Chapter 16
Frankie
Istep around the closet door and stumble over a pair of jeans I’d tossed on the floor. “Bran…what are you doing here?”
He shrugs like he just happened to walk into my apartment by accident. Sunlight streams in behind, illuminating him like some kind of ghostly specter.
“Can I come in?”
I hesitate, then nod.
He shuts the front door. Without the sunshine backlighting him, I get a clearer look at his face.
His hair sticks up like he’s just rolled out of bed—a little overgrown, as usual—and still bleached blond from too much time in the sun.
His shorts and faded t-shirt are deceptively casual, belying his killer instinct for a story and his unstoppable need to pursue a good one.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Fran.” Brandon’s lip pulls into a smug look that used to make my heart stop. Still does, apparently, but for very different reasons.
I curl my fingers into my palms to hide their shaking. “Didn’t really want to be found by you. Thought I’d made that clear when I left.”
“Come on, Fran. Have a little sympathy for the man whose heart you left broken.” His voice cracks slightly, unleashing a flood of feelings in me.
Not necessarily for Brandon, but feelings that can’t be separated from him. Before I came to Serenity, he was the only person who ever called me Fran. We were Fran and Bran. Us against the world.
Or at least us against Malcolm.
“You know why I couldn’t stay.” I take a couple tentative steps toward him, almost unconsciously.
“Yeah,” he says. “And you know why I had to publish the story.”
Those words are enough to freeze me in place and loosen his hold on me. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on the had to part.”
He lets out a small laugh. “Sort of come ’round to your point of view on that. It was a choice I made. And if I’d known how much it would cost me, I wouldn’t have done it.”
For a second, I think he’s apologized. But when I sort through his words, I hear what he’s really sorry about. Not what the story cost me. What it cost him.
Bran shifts his weight, moves like he’s going to come closer, but I put up a hand to stop him. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know what it would cost. I told you I’d leave.”
“You’re right. I should have listened to you. I should have believed you.” His apologetic tone threatens to pull me close again.
“I told you Malcolm would come after me. You got a promotion and applause. I got slaughtered in the press.”
“I didn’t think Malcolm would be so ruthless with his own daughter.”
I blink and look away. I want to stay angry at him for not knowing, for not realizing what Malcolm would do. I need to stay angry.
But the truth is, I was surprised too, the way Malcolm twisted things to make me the villain. The way he was fine treating me like a business partner who’d betrayed him rather than as his only daughter who wasn’t comfortable with the direction he wanted to go with our resort.
But I remind myself that I’ve already made the mistake believing Brandon wouldn’t use me the same way Malcolm had. “Right. I get it. So why are you here, yeah?”
“Because he reached out to me.”
“Who?”
“Malcolm.”
I choke back my surprise. “Malcolm? Why would he go to you?”
He sticks his hands in his pockets and rocks on his toes. “To find you.”
“He thought it was a good idea to send you?” I demand.
“I'm not sure about good. More of a last resort because no one would help him,” he says.
“You mean, no one besides you.”
Brandon tucks his chin, takes it. “That’s a low blow, Fran…but fair.”
“It’s not Fran. It’s not Francesca. It’s just Frankie.” I cross my arms; study him for clues that he’s lying.
Malcolm hates Brandon. He’s despised him since Brandon published the very first story detailing Malcolm’s unethical business practices. Despise ratcheted up to destroy once Brandon got a book deal for the unauthorized bio of Malcolm.
The thing is, the stories didn't touch Malcolm. He always found someone else to take the blame and came off smelling, if not quite rosy, at least not as dirty as he is. But he still hated Brandon just for writing them.
Malcolm expected me to take the fall when Bran broke the story about the green washing behind “our” eco-resort, Rancho Mirage. What he didn’t expect was that I’d been the one who’d given Bran the info I’d discovered.
When Malcolm found out, he was beyond mad, but when he found out I’d also married Brandon, he did exactly what I was taunting him to do—cut me off.
Then he vowed to ruin my reputation and make sure Brandon not only never published another story, but also never got another job anywhere.
Not as a journalist. Not as a writer. Not even as a worker in a stupid hat at In-n-Out.
Malcolm’s words, not mine.
He succeeded with me.
But Brandon saved himself by doing the same thing Malcolm had done—throwing me under the bus.
For all his commitment to truth, Brandon agreed not to publish the bio or anymore stories about Malcolm, for a price, of course.
He walked away with his job and the advance he got from his publisher—despite canceling the book deal—and a million dollars from Malcolm.
