Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Waylon crept up the steps, his boots making no sound despite their size. He crouched as he examined the door handle. It looked untouched. He tried to turn it but it was locked.
Whoever broke in must have entered through the back .
He inserted the key into the lock and turned it slowly, listening for the faint click of the lock. Waylon pushed the door open an inch and waited, listening intently for any sound from inside the house. The alarm’s whine grew louder when he opened the door, but beyond that, the house was silent. He eased the door open and stepped inside, his eyes sweeping the front room. Nothing looked disturbed.
Waylon moved through the house methodically, clearing it. He checked every room. No broken windows, no signs of forced entry through the back door. Satisfied there were no intruders lurking in the shadows, he headed back to the front room.
When he reached the control panel for the alarm, he frowned. The display flashed an error code along with the word MALFUNCTION.
Waylon let out a low breath, his tension easing slightly. He canceled the alarm, silencing the whine, and opened the front door.
Frankie waited on the front porch.
Dammit . Waylon’s heart pounded in his chest.
“Christ, Frankie, you’re supposed to be in the damn truck, not on the lit porch. Anyone could have seen you.”
Taken you. Hurt you .
“I told you I wasn’t leaving you.” And there was that fierceness in her eyes. His heart swelled.
“Get inside.” He looked out across the yard and both ways down the street as she scooted in past him. No sign of anyone.
Frankie’s gaze darted around the room as if she expected someone to jump out from the shadows. “What happened?” Her eyes went to the gun in his hand. “Was anyone here?”
Waylon shook his head. “No one’s here. Your alarm malfunctioned.” He set the gun down on a small table beside her front door.
Frankie frowned. “Weird I didn’t get a call. But at least it didn’t alert the police, either.” Another glance at the gun.
How scared is she of me now? An old familiar feeling of shame washed over him.
Then Frankie studied the code on the display. “I’ll call in the morning and ask them what the code means. Maybe I can fix it. If not, they’ll send someone out.” She turned to him and he expected her to tell him to take his gun and get the hell out.
“Sorry that my alarm went off. I’m sure you’re pumped full of adrenaline now.” She let out a shaky laugh. “I know I am.”
“No, Frankie, I’m sorry I scared you .”
She squinted at him. “What are you talking about?”
Not a trace of fear.
“The way you looked at the gun. Some women think a guy carrying a gun is… What? What’d I say?”
Frankie was laughing at him. “You’re kidding me right now. Please, please tell me you’re joking. I was admiring your gun. M9 Beretta. I have a Glock 19 myself. It’s a little longer than the 17 but it’s lighter, which is why I like it.”
Waylon just stared at her.
“Dude, pick your jaw up off the floor, please.” She rolled her eyes. “My dad gave me my first rifle when I was ten. A .22 I called Ze Pop Gun.” She said the name with an exaggerated French accent. “He wanted to make sure I knew how to shoot in case I ran into anything nasty when I was out riding fences.”
Right. Cowgirl. I think I’m in love.
Fuck. Shit. No! Just a Buddy…just a Buddy…just a Buddy …
His body wasn’t telling him that. His body was telling him she was anything but.
Frankie smirked. “You look a little pale, Buddy. Adrenaline dump getting to you?”
“You’re coming home with me tonight.”
Now she looked alarmed. “Excuse me?”
He nodded toward the panel. “You aren’t staying here tonight with that out of commission.”
Her lips parted slightly and she looked at the floor. “Waylon, seriously, I’ll be fine.”
“Nope. Pack a bag and get back in the truck.”
She snorted. “Aren’t you the broken record.”
“Pixie,” he warned.
Alarm turned to anger. “I’m not a pixie. I’m not some frail, weak little creature. You should have seen me before the cancer. Pixie’s the last thing you would have called me then. More like…” She shook her head as she quickly looked away, but not before Waylon caught the way her eyes turned glassy.
“More like what?” he gentled his voice.
“Nothing good. Never mind.” Frankie waved him off and wiped her eyes. Then she smiled at him like nothing was wrong. “Seriously, I’ll be fine. It’s a safe neighborhood, and I own a Glock. I don’t even know why this house has an alarm. ”
“So come to my place for me .” Waylon’s words surprised them both.
“For…you?” She blinked rapidly. “As in like, um…”
“No, no, not that ,” he said quickly. “We’re just….”
“Buddies. Yeah, we are that,” she said just as quickly. “I mean, you know, Steve can be insufferable when she knows she’s right.”
