Your Little Secret
DAPHNE
“Denny’s going to be late,” Audrey sighs from the back seat of the car. “He said not to turn on the lights when we get there. He wants to be the one to do it for the first time.”
“Probably best for us to wait outside then,” Frankie replies, shifting gears as we wind our way up the mountain toward the university. “That place is pitch-black when everything’s shut down. It’s actually a little spooky unless you’re right in front of one of those windows.”
Technically Violet and I could move back into the building with the power all sorted, but Denny said he noticed some warning signs when they opened up the walls, and he wants to take a look at the wood up in the apartment just to be sure none of the rot’s spread.
Besides, we’re a lot more comfortable at Frankie’s place.
It’s less cramped, and V’s grown pretty attached to Bugsy.
I’d hate to break up their budding friendship.
“Mom, can I go to a sleepover at Nicole’s tomorrow night?”
I wrack my brain, but for the life of me I can’t quite place the name.
“And Nicole is…?”
She lets out an annoyed groan, and almost instantly I’m fighting back the urge to apologize to her. What is it with pre-teen girls and making you feel like you’re walking on eggshells sometimes?
“Jillian’s kid, remember?”
God bless Frankie and his actually functional memory.
Jillian works with him in the Sociology department, over at the admin desk. We got to chatting one day when I was dropping off the lunch he forgot, and we all ended up going out for ice cream later that week. It seems like the girls got along swimmingly.
“Right, of course, Nicole. What time?”
“She said 6:00. Jillian offered to pick me up.”
Violet’s been begging me for a little more independence, so I suppose a sleepover couldn’t hurt.
“You know what, sure. Maybe they can pick you up from our place?”
Violet goes silent, typing away furiously on her phone.
Sometimes I think she’s a little young for one of those things, but Huxley was right: with the number of people following us around, it’s super important she has a way to reach out if she ever gets into trouble.
Besides, like she told me every month until I caved, everyone at her school has one.
When it comes to arguing with this kid, there are some hills I just refuse to die on.
“Huh.” Audrey rolls down the window and sticks her head outside as we pull up. “Maybe Denny made it on time after all.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
She gestures toward the bar.
“Door’s open.”
She’s right, but Denny’s big green truck is conspicuously absent, and he always parks right out front so that he can haul his gear into the building. I try to ignore the nervous bubbling in my stomach, but something feels off.
“Text him again,” Frankie murmurs, his eyes fixed on the open door. “Ask him where he is.”
“Already did. Looks like he should be here at about 2:30, so 20 minutes or so…”
I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the door.
“Woah, hey! Where are you going?” Frankie asks.
“I have a right to know who’s in my damn bar, and I’m not just going to sit here.” I glance over my shoulder, quickly swapping my tone. “You guys stay here and watch for Denny. I’ll just be a couple minutes.”
“No problem,” Audrey replies, still looking a little dumbfounded. “I guess I’ll text you if anything changes?”
“Great.”
Frankie doesn’t say a word, climbing out of the car with me and leaving Audrey and Violet in the backseat.
“I’m fine, Frankie,” I laugh, trying to roll back a bit of the tension as we head toward the entrance. “You could have stayed.”
“You and I both know that wasn’t gonna happen.”
He’s right, of course. It’s been obvious Frankie’s been watching us like a hawk since the day we moved in. At first, I thought Huxley scared him, but I’m starting to think that this is just who Frankie is now: attentive, considerate, and… actually a little bit nosey.
I step past the open door and immediately get another wave of anxiety. The whole situation feels off, but it’s not helped by the fact that the only source of light is coming from the windows and the open door, making everything look infinitely more ominous.
“Hello?”
Nobody answers, so I take another step inside, only stopping when I hear the immediately recognizable sound of my grandpa’s office chair grinding against the wood floor.
My heart’s in my throat as the chair stops, the floorboards creaking as someone stands and steps out of the darkness.
“Hi, Daphne.”
That voice sets my fucking teeth on edge.
“Cole.”
Frankie steps in front of me, even before the name has fully left my lips, head held high and shoulders pushed back, but Cole only sneers.
He takes another step forward, flicking the lights on to reveal his crisp black t-shirt and a pair of jeans.
His dark hair is slicked back, but it's his bloodshot eyes and patchwork stubble that really give him away.
“What, not happy to see me?” He smirks.
“You can’t be here. It’s private property.”
He always had to drink to confront me; he’s too much of a pussy to do anything hard when he’s sober. Now he gets to blame everything that’s about to spew from his putrid mouth on the alcohol, then he’ll apologize, promise not to do it again, and beg me to take him back.
Same old rodeo.
“Well, you don’t answer my texts, my calls… you don’t even reply to my DMs, so what am I supposed to do?”
“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Powers,” Frankie growls. “Nothing’s happened yet, you can still leave.”
Cole’s demeanor suddenly shifts into something much more sinister the second they lock eyes. In high school, the two of them hated each other. Cole wanted my best friend out of my life, and when I refused… Well, I think that’s when his attention started to wander, at least more openly.
“Daph, please,” Cole sighs, trying his best to soften as he turns back to me. “This is ridiculous, we both know you’re not actually hitting it off with fucking Frankie Hughes of all people. You and me? We can work past this.”
