Wanted

Chapter 15

Frankie

I never imagineda cell phone could be so heavy.

I study the black rectangle clenched in my fist. The screen lights up with the pressure, revealing the image of Ashe I set as my background. Her black snout is centered on the screen so that I can give her a nose boop throughout the day. Seeing the big puppy that keeps me warm at night settles some of my nerves.

The contact list is already long. Jude filled in each of the Powells just like he said he would. The men are all numbered one through five in order of who I should call if Dillon shows up, and it groups them together, bypassing the alphabetical function.

1. Jude

2. Jack

3. Lee

4. Aiden

5. Corjan

His sister, the partners, and his mom are all listed alphabetically, as well as the number to the Sanctuary and Jack’s motel.

The other day, I programmed in the only numbers I cared to remember from home. Since I used to own such a cheap cell phone that failed to work more often than not, I memorized any numbers I thought could be useful. Even after a few weeks, they were easy enough to recall. Lola from the boutique where I sold my art, two other friends from home, and my parents. The last one is the source of my current turmoil. I’ve been putting off reaching out for weeks now, and while there’s nothing particularly special about today, it seems just as good as any to make that call.

Evening sunlight streams into the window through the open curtains. I position myself on the edge of the bed closest to the warmth, letting the rays caress my face. Tapping the contact from the list, I tilt my head back and close my eyes. Then I bring the ringing phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Who is this?” she barks as if my greeting offended her.

I gently clear my throat. “It’s me. Frankie.”

“No, it isn’t. Frank is sitting right here.”

“It’s Frankie, your daughter.”

“Oh, Frankie.” Her gravelly voice grates on my nerves.

“Who is it?” my dad asks in the background.

“IT’S FRANKIE,” she shouts in my ear.

With a wince, I pull the phone away.

“Where you been?”

A loose thread on the bedspread gives me something to fiddle with. “I’m still in Minnesota.”

“I thought you were moving with your husband, but he called looking for ya.” The sound of her sucking in a lungful of smoke is clear across the line. “What happened to that?”

“It didn’t work out.” I pace the floor in front of the window as vindication slithers through me. I told my parents before I left I didn’t think I should marry Dillon, but I allowed them to talk me through the doubt with pretty words about new beginnings and shared responsibilities. I think all my parents saw was an opportunity to double my income, and therefore, be able to provide them with bigger handouts.

“Didn’t work out? How nice for you,” she says with a sarcastic bite. “Sometimes the hard decisions are the right ones.”

She’s absolutely right. Just not in the way she thinks.

I can’t say the physical result of throwing myself from Dillon’s car was easy, even if the decision appears to have been the right one.

“Are you coming back?” My dad coughing in the background nearly conceals her question.

Closing my eyes, I will away the images of them the last time I saw them. Their declining health is a burden that never belonged to me, yet the guilt keeps coming. The choices they made stripped me of mine for too long.

It’s one thing to have an ailing parent, but it’s another thing entirely to have spent your childhood begging, pleading, and crying for them to turn their life around, and they didn’t.

“I’m not coming back,” I say, the resolution solidifying inside my heart.

Whatever happens here, whether I stay with Jude for one more day or six more months, I don’t plan on leaving Fairview Valley. This place is my new home.

“Why the hell not? They just turned the lights off this morning.” Whatever her cell phone battery is at is all she has until that shuts off too. The panic will really set in when she can’t get ahold of her dealer.

“You have to pay the bills, Mom.”

“Your dad needed his medication this month. They don’t give us any damn time to come up with the money.”

She means whatever substance he’s choosing to abuse. His drug of choice changes based on how much money he has and what he can get his hands on.

“The bill comes at the same time every month.” I sigh. We’ve had this discussion on repeat for the past ten years.

“I know that,” she snaps. A lengthy drag of her cigarette stalls the conversation. “Think you can lend us a little something?”

“Mom, I’m not in town.”

“You could come visit.”

Deep breathing through my nose doesn’t chase away the hollow feeling in my chest or the dew clinging to my lash line. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The lie is easy when I know she won’t remember this conversation in a few hours.

“I’ve got to get going. Tell Dad I say hi. I’ll call you soon.”

Mom ends the call.

As I pull the blank screen away from my face, the tension bleeds from my shoulders. My lungs expand with a deep breath for the first time since I picked up the phone.