Waylon nodded like a Bobblehead. “We can’t give her the satisfaction of thinking that her plan worked.”
“Nope. No way.” Frankie rolled backward and forward on the balls of her feet as she clapped her hands once.
“You’re still packing a bag, getting in the truck, and coming home with me.”
“Oh my God, you are impossible!”
“I’ve been told worse.” He crossed his arms. “Or should I pack for you?”
“Like hell you’re seeing the state of my bathroom or my underwear drawer.” She grimaced at what she’d just blurted out and turned bright pink.
“I already saw your bathroom when I cleared the house. I did not look in your underwear drawer.”
“Well, thank God for small favors. The bathroom is bad enough, but at least I don’t keep my…” The pink turned to beet red. “Never mind.”
Waylon smirked. “But if you don’t pack a bag and sit your ass down in my truck in five minutes, I will thoroughly search your underwear drawer.”
Her gorgeous eyes narrowed. “You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”
“Try me.” He checked his watch. “Four minutes.”
She blew a short, hard breath out her nose. “Ten minutes.”
Ha! Got her. “Eight minutes. Final offer.”
“If I don’t have time to pack my toothbrush and deodorant, you’re the one who suffers.”
Her hair smells like rosemary, like a breath of fresh air, like a sudden sharp laugh or a challenge or a dare .
Those were the thoughts that had been tumbling through Waylon’s head all day. He’d had to fight himself not to lean in close and bury his nose into the top of her head every time she ziplined into his arms. Even her sweat smelled good.
“I can live with that,” he told her. “Three minutes.”
“I hate you.” Frankie rolled her eyes and turned on her heel.
The smile she shot him over her shoulder before she disappeared into the hallway slayed him.
“We’re here.” Waylon reached across the cab and gently touched Frankie’s shoulder. She’d fallen asleep before they’d even gotten out of her neighborhood. She lifted her head and looked around fuzzily at his apartment building’s parking lot, eyes at half-mast.
“Oh, right. Forgot I’d been kidnapped.”
Even though he knew she was joking, Waylon suppressed a wince.
Frankie wiped her mouth. “Oh, good, I didn’t drool too badly.”
And as quickly as she’d unknowingly cut him, she put him back at ease, even pulled a chuckle out of him.
“You laugh, but it’s your upholstery.”
“I need to get you to bed.” Damn . Why did everything he say have to sound like he wanted to sleep with her?
Probably because I want to sleep with her .
Nope. Nope. Buddies. Nothing serious going on here, and that’s not going to change .
“Sorry, I didn’t realize I was this tired.” She barely got the words out before she yawned.
“Long day that ended stressfully, I don’t blame you.”
“Fun day though. Best I’ve had in a long time.” She stretched and looked at him. “Even the false alarm.”
Waylon raised his eyebrows. “ That was fun?”
“Yup. Fun like… a roller coaster ride that feels like it might kill yo u but in the end, didn’t. A safe adrenaline rush. I’m making no sense, am I?”
Waylon laughed again. “Bed. Now.”
Shit. Really, you had to say it that way?
The corner of Frankie’s mouth turned up suggestively. “I’m that irresistible, huh?”
Yes. No. Yes. Shit .
“You’re a knockout, actually.” The words slipped past his resolve.
She scoffed and tagged him in the shoulder. “And you’re cute when you lie.”
He wasn’t lying, he really did think Frankie was a knockout. Not his usual type by a longshot, but it didn’t matter, he still found her attractive. He opened his mouth to refute her as she watched him eagerly. He looked away instead. Anything else he said was going to give her the wrong impression—that he wanted to start something distinctively non-buddy-like.
But holy hell, she was irresistible. So irresistible, he’d almost kissed her when he first dropped her off. And she’d wanted him to, judging by the look on her face and the way she leaned toward him.
Good thing he didn’t, because he couldn’t afford the chance he might not stop.
“Hang on,” he told her as he opened his door. “I’ll come around and get your door and your bag.”
“Oh, okay,” she said softly. The hint of disappointment in her voice killed him.
She’s just tired .
He circled his truck and opened her door. She handed him her overnight bag and he offered his arm. She didn’t argue, just used it to keep her balance as she hopped out of the truck. Wearing only a light jacket, she shivered in the cold night air. Waylon took off his flannel and put it around her.
“Sorry, thanks. It was so warm today, I didn’t think to bring my winter coat.”
