Frank made it difficult. He showed up at my place later that night, drunk. I was in my room, going over the monstrosity Ashton and I had written earlier. My phone buzzed and Frank’s name lit up the screen.
Open the door, the message read.
My heart leapt into my throat. The man wasn’t serious, was he?
I peeked into the living room. Ashton was fast asleep on the couch, hugging his laptop. The lights were off.
Please, another text popped up.
A muffled noise drifted at me from behind the door.
I slipped into my knee-length sweater and hurried outside. My pulse quickened, my mind raged. Frank stood off to the side. His right arm was back in the sling and a leather jacket was thrown over his shoulders. He looked every bit the mess a person who’d been drinking for days should look. The dim light illuminating his face accentuated the paleness of his skin and the bags under his eyes. Two-day stubble framed his jaw.
I wasn’t sure what exactly I felt at that moment. Pity, sadness, anxiety, or anger. He clung to me like a metal object to a magnet. Even after I’d harmed him. It was perverse.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he rasped softly. It rattled in the cool air between us like the fragments of our broken relationship.
I closed the door to make sure we didn’t wake Ashton. My head spun. I could feel Frank’s despair deep down in my body, but my pride rebelled against his natural charm.
“You’re drunk,” I said quietly, taking him in. Apart from the sling being in place again and a couple of scabs littering his wrist, he was fine physically. My heart pounded somewhere in my throat and my voice was a measly squeal.
He moved closer so that the space separating us shrunk to a few inches. “I’m sorry.”
Still conflicted, I stepped back until my head brushed the cold wall of the building. “Why are you here? And how did you get here?”
“Roman brought me. And I’m here because I wanted to see you. You’re not answering my texts.”
“I think I have a right to be upset.”
“Yes. Yes, you do. And I’m really sorry for flaking. Please come back.”
Eyes clouded, Frank leaned forward to snatch a kiss. He wasn’t as wasted as before, but I didn’t know what to expect from him at this point. After the madness I’d witnessed the other night, I had no clue what he was capable of. The fact that he didn’t care someone might see him here with me, drunk, told me he’d completely ignored his sense of self-preservation.
“Don’t.” I rested my palm on his chest. “You humiliated me.”
“I’m lost without you.”
“You’re not lost without me, Frank. You’re just lost. And you don’t need me to show you the way. I tried. Look where it got us. You need to figure it out on your own.”
“Don’t say shit like that, baby. You know you belong with me.” He rocked forward and his body lingered against mine. The closeness was intoxicating and I hated everything about it.
“Frank.” I grabbed his chin. “How am I going to tell a nineteen-year-old girl you don’t want to work with her anymore after you commissioned a fucking PR campaign for a single you were supposed to record together?”
“This has nothing to do with Isabella.” He shook his head. “I’m still producing the album. Studio time, marketing, venue. I’ll cover all the expenses.”
There he was with his wallet, showing off his money.
“This film is important to me. It’s not something I’m doing to boost my ego. I believe in Isabella’s talent and I believe she, her story, needs to be heard. I love you, but I won’t sacrifice my life and my career to be with you unless you have an idea of where you’re headed. People come and go. They don’t stay. You know it. I know it. And if you can’t make up your mind about whether you want to stick around or keep walking, I can’t be with you. I can’t let you put me on the spot. I can’t let you embarrass me in front of people I work with. My credibility and my professionalism are all I have.”
His gaze was dark, deep, and full of questions. “I don’t want to write music or perform anymore.”
“You decided that halfway through recording a song with another artist?”
“Look at me. I can’t even button my shirt. Who wants to see someone like me on stage?”
I rolled my eyes. “Self-pity doesn’t suit you, Frank. You have a lot more than you think. You can walk.”
We stared at each other in silence. His hot, tingly breath licked my cheeks. I wasn’t sure he understood what I meant. His eyes seemed distant one second and stormy the next.
“So you’re just going to leave me now that I need you the most?” he finally asked, pressing me to the wall.
“I’ve been there for you, Frank. Through all your drunk nights. I asked you to get help, but you kept pushing me away. You ignored me, then you fucked up my project and put a stain on my name.” I paused to get more air. “But you know what the worst part is? The worst part is that I’m in a state of constant terror. For myself and for you. Because you keep challenging death, and my heart can’t take it anymore.”
Our bodies lined up and I felt the buzz. Even drunk, Frank was still hot like a flame. The gentle graze of his knuckles against my cheek and the hard press of his chest against my breasts made me dizzy.
I missed this, him being so radiant with me. The intimacy we had wasn’t just about sex. It was about the stories we exchanged, about the breakfasts we shared, about the evenings we spent staring at the ocean. Our lives were intertwined like the strands of a rope.
“I’m getting help.” I heard him whisper, then his lips touched my temple. “I promise it won’t happen again. I promise you’ll never ever have to be scared again.”
“Okay.” I inhaled deeply. His scent—sex, money, depression, and expensive cologne—filled my lungs. “What kind of help? What’s your plan? I need to know.”
“Will you come back?”
“What’s your plan, Frank?”
Hungrily, his mouth captured mine. The kiss caught me off guard, and the soft brush of his lips sent shivers down my spine. My brain told me to push the man away. My heart told me to stop listening to my brain. It was a lost battle, and I gave in. Our tongues met. Our breaths lingered. We were spent from the adrenaline racing through us as we continued to indulge in each other.
I couldn’t remember the last time Frank had kissed me like this, with this much despair and need. Or had he ever kissed me like this?
I almost caved. I almost asked him to come inside so I could put him to sleep in my tiny bed and cuddle against his rock solid body.
Almost.
Then I remembered how ashamed I felt the day he didn’t show up at Gary’s studio. My reputation was all I had and he jeopardized it by pulling out of “Afterburn” in such a shitty manner.
“Frank,” I whispered, breaking the kiss as my chest heaved. “It’s best if you leave before someone sees you.”
“Who the fuck cares? We’re all over the internet, doll. You’re my girlfriend. I don’t want to leave without you.” Stubbly cheek squished to mine, he slid his hand to the back of my neck. “Come home.”
My stomach tightened. “I can’t be in that house with you when I’m not sure what you might break next. Your furniture or your neck.”