38 - Frankie
38
Frankie
—
The air-conditioning in the den blasts from the vents, chilling me to the bone and making me brittle.
Doyle leans forward in the chair, facing me, his eyes intense, magnetic, trying to draw me in, but I feel nothing.
I’ve learned to be wary of pretty faces and charming smiles.
Thank you, Denver.
“How are you feeling today?” He brushes his hand against mine. A fleeting touch, but it makes me shudder.
“Trapped,” I admit. “It’s been a month since Leo and Kody started searching for Wolf’s body in the Arctic. Whenever they return to Sitka, I hardly see them. Kody’s busy with the distillery, and Leo’s finishing flight school. I feel so alone.”
Doyle knows too much. More than he should. I’ve been seeing him for three months, and he’s heard it all—every gruesome detail about my time with Denver, my relationship with Leo and Kody, Wolf’s suicide, and the stalker.
The stalker who’s been silent since we received Wolf’s photo.
“You’re not alone,” he says. “You have me.”
“For two hours a week.” I laugh, hiding my discomfort. “Rhett is still holding my job. I want to go back to work. I need to feel useful, to have a purpose.”
“Your mental health is just as important as your physical safety. If going back to work makes you happy, you should do it. Even with the stalker threat, you can take security guards with you.”
“I live with three men who would be absolutely furious to hear you say that. They want to protect me.”
“Protect you? Or control you?”
“No one controls me.”
Leo and Kody are my world, but their quests for closure and independence keep them from me. I understand, but it doesn’t make the loneliness any easier.
They’re somewhere in the Arctic Circle right now with Sirena. When they return, they’ll be upset and worked up, their eyes haunted by another failed mission. And they’ll direct that aggression at me.
They’ll think of nothing else than luring me to be alone, putting their hands and mouths on me, pushing my clothes aside, and slacking their insatiable need.
I want them to feel how wet they make me while they whisper filthy words. Their touch, their growls, their scents, our connection—all of it compounds with mine, sparking like an overloaded electrical circuit.
The problem is they don’t want me to leave the island, and I won’t have sex with them under Monty’s roof.
What kind of person would I be if I gave in and fucked them with Monty in the other room?
Cruel. That’s what I would be. Fucking cruel.
Like it or not, I’m in a complicated love square, and until I figure it out, no one is getting laid.
It’s torture.
So when Leo and Kody return, I’ll continue to resist their advances with a crumbling willpower. It’ll enrage them, and they’ll storm off to Sitka and channel all that frustration into their dreams.
Kody pours his heart into the distillery, and I admire his drive. He’ll be opening his bar to the public soon, and I couldn’t be happier for him. But I miss him. So fucking much.
Leo remains focused on earning advanced pilot certificates. It’s his way of gaining control, of proving to himself and the world that he’ll never be helpless again. I love him for it, but I need him here, with me, to remind me that the present is just as important as the future. I need him to prove our connection is more than just sex.
Then there’s Monty. He tries so hard to fill the gap, but I keep him at arm’s length. Because I’m scared. I’m fucking terrified of my feelings for him. If I nurture those feelings…
It will ruin everything. My relationship with Leo and Kody . Monty’s relationship with them. There’s no scenario where the four of us can be together the way I want. I’ve thought about it. A lot.
“Every decision you make revolves around them,” he says. “It’s not healthy, Frankie.”
“You’re right.” I rub my temples, conflicted and confused. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Maybe you should separate from them for a while. If they love you, they’ll understand your need for independence.”
Horror robs my breath as denial crashes over me, dragging me under where the light of reason cannot reach.
“No. Absolutely not. I love them.”
“All three of them?” His eyes narrow, a flicker of something dark passing through them.
“Yes. I love them and can’t imagine my life without them.”
“We’ve talked about this, Frankie. You can’t have three men. Especially three unstable men with aggression issues who refuse to see a therapist. You need to rewire your nervous system to gravitate toward healthy connections, enriching relationships, and meaningful intimacy. Not the toxic ones you’re clinging to.”
I bite my lip, my thoughts unraveling. He knows everything about me. Sharing my secrets with him and talking through the painful, triggering details has gone a long way in helping me manage the panic attacks. I haven’t had an episode since I started opening up to him.
But something feels off today, like a discordant note in a familiar melody.
His suggestion to separate from the three people who will stop at nothing to keep me safe…that doesn’t sit right. How could he even think I would do that? They’re my lifeline, my family, the mates to my soul.
But he’s right about one thing. I need to reclaim my purpose to feel alive again. Working at the hospital, helping others, it’s not just a job. It’s my calling.
If anyone is controlling me, it’s the stalker. This unknown entity hovers over me like a dark cloud, keeping me trapped on this island. My mental health, my happiness, are worth fighting for. If I need security guards to achieve that, so be it. I won’t be a prisoner in my own life anymore.
“You’ve been through so much.” His expression softens, and he reaches out to gently touch my cheek, his touch warm, lingering, and more intimate than it should be. “Such a strong, magnificent woman. I want to see you heal and be happy again.”
“You know what we haven’t talked about?” I pull back, eyes hard. “Your unprofessional touching. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“I’m sorry.” He drops his hand, looking wounded. “My only intention is to help you.”