“You can borrow one of mine. It’s going to be even colder tomorrow. Winter’s giving us a preview.” He gestured toward the apartment building and they started walking. She surprised him by taking his arm. Did he really think the first time he saw her, that he didn’t want some woman leaning on him, pretending to be weak? Instead, her hand felt so good there that he fought the urge to wrap his arm around her and pull her in closer. Or hell, just pick her up and carry her.
And she would love it, he knew she would, the way she was flirting. Dammit, no way he would’ve let her stay in an unsecured house, especially the way her ex stormed away that morning. At the moment, there weren’t any empty apartments in his building that he could put her up in, and there wouldn’t be any furniture in one anyway. But bringing her back to his apartment? Worst idea ever.
But what was I gonna do? Call Watchdog and ask to use one of their safehouses just because a woman was in danger of spending the night alone in her own house?
Shane would’ve been on his ass immediately, bringing up the past. His other brothers, too. Another intervention, no doubt.
They reached the building’s entrance and Waylon swiped his keycard at the door. The heavy glass door clicked open, and he held it for Frankie. She stepped inside and he noticed how she trembled slightly. Whether it was from the chill or the adrenaline still lingering from the alarm scare, he wasn’t sure.
“I’m on the second floor,” he said. “There’s an elevator at the back of the lobby.”
“We can take the stairs right here,” She gestured at the open stairway across from the mailboxes.
“You sure?”
Frankie smirked. “It’s one flight of stairs, Beefcake. I can handle it.”
He chuckled softly, letting her take his arm again as they climbed the steps. “If you get tired, I could always carry you.”
Dude, shut up .
Frankie glanced up at him, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Careful, I might take you up on that.”
Waylon just looked away.
She let go of his arm. It felt like he’d lost his.
They reached the top of the stairs and walked down the hall in awkward silence. Waylon opened the door to his apartment, motioning Frankie inside. She stepped in, her gaze sweeping over the space. It was spotless but sparse—no pictures, no decorations, just bare walls and the essentials. Her gaze landed on the couch in the living room. It was so short it looked like it came out of a dollhouse. It fit Waylon comfortably when he was home alone in front of the TV—not so much as a guest bed. Not that he was going to let her sleep on it.
“This is...cozy,” Frankie said, setting her overnight bag down on the couch.
Waylon rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, it gets the job done.” He avoided her eyes. What was he supposed to say? That he hadn’t bothered making it feel like a home because he didn’t think he deserved one?
Her expression softened, and she glanced back at him. “Thanks for letting me stay. I’m sorry for all the trouble tonight.”
“What are you apologizing for?” he said immediately, his voice firm. “I pushed the issue, if you recall.” He walked toward her, stopping a couple feet away. “You’re no trouble at all, Pixie.”
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Frankie looked up at him, her gaze searching his face. The air between them felt heavy again, charged with something unspoken.
“Dammit. You’re really good at this,” she said softly.
“Good at what?”
“Helping me.”
Waylon’s chest tightened at her words. He took a step closer, close enough that he could see the way her lashes cast faint shadows on her cheeks.
“It’s nothing. That’s what Buddies are for, right?” he said quietly .
“But, see, you do it without making me feel…weak.” She gave him a sad smile. “I misjudged you at the beginning. I thought all you would see was the cancer.”
He smiled ruefully. “That wasn’t exactly on purpose.”
She tilted her head.
“Truth? I handle acute trauma, not chronic illness. So, I didn’t recognize the signs immediately. But even if you hadn’t been having an off day and hadn’t told me, I would’ve just thought you’re thin because you’re so active. You’re always go, go, go. The way you savor everything, the way nothing gets past you. Everything that comes your way, you drink it down, the good and the bad, it doesn’t matter, there’s still joy in it for you. Frankie, you’re one of the most alive people I’ve ever met. I still don’t see the cancer. I see you .”
Stunned, her eyes widened. “That’s…no one’s told me that.”
Frankie swallowed, her gaze flicking to his mouth for the briefest of moments before darting back up. Her lips parted slightly, and Waylon felt the pull, the magnetic draw that made his body tense and his heart pound.
Don’t do it. Don’t screw this up .
Before he could decide whether to act or back away, Frankie took a small step closer. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke.
“Waylon…”
Frankie’s phone buzzed loudly, shattering the tension like glass. He stepped back as she pulled the phone out of her bag. When she looked at the screen she cringed.
“It’s my mom. I’ve got to take this.” She gave him an apologetic smile he hated.
