Be Mine

Chapter Fourteen

Frankie

I’ve nearly chewed a hole in my cheek by the time Noah returns. I’m sitting on his couch, now changed out of his t-shirt and in my own clothing, with the grad picture sitting in my lap. His eyes collide with mine as soon as he opens the door. A knot of anger and fear twists my insides. How long has he been stalking me? How long have I gone about my life completely oblivious to the fact someone was watching me?

I open my mouth to say something when I hear a familiar meow. Instantly, I sit up and look over the back of the couch. In Noah’s hand hangs a cat carrier. I rush to him and drop to my knees. “Oh my God, Cosmos.” I look up at Noah, narrowing my eyes to slits. “You didn’t hurt my fucking cat, did you?”

His lips twitch, lowering the carrier to the floor so I can get Cosmos out. As soon as the metal door is open, he runs towards me, a giant mass of black fur nudging me with his head. I run my hand over him from head to tail and he begins to purr, rubbing against me affectionately.

“How did you get him? He was with my neighbor.” I twist my body to look at Noah, who is leaning against the back of the couch, watching our exchange.

“I can be persuasive.” He shrugs, and I don’t know what to do with this. It’s like a constant temperature change with him. Cosmos starts kneading my pants, desperate for more attention.

“Did you enjoy the self-guided tour?” he asks, his voice laced with sarcasm…and maybe a hint of humor? “I especially enjoyed when you flipped me off.”

I feel a little smug about that one. I rise from the floor, Cosmos at my heels. “Yeah, about that tour. I came across some interesting stuff.”

“Did you now?” Noah is at the sink, filling a bowl of water. Leaning down, he sets it next to a matching one, grabbing the bag of cat food and filling that, too. Cosmos immediately abandons me for the man with the food. He gives the cat a few quick scratches, then rises to look at me.

Walking back to the living room, I swipe the picture from the couch and thrust it towards him. “Why do you have my graduation picture?”

He stalks near, taking the photo from my hand and examining it. “That’s my grad pic.” His eyes find mine.

I whip my hand out to grab it back, but he pulls away.

“No, it’s not,” I snort, looking up at him incredulously. What game is he playing here?

“Yeah, it is, that’s me, right there.” He holds the frame out, his finger on a boy in the back row.

“No, it’s not. That’s a guy named James. He transferred to our school midway through eighth grade.” Who does he think he is, claiming to be someone else? James was a poor kid who transferred to our school and was bullied mercilessly all throughout high school.

“Yeah, my middle name is Noah.” He looks down at me, his brows creased, as if I’m the one off my rocker here.

How? James was a skinny little nerd who hid in the stairwell between classes. He wasn’t all of this…muscles and brawn and broodiness.

I look closer at the photo. He’s tall and lanky with a suit too big for him, likely because it was all his mom could afford. James never had a lot of flashy things. In the picture he has glasses but they’re not the same. These ones are round and sit a little crooked on his nose, but then it all comes together. I see the familiar blue eyes, the same midnight hair. A current of old memories that had been lost to time pulls me under.

“You have something stuck to your locker.” Tess points out as we near our lockers to grab our lunches. It’s Valentine’s Day, eighth grade, and while most act like they’re too cool for this day now, they’re secretly hoping someone wants to be their Valentine. Maybe ask them to the dance.

The pink envelope has my name scrawled across it in perfect penmanship and my heart races so fast I can hear it in my ears. A few people are looking cause the Valentine is like a beacon in the hall, calling everyone’s attention towards me.

“Open it,” Tess squeals with delight, skipping like it’s for her and not me. I pull back the tape that holds it there, taking a moment to admire how beautifully they wrote my name, like they took care with each and every letter. Turning it over, I slip my index finger into a corner to break the seal, carefully running it along the seam so I don’t rip it.

I don’t have a crush or anyone I’m particularly interested in, not like Tess who practically drools over Connor Mckinney, but I can’t deny butterflies aren’t swarming in my belly right now as I peel the envelope open to reveal a card inside.

It's homemade. Pink construction paper folded in half, buttons in various sizes glued to the paper make a heart, and underneath in the same handwriting it says: You Have My Heart.

“Aww,” Tess coos beside me, her hands folded dramatically over her heart.

Flipping the card open, there’s a poem inside:

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

Sugar is sweet,

And so are you.

Your Secret Admirer

Xo

My heart drops. No name.

“Oh my God. That’s so sweet.”

“Yeah, I wonder who sent it?” I open my locker and secure it inside, pulling my bag out Tess and I head to the lunchroom.

“Hey, Frankie, heard you got a secret admirer.” Connor hollers as soon as we sit down, and all eyes flick my way.

“Shut up, Connor.” I roll my eyes. I don’t get why Tess likes him. He’s loud and annoying, and if he wasn’t a jock, he wouldn’t be popular. Hockey players walk around here like they’re untouchable. I guess it doesn’t help everyone from the students to the teachers treat them as such.

I open my lunch bag and pull out my sandwich and juice box, but he crouches between Tess and I, slinging his arms around our shoulders. “What if I told you I know who wants to be your valentine?” He bites his cheek to hold back a laugh.

“I’d tell you to fuck off.”

“Give me a place and time.” He winks.

I shove him in the chest, nearly knocking him on his ass. “Seriously Connor, go back to your table with the rest of the half-brained jock straps.”

He rises and stretches for show, sauntering back to the table like the jerk he is, before turning and looking at me. “Suit yourself. Guess you don’t care it was James who sent you the card. Watched him sneak out of second period to tape it to your locker.” Him and his friends snicker as he sits down, fully satisfied with themselves.

