Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Frankie held tightly to the steering wheel as she drove through the night to Waylon’s apartment. The only time she let go of it was to brush away a tear. They weren’t so much tears of sadness or fear—though she felt both—but frustration.
Frankie hated feeling helpless. Hated it more than anything else in the world. Cancer had done that to her, but only at first. After the initial shock, she fought back as hard as she could, knowing that even the toughest fighters didn’t always win that battle.
The next tear that fell was pure sadness.
“No.” She wiped her nose and gritted her teeth. “He’s not going to get the best of me. I’m fighting back right now, even if it feels like I’m running. I’m doing something to protect myself.”
After the repair guy had left, she’d set her alarm and sat down on the couch while a voice in her head told her she was overreacting. Then it switched gears and berated her for not blocking Derek’s number the first time he contacted her. Maybe if she’d ignored him, this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe if she’d been firmer, this wouldn’t have happened. Or, maybe if she’d been nicer at the beginning and gone on a date? —
“Stop it!” she’d screamed in her empty house. “Just stop it!” She swallowed and her throat felt raw. “This isn’t my fault.”
She had a choice—call the police or call Waylon.
She chose Waylon.
She’d call the police tomorrow.
We can do something about that .
Or maybe not.
Relief flooded her as she pulled into the lot and parked, followed by a wave of worry as soon as she saw Waylon marching toward her car. Would he rage at Derek? Or tell her she should have let him take care of the problem from the beginning, scold her for being stupid?
Only one way to find out .
She opened her car door as soon as he got there and braced for a lecture.
Waylon pulled her into his arms without a word.
He held her tightly, his body so much bigger and stronger than hers that he practically enveloped her. So warm. Solid. The rock she realized she needed.
“You’re not gonna have to face him alone, Pix,” he said, reading her mind. “You’ve got me. You’ve got your friends. Hell, you’ve got Snoopy.”
“He’s only a puppy.” She sniffed, fighting back tears.
“Yeah, but we know he’s gonna grow up to be an ace fighter. We should probably buy him a Sopwith Camel now.”
When did her body start shaking so hard? “Did you know the Sopwith Camel replaced the Sopwith Pup?”
“Babe,” he whispered.
Then he tilted her chin up and kissed her.
It was exactly what she needed and it was the best kiss she’d ever had. It filled her with warmth and stopped her from shaking and kept her knees from giving out on her.
But it didn’t stop there.
His kiss told her she wasn’t alone anymore.
His kiss was a solid promise that she wouldn’t be abandoned .
His kiss returned her trust in other people.
“Let’s get you inside, babe. It’s cold out here and you don’t have a coat.”
Frankie nodded. It was freezing. She hadn’t even noticed as she ran across her backyard to the garage, and Waylon’s body kept her warm as he held her.
Wait a minute .
He was wearing a winter coat.
The winter coat.
Which he promptly took off and wrapped around her before he opened the car door to grab her duffel and that horrible ‘gift’ from Derek.
Her right hand went directly into the pocket and she felt around for the earbud.
Still there .
Her anchor to her BC life.
If it was the same earbud.
I want it to be.
She could pull it out of the pocket right now and ask him.
But if it wasn’t? If he looked at her like she was crazy?
Devastating.
Suddenly, she was off her feet as Waylon swept her up into his arms and started carrying her to the apartment building.
“I ordered us pizza and some wings. Oh, and breadsticks, and a big salad if you want that instead.”
“Salad? I want cookies.”
Waylon grinned. “Good thing I also got the big-cookie pizza for dessert.”
When the food arrived, the salad went straight into the refrigerator. Frankie needed cheese and pepperoni and thick, carb-ladened crust now . She barely said a word through dinner, shocked at how ravenous she was. Waylon matched her bite for bite. He’d set the oven to its lowest temp and turned it off after a few minutes, then slid a cookie the size of a personal pizza onto a baking tray and into the oven it went. When it was time for dessert, the cookie was soft and warm, the chocolate gooey.
