Levi was still on the phone with me, quiet. His shallow breaths roared inside my head.
“That can’t be!” I muttered and stepped away from the computer. “Did she seem like a stuck-up bitch to you? I mean, she runs a fucking movie theater.”
“I’m sorry, Cass. I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but it sounds like she’s not fond of all this attention you’re getting in the tabloids.”
“So it’s my fault we lost the venue?”
“No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m merely pointing out a potential problem.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing. I’m not asking you to do anything. I didn’t think people actually paid attention to this shit. Okay, so a guy got drunk and made a spectacle of himself. Who cares? He’s not even part of the project anymore.”
My rage was like a flame, burning everything around me. My room, my hope, my heart.
I killed the call and rushed into the living room. Ashton was watching TV and eating, my guess was lunch since it was too late for breakfast. A pile of textbooks sat on the coffee table next to his laptop. His gaze followed me as I torpedoed my way through the apartment, tossing and turning everything that stood in my way.
“What are you looking for?”
I stopped. “Your car keys?”
“They’re by the door.” He motioned at the line of hooks on the wall and continued to chew on the slice of pizza.
I stomped across the living room and grabbed the set.
Ashton finally caught on. “Wait! What for?” He sprung from the couch and stalked me to my room with pizza in hand. “What do you need my car for?”
“I’m returning it.”
“No!”
“I am, Ashton. This is not up for discussion.”
“It’s my car. Frankie gave it to me!”
I drew a deep breath and lowered my voice. My throat was stiff and itchy from last night. “Get out of my room, please.”
“It’s my car.” Ashton pouted.
“No, it’s not. It’s a handout from a guy who doesn’t know what the fuck to do with his money.”
“That’s not fair! What does it have to do with my car? Why am I being dragged into your stupid fight?”
“There’s no fight.” I walked over to my closet and grabbed the first thing I saw, a sweater and a pair of ripped skinny jeans, exactly what my emo alter-ego needed after countless hours of heels, makeup, and designer slacks. “You remember my eleventh birthday?”
He blinked at me with confused eyes and took a bite of his pizza.
“You were too little.” I looked at the empty space above me. Forgotten memories passed through my jaded mind. “That morning, Dad gave me a twenty-dollar bill. Maybe he was too lazy to get a present or simply didn’t know what I liked, but he put the money into my birthday card and told me to buy whatever I wanted.” I had to pause because sifting through images of my father always rattled me. “Then, that night, he came into my room and asked for the money back because he didn’t have any for beer.”
My brother’s face remained expressionless and his jaw stopped moving.
“I don’t want you to be disillusioned about people, Ashton,” I said calmly. “I know you have this image of Frank in your head, but he’s not what you think he is. No one is. And if you’re going to keep trusting people with everything you have, you’re going to get hurt badly.”
“You sound like you’re on your period.”
“I’m returning the car. You’re going to find a part-time job and Mom and I will help you get another one.”
“When am I going to work? I’ve got school. I’m helping you and Levi with Rewired.”
“Welcome to adulthood, buddy.” I slapped his back and shoved him out of my room. “Now get out. I need to get dressed.”
Fifteen minutes later, I was leaving the parking garage in the BMW with an empty backpack in the passenger seat. The only pleasant part of this ride was Black Rain Coming blaring from the speakers. My brother’s taste had improved greatly since he started helping us with Rewired. Metalcore wasn’t on my preferred genres to listen to list, but Cameron Koller had an interesting voice. An outcast, the original trailer park kid from the rural Midwest, he was real to the bone. With an interesting story to tell.
Adjusting the volume, I pulled onto the road. Frank’s Porsche sat across the way from the complex, shiny and foreign in this neighborhood. I always had to park it on the street because my apartment only came with one garage spot that, up to now, was being occupied by Ashton’s car. Correction. Former car.
Fury filled my chest. I steered the BMW into an empty space between an SUV and a Ford, cut the engine and marched over to the Porsche.
Not my car, not my problem. My inner bitch laughed as I drove it down the street to the tow away zone.
Good luck looking for it, asshole.
My mood skyrocketed. Revenge, no matter how immature, felt good. However, it didn’t take long for disappointment to replace my high. Its hold on my confidence made me sad. Made me angry. Made me hate Frank for not trying harder.
When I finally got to Malibu, I was a ball of conflicting emotions. I parked the BMW in front of the garage and got out. The house felt different. Shattered. Loud. Uninviting. My Honda still sat in the driveway. The French doors on the terrace were slid open and I heard a slew of muffled voices drifting at me from the inside.
Brooklyn and Corey were hunched over the coffee table in the living room, their faces glued to their laptop screens, gloomy. They were probably working on a reputation repair strategy. I noted Billy’s silhouette lingering on the terrace. He was on the phone.
My heart twisted inside my chest. I was no longer sure if I was in any condition to see Frank and stay calm, but I needed to get this over with, grab my things, and be on my way.
Brooklyn tore her gaze from the laptop and looked at me, then at my backpack. Her expression remained sour.
“Is he awake?” My question floated through the room.
“He’s in the studio,” she explained.
Corey gave me a tight-lipped smile. His hard eyes told me he didn’t want me here.
“Great. Hopefully, we won’t have to see each other.” I strode over to the coffee table and dropped the BMW and Porsche keys into Brooklyn’s lap. “Trade ya cars?”
“What?” she asked, confused.
“I’m returning the BMW. Porsche is probably in an impound lot somewhere in the Valley.”
“What’s it doing there?”
“Resting.”
Brooklyn batted her lashes at me, expecting an explanation. For a moment, I felt sorry for her. She was going to be the one looking for that damn Porsche. Not Frank. I would be very surprised if he was able to string two words together right now.
“Sorry.” I shrugged and walked down the hall to grab my things from the bedroom.
Blinded with rage and hurt, I plucked everything that belonged to me—dresses, shirts, pajamas—from the drawers and the closet and shoved it all into my backpack, not bothering to fold anything.
“Cassy!” Frank’s voice carrying through the house told me coming here was a huge mistake.
He sounded broken and desperate, and his despair shot straight to my heart, clutching it for dear life. My walls made of hate, ice, and anger were melting.