25. Chapter 25 #2
As Frankie explained what each of the toys and accessories were for, McCoy’s preferences somehow got into their conversation.
And then, the general topic of McCoy stole the conversation.
The longer they spoke, the softer Sawyer became, although Frankie was willing to bet the older woman would never have admitted it.
But damn, as she watched Sawyer’s eyes sparkle as Frankie told stories of her old lover, a tight knot grew and festered inside Frankie’s chest, strangling the space where her heart should be.
Not because of leftover feelings for McCoy, but for the little shit likely still sulking up in her apartment.
Evan had wormed their way into her heart all while trying to stab her in it.
How was that even possible? The chemistry between them was magnetic, their passion like a burning inferno.
But what if it burned too hot, too bright? What if neither of them could trust the other long enough to tame those flames?
“McCoy told me about Evan, too,” Sawyer said as Frankie walked her to the door. She fought the urge to check the clock again. If her staff needed her, they would have phoned.
“Did she now?” Frankie assumed as much, but didn’t say.
“Don’t forget what I said when I came here looking for McCoy all those months ago.
” Sawyer glanced back at Frankie, clutching her bag of goodies in front of her.
Her eyes softened with such sympathy, Frankie had to look away.
“When the time came, I chose her over my insecurities. Do you know yet what you’re willing to give up, if Evan’s the one? ”
By the time Frankie was climbing the stairs to her apartment hours later, it was close to midnight.
After four nights with hardly any sleep, she was dead on her feet.
Her lower back and calves ached from standing for the last several hours, and all she wanted to do was strip and stretch out on her sectional with a drink in hand.
A homemade lager or a few fingers’ worth of bourbon, she wasn’t sure just yet.
A yawn slipped out as she fumbled with her keys, and she dropped them twice before she found the right one and let herself in. The lemony scent of disinfectant, combined with the baked apple candle burning on the ledge near the entryway, lifted Frankie’s spirits somewhat.
“You’ve been busy. The place smells great, Evan,” Frankie said, setting her keys and purse down. She bent to unfasten her pumps, grimacing at how her back protested with the movement. A heating pad might do her well, too.
Evan appeared from the kitchen, quickly noticing her struggle. They dropped to their knees in front of Frankie, one hand reaching out to touch her foot. “Can I?”
“Mm-hmm.” Frankie watched them with hooded eyes as they carefully unstrapped her pumps and freed her of the footwear.
The softness of Evan’s featherlight touch on her skin made her chest constrict, and it took every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep her hands to herself.
It was all she could do to not caress the fine hairs on Evan’s scalp for a job well done.
“Thank you,” she husked, satisfaction blooming when Evan’s cheeks pinkened.
“Yeah, of course. Can you … Are you too tired to talk?”
“No.” She was, but she would take a win with Evan when she could get one. “Just let me change and I’m all yours.”
Once Frankie was dressed in a loose pair of joggers and T-shirt, she met Evan in the kitchen just as the kettle on the stove began to whistle. Her lips curled up at the two mugs waiting on the counter, and she met Evan’s expectant gaze.
“You’re being very considerate tonight, little thief.”
“Deep conversations require tea.” When Frankie continued to stare at them, Evan added a bit sheepishly, “You said that before.”
With the desire to kick back and relax—with alcohol—silently taunting her, Frankie forced herself to cross the kitchen to where the mugs sat. She lifted the steaming kettle off the burner. “Is that what this is tonight? A deep conversation?”
“Yes. No. I mean, maybe?” Evan heaved a sigh, appearing beside her.
Frankie poured the hot water into the mugs, noting the hot chocolate mix in Evan’s.
She added a drop of milk from the carton in the fridge, and for a comforting moment, the only sound in the room was the slight clang of their spoons against the ceramic as they stirred their beverages.
“I’ve tried to give you space the last few days,” Frankie said at last. She studied Evan across from her in the breakfast booth, from their mostly bare, untatted arms in a crew neck tank top, to the lone chain around a slender neck, to the recently buzzed blonde hair.
When they blushed and dropped their gaze to their hot chocolate, Frankie caught the sword tattoo just below the arm of their eyeglasses.
Her stomach did a low, delicious swoop at the sight.
