40. Chapter 40 #2
“Why can’t we be left alone?” Frankie grumbled, slipping reluctantly out of Evan’s bed.
The breeze from the open windows made her shiver, so she ducked into her ruined bedroom for a hoodie.
She threw it on, walking to the door, and grimacing at the stench of smoke lingering on the material.
The whole bedroom stank of charred satin and memory foam.
Thankfully, it hadn’t travelled to the rest of the apartment.
She squinted through the peephole in her door and sighed at the two figures in the stairwell. Unlocking the deadbolts, Frankie squared her haggard shoulders and pulled open the door. “I’m not really fit for company.”
“Hello to you, too,” McCoy said, her eyes widening comically at the state Frankie was in, but she didn’t look so good herself. She was dressed in sweats and a wrinkled jacket, sporting deep bags under her eyes and an unruly, loose topknot hairstyle.
Sawyer, who was much more put together, placed a hand on her girlfriend’s shoulder when she attempted to waltz inside the apartment. She met Frankie’s tired gaze. “Are you and Evan okay? We came as soon as we heard.”
“How…” Frankie shook her head. It didn’t matter how they’d heard. It was just so good that they’d cared enough to show up. She swallowed, stepping into the stairwell with them and closing the door behind her. “Let’s talk downstairs. Evan just fell asleep.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dressed so casually. I like it,” McCoy commented as they descended the stairs. Frankie moved a little slower, still stiff from her run-in with Cecil.
Sawyer tsked. “Darling, you’re lucky I find your constant flirting endearing.”
“I wasn’t—” McCoy started as Frankie punched in the keypad to get into the pub from her stairwell. From her periphery, she saw one of Sawyer’s black eyebrows arch up, and a sheepish chuckle left McCoy. “I possibly was flirting, but unaware.”
“Mm-hmm, better.”
“I can’t even find the energy to add my two cents,” Frankie said, gesturing to the empty barstools. “Have a seat. Coffee?”
“Please,” Sawyer and McCoy replied in unison. As Frankie set out to make coffee, they filled her in on Sloane.
“We decided not to post her bail, at least not yet. She could use a few days to de-stress in there,” Sawyer said. Her facial expression told Frankie she’d be fine if Sloane was put away for a while.
“I don’t know how it happened. She looks like she completely lost it, Frankie.” Worry coated McCoy’s exclamation, perking Frankie out of her daze. Memories of the night before returned. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“She did. I was there.” Setting three mugs on the counter, Frankie carried the coffee pot over and filled each one, gently admitting, “It wasn’t great to witness, but it doesn’t excuse what she did.
Sloane fucked me over. For months, by the sound of it, possibly years.
I have no idea how much, nothing major until recently.
Still, she needs to pay for what she’s done. ”
Sawyer pulled a notebook from her purse and set it down in front of Frankie. “We found this in her bedroom. It looks like a ledger.”
Frankie nodded. “Evan told me about it. Sloane kept track of all her bets.”
“That’s not all.” McCoy flipped through the book until she’d almost reached the end, scanning the pages before offering it up for Frankie to see. “Looks like she kept track of everything she took as well.”
The amount was less than Frankie feared, but still she scoffed. “More than she could ever pay back.”
“Perhaps, but,” Sawyer tossed a quick glance at her lover and then looked back at Frankie, blowing out a deep breath, “I’m willing to cover a portion of it. To help make amends, but also to tide you over until the insurance is sorted out. We both know that could take months.”
The offer was too generous, something Frankie was certain McCoy had pleaded with Sawyer about.
Instead of answering Sawyer right away, she addressed the younger woman.
“You know you can’t sweep in and make everything right for your sister, don’t you?
Even if I could excuse the financial loss, she crossed so many lines, McCoy.
She framed her own friend and lied time and time again. I could never trust her again.”
“She needs help, not to go to prison,” McCoy argued. “Therapy, meetings to help with gambling, something .”
Therapy. Shit. With all the excitement, Frankie had forgotten all about her appointment the day before. Fucking Sloane.
“Look, I am tired beyond reason. Excuse the fuck out of me for not caring about Sloane at the moment, but I can’t do all of this right now. I just want to soak in a hot bubble bath and order takeout in my freezing cold apartment with its broken window and equally broken boifriend.”
“Your window’s broken? Why didn’t you say? I can try to fix it for you.” McCoy started to move, but Frankie held her hand up.
“I know you need to feel purposeful, but you’re not listening. Maybe Sawyer can explain it better right now.” Frankie shut the coffee pot off and headed toward the stairs without a backward glance. “Make sure to lock up when you’re done.”
As she was entering the stairwell, she heard McCoy say, “Sweetheart, what’d I do?”