Frankie stabbed her fork into the last bite of cookie, scooped up the drizzle of chocolate and raspberry, then hesitated.
Waylon grinned. “Go on, Pix. You know you want it.”
She sighed dramatically. “I do. I really do.”
“And yet, you hesitate.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, then leaned forward and held out her fork. “You take half.”
Waylon shook his head. “Half? It’s all or nothing. I’ll fight you for the whole thing.”
Frankie let out an incredulous laugh. “How? You want to arm wrestle?”
“Rock, paper, scissors.”
Frankie snorted. “Beefcake, just eat half the cookie.”
“No.”
“Waylon.”
“Frankie.”
She met his gaze, deadlocked for all of two seconds, before shoving the fork in her mouth.
Waylon exhaled sharply, laughing as he leaned back in his chair. “Unbelievable. The woman fights dirty. ”
Frankie chewed, swallowed, and grinned. “ And I win.”
She groaned then, slumping back. “Ugh. Why did I do that? No regrets, but I am so full.”
“Worth it, though, huh?”
“Oh, absolutely . ”
Waylon stood up and reached for Frankie’s hand. He pulled her up and started leading her to the couch. Snoopy followed on their heels.
“What about the dishes? ”
“They can wait.” He sat down and pulled Frankie into his lap, folding her against his chest. Snoopy jumped up beside them and curled into a ball. Silence stretched between them, warm and easy. But then Waylon tilted her chin up and said, “So. You gonna file a restraining order tomorrow?”
The question sucked the warmth from the air. Frankie exhaled hard.
“You really think it’ll do any good?”
“Not on its own,” Waylon admitted. “But it makes it easier to step in…” He caught himself. “For the cops to step in if he doesn’t leave you alone.”
We can do something about it .
“Then yeah. Yeah, I will.”
Waylon nodded. “Good.” He rubbed her back. “You don’t have to do that alone, Pix. I’m coming with you.”
Frankie shook her head. “You have to work tomorrow. I don’t want you to miss your shift.”
Waylon scoffed. “You think I don’t have vacation time? I don’t think I’ve taken a day off since I started.”
Frankie turned her head, studying him. “Seriously? You haven’t missed a single shift?”
“Nope. If something comes up, I just trade with someone.” He smirked. “My boss has been on me for months to take some time off before I lose it.”
Frankie huffed a laugh. “I bet you’re the only one at the hospital with that problem.”
“Pretty much.”
“Well,” she sighed, “if you’re sure.”
“It’s not up for debate, Frankie. I’m going with you.”
She sighed as she thought about the damn box, which Waylon had unceremoniously tossed onto the kitchen counter earlier. “I hate that it’s come to this. I don’t even know how it got this far. ”
Waylon’s jaw flexed. “I do.”
Frankie frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You dated him. He got obsessed. Now he thinks he’s got some claim on you.”
Frankie’s head snapped up so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. “Wait. You think I dated that guy?”
Waylon blinked. “Didn’t you?”
“No!” she blurted. “God, no. I never—Waylon, he was a creep. I never even liked him. No woman at the clinic did once they saw through his little-boy act.”
“Little boy act?” He said the words like he was spitting out something nasty and sour. “At the clinic?”
“Yeah. Okay, so—he was one of the doctors at the cancer center. Dr. Sloane, but he insisted on everyone calling him Dr. Derek. He didn’t act arrogant like some doctors do, but he wasn’t warm and caring like the good ones, either. Not really, though he tried to act that way. He was just…awkward, harmless, I thought. At first. He has this ‘aw shucks’ thing going on; that’s the best way I can explain it. Like, fake-shy.”
Waylon nodded. “A shy little boy in a grown man’s body.”
“Yeah. Creepy, right? But I was friendly at first because I didn’t want to be rude and I thought maybe he was socially awkward and I was misjudging him. Really smart people are like that sometimes.”