“I’ve tried and, while difficult, I think I succeeded. Don’t you?”
Evan nodded in agreement, still not looking at her fully.
“It gave me a lot of time to think. I realized that … you know tons about me, Frankie. Deep, personal things and shit I’m not proud of.
But I don’t know you, not really. You said you didn’t wanna be just a body to someone into kink, and I don’t think I want that either.
So I figure …” Evan trailed off, took a long sip of their hot chocolate, and lifted their face to Frankie’s at last. Nerves made them restless in the booth, and a rosy flush appeared on their throat, but determination shone in their eyes.
“What do you figure, honey?” Frankie asked when Evan’s pause stretched out.
A gust of air left them. “I know that what happened with Caleb must’ve fucked you up a little bit, but only ‘cause I figured it out. I want … I need something else. How else am I supposed to learn to trust you?”
An obnoxiously loud strum of her pulse started in Frankie’s ears, the kind she got when her body began to panic. She reached for her neck, kneading her fingers into the overwrought ball of tension there. “You know I’m adopted.”
“I knew that before I even met you.”
Evan’s confession came as a surprise, but then, why would it? They had managed to find her even after she’d legally dropped her first name, Katheryn. She swallowed. “And do you know why?”
Evan nodded once, a flash of sympathy showing.
“Your parents were killed in a car accident when you were four. Your aunt and uncle raised you. In this apartment, actually.” They glanced around the home Frankie had spent so much of her childhood in.
“That’s all. You guys moved, but I don’t know where. ”
Frankie leveled Evan with a long look, trying to keep her voice steady. “Honey, you already know more than most. What else could you possibly need at this stage in our relationship?”
“This.” Evan reached for their wallet tucked off to the side of the table. Flipping it open, they took out a picture and set it in front of Frankie.
Emily’s face stared back at her past the photograph’s frayed edges. Frankie’s breath hitched in her throat, and her gaze collided with Evan’s. Her voice was steely as she gritted out, “Why did you steal this? You had no right! Investigating me is one thing, but Emily is—”
“Of course I stole it. You were my enemy , Frankie.” Evan held their hands up like they were calling a truce, a pleading expression on their face.
“Please, just listen, okay? You know about Caleb. He was one of the most important people to me, and you fucking shot him . The least you could do is tell me who this girl was to you.”
“No.” Frankie wagged her head back and forth, her movements jerky as she shoved out of the booth and pointed a shaking finger at Evan. “I shot him because I had to . Because if I didn’t, he would have killed me, Evan. Don’t fucking dare try to manipulate the narrative. Emily is off limits.”
“You clearly cared for her if it tears you up just saying her name. I’m not trying to manipulate you, but how can you love me if you can’t even trust me?”
Fuck the tea with conversation. Frankie retrieved the bottle of whiskey kept in the cupboard above the sink, followed by a tumbler, and almost dropped the glass as she poured out a few fingers’ worth.
She tossed it back in one gulp, enjoying the burn on the way down.
Her hands were a lot steadier as she refilled the glass before setting the bottle on the counter.
Evan didn’t know what they were asking. Excluding her family, no one currently in her life knew about Emily.
The past hurt too damn much to dredge up.
The mandatory therapy Frankie had endured while on the force had helped her move on from that god awful night, but that didn’t mean her ghosts weren’t still lurking in the dark, waiting for a chance to resurface.
Over the years, she’d thwarted every single one of McCoy’s attempts to find out.
Surely she could bury this one with Evan easily enough.
Slowly, Frankie turned and leaned against the counter, finding Evan’s shifty gaze across the room.
“I-I can’t.”
“Do you know yet what you’re willing to give up, if Evan’s the one?”
Sawyer’s question from hours earlier popped intrusively into Frankie’s thoughts.
She hesitated, her glass halfway to her lips.
Evan slipped out of the booth, their posture slouched in defeat.
They turned to leave the kitchen, and Frankie knew she might never have another chance.
She might wake up tomorrow and find Evan gone. For good this time.
She opened her mouth, her voice cracking as she said, “Emily was my foster sister.”
Evan stilled as if waiting for Frankie to continue. So she took a big swig of her drink and said something she’d only ever admitted twice before.
“I was also in love with her.”