It’s done. It’s over.

That is until the next time I feel the pull to call. Because no matter how badly they’ve treated me, I can’t seem to fully let them go.

After trading the phone for the sketchbook on the nightstand, I set out in search of Jude. Ashe follows me out of my bedroom and down the stairs. I run my fingers over her soft fur as we descend, and she takes off after the rest of the pack.

“What day?” Jude’s deep voice sounds from the kitchen. “Uh-huh.”

Twilight paints the horizon in purples and grays out the window over the sink. Jude clocks me the second I step around the corner and yanks a stool out from the island. While holding the phone to his ear with one hand, he points at the vacant seat with the other.

“Sit,” he mouths.

I follow his command.

He lingers at my back as he speaks into the phone. The heat of his chest seeps into my thin cotton tee shirt, chasing away the remaining chill from my own phone call. A strong urge to lean back and let him envelop me plagues my thoughts. His sturdiness gives me a comfort I’m unaccustomed to.

“Completely blacklisted. Make sure Hunter knows. Yep. I’m not looking to make it easy on him.”

The room falls silent again while Jude listens to whoever is on the line. He moves across the room, and I instantly miss his warmth.

He fiddles around at the stove. A blast of heat moves across the kitchen as he opens and closes the oven door. The scent of something sweet and sugary wafts closer.

“Just glad to hear he’s gone. Thanks. Yeah. Let me know if he comes back. Bye, Jack.”

Jude’s cell lands on the island with a clatter. He turns around with an oven mitt on one hand, the oversized thumb wrapped around the edge of a cookie sheet.

Am I dreaming?

The melted chocolate morsels make my mouth water as I watch Jude carry what appears to be a tray of chocolate chip cookies closer.

My stunned silence doesn’t stop him from his explanation.

“Thought we could use some dessert today.”

I bite the corner of my lip. Jude doesn’t miss the motion as he drops his stare to my mouth. His heated eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. I can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking about the kiss that we’re yet to talk about.

With his attention on my lips, it’s the only thing on my mind.

I know he liked it. The passion between us was undeniable. The way he dragged me closer wasn’t just for show. If he wasn’t interested, he could have held still while I pressed my lips to his, but he really sold it. Sold it so much I’m convinced it might have meant something more between us.

But we haven’t spoken a word about it.

Not a can’t wait to kiss you again.

Not a we should talk about that kiss.

Not a don’t ever preposition me with something so silly again.

Not. One. Thing.

The moment is nothing but the memory of his hand in my hair, cradling the back of my head, his thick thigh between my legs while his tongue stroked mine.

A memory that I, personally, would like to experience again.

Coming out of his freeze, Jude drops the tray to the counter. He pours us each a glass of milk and passes one to me across the island. He settles in on the other side, a hip against the edge, his tee shirt stretched tight against his chest.

I reach eagerly for the glass, if only for something to distract me with before I start rambling. Who knows what’s liable to come out of my mouth when he stands in front of me like that, all warm and inviting.

“How’s Jack?” The topic feels innocent enough. This turn of events has firmly taken my mind off my own disappointing phone call.

“He said Dillon checked out of his motel on his own yesterday. He’s not allowed to come back. Your kiss must have worked.”

I sputter around a drink of milk. Does he have freaking telepathy?

Jude smirks and reaches for a cookie. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks,” I croak. The warm treat melts against my fingers. A welcome bite provides a decent distraction. Buttery, chocolate goodness explodes on my tongue, followed by a slight vanilla aftertaste. “What other secrets are you hiding? This is really good.”

Jude flinches but recovers quickly.

“It’s Juniper’s recipe. She brought them to a family dinner and everyone demanded the recipe.”

“You must have a sweet tooth to make them yourself at home.”

Jude pops the second half of his cookie in his mouth. A crumb clings to his lower lip. If he was on this side of the island, I’d wipe it off.

Or perhaps lick it.

“I live alone. If I want some cookies, I’m more than capable of making them myself.”

“So you’re saying tonight you wanted some cookies?”

“I wanted to have them for you.”

It’s my turn to freeze. My brain blanks, and I scramble for an adequate response, but Jude continues.