Something in his tone sends another shiver through me. I want to believe him, to trust in his care and concern, but a growing part of me feels uneasy.
Maybe Monty was right. Maybe Doyle’s intentions aren’t benevolent.
“I appreciate your concern,” I say, “but I need our relationship to remain professional. It’s important for my healing.”
“You’re right. I overstepped.” He adopts a soothing tone. “I thought you might need comfort, knowing how hard today must be for you.”
“What?” My heart stops.
“You don’t remember?” Pity draws his features as he scoots forward. “A year ago today, you were abducted.”
Of course, I fucking remember. But I never told him the exact date.
“How do you know that?” I stand, backing away.
“You told me, Frankie.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Or maybe I saw it in the news.”
I don’t remember ever mentioning it. My mind races, trying to recall if I slipped, but nothing comes to mind. Suspicion coils in my gut and encases my skin in ice.
“I think we should end the session.” Heart racing, I move toward the door. “In fact, I’ll no longer be requiring your treatment.”
“Your therapy isn’t complete.” He stands, his expression unreadable. “We’re making progress, but you still have things to work through.”
“I’ll do it on my own.” I grab the door handle, my palm slick with sweat as I wrench it open.
Monty leans against the opposite wall, hands in his pockets and blue eyes crashing into mine.
One look at me, and he shoves off the wall and storms forward. “What’s wrong?”
“Doyle’s leaving.” Hugging my waist, I step to the side to let the man pass. “For good.”
“If you change your mind,” he says, exchanging a glare with Monty before turning to me, “I’m only a phone call away.”
Sensing my discomfort, Monty shifts and puts his broad frame between us. “She won’t be making that call.” He raises his voice. “Jasper?”
Jasper steps from around the corner. “Sir?”
“Escort Dr. Whitaker off the island.”
“Right away, Mr. Novak.”
With Monty blocking my view, I don’t know if Doyle glances back as he departs. I don’t care. When the front door shuts behind him, I release a serrated breath.
“What happened?” Monty pivots, bending his knees and leveling his gaze with mine.
“Did you tell him what today is?”
“I didn’t tell him anything.”
“Was it in the news?”
“No.” He blinks. “Not that I’m aware of. We kept dates and timelines out of the narrative. But a thorough journalist could’ve gleaned the details and posted it somewhere.” His jaw flexes. “What did Doyle do?”
“He touched my face. I told him it was unprofessional, and he mentioned how today must be hard for me.” A swallow sticks in my throat. “He must’ve spent some time looking for that date. But for what purpose?”
“He’s at the top of the suspect list.”
“I figured.”
“He’s not coming back.”
“No. I fired him.”
“Wilson will continue to keep an eye on him.”
“He hasn’t found anything?”
“No. Nothing to incriminate him or connect him to the stalker. Doyle hasn’t taken a flight or left Sitka in the past year. But Wilson is still digging.”
“Thank you.” I tuck my hands in my pockets to stop myself from reaching for him. “For waiting out here, for always keeping me safe, and the letter…” I shift my weight. “Thank you for that.”
I woke this morning with a note on my nightstand, scrawled in his meticulous penmanship.
Today is a reminder of your strength. I’m sorry for your pain, and I’m here with all my love.
I cried when I read it.
Leaving a note rather than smothering me all day with pity and concern was exactly what I needed.
“You’re welcome,” he says.
He’s doing everything right, and it’s slowly, painfully breaking me.
As I stare into his stern, overprotective eyes, I feel nothing but love.
Love for the man I married.
Love for the man he’s become.
I love him.
He lost me, and that changed him. It ripped him open, deepened him, and made him emotionally stronger.
Nothing is more breathtaking than a man who knows the salty taste of his own tears. A man who owns his mistakes as if they’re tattooed on his bones with holy ink.
A year ago, I didn’t believe he was my soul mate.
But the man standing before me with a broken heart and imperfect love in his eyes? He fits disturbingly, achingly, perfectly in my soul. And I’m in his. He never let me go.
“I’m sorry about Doyle.” His hand twitches at his side. “I’ll find you another therapist.”
“I don’t need another therapist. I need to go back to work.”
“It’s too dangerous.” His eyes darken, flashing with anger. “You know that.”
“I do, but I can’t continue like this. I need to feel useful again, to have a purpose.”
“What about your safety?”
“I don’t know, Monty. You have all this security everywhere. You’re rich and powerful and can destroy someone’s life with the snap of your fingers.”
“I don’t do that.”
“But you can. I’m going back to work. Snap your fingers and make it happen.”
“Christ.” He sighs quietly. “You’re a pain in my ass.”
“Thank you.” I pat his jaw and stride away.
“Frankie.”
“Hm?” I pause, glancing back.
“Are you happy?”
I pull in a breath and give him the truth. “No. I’m not. But I’m working on it.”
“Put on that green dress. The one with the…” He gestures at his sternum.
“The low plunge halter? That’s a fancy dress, Monty.”
“I’m taking you to dinner.”
“Off the island?”
When he inclines his head, a thrill jolts through me.
I haven’t left the island since the night Leo and Kody were arrested.
Two months ago.
Before he can change his mind, I race off to the guest bedroom to prepare.