32. Chapter 32
Frankie
SIX HOURS EARLIER …
I should go back. I need to go back.
But no matter how many times she willed herself to turn the car around, she wouldn’t.
Couldn’t . It had been three hours or more since she’d run out of the pub, and she’d done everything she could think of but go back.
She’d hit the bag at the gym for an hour, and when that hadn’t helped, she drove to her favorite sex shop.
Browsing the newest kink toys was nice, but it was perusing the gender affirming section that truly acted as a temporary distraction.
All Frankie could think of was gifting Evan a new, top-of-the-line binder.
She would have done it, too, had the sales associate not suggested Evan come and personally try them on.
It wasn’t long after that Frankie stopped by the graveyard.
Usually a visit with Emily would put things in perspective, but not today.
Evan had barely touched her, and yet, the panic trying to claw its way out felt eerily familiar.
She was hot, her skin felt tight and uncomfortable under her clothes, and the usual comfort and safety of being in her car had disappeared.
Center yourself. Breathe, goddammit.
Frankie pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road, put the gear in park, and ripped off her seatbelt. She was breathing hard, her throat swollen and raw against her blouse buttons. Why did she insist on wearing such confining clothes day in and day out?
Too hot, it’s too hot.
Shifting back and forth in her seat, she shimmied the blazer off and tossed it onto the passenger side.
Next came the buttons, and it wasn’t until they were halfway undone and a chilled, rainy breeze was coming in through the open car window that Frankie felt like she could breathe again.
Her eyes drifted closed. But, almost like clockwork, the pesky, meddling voice of Sawyer blared like a foghorn in Frankie’s head.
“Do you know yet, what you’re willing to give up if Evan’s the one?”
Frankie cursed, her eyes flying back open.
Slamming her hand down on the steering wheel, she glared out at the noon-hour traffic whizzing by on the highway.
A minute passed, maybe more, and then Frankie reached for her phone.
She pulled up Sawyer’s text thread, still unnamed in her inbox, and connected the call to her car’s Bluetooth.
As it rang, she maneuvered the Audi back onto the road, not yet knowing where she was headed.
She was a pub owner, for Christ’s sake, she couldn’t play hooky whenever she felt like it.
There wasn’t enough staff scheduled for stunts like that.
The call eventually went to voicemail, Sawyer’s slightly accented voice coming in over the speaker as she apologized for missing whoever was on the other end.
Frankie scoffed when she heard the beep.
“You know what? I’m sorry you missed me too, because I wanted to say ‘fuck you’ directly.
I don’t know what kind of voodoo shit you planted in my head, but it needs to stop.
Your voice plays like a broken cassette in an old car radio.
Over and fucking over, Sawyer. Knowing what I’m ready to give up for Evan and succeeding in doing it are two very different things. ”
Disconnecting the call, she heaved a ragged sigh. That had been foolish. No fear, not anymore. Don’t let them see your pain. That mantra was something she’d shared with Emily all those years ago in a steadfast hope they could take back some of their power.
Frankie turned onto her old street before she realized where her subconscious mind had taken her.
North Burnaby, one of Vancouver’s suburbs, looked the same as it had the last time she’d visited.
The neighboring lawns were snow-free and soggy with rainwater, but the flowers had already started to grow, and soon the cherry blossoms lining the sidewalks would bloom.
Once upon a time, she had loved living in such a close-knit community.
After moving from above the pub, she and Danny had made friends with kids in the neighborhood.
It was there Emily had come to live with them, and regardless that Frankie was adopted and Emily was fostered, it had felt like a true family for a long time.
Frankie slowed the Audi down to a snail’s pace when she reached her old home, hesitating for a fraction of a moment before pulling the car into the driveway.
She parked beside an older-style van, scrunching her nose up as she took in the dent on the passenger side door.
When had they bought a van? And more to the point, why ?
She was out of the loop, sure, but as far as she knew, her aunt and uncle were done with fostering. Had been for a long time, too.
As she walked the short distance to the front door, she found herself wiping clammy palms against her dress slacks.
It was a strange feeling, the nervous anticipation knotting her insides like a tangled ball of yarn.