In the meantime, all the fury Malcolm threw at me, Brandon did nothing to stop. The info he had on Malcolm could have buried him. Or if not buried him, at least distracted Malcolm enough to leave me alone.
I meet Brandon’s gaze with a hard look. I won’t be taken in by him again. “I know he paid you off, Bran.”
He swallows. “Malcolm’s sick, Frankie. Really sick. He wants to see you.”
My impulse is to ask what’s wrong with him, but I stop myself.
This is Malcolm. The only thing wrong is that he’d use something like this to manipulate me into seeing him; make me think he’s dying and wants to make amends.
I’m about to say as much when there’s a knock and Cal pokes his head around the door.
“Frankie?” He sees Brandon, stiffens and steps inside. “You okay?”
I give a quick nod, but he’s already by my side.
“This is Brandon.” I nod toward my ex.
Cal’s eyes narrow.
“Who’s this?” Brandon asks.
“None of your business,” Cal says at the same time I say, “A friend.”
Brandon looks between us, then nods slowly. There’s hurt in his eyes when he raises them to mine. “I was hoping you hadn’t moved on.”
“You’ve got it all wrong, Bran. We’re friends. That’s all,” I say to protect Cal, but when his shoulders dip, I wonder if he understands why I’m insisting we’re only mates.
Yeah, that’s what we decided we are, but I also don’t want Bran trying to dig up dirt on Cal or any of the Holloways.
Whatever Cal thinks about what I’ve said, he recovers and straightens to his full height before stepping between Brandon and me. “Are you here for a reason?”
Brandon takes a step back and holds up his hands, like he’s the innocent one. “Just delivering a message to my ex-wife.” He looks around Cal at me. “Malcolm’s not well, Frankie. I’ve seen him.”
Cal glances over his shoulder at me, then steps aside as I look around him at Bran.
“In Brisbane?”
Brandon shakes his head. “He’s in L.A., being treated by a specialist. He said he wants you to have what’s rightfully yours. You and Archie both.”
Cal looks back at me again, a question in his eyes about what to do next. Whatever he sees on my face causes him to turn back to Brandon with a threat. “You should go.”
“You have my number, Frankie,” Brandon says. “Call me if you want more info.”
He leaves and Cal slams the door shut behind him before turning to me with a mixture of hurt and worry on his face.
A thousand questions tumble through my head, but the only thought that comes out is, “I have no idea how he found me.”
A staggered breath follows, and Cal pulls me into his arms. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I am now.” I press my cheek into his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Breathing in the smell of leather, soap, and a hint of something wild and animal-like.
Cal squeezes tighter, then releases me. “Will he follow you…us?”
I shake my head, then shrug. “I doubt it. He’s an investigative journalist. If he follows us, it’s for info. To know something no one else does. Not to hurt me. Not to hurt you.”
“Depends on how he uses the info. My guess is someone will get hurt.” Cal glances at the door as though he’s rethinking telling Brandon to go.
“I think the worst he’d do is tell Malcolm where I am,” I say. “For a price.”
“And what price is Malcolm willing to pay?” Cal asks.
I swallow. “He paid Bran at least a million dollars to stop publishing stories about him and walk away from the deal he’d made to write a book about Malcolm.”
Cal raises his eyebrows.
“Malcolm got off cheap. Bran should have asked for more. Maybe he did.” I shrug. “But that’s all I was worth to him. A million dollars.”
“He shouldn’t have taken any money and instead should have done the right thing by you.” A storm cloud rolls across Cal’s face.
I choke out a sad laugh. “I meant Malcolm.”
Cal tips his head with confusion, then the storm clouds are gone. All I see is shelter as he pulls me into his arms.
“I can’t sort out what Malcolm wants,” I say into his chest. “But Brandon’s telling the truth about him being sick.”
“How can you know that for sure?”
“Bran’s a lotta things, but he’s not a liar. He prides himself on his integrity.” I step out of Cal’s embrace to look in his eyes. “He went into journalism to find the truth and share it—or at least his version of it.”
Cal blows out his breath and rakes his fingers through his hair. “We all have our own versions of the truth, Frankie. That’s my worry with him. What if he’s telling you all this to win you back? Or what if Malcolm is using him to manipulate you?”
His eyes bounce away from mine, and I grab both his hands.
“Whatever I do, I’ll do with eyes wide open. I won’t let Bran or Malcolm manipulate me anymore.”
Cal tips his chin and nods but without any certainty.