The lunchroom breaks out in hysterics, some of the girl’s yell ‘eeewww’. My eyes instantly find James, tucked into the corner of the room at a table by himself. He doesn’t even look up at me or acknowledge he did it. He keeps his face buried in his book, as if he’s oblivious to all the commotion around him, but his face flushes a shade of pink that rivals the card he sent me.

My heart cinches. He doesn’t deserve to be treated this way. And a part of me wants to walk over to him, to sit down next to him and say hi, thank him for the card and all the time he put into it, but I’m a chicken shit.

I watch him for a while, hoping he will at least look up at me, so I can offer him a weak smile, one that says I’m sorry that everyone at this school is an asshole, but he sits there, motionless, eyes cast down, pretending to read. But I know he’s not, ‘cause for the entire duration of lunch, he doesn’t flip a page.

Oh my God. “This is so fucked up,” I whisper. Mostly to myself. I plop down on the couch and stare off, not really looking at anything as gears grind in my brain, trying to process everything. I want to cry for the boy he was, the boy who never did anything to anyone but suffered the wrath of many. That day Connor and his friends followed Noah home, they beat the shit out of him on his lawn. The next morning he walked into school with a fat lip and a limp in his step.

I always tried to be nice to him after that, without drawing too much attention to myself, of course. Hanging out with losers was social suicide, and at the time, I was still trying to conform to the norm.

Is this what turned him into the monster he is today? I felt some kind of recognition yesterday when I was looking at him in the lunchroom, but this? I swallow and look up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice low and cold, turning to ice again, as he walks back to the room to return the picture.

I rise from the couch and chase after him down the hall. “It matters, Noah. We’ve worked at the same place for years and not once was it mentioned.”

“What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, remember me? I’m the kid everyone used to beat the crap out of for fun?’”

“Yeah, something like that. Instead, you ignored me. I thought you hated me.”

He spins on the spot. “I’ve never hated you.” And he looks angry, like he’s coming undone. One thread pull away from completely unraveling.

“Then why act like it? You wouldn’t even look at me, and when you did it was with nothing but disdain.”

He advances on me in an instant, until there’s nowhere left to go. My back slams up against the wall. His body follows, his hands finding the wall behind me, barricading me in. “Is that what this is? Disdain?”

His breaths are coming fast and shallow. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him affected by anything before, and God, is it intoxicating. His hand goes to my throat, his thumb sweeping the pulse there that roars like a steady drum, increasing in tempo with every second that passes. He tightens his grip until I’m nearly breathless, and it should scare the living shit out of me, but it’s like a fire has been ignited deep in my belly, filling me with a yearning that threatens to burn me alive.

He leans in, every word he utters next a hushed whisper that feels like a lover’s touch. “I don’t dislike you, Frankie baby. Though some days I wish I did. It would make my life a hell of a lot easier.”

Tipping my head back against the wall, I observe all of his features up close, from the crest of his brow to the dip in his Cupid’s bow. My eyes feast on him, consuming every morsel like a woman starved. Why does a man so cold have to be so strikingly beautiful? His chiseled jaw clenches, the muscles in his biceps bunch—like it’s taking all his energy to restrain himself right now. Don’t, I want to say. Unleash the beast, do your worst.

My lips part on an exhaled breath and his eyes immediately drop to them. In response, he licks his own. It’s a dangerous game we’re playing right now, one that I know will go up in flames, ‘cause we’re burning too hot, both fueled by anger and desire. Each of us inches closer, giving into the other’s calling for damnation and destruction. We’re so close we’re exchanging oxygen. I wait for him to close the distance, to devour me alive, but the sound of ringing breaks the spell.

Noah slams his fist against the wall, making me jump before he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the phone. He looks at the number, then back at me before swiping and answering the call.

“Hello.” His eyes never leave mine as he speaks.

“Yes, she’s available, one moment.” He holds it out for me. “It’s the police. They want to speak to you.” His voice is restrained, but I can see the storm waging behind his glasses.

My hands shake as I take the phone from him and bring it to my ear.

“Hello?” It comes out like a croak, like I can’t trust my own voice.

“Miss Clarke, it’s Officer Barde. We must have got cut off last night.” He sounds suspicious.

“Uh, yes, sorry about that.”

“Frankie, is everything alright?”

I could tell him that Noah kidnapped me and I think he murdered someone, but the words refuse to come forward.

“Yes, I’m fine. It’s just been a long couple of days.”

“I understand. I need to ask you a few questions regarding the disappearance of Emmett Brown.”

My eyes flick up to Noah, still looming like a dark cloud.

“Am I a suspect?” I ask.

“No, Miss Clarke, we have witnesses that have corroborated Mr. Porter’s story that the two of you left the club together, and Mr. Brown left alone. Again, it’s just standard procedure. We understand you’re under a lot of stress with the incidents that have transpired, but you are connected to one man who has gone missing and another whose heart turned up on your doorstep yesterday morning. It’s my job to follow any leads.”

“I understand. And I’ll give you any information I have.” The night is hazy, my memory only retaining flashes of time.

“I know you’ve been through a lot. Can you come into the department tomorrow? I need an official statement from you and Mr. Porter.”

“Yes, we can do that.” I’m just telling him what he wants to hear. I don’t know how Noah plans on handling this, if he will let me leave to give a statement. Or ever.

“Great, I’ll speak to you then.”

“Okay, bye.”

I blow out a breath and lean against the wall. My legs wobble beneath me, threatening to give out.

“You didn’t tell him.” Noah quirks his eyebrow.

Looking past him, I shake my head slowly.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”