“I’m not interested in talking. I’m interested in you leaving.”
“Baby, please—”
“I’m not your baby.” I fold my arms across my chest, staring daggers at him. “I want you gone.”
“Look, I fucked up, I drank too much, I didn’t appreciate you or the kid, and I’m sorry. I want to make things right, but you need to hear me out.”
“Don’t you dare bring my daughter into this,” I snarl. “Get the fuck out of my bar.”
“It’s not your bar yet.”
Nothing's changed, but suddenly it feels so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
“Of course it is, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No, it’s noooot!” Cole sings, slurring his words ever so slightly.
“You should learn to keep important documents locked up, princess. I saw your grandpa’s will, and I fucking know you didn’t just decide to come back here and hook up with Hughes out of nowhere.
This is a big fucking scam, isn’t it? But that’s fine, baby, actually, I love it!
We just make one tiny change: you dump this loser, get back with me, and then you get your bar! ”
That’s as far as I let him get before I lunge, shoving him as hard as I can in the chest.
“Last warning, I want you to leave. Now.” I pull out my phone with shaking hands. “Or I’m calling the cops. How do you think you’ll manage with another felony on the books?”
He lets out a snarl, and before I can even hit a single digit he’s right up next to me, twisting my arm hard enough it might just break.
“Get your fucking hands off my wife!”
Frankie’s fist collides with Cole’s jaw, and I watch in horror as the two of them start to grapple, stumbling back and forth as each one tries to get the upper hand.
Cole’s running on whiskey, rage, and sheer willpower, but thankfully it’s not quite enough; Frankie manages to grab his shoulders and knee him in the gut, causing Cole to stagger backward, holding out his hand up as he coughs.
“Stop!” He retches, his face beet-red. “What— What the fuck did you just say?”
“I told you to take your fucking hands off my wife, you piece of shit.” Frankie turns his attention back to me, gingerly inspecting my wrist. “Does it hurt?”
Like a son of a bitch.
“I’ll be fine.”
“So, this really is your plan? To marry Frankie so you can keep the bar?” Cole’s quickly regaining his confidence, and I have half a mind to let Frankie to hit him again. “God, Daph, I was taking a shot in the dark, but you’re actually doing it? That’s so fucking pathetic!”
He enters into a mix of a coughing fit and laughter, barely able to contain himself.
“Frankie, how much did she pay you? Be for real.”
I want to smash his fucking face in, but Frankie is quick to step forward.
“Actually, we’ve been texting since she dumped your cheating ass.” His voice is calm and measured. “I helped her through this breakup, just like I did all the others. All you ever did was break her heart.”
Wait… What is he doing?
“Only because you always got in the fucking way!” Cole hisses his words, no longer finding any of this particularly funny. “You were always jealous because you could never have her—”
“I have her now,” Frankie grabs him by the collar of his shirt, slamming him up against a wall. “And you know what I think? I think you’ve got it the other way around: You were always jealous of me. You couldn’t stand the fact that I was the one she came to.”
“Fuck you! You think you’re better than me?”
“Cole, look at yourself. When it comes to Daphne, you wanna be me so fucking bad, it’s disgusting.”
“Is it true, Daph?” Cole rasps.
“Yes.” I swallow. “All of it.”
Cole lets out a roar, catching Frankie off guard with a quick hook to the jaw, but I’m almost as quick, charging toward him with a kind of rage I’ve never felt in the past— not even on my worst days with him.
“I can’t fucking stand you, you pathetic piece of shit!”
His eyes are wide, a mix of confusion and fear. Finally, he’s taking me seriously.
“Daph—”
I slip off my heel in a quick motion and just start hitting him with it, again and again, the sharp stiletto digging into his shoulder and then his arm, clipping the side of his neck and then his forehead with little flecks of blood.
Suddenly he’s shrieking in pain.
And I don’t give a shit.
“Get out!” I roar. “Get the fuck out of my bar!”
I’ve let this anger sit dormant for far too long.
Cole rushes for the door, hunched over and covering his head with his arms. Just before he slips outside, he glances over his shoulder to give one last poor me look, like he’s the saddest most pathetic stray dog that’s ever graced the silver screen.
And then he’s gone.
I wrap my arms around Frankie, and bury my face in his chest.
“Hey.” His voice is sweet and gentle, bringing me back down to earth. “You good?”
I gaze up at him, tears in my eyes.
“No, but… oh, shit.” I brush my fingers over the bright red welt on his cheek. “Are you good?”
He winces, but smiles through it.
“Powers still punches like a little bitch.”
“I’m so sorry, Frankie. We can put all the bar-stuff off to another night if you—”
“Not a chance, Firecracker. Denny’ll be here in a few minutes, and then we can finish the day strong. Who knows, once we send Violet off to her sleepover, maybe you and I can blow off some steam. Knock a few more items off your fuck it list?”
“Oh my god, that didn’t actually turn you on, did it?”.
He chuckles, and I can see his cheeks flush ever-so-slightly.
“I mean, yeah. You were a badass.”
I snort, barely holding back tears.
“We should get some ice on that gorgeous face.”
Frankie just smiles.
“You’re the boss.”