Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chandler
“All right, I think these should last you until….tomorrow.”
Frankie shot me a glare that turned into a smile, admiring the towers of pumpkin spice candles I’d set out on the display. She wasn’t kidding that these were her bestsellers; I couldn’t make the damn things fast enough. It seemed like as soon as I filled the center table and then the second placement on the side shelf, I’d take one phone call from my secretary, Judy, and at least half of them would be gone.
“Am I making you work too hard, Mr. Collins?” she teased as I came up behind her, sliding my hand over her stomach and pressing a kiss to the corner of her neck.
“Never.” I trailed my mouth up the soft column of skin, savoring the way she moaned.
“Is this a new one?” She lifted my hand and examined my thumb, a patch of peeled red skin signaling a fresh burn.
I grunted .
I turned her to me, capturing her chin in my fingers. “You know how much I love to burn for you.”
Her breath caught, and I dipped my head to claim her lips, but her hand on my chest stopped me.
“Chandler.”
“Yeah?” I pressed my hips against hers so she could feel how hard I was.
“Can we go visit your mom?”
I stilled, the question like ice water through my veins.
Mom was doing good—really good according to Tom, and I checked with him multiple times a day. But if I were being honest, the longer it went, the more I convinced myself he was the best person for her. The more I rationalized that it was my fault for what had happened and the risk I’d be taking by going to see her.
“Frankie…” I clenched my jaw.
“It’s not your fault, Chandler,” she said softly, and for some reason, I could believe it coming from her.
“I don’t want to make it worse.”
She made a soft sound. “What if you make it better?”
My chest squeezed. “How?”
“By telling her about the baby.”
I took a measured breath. Mom would be thrilled. I could see her face now. No matter what tangle her memories were in, knowing she was going to be a grandmother would bring her out of them. But it wasn’t just the baby, it was Frankie I wanted to tell her about, too. And I didn’t know if she was ready for that.
When it came to Frankie Kinkade, I was a beggar, not a billionaire, and I was willing to take whatever pieces of her, however meager, she’d give me. But every day that passed was one more evidence to the notion that I wanted everything. I wanted her schemes and her smiles. I wanted her laugh and her body. I wanted this baby, and I wanted her forever.
And the moment I shared that with Mom was the moment Frankie had to know I wasn’t going to let her go.
“Is that what you want?” I stroked her cheek with my thumb.
“I want her to know,” she murmured, meeting my gaze. “Don’t you?”
“I do,” I said hoarsely, my throat bobbing as I swallowed. “But I don’t want to just tell her about the baby… I didn’t come back here for the baby, Frankie. I came for you. So if we go, it’s not to tell her this baby is mine. It’s to tell her you’re mine, too.”
Her lips parted, and I took the invitation rather than risk her protest.
It took only a second before her mouth opened to mine and a handful more before her arms wrapped around my neck and her body melted to mine.
“Chandler…”
“I want you, Frankie. I want us.”
She drew a shuddered breath and then, in the softest voice, said, “Me too.”
“Frankie—”
She framed my face with her hands. “I want us, too.”
I kissed her again until we were both panting. Until I had her sitting on the edge of her desk, until her flowy fall dress was hiked up around her waist and my fingers were priming her slick pussy for my cock.
“Tell me you’re mine,” I rasped, stroking her G-spot until she drenched my palm.
She moaned and reached for the waist of my pants. “I’m yours,” she said only once she had my cock in her hand .
I shuddered as she stroked me. Drew me to her. “Say it again.”
She pulled my hand away and replaced my fingers with the head of my cock, finding my eyes as she tipped back onto her hands and murmured, “I’m yours.”
I let out a low growl and drove my cock home.
“ Yes ,” she moaned and wrapped her legs around me, my hips working slow, deep thrusts all the way to her womb.
This was always my favorite way to end the day, my hand resting on her growing stomach and my cock nestled deep inside her. But today, hearing those words…
“Again,” I grunted, steadily picking up my pace.
“I’m yours,” she repeated over and over, and each time I rewarded her with deeper, faster drives.
When I felt her muscles start to contract and her arms tremble to support her, I snaked my hand around her neck and hauled her lips to mine, sinking my tongue deep into her mouth and tasting her cry as she came.
I fucked her through the peak of her orgasm, torturing myself just so I could savor the way she melted for me, and only then did I finally let the pressure building at the base of my spine go.
