Chapter Four #2
The fire in Frankie’s hazel eyes shimmered before gradually extinguishing.
Then there was nothing but exhaustion. Surrender.
I opened my mouth to say something, but her bottom lip started trembling and her teeth clattered.
She brought her hands to her face briskly, trying to keep whatever dam was breaking from spilling out. But it didn’t work.
A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek, and I knew then there was no holding myself back.
One second, I was near the dresser, and the next, my arms were around her.
Her forehead touched my chest, the scent of her filling my nostrils, the familiarity that had never felt like enough growing up, or an adequate match for the riot inside of me whenever I touched her, brought me to my metaphorical knees.
I was finally letting myself feel it, and it was confirmation of everything I suspected.
I was officially ruined, I knew. And it was debilitating how good it felt to hug her after so long without her.
“I’m not crying,” she murmured between hiccups, unprompted. “You don’t need to hold me.”
“I’ll do it anyway.”
“I’m not a crier,” she added. “I’ve just …”
My hands moved on their own accord, palms dragging up and down her back, encouraging, comforting. “You’ve just … what?”
A sob escaped her. “I’ve just missed you so much.”
A new heartbreaking sound left her, making my chest constrict further in response.
One of my hands slipped into her hair, pressing her head against my collarbone, not really knowing how to make it better except injecting all my might in holding her, greedy to make the most out of this moment after seeing just how up her guard was downstairs.
Frankie’s arms moved around my back, clasping the sweater and pulling at the fabric tightly.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered. Rocking us side to side, like I’d done only a few times in the past, through the years. Although differently, worlds differently. “I’m here, Frankie baby. It’s alright. Nothing’s gonna hurt you.”
That “baby” hung around us, echoing in my ears. It was the first time it had slipped past my lips, making it out of my head. I braced myself for Frankie’s complaint, or her asking about it, saying how dare I call her anything but her name.
But Frankie’s fists only tightened around the wool, the hiccups persistent, providing an excuse to just exist in the embrace.
Strangely, the more time we spent like this, the less my body recognized the Frankie I’d grown up with.
My hands, arms and chest took notice of all the curves and valleys I never let myself notice.
My head repeating the chant I’d come to Vermont with.
Make it all right again. Make it all right again.
But had it ever been right?
I had not factored in how touching her like this, and being touched by her, would derail my plans so quickly.
Holding her like this felt like waking up from a bad dream. It had me wanting to hold her any way I could. And Jesus, there was so much we should discuss before any of that happened. So much I should explain. So much I had to ask of her.
“I think I’m good now,” Frankie murmured.
I glanced down and saw the whisper of a smile on her face. She had probed her chin on my pec and her cheeks were flushed, but there were no more tears in her eyes. She looked so beautiful. “You’re not crying.”
“You tackled me with a hug so I would stop. It was the least I could do.”
“You said you missed me,” I added, undeterred. The pink on her cheeks darkened. “I’ve missed you too, Frankie.”
Unlike the other times I’d told her that, she seemed okay with my statement now.
That was good. More than good, even. I wasn’t done making her understand just how far that sentiment went.
But I still had to lay everything down for her, so she’d see the whole picture.
The whole story. It was important. And we needed to take care of that fucking psycho.
“I’m more scared than I admitted, Tuner,” she said, reading my mind. “But I can’t leave. I can’t cancel on this. I’m serious.”
“Tell me why, then. And we’ll discuss the best plan of action.”
“We? This is my decision.”
My independent girl. She was killing me. “But I’m here with you. And you scared the shit out of me. The least you can do now is pretend that I’m part of the conversation.”
She snorted. But it was through a smile.
A real one.
Finally. It finally felt like us. Like we weren’t walking on eggshells.
Reluctantly, I released her, letting my arms drop from around her, but snatching her hand. I dragged her to the side of the bed, and once there, I knelt down and got working on the laces of my boots.
“Ah …” She trailed off, glancing down at me. “Whatcha doing?”
“Getting comfortable,” I responded, switching to my left boot. Once I was done, I straightened back up and discarded the heavy footwear beside me. “Want me to do yours?”
Frankie’s eyes widened slightly. Just for a second. Then she slipped easily out of her boots, and abandoned them beside mine.
When I plopped myself on the bed, she followed, crossing her legs under her while I rested my back against the headboard.
Her eyes scanned the space I was occupying, unsure. “Let me preface this by saying that you’re not going to like any of it.”
“I already hate it, so that’s not going to be an issue.”
Frankie sighed. “So … the first ah, note, he left at my doorstep was pretty harmless.”
There was a record-scratching shrill in my head.
Christ.
There’d been some psychopath leaving shit at her doorstep. And he—
“Turner?”
I cleared my throat. “Uh-huh?”
Frankie’s exhale was more self-conscious than wary, and that zapped me back into focus. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
“Give me your foot.”
