Chapter 39
Chapter
Thirty-Nine
FRANKIE
I t started with a ping.
Just one. A notification on my phone from a group chat I usually kept on mute. Then another. And another. Within thirty seconds, my phone was buzzing like it was having a seizure.
I glanced at the screen.
“WTF IS THIS???”
“Did you see Coop??”
“Frankie... girl... you might wanna sit down.”
I didn’t sit down. I opened Post-it-gram. Mistake number one.
The first clip autoplayed without mercy—blurry at first, then sharp enough to make my stomach drop.
A video. Bubba. Shirtless. Sweat-slicked.
Grinding against some random girl in what looked like the pool house living room while Jake egged him on in the background.
Someone had added slow-mo. And a neon caption that read:
“SUMMER SLUT BOYZ 2025 ”
I blinked. Hit pause. Tried to breathe.
Mistake number two? Checking the comments.
“Who knew golden boy Coop had a freaky side?”
“Is that Bubba in the hot tub with two girls? Omg.”
“Wait… IS THAT ARCHIE??”
My thumb hovered over another video. I didn’t want to look. But I did. Of course I did.
This one had all four of them—Jake with a bottle in one hand, pants suspiciously low; Bubba holding a phone and narrating while Coop and Archie— Archie —made out with girls in a club like they were in some kind of contest. There were flashes of skin.
Moaning. A suspiciously familiar game room.
It kept going. Longer than I wanted. Definitely not accidental. These were saved, curated, deliberate.
I backed out of the app. But it was too late. My pulse was already pounding in my ears.
I felt… sick. Betrayed. But mostly? Just upset.
Because their summer of “missing me” had also been a part of these “legendary sexcapades” apparently.
Bile burned in the back of my throat. It wasn’t news to me.
I had been blocking some of these parts out, but I had gone to Bubba’s birthday “party” and sex had been in the air that night.
So, not surprising that it had been there all summer.
I wasn’t a total idiot. I should’ve stopped watching—but curiosity and anger kept my fingers moving.
The next video showed Bubba in a pool, hands everywhere, tongue somewhere it definitely shouldn’t have been, while someone—maybe the girl who leaked all of this—zoomed in and whispered,
“Frankie’s gonna love this one.”
Like it was a joke. Like I was a joke.
I didn’t realize I was shaking until my phone slipped out of my hands and hit the bed.
I sat there, breathing hard, trying not to cry. Not because they had been wild or reckless or even gross—but because not one of them had thought for a second what this would look like. What it would feel like. For me.
This wasn’t just about bad decisions or hot hookups. This was about the lines they crossed, the little lies they told me, told themselves, and then wrapped in charm to hand out like candy.
I was the one they wanted, but they had definitely not gone without. My heart kicked so hard at my ribs, it felt like they would crack. I had no idea which of the girls posted this, the “original” post was already down, but screenshots and screenrecordings were forever.
My phone began to vibrate again, but this time, I didn’t dare look. Not yet. I still had to get to?—
A knock on the bedroom door had me staring at it, almost owl-eyed. It wasn’t even nine yet. I had to be at work in a couple of hours, and I’d gone back to bed after feeding the cats that morning cause I wanted the extra sleep.
Another knock.
Shaking off the distraction, I clicked the side button to shut off the screen and pushed out from under the covers. “Come in.”
Mom opened the door to glance in at me. She was far more disheveled than I was used to seeing her. Dressed in a long-sleeved button-down shirt and little else, she gave me a sleepy grin. “Good morning, baby.”
For the second time that morning, my heart stopped and then began to sink wrapped in chains of dread. Who was this woman and what had she done with my mother?
“I’m glad you’re up. We got in really late last night and I didn’t want to wake you. But get dressed. We’re going to take you out to breakfast.”
“I have to work—” The response was almost automatic but it came out in a croaky voice.
“Call out sick.”
“What?”
She huffed out a dramatic sigh. “Call out sick, you never call out. This is important.”
“Mom,” I began, trying to search for the words.
“No,” she said, holding up one finger. “Francesca, I ask you for very little. You will do this for me, because it’s important and we have a lot to talk about. So call out, and get dressed. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”
With that, she blew me a kiss and left the room.
If I called out, I was stuck with Mom and—wait, she said we . Who the hell was we? Gravity seemed to double the force it exerted over my chest.
We.
Fuck.
I pushed off the bed and got dressed. I braided my hair rather than try to tame any of it. Then I called Marsha and as soon as she answered, I apologized. “I know it’s short notice, and I’d rather go to work but?—”
“You sound terrible,” Marsha said, her concern soaking me through with guilt. “Take the rest of the weekend sweetheart.”
The manager was probably one of the nicest people I knew.
“I’ll try to be there tomorrow.” Missing one day was bad enough.
“No, you’ll take it easy. You have a heavy course load. I don’t want to see you before Wednesday. If you’re still feeling rocky, just let me know. You have too much to do to be sick.”
She wouldn’t take no for an answer. The whole time I was on the phone, the notifications kept coming in. Every short, sharp, and insistent buzz seemed to rattle in my bones before I heard it.
Off the phone, I went to disable the notifications because there were just too many. There were also messages from the guys. I needed to answer them.
Rachel’s name popped up on the screen. She was calling. I declined and let it go to voicemail. I just couldn’t yet.
“Come on, Frankie!” Mom called. “You’re going to make us late.”
How could you be late to a date you didn’t even plan? But I kept the comment to myself as I headed out to the living room phone in hand. “I just need to?—”
Mom had chosen a playfully ruffled sundress in green and some strappy sandals. She’d traded in her earlier disheveled appearance for something more elegant and yet relaxed. It wasn’t her, however, that stopped me dead. It was the man she stood next to, with her hand on his arm.
“Mr. Standish?” I said slowly. Archie’s dad. I’d met him a few times. He and Archie looked so much alike at times, it was eerie, but where Archie always seemed warm, funny, and witty, his dad was far colder and remote.
“Frankie,” he said, his expression softening from the icy distance he usually wore. “You don’t have to be so formal with me.”
“Eddie’s right,” Mom said, sliding her arm firmly through his.
Eddie ?
My stomach did an agonizing flip-flop as my gaze slid back and forth between them. A lot of little pieces were starting to make more sense. Mom’s constant late nights and long “working” weeks away. She was in the middle of an affair.
It was hardly her first.
But this was…
“You know, I was going to wait until breakfast, but I think we’ve all waited so long that I don’t want to wait anymore.”
My mouth was suddenly dry. “Wait for what?”
“To introduce you to your father,” Mom said, her smile so brilliant it bordered on blinding.
The dizzying spiral of the world threatened to suck me down into a vortex. A hot, icy sensation raced over me. “What?”
Happiness radiating off of her in a way I’d never seen it, Mom beamed. “Eddie is your father, Frankie.”
To dive back into the secrets, scars, and slow-burn seduction—where every letter cuts and every lie costs—get ready for Book 2 of What If: Letters, Lace, and Lies … because the past isn’t done, the heart isn’t healed, and someone’s about to pay the price.