I thrust as deep as I could go and let my release take me.
Minutes later, when our breathing steadied, I pressed a kiss to her forehead and murmured, “We can go visit my mom tomorrow.”
She tipped her head back, finding my eyes. “Good. Because I want to tell her you’re mine, too.”
My jaw clenched, and then I kissed her again…and we didn’t leave her store for another hour.
“Tom,” I greeted, and he hugged me.
It hit me that he’d only hugged me since he’d met me at the hospital that day. In all the years I’d known him—all the years we’d worked together—it was always a handshake and a nod. A professional veneer that he’d maintained for me.
“Frankie.” He smiled and pulled her in for a hug. “It’s good to see you again.”
“It’s good to see you, too.” When she pulled back, Tom’s gaze met mine, something unspoken passing between us.
Being around Frankie was like lighting my soul on fire. There was no only letting some of me burn.
“How is she?” I asked as he led the way into Edgewood’s lobby. It was cozier with more people inside because of the cooler, fall weather, and a fire in the fireplace.
“Good.” He nodded and smiled, the wrinkles and strain I’d last seen on his face at the hospital much less pronounced now. “Today’s a good day.”
Surprisingly, the shock and trauma from her fall and then the embolism, or maybe just all the medications she’d been on, seemed to reconnect some of the wiring in her brain. At least, according to Tom, it had. I guess seeing me would put it to the test.
“I brought a cinnamon candle for her. I know she loved this one.”
Not as much as she’d love a grandchild.
My heart was racing by the time we made it upstairs. Every step down the hall was another crank that made it beat faster. Harder. What if she forgot? What if she got upset again? Hurt herself ? —
I sucked in a breath, small, warm fingers sliding in between mine and giving them a squeeze.
“Frankie, we shouldn’t.” I tried to disentangle my hand, but she wouldn’t let me .
Her eyes met mine, and her grip firmed. “You held my hair. Now it’s my turn.”
I didn’t even get a chance to pick my jaw up from the ground before Tom opened the door. “Laura? Look who’s here to see you.”
My heart stopped, seeing Mom sitting there in her wheelchair. It was hard to see her like this, but not as hard as seeing her in that damn hospital bed.
She stared at me for a second that seemed to span forever and then smiled. “Chandler.” I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until she said my name.
“Mom,” I rasped and went to her, bending down to pull her into a tight hug. “How are you?” I made sure I pulled back enough to see her face when she answered.
“Oh, I’m good, honey. Too good the way Tom takes care of me.” Up close, I could see the fullness that had left her face and the purpling under her eyes and all the places where she bruised easily now because of her medications, but the way she smiled was all that mattered.
“Good. He knows I’ll give him hell if he did anything less.” I heard Tom chuckle with me, but my eyes only turned for Frankie. “I brought someone with me…to see you.”
As soon as she could see Frankie, her smile went wider.“And who is this?”
She didn’t remember Frankie, but it was probably better that she didn’t remember much about that day.
“I’m Frankie.” Frankie took it all in stride. “I make homemade candles, so I brought one for you.”
Frankie held onto the candle even when Mom’s hands wrapped over hers to make sure it wasn’t dropped.
Mom took a deep breath and blinked a few times. “Oh, Frankie. You know I love this one.”
My chest squeezed, forcing me to clear my throat. She remembered. The scent made her remember Frankie, just like the ocean made her remember me and Friendship.
“I know you do.”
“It’s my favorite, too,” I rumbled, catching Frankie’s eyes when she looked at me knowingly. My favorite because it was her scent.
“I’m so happy you’re both here,” Mom said softly, looking between Frankie and me like there were some things she hadn’t forgotten, like the look two people share when there is an invisible string tethering them together.
“Chandler,” Tom chimed in. “I’m going to pop downstairs and check on dinner. Will you both stay?”
“Yes,” Frankie answered before I had a chance, and it was a good thing she did; I probably would’ve talked myself out of it, worrying it would be too much for Mom. And too much for Frankie.
Tom let himself out of the room, and when the door closed, Frankie looked to me; she waited for my lead even though her hand floated to her stomach. A movement I bet she didn’t even realize she made.
“Oh, Chandler, I’m so happy you’re here,” Mom repeated, her memory flickering. “Come look at the new butterfly Tom brought me.”