“No problem. Go right ahead.” He walked toward the kitchen. The phone call gave him the excuse to shift gears. He’d been this close to kissing her.
“Hey, Mom,” Frankie started, but she didn’t get any further than that before Waylon could hear the woman shouting through the phone .
“Sorry, I was gone all day.”
More shouting.
“No, I was doing something where I couldn’t get to my phone.”
Pause. “No seriously, I was.”
Frankie heaved a sigh. “I was ziplining, and then in a hot spring pool.”
Waylon couldn’t hear her mother’s voice anymore, but whatever she was saying was draining all the color out of Frankie’s face.
Oh, shit. Did someone die? Waylon braced for the news as if he were receiving it. The look on Frankie’s face killed him. He’d do anything she needed—take her to the airport, hell, drive her across the country if that’s what it took to take that devastated look off her face.
“Yes. Of course I wore a swimsuit into the pool.”
What the hell?
“No. Nothing over it. They didn’t have a big shirt.” Her voice had gone soft—a child reasoning with a parent.
Waylon’s heart clenched. He’d been right earlier—the shirt she’d wanted to buy at the front counter was meant to cover up her body. As if a beautiful woman like her had anything to be ashamed of.
Jesus .
The yelling started again and Frankie squeezed her eyes shut.
“Of course there were other people there. No. No, I’m not seeing any— No.” Her face flushed red. “Not because of that, because I’m not ready.”
Fuck . Was her mother honestly giving her shit about her body? About dating ? Like maybe her boyfriend would judge her?
She sighed. “Mom, I need to go. My phone battery’s almost dead, it’s late, I’m tired, I’ll call you tomorrow.” Frankie pulled the phone away from her ear and tapped the screen. She looked up and gazed not at, but through, the wall with her thousand-yard stare. Then she seemed to remember Waylon was there and she turned. She looked embarrassed. Lost. Not at all his brave Pixie.
My Pixie ?
I’m not ready she’d just told her mom. Message received loud and clear.
The lost look quickly vanished under a smile. “My mom. She’s just protective.”
She’s just a mean, nosy bitch, more like .
Waylon walked toward her. “You okay? You want to talk?—”
“I’m really tired,” she said quickly, then looked away.
This time, Waylon’s phone buzzed.
“Sorry,” he muttered, glancing at the screen. “It’s just a weather alert. Freezing temps tonight and into tomorrow.” He put his phone away and grabbed her bag. “Bedroom’s this way. I’ll take the couch.”
“Excuse me?” She poked the couch’s armrest with her finger. “You’re really planning to sleep on this tiny thing?”
Waylon shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ve slept on worse.”
Frankie snorted. “Waylon, come on. Your legs are gonna hang over the end halfway to the floor.” She folded her arms and turned to face him. “Just take the bed. I’ll sleep out here.”
“No way,” Waylon said immediately, his voice firm. “I’m not letting you sleep on the couch after I dragged you over here. You’re taking the bed.”
Frankie uncrossed her arms and planted her hands on her hips. “I’m not gonna kick you out of your own bed, Buddy. That’s ridiculous.”
“And I’m not gonna make you sleep on this sad excuse for a couch. End of discussion.”
Frankie huffed and threw up her hands. “Fine. We’ll both sleep in the bed. Problem solved.”
That’s what you think . “Frankie?—”
“Oh come on, Buddy. It’s a bed, not a minefield. We’re adults, right? Nothing’s going to happen.” She arched an eyebrow, daring him to argue. “Obviously,” she added softly.
Unless I have another wet dream . Waylon cleared his throat, feeling heat rise from his chest to his neck. “Obviously.”
Frankie nodded. “Can’t let Stephanie win, right?” She turned and headed toward his bedroom like it was no big deal, but Waylon caught the slight redness in her cheeks.
Stephanie, or your mother?
Waylon stood rooted in place for a moment, his mind racing.
I’m not ready .
Sharing a bed with Frankie was an even worse idea than bringing her to his place. Especially now that he knew where she stood on dating. Not that it made any difference, he told himself. She wasn’t for him. Waylon hated the way that felt, like a hole had been blasted through his chest.
I’ll move out to the couch after she’s asleep. Shouldn’t be long .
He headed for the bedroom. Halfway down the hall, he remembered what was sitting out on his dresser.
Oh, great .
He picked up his pace, hoping she’d gone straight into the en suite bathroom without noticing it.
Her loud exclamation told him that yes, she did indeed notice.