“But your gut told you otherwise.”
“Yeah.” She blew out a breath. “And then so did a couple patients, and the nurses, once he started paying extra attention to me.” She looked down. “I was stupid and I gave him an in, made him think I liked him.”
“Stop right there. You did nothing wrong, Pixie. He thinks you belong to him just because you were polite? That’s not on you, that’s on him.”
She sighed.
“Does the voice in your head telling you otherwise, by any chance, belong to your mom? ”
Again, Frankie thought she’d given herself whiplash with the speed her head shot up.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Anger flashed in his eyes and was gone. “It’s none of my business but I’m gonna say it anyway. Tell your mom to shut the fuck up.”
Frankie’s jaw dropped like a marionette’s. Laughter bubbled up, shocking her. Even Snoopy looked at her, startled. She slapped her hand over her mouth, which only made her want to laugh harder. “You must think I’m insane,” she said between laughs. “Laughing this hard right now.”
“Not one bit. You’ve been through a lot.” He reached out and stroked her hair. “Wren does the same thing when she’s stressed. Not surprised you’re friends.”
“I saw Wren at Riversong today, by the way. She wants to come over and see the new furniture.”
Waylon’s smile froze.
Shit. I shouldn’t have said anything .
And then he relaxed. “Yeah, sure.”
Frankie blinked hard. “You’re okay with that?”
“Yeah. We’ll set up a time.”
“ We ?” She pointed back and forth and him and herself.
“Yeah, babe. We.” He kissed her, brushing his lips softly against hers, making her tremble. “Keep my key.”
With that, he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.
Standing at the foot of the bed, Waylon kissed her softly, reverently, as he reached for the hem of her sweater. His hands were steady as he peeled it over her head. He took his time, trailing his fingers down her bare arms, mapping every inch of her skin like he was memorizing her all over again.
Frankie shivered under his touch.
His eyes darkened as he looked at her, drinking her in like she was the only thing that existed. No hesitation. No flicker of doubt. Just pure, aching want.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with heat.
She wasn’t self-conscious. Not with him. Not after all the ways he’d already shown her how much he wanted her. How much he adored her.
His lips brushed her collarbone, slow and soft. He worked his way lower as his hands made quick work of her jeans, tugging them down her legs.
“Your panties are already soaked through.” He traced his finger over the wetness and Frankie thought she’d lose her mind. When he pressed a kiss to the thin cotton, she sucked in a breath, already aching, already desperate for his mouth.
Waylon smiled against her skin. “Patience, Pixie.”
Frankie let out a frustrated whimper, but she didn’t get a chance to protest further. He hooked his fingers under the waistband and slid them down, exposing her to the cool air—quickly followed by the warmth of his breath. He tossed the new comforter to the side and laid her down on the bed.
Then, standing beside the bed, he reached for the hem of his own shirt and pulled it over his head. Frankie’s gaze locked onto him, watching as he kicked off his boots, unfastened his belt, and shoved his jeans down, leaving only his boxer briefs.
“Take them off,” she whispered, her voice husky.
His lips curled in a slow, knowing smile. He pushed them down and stepped out of them, finally bare, his cock thick and hard and curving in an arc toward his belly.
Frankie’s breath hitched.
Waylon climbed onto the bed, settling between her legs, his mouth curving against her inner thigh as he kissed his way up.
Her hips jerked when he licked her, slow and teasing, as he dragged his tongue through her folds before circling her clit. He groaned, like he was the one getting the pleasure.
“God, I love the way you taste,” he murmured, his tongue flicking just right, just enough to drive her crazy but not enough to send her over the edge.
She buried her fingers in his hair, trying to guide him, but he just chuckled and gripped her hips, holding her still.
“Waylon—”
“I’ve got you, babe.” His voice sounded gravelly, full of heat and tenderness all at once.
Then he stopped teasing.