“You’re stuck here. You don’t have a car, and you’re stubborn as hell about asking for what you want. Haven’t met a woman in all my years who didn’t want a cookie now and then.” He cocks an eyebrow in challenge.

I reach for a second one, and his stance relaxes. “You might not want to spoil me. I could eat a cookie like this every single day.”

“There’s another dozen in the oven, so this batch will last you a while.”

Something he said sticks with me. The cookie in my mouth feels dry going down as I work up the courage to ask, “How many women have you… met?”

My face flames.

Jude frowns.

“Not many. I think it’s obvious I keep to myself, no?”

I squirm in my seat under the intensity of his silver gaze. “But you have needs, right?”

Jude’s lips twitch, the hint of a smile playing on his sinful mouth. “Are you asking me how often I get laid, Frankie?”

“No! No. I’m not asking how often you get laid, Jude. God. That’s none of my business.”

“It seems to me like you want to make it your business.”

“Well, I don’t.”

I set my milk down a little too hard, the glass clanking off the laminate. Picking up my sketchbook, I flip to the page I was working on and bury my attention in my drawing.

He stalks around the counter, slow and predatory, as if he thinks I won’t notice him move.

But I do. God, he’s so hard to miss. The way the air shifts as he enters or leaves a room. I’ve been acutely aware of him from the moment he found me and picked me up off the forest floor. I hear every footstep as he walks around the house, each time he pauses for longer than most.

Since kissing him, my attention has increased tenfold.

My breathing speeds up as he approaches. My eyes remain on the paper in front of me, unseeing the gray scratches of pencil splashed across the page. A vague drawing of Ashe peers up at me through my blurred vision.

The floor creaks beneath his measured steps. The heat of him sends goose bumps skittering up my arms, and my chest heaves beneath his tee shirt I continue to wear.

He leans down, his mouth poised at my ear. His soft breath blows over the shell, making me shiver. “I haven’t had sex in two years, and nearly twice that long since the time before.”

The sketchbook slips from my fingertips and hits the floor with a loud, startling crash.

The unexpected sound surprises me. I slip in my seat and accidentally knock my glass over. The remaining milk flows across the counter in a turbulent white river as the glass rolls dangerously toward the edge. Jude leaps into action, I turn to catch the cup before it can shatter, and we collide. My cast smacks him straight across the forehead.

“Shit,” he grunts, one hand covering his head. The other cradles my rogue glass against his stomach a second before it plunged off the counter and shattered.

“I’m sorry!” I wince. My arm twinges. Thankfully, it’s had time to heal since the accident, or that might have hurt a lot more.

A deep laugh slips free from Jude. “And here I thought I had the upper hand.”

“Never assume you’re going to win. I always have a trick up my sleeve.” I retort through my mortification.

Jude sets the glass back on the counter and retrieves my sketchbook from the floor. He studies the page as he rights himself.

“Why aren’t you doing this full time? These are incredible.”

“It’s a hobby.” I accept my drawings back. “The whole starving artist thing isn’t a myth. People shockingly undervalue the amount of time it takes to create art. I’d never be able to support myself through the creation process on the drawings alone.”

“Have you ever sold them?”

“There was a small boutique owner back home who helped me sell some work through her main store and online shop.”

“You need to get your name out there. I’m serious.”

Leaving Lola’s boutique was one of the hardest parts about leaving home. Selling art through her shop was a much-needed form of validation. Hearing Jude support the idea is another.

“It’s always been the dream.”

“There’s an adoption event coming up next weekend. You should make drawings of some of the dogs and attach your contact info on the back. You have social media or something?”

“I have an Instagram account, but I haven’t checked it in ages. I only had access to it at the public library. Jude, I don’t think anyone is going to buy drawings of dogs. I could give them for free with the adoption.”

“Maybe but people talk. And getting a free custom pet portrait with each purchase will help both the animals and you.”

It could work. I can easily draw in my free time, and it isn’t a hardship to hang around these adorable canines.

“I can give it a shot.”

“Good. And when you’re caught up, I’m going to need you to make me one of Ashe.”

The dog crosses from the other room at the sound of her name and bumps her snout into my knee.

“What do you think, girl? You want me to draw you on a canvas?”

Sitting next to my leg, her tongue lolls from her mouth and she gives an excited bark.

“I think that means yes.” I scratch her fluff between her ears.