Perhaps it was the memories, the nostalgia she faced, that had kept her away far longer than family contact had.
Grasping the door handle, Frankie was about to open it when she stopped. Over two years had passed since she crossed this threshold. She had no rights to this house, not anymore. She took a deep breath, gushing out an exhale as she rang the doorbell.
And then she waited.
And waited some more.
About to ring the bell again, Frankie drew back in surprise when the door swung inward.
Her heart squeezed as she took in the tall, six-two, maybe six-foot-four man in his early twenties.
His reddish-brown hair, which leaned closer to a cinnamon shade, was cut a lot shorter than the last time Frankie had seen him.
Maddox tucked his cell phone away, deep blue eyes squinting like he wasn’t sure she was really there. “Kitty Kat?”
The age-old nickname brought on the faintest tremble in Frankie’s lower lip.
She bit down to stop it, breathing in and out through her nose as they gawked at one another.
God, he looked just like Emily, right down to the small, pert nose and carefully placed freckles scattering his cheeks.
At twenty-one, Maddox had already surpassed his mother’s age by five years.
Life is a fucking tragedy.
“How …” Frankie cleared her throat and tried again. “How’s my favorite nephew?”
Frankie’s smile felt tentative, as if it was as unsure as she was of the situation. It seemed wrong to be someone’s aunt, let alone Maddox’s. Not only was she just generally not aunt material— Danny’s kids could attest to that—but with Maddox, she’d been prepared to be a second mother to him.
And then you skipped out on him and everyone else. Class act, you are.
“If I were a favorite, I’m sure you’d see me more.” Maddox held the door open for Frankie to enter, his tone as dry as peeling paint. He gestured to the boot rack, calling over his shoulder as he headed to the kitchen, “House rules haven’t changed.”
“Figured,” Frankie murmured, bending to unstrap her high heels. Since the day Frankie had come to live with her aunt and uncle at four years old, Auntie B had been a stickler for placing their footwear on the boot rack. It was nice to know some things hadn’t shifted in her life.
She followed Maddox, his words from before stinging a little.
She’d never been a kid person. When she was thirteen, the only reason she’d taken a babysitting course was because Emily hadn’t wanted to do it alone.
She’d never had that nurturing side so many girls that age did, and had Emily not been pregnant, Frankie would have gone through life without a second thought.
But Emily was, and Frankie had loved her, so it had made sense to Frankie that she would love Maddox too.
That if Emily had deemed it so, she could have been a part of their lives in a truly meaningful way.
Auntie B adopting Maddox was the best outcome, Frankie knew that.
She would have made a shit mother. And Maddox was right.
He might not have said the words, but she was a terrible aunt, too.
It’s just … how could she explain how it hurt just looking at him?
He was a constant reminder of what she’d lost. Of what they’d both lost.
“I’m sorry,” she began, knowing she should say something , “but you know, keeping in touch goes both ways.” Fuck, no, that wasn’t supposed to slip out.
Yes, Maddox might have been fully grown now, but he wasn’t always.
Even before the tiff with Auntie B, Frankie had been the adult pushing everyone away.
Hell, the moment a position had opened in the Toronto police department, Frankie had transferred just to get away from her family for a while.
Small puffs of air escaped her lungs as she tried to keep her control. “That didn’t come out right. I meant to say …”
Frankie’s mouth clamped shut as she spotted the slouched figure in a wheelchair by the kitchen table. Her eyes widened, and she gasped out, “Uncle?”
“I was just getting him into his chair when you showed up,” Maddox said, taking a seat beside their uncle. He waved her over before picking up a spoon filled with what appeared to be mashed-up food.
“What happened?” The question left her lips with a croak. Her throat ached from trying unsuccessfully to keep her emotions in check. Uncle Eamon barely registered her presence, just a grunt behind a well-kept mustache.
“He had a stroke a year and a half ago.” Sympathy brimmed in Maddox’s blue eyes as he watched their uncle struggle with his food. He used a cloth napkin to wipe the corners of the older man’s mouth before meeting Frankie’s blurry gaze. “Auntie B didn’t think you were ready to know.”