Frankie moved to the side, setting the candle on the small table, while I crouched next to her chair so I could take a look at the frame. It was a photograph, the orange and black butterfly perched on the edge of an equally orange flower.
“Beautiful.”
“He took it.”
My head turned. “Tom took this?”
She nodded. “He took all of the monarch photographs that were at the house and all the ones here for me.”
My throat tightened. It wasn’t until we’d moved Mom here that I realized how much she loved butterflies. Her bedroom at the Brownstone I’d bought her in Boston was covered in these photographs, and when we moved her things, I remembered thinking it was strange that she hadn’t put the butterfly photos elsewhere in the house if she loved them so much, but now I realized why. Because it wasn’t just the butterflies in the photo that she loved, it was also the man who’d taken them.
There was so much I didn’t know about their relationship—so much I’d missed. Overlooked because I didn’t want to see it. But now, I saw it everywhere. All the things Tom had done for her over the years. The way he’d been there—steadfast and patient, loyal and loving. All this time, I hadn’t been able to recognize it until I’d met Frankie.
“I didn’t know that,” I managed to say.
“He doesn’t like people knowing how talented he is.” She stared at the photograph with a look that made my heart thud, and then she looked at me and smiled. “Do you remember the one time we went to the beach in Maine?”
“Yeah,” I rumbled, keeping to myself that she’d told me this story before.
“Well, there was an inn we stayed at. I don’t remember the name, butthe room I’d stayed in was decorated with butterflies, but there was one photograph over the nightstand of a monarch. I told him how much I loved it…” She trailed off, seeming to lose herself in the memory for long enough that I wasn’t sure she was going to come back, but then she finished. “One comment when we were in be—there, and two months later, he gave me the first photo as a birthday present. So thoughtful.” She lifted her hand to her cheek, wiping away the single tear I’d almost missed.
“Mom.” I took her hand in mine and squeezed, my tongue growing heavier with the words that formed on it. “I have something to tell you. ”
“Oh, my. It must be something good.” Her eyes twinkled. “You only worry about good things.”
I swore Frankie made a little noise behind me, but I ignored it. “It is something good.” More than good. It was everything. “Mom,” I started again, taking a big breath before I exhaled the most precious part of my soul. “Frankie and I are having a baby.”
Again, it took a second for the dots to connect. For her eyes to widen. Her jaw to drop. “A baby?” she whispered.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
Mom let out a happy sob and pulled me to her chest. My arms shot out to steady me, her hold surprisingly strong for a woman in a wheelchair.
“I can’t believe it, Chandler. I can’t…I’m so happy,” she said right as she promptly shoved me aside and motioned to Frankie. “Come here and give me a hug. Oh, I can’t believe this. I’m so happy.”
I sat back on the floor, resting my arms on my knees, and watched Mom gush and moon over Frankie. My Frankie. And she took it all in stride. Every tear, every hug, every laugh. She took it and gave it all right back at two hundred percent.
It was the first thing I’d admired about her. The first thing that drew me to her. The first thing of myself that I recognized in her. When we went into something, we went all in. Whether it was pretending to be her twin or haunting an old inn or having a baby together.
Now, I just had to convince her to go all in with me.
I listened as Frankie gave her every detail—weeks, due date, our baby’s fruit size—all things I knew but couldn’t help but be mesmerized as she spoke them. I was going to be a father.
The word—the concept—was still a sore spot. Not the gaping wound it was before, but still tender to the touch. I was going to be better, the thought bolted through me like lightning. A better businessman. A better father. A better man. Whatever it took, I was going to show them all I was better.
“Excuse me a minute,” Frankie murmured and stood. “I shouldn’t have drunk that whole water bottle so fast.”
My gaze followed her as she disappeared into the bathroom.
“What’s wrong, Chandler?”
I turned back to Mom. “I love her.” It might be a revelation to the world, but it wasn’t to me. I’d fallen for Francesca Kinkade a long time ago, but like any good businessman, I’d kept my weakness to myself.
Mom’s smile softened, and her gaze dropped back to the photograph of the butterfly before lifting back to mine. “You’ll never get as many chances as you want to tell someone you love them, so you better start using all the ones you’ve got, honey.”