She shot me a quizzical look.
“Give me your foot,” I insisted. Handing her one of the pillows so she’d rest her back on it and she’d be more comfortable. “I need something to focus on while you talk. Something to do with my hands. So give me your foot, then keep talking. I’ll be good if you do. Please.”
It took her a beat, but she snatched the pillow and shifted to lean a little on it while she stretched her leg over mine.
I curled my hands around her ankle and tugged her closer. She went with a yelp I made myself ignore.
“There’s not much else to say,” Frankie sighed.
I got my fingers to work, pressing onto the socked bridge of her foot lightly.
“He leaves me gifts and messages with compliments, and praise, and big, loud emotions. It’s disturbing that he would know my Chinese order or leave the odd flower in my mailbox or on the welcome mat.
But those are things I have talked about online, in interviews, and Q&A’s.
It did get a little preoccupying when one of my neighbor’s sheds was vandalized after I complained of the stink of whatever was being kept inside. But everyone did.”
She’s so damn trusting, I thought, switching the motions so I could sweep my fingers under her heel. “What did he do? To the shed.”
“He … set it on fire.”
My hands came to a halt.
Frankly? My heart kind of did too.
“How do you know it was him?”
Her lips parted for an instant, just as I dug one of my knuckles under her big toe.
She was sidetracked, and being able to put that look on her face was one tiny silver lining of this nightmare I’d be taking.
“He admitted to it,” she responded. “To be honest, there was a stash of drugs in that shed. And dead pigeons. My neighbor had always looked very sketchy, so it was a blessing in disguise, in a way.”
My gut constricted with the urge to get her off this bed, pack up her stuff, and go to the closest police station.
I couldn’t believe she hadn’t done that herself.
Or maybe I could. I couldn’t imagine how tough this shit must be to process when it was happening to you.
“He knows where you live, Frankie. He’s setting things on fire.
I never liked how this job put you in the spotlight.
I know you’re not trying to downplay it, but what else could he do for you to see how dangerous this is? I’d be terrified already.”
“What am I supposed to do?” She murmured, as if she was really wondering.
“I couldn’t let this stop me from coming here.
I really need to be at this convention. It sucks, but maybe it was all bound to happen.
I publish under my legal name, not a pseudonym.
That’s something I can’t change now.” My jaw clamped tightly, teeth gritting silently.
“And hey, at least it’s not hate mail. It could be so, so much worse, trust me. ”
I groaned. “It’s already fucking horrible.”
“It’s … just a guy that’s enamored by my books and this public persona.
Frankie Rossi, author of the ‘gory, thrillery sensation that will make you fall in love with the killer. The twisted love triangle you didn’t know you needed.
’ All he talks about is my books, and they mean a lot to him.
I can see it in his words. I can feel it. I have even come to—”
She stopped herself.
“You’ve even come to what?” I pressed, softly. Something told me I wouldn’t like how this ended.
“To nothing,” she murmured. She retrieved her foot from my grasp, briskly enough to take me by surprise. “That massage was incredible, thank you.”
“How much does Ric know about this?”
“Not as much as you.”
He’d known something though. And he hadn’t immediately called me. He’d be hearing from me after this weekend. “Leo?” I asked. “Who else have you told about this? Anyone in Boston? Your agent? Publisher?”
She shook her head. “No one else.”
“Why not?”
“Reasons,” she offered with a shrug. “Important ones, you know? That’s why I can’t cancel on the convention, now that I’m here. That’s why I won’t. I’m staying.”
She’d always been so incredibly stubborn. “So only I know about this?”
Frankie nodded.
I felt half honored, half stupidly lucky I happened to be in the right place at the right time. But I guess the circumstances didn’t matter. My sole focus was Frankie’s safety.
There was shit she wasn’t telling me. Clearly.
There was more to this, and for some reason, Frankie didn’t feel like confiding in me.
Not completely, at least. I didn’t blame her.
Once upon a time, I had that trust, but now, that was no longer the case.
If I wanted to rebuild it, to earn back every privilege that came with it, I needed to show her that I deserved it.
That I could be deserving of it.
“The moment the convention is over,” I said.
“We leave the Inn and drive to the nearest police station to report this. Then, we tell your agent and your publisher. And after that, you’re going to let me drive you to Boston, file whatever report is necessary again, and move you out of that apartment. ”
Something about my request seemed to bother her. Me making this my business? Leaving her car behind in Vermont? Me counting on the fact that I’d be part of her life by the time the weekend was over? But none of that seemed more important than her safety.
Thankfully, she still agreed with a curt, “Okay.”
“Okay,” I repeated. “One more condition.”
“What?” She asked warily.
“You don’t expect me to forget about this the minute we get to Boston. I’m here to stay, Frankie. And I’m not just talking about the night or even the weekend. I’m earning back my place in your life.”