He licked and sucked, slow and deep, every movement deliberate, raising her higher and higher until she was gasping, trembling, thighs clenching around his head. And when he finally slid two fingers inside her, curling them just right, her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave.
She cried out his name, as he kept licking, kept stroking, drawing out every last pulse of pleasure until she was shaking.
Waylon kissed his way up her body, lingering over her skin, until he reached her ear, where he whispered sweet things. Telling her how good she tasted. How soft she felt. How fucking beautiful she was.
Frankie, still breathless, reached between them and wrapped her fingers around his cock. He was hard and hot in her hand, slick at the tip when she ran her thumb over it.
Waylon groaned, his hips jerking into her touch. “ Fuck , Frankie.”
She stroked him slowly, watching his face as he clenched his jaw. She let go so that she could slide down. She open-mouth kissed the head of his cock, pressing her tongue against it, tasting the saltiness there.
“Frankie.” His voice was ragged as his hands fisted in the sheets.
When she took him into her mouth, he lost all control.
“Jesus, babe—” His voice broke as she sucked, hollowing her cheeks, taking him deep. She loved the way he reacted, the way his muscles tensed, the way he threw his head back as he restrained himself.
She could tell he was close. So close. But just when she thought he was going to let go, he reached down, twined her hair in his fingers, and gently pulled her away.
Frankie frowned. “I wasn’t done with you.”
Waylon let out an almost breathless laugh. “You were about to be.” He cupped her face, brushing his thumb over her lips. “But I need to be inside you, Pixie.”
Her breath hitched. “Yes. God, yes, please .”
“Scoot back up.” She rested her head on the pillow as he reached for the drawer of the new bedside table and grabbed a condom. She watched, mesmerized, as he rolled it on, his jaw tight, his movements precise.
Then he was on top of her, his body pressing her into the mattress, his weight solid and warm and grounding.
Frankie wrapped her legs around his waist. “Please, Waylon.”
His gaze locked onto hers as he slid inside her, slow and deep.
Frankie gasped. He filled her completely. But even better, the way he looked at her—like she was the only thing that mattered—made her heart squeeze in her chest.
Waylon groaned, pressing his forehead to hers. “You feel so good, baby. So perfect.”
He rocked into her slowly, driving her crazy. She begged him to go faster.
“I want to savor you, Pixie,” he breathed into her ear.
When his fingers found her clit, circling, pressing just right, she shattered all over again, clenching around him.
“So damn beautiful, watching you?—”
His body tensed, and then he was gone, groaning her name as he pumped hard into her.
When he caught his breath, he eased down next to her, turning her carefully so that he stayed inside her. Tangled together, breathing hard, neither one was ready to let go.
Waylon brushed his lips over her temple, soft and reverent. “You’re mine, Frankie. ”
She should’ve corrected him. Should’ve reminded him they were just Buddies.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she melted into his warmth and whispered, “You’re mine, too.”
They slept, then woke and made love again. Frankie lay beside Waylon, breathless, still warm from his touch, one hand lying on his chest. His steady heartbeat beneath her palm felt like home.
Waylon shifted and brushed his lips over her hair. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Pixie.”
She smirked. “I hear you have a thing for cowgirls.”
“Oh, man.” Waylon closed his eyes as his hand covered his face, fingertips touching his forehead before sliding down his nose and over his mouth. “Busted.”
“Yeah you are.”
“Who ratted me out? No, don’t answer that. Elias.”
“Wren, actually.” She laughed quietly. “So now I get how you looked at me in the truck when I told you I was raised on a ranch.”
“How I looked at you?”
“Yeah.”
“What? How did I look at you?” He gave her one of those frown-smiles with narrowed, sparkling eyes that made her tummy flutter.
“Like I was skirt steak.”
That cracked him up. “I do love a good skirt steak.”
“I know.” She closed her eyes, tipped her head back, then opened them and looked heavenward as she dragged her teeth over her lower lip. “Boy, do I know.”