Regret tainted the well of happiness in her tone. I could’ve told her that Tom always knew. That even if she hadn’t said the words, he knew how she felt about him, just like she knew his feelings for her. But knowing and saying are two different things. Like seeing the sun through the window versus standing in its warmth.
One side of my mouth lifted. “Yeah, I guess I should.” And what would Frankie say to that? “I just want to show her I’ll be there—be better,” I added, a prick of pain tainting my words. “I’m going to be better than him, Mom. I promise. And everyone is going to know it.”
Instead of looking happy or relieved or proud, the only thing I saw on her face was concern. “You already are, honey. You have nothing to prove.”
I tensed. She’d said those words to me countless times in the few years before the dementia set in. So many times, it was one of the recurring arguments we’d had. That I was too focused on proving myself to the world, to him, and she worried.
I didn’t want to argue with her now. I wouldn’t. So, I swallowed down the bitter pill of disagreement and simply said, “I love you, Mom.” The times I’d have left to say this to her, where she was this lucid, were dwindling.
“I love you, too, honey.”The concern in her eyes deepened. She pulled her hand from mine and reached for the butterfly photo again.“Do you know why I love the monarchs?” She handed it to me.
I knew why she loved these photographs, but the butterflies themselves… “Because they’re pretty?” I guessed.
“Well, they are.” She nodded and rested her hand on my arm. “That was what drew me to them, but monarchs in particular are an incredible story of what is passed on.”
I turned to her.
“Monarchs can’t survive the North American winter, so every year, they migrate south all the way to Mexico. Four thousand eight hundred some miles.” Her finger traveled along my arm like she was tracing their path. “But the incredible part is the ones that fly south aren’t the butterflies that return north the following spring. It’s their children’s grandchildren that make the journey back north, back to the very same milkweed plants their great-grandparents left the fall before.” Her hand steadied on my heart. “They come back. To a place they never knew. Only the future revisits the past.”
“Mom…” I placed my hand over hers, my throat tightening.
“How do they do it? How do those great-grandchildren find their way back to a place they’ve never been?”
I swallowed over the lump in my throat and teased hoarsely, “Breadcrumbs?”
Mom gave me a gentle swat and then a soft smile. “There’s always something that ties us to what’s important. To what has been. Even when the people and the memories we thought anchored us there are gone.”
I couldn’t speak. My tongue felt like a thousand pounds, and my eyes burned with unshed tears.Even when she was gone—when the part of her that remembered me, remembered this, and remembered herself was gone—there would still be something greater that tied us together.
“This is your future, Chandler; she’s your future.” There were tears in her eyes, and I could tell this was one of those increasingly rare moments, not only when she was lucid enough to remember me and the past, but also to be aware of what was happening to her. Of what she was losing. Of what I was losing with her. And of what she was worried I’d lose without her. “Don’t make the same mistake I did.”
She looked to the door, and I realized she was speaking about Tom. “He deserved all of me, and I was too stubborn to give it until it was too late.”
“Mom.” I squeezed her hand, watching her lip quiver. “Tom loves you?—”
“And I should’ve loved him better. Should’ve loved you better?—”
“No—”
“Instead, all I showed you was that proving your father made a mistake—proving that I didn’t need anyone else—was the most important thing.”
“Tom knows you love him.” I couldn’t argue anything else. I couldn’t turn off that drive inside me. I couldn’t.
“Now.” She nodded. “Don’t make her wait that long.”
I handed the framed butterfly back to her, the symbolism making me understand why she loved them the way that she did. A reminder of the strength of the things that bound us together even when they couldn’t be spoken or seen .
The bathroom door opened, and Frankie appeared, our eyes meeting.
Sometimes light isn’t the only way out of the darkness.
“Is everything okay?”
I glanced at Frankie, realizing I’d been silent since we’d left Edgewood.
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“You just seem distracted since your phone call.”
I exhaled slowly. It wasn’t the phone call that distracted me; it was the way Mom looked defeated when I’d left the table at dinner to take it.
“It was just an update on an acquisition. Confirmation really.”
“So, it was good news?”
My half-brother and his partner at GC Holdings were reviewing my offer and would be in touch within the week to finalize the details. The last three years of my work had been for this moment, but for some reason, the news didn’t feel as good as I expected.
But I didn’t want Frankie to worry, so I reached for her hand over the console, pulled it to my lips, and murmured, “Yeah.”