all the way across town because you can’t read road signs.”
My observation was met with a dramatic pout.
We waited for nearly an hour. By the time Ashton finally received his precious car keys back, I had two missed calls from Roman, three texts from Brooklyn, and all signs of a heart attack.
Frank never made it to the studio.
Panic crawled up my throat as we hurried to leave the building and get to our vehicles. I dialed Frank’s cell twice but was greeted by the same generic service provider programmed voice message.
“You owe me the Uber fee and the three hundred bucks I just paid for your car,” I snapped at Ashton as we walked through the lot.
“You’re joking, right?” He gave me the side-eye.
“It’s called adulting, buddy.”
I knew he’d never have that kind of money unless he started smuggling drugs or got a job as a male stripper, but I couldn't resist the urge to yell at someone, and between Roman, who, according to our phone conversation, had missed Frank earlier this morning, and my brother, it was obviously going to be my brother.
On the way to Sherman Oaks, I called Frank’s house phone and asked Hannah to check the garage. Of course, the Ferrari was missing. My anxiety shot through the roof. It clawed at my thundering heart like a predator, tearing it into small pieces. This wasn’t happening. Not today, I thought as I dialed again and again, only to hear the same recording.
The burst of cool air blasting from the vents pricked my cheeks and I could barely feel my face, but the tremor that took over the rest of my body compensated for that numbness tenfold. The seconds seemed to drag by as if this were a three-day cross-country drive.
When I arrived at the studio, Ashton and Levi were already there, unloading their equipment. Without saying a word to them, I brushed past the cluster of cases and hurried to find Brooklyn.
Inside, a dozen stupefied gazes were shot at me. Isabella was in the booth, doing a take. Her voice felt dangerous, stronger and riskier than yesterday. Hunched over the control board, Gary didn’t see me come in.
Maria, however, looked concerned.
“I thought Frankie was supposed to be here by lunch?” she whispered as she pulled me to the side.
“He’s coming down with something, but he should be here soon.” I felt like shit lying to her, but I had no idea what else to say.
Hey, Maria. No one knows where the man who’s supposed to record a duet with your daughter today is. But he did get drunk last night and threw himself one hell of a pity party, so chances are, he’ll be gone anywhere from two days to two weeks.
In my peripheral, Brooklyn was waving at me.
“I’m just nervous,” Maria confessed. “This is such a big deal for Izzy.”
“It’ll be fine.” I offered her a smile. “These things happen all the time. He hasn’t been feeling well for a couple of days.”
The song ended and I heard the rattle of the door. Then Ashton was pushing one of the cases down the hallway, and Levi was right behind him with his camera bag in tow. I almost wanted to tell them to hold off on setting up the gear but realized that would only alarm the rest of the team and the band.
Frustration pinched my chest.
“Let me see what his assistant says,” I told Maria and followed Brooklyn to the small lounge at the quieter end of the building.
“I thought you two were coming together,” she sputtered, shutting the door so we could both have a breakdown in private.
“I had to leave early to get Ashton’s car out of impound. Roman was supposed to drive him here.”
“I cannot believe this shit.” She stilled and squeezed the bridge of her nose.
“Did you call Corey?”
“He hasn’t spoken to Frank since last night.”
Artists were eccentric, but dropping from the face of the Earth today of all days?
“You said to give him space.” I threw my hands in the air, unable to control my emotions. My head spun from the raging pain zapping through it. “Now he’s probably somewhere halfway to Vegas, drunk and with a broken shoulder!”
“You need to cool the fuck down.” Brooklyn shoved her finger into my chest, her voice taut with anger.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I slapped her hand away. “You can just say it. You don’t like me. You’ve never liked me. But I seem to be the only one who wants him to get better.”
Her face twisted. “And you don’t tell me how to do my job.” She whirled around and marched over to the door.
“Where are you going?”
She gave me a sideways glance. “To look for Frank.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re not. You’re staying here.”
It hit me then. Being Frankie Blade’s girlfriend wouldn’t be easy. I’d be responsible for his every word and every mistake. People would be looking at me the way Isabella looked at me when I returned to the recording room—with bitter disappointment in her eyes.
I promised her she’d be heard. Instead, I’d let her down.
Frank’s no-show stunt made me feel like a complete failure of a person. I could only postpone the news for so long. It was nearing dinnertime when the message I’d dreaded all day popped up on my phone.
Brooklyn: He just came back home drunk and tried to fire me. I wouldn’t wait up.
What do you want me to do?
Brooklyn: It’s your project. Studio time is paid for.
I put my phone away and summoned the leftovers of my self-control to make an announcement. “It doesn’t look like Frankie will be able to join us today after all.”
A collective gasp filled the room.
“I know this is a big deal for you all.” Lying to everyone’s faces made me sick to my stomach. “He truly is sorry, but he hasn’t been well these past few days.”