“So tell me about the ranch,” he said as he traced his finger across her forehead and down her cheek. “Tell me about growing up there.”
Frankie shivered under his touch. She moved her hand up to his. She threaded her fingers between his until they were holding hands.
“I was practically born in the saddle. You couldn’t separate me from my horse in the summer when I didn’t have school. He was a beautiful red roan, sired by Zippo’s Mad Match, and his dam was Sunny’s Hope. I named him Flicker of Hope.” She grinned. “Get it?”
Waylon grinned back. “Of course I do. That’s a badass name.”
“I was very proud of myself at age eight for that one.”
“So do you ever go back and ride him?”
She shook her head. “He’s not mine anymore. My mother sold him while I was at college without telling me.”
“What?” He propped himself up on one elbow.
“She didn’t just sell Flicker.” Frankie pressed her lips together. “My dad.” She sighed. “He died suddenly my sophomore year.”
“Pix, I’m so sorry.”
“I came home for the funeral, of course. Pretty much the minute I went back to school, she sold everything. The whole ranch is gone.” Her heart clenched. Even after all this time, the betrayal killed her.
“The fuck?”
“Now it’s all tract housing.” She made a small, disgusted sound. “You can bet she’s not living in a tract house herself. Custom build, fancy marble, gold fixtures.”
“While you don’t have a home.”
“That’s by choice, not because I don’t—didn’t—have money. The will stated that I got half if she sold, but Dad never thought she’d sell. He grew up on that land. I did, too. She hated ranch life, but he downplayed how much in his head. She was his blind spot.”
“I’m sorry you lost your dad.”
“Yeah, me too.” She smiled sadly. “That’s an old wound now. A scar that doesn’t show.”
Waylon shook his head. “You’re wrong. It shows in your eyes when you talk about him.”
She looked away. He reached out and turned her head back toward him. Then he leaned in and kissed her.
When she’d gotten her breath back, he asked her why she chose not to find a permanent place somewhere.
“I don’t know. I guess I’m just a tumbleweed. Detached from my roots, rolling where the wind blows me.” She grinned. “They pick up and spread seeds from other plants as they tumble.”
Waylon smiled. “The original Wwoofers.”
Frankie laughed. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
Waylon squeezed her hand. He brushed his thumb lazily over her knuckles. “So where’s the wind blowing you next, tumbleweed?”
Frankie smiled, stretching her arms above her head before returning her palm to his chest.
“Remember our conversation on the way up to Idaho Springs? I’m letting fate decide. I’m getting a whole bag of state quarters to pick?—”
She stopped.
Waylon’s voice had been light when he asked, but his eyes told a different story. She saw it now—the faint flicker of something deeper, something raw.
He didn’t want her to go.
And suddenly, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to, either.
For so long, her life had been about movement, about running toward the next thing. But here, wrapped up in Waylon, she wasn’t running. She hadn’t even given serious thought to the next place since meeting him.
And that scared the hell out of her. But so did losing Waylon.
She swallowed hard, then let her fingers drift lower, tracing idle patterns against his skin. “You know…” She glanced up at him, keeping her tone casual. “You said you’ve got a ton of vacation time banked.”
Waylon nodded, watching her closely.
“So why not use some of it for fun?” She gave him a small smile. “Come with me on an adventure.”
Waylon stilled beside her. His breath hitched, and for a second, he just looked at her, like he was making sure he’d heard her right. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.
“You serious, Pix? ”
“Serious as a shark bite.”
Waylon let out a short laugh before rolling her onto her back, pinning her beneath him. His eyes had lost that shadow of doubt. Now, they were full of something else entirely.
“Careful what you promise, Frankie,” he murmured against her lips. “I just might take you up on that.”
She kissed him in response.
And later, when Frankie drifted off in his arms, her last thoughts were of her and Waylon swimming in warm, tropical waters. Together.