28 Francesca
“I’m staying.”
I’m scared to say it, to commit, to make it real. Scared it will all fall apart again or I’ll do more damage somehow.
But I’m also scared to walk away again. I’m just not strong enough to leave them all again.
A tear slips down my cheek onto Ryan’s chest. I’m draped over him, half on top of him in my bed. He brought dinner and we ate then wound up here, like usual. He’s reading a book, holding it above where my head is tucked into his chest.
I hear a sharp intake of breath from Ryan, but before he can say anything, I rush on. “I mean- at least for now. I want to be here.”
“Frankie,” he says, setting the book on the nightstand before tilting my face up towards his. “I- I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.”
“And I’m so sorry- ”
“No more apologies,” he says. “We have so much future to look forward to. I don’t want to waste any more of it on sorrys.”
I choke out a sound that’s almost a laugh. “Ryan- I don’t- I can’t,” I drop my head onto his chest. “Why are you so perfect?”
“No,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against my hair. “I just spent years thinking I'd never get this again and I think we've grieved this story enough.”
I lift my head slightly.
“I'm ready for the next chapter,” he says, squeezing me a little as a small smile tugs at his mouth.
And I start to believe him.
Or at least I believe that he believes it. And right now, that’s enough.
I drop my head and just stay there listening to his heartbeat, letting it steady something in me. Neither of us speak, we just sort of soak in the moment.
His hand starts moving absently along my back and the warmth of him seeps into me, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the familiar weight of his arm around me.
I tilt my head just enough to press a small kiss to his chest, then another, softer this time.
“Ryan…”
His hand stills for half a second before resuming.
I lift my head, meeting his eyes, and something tight coils low in my stomach.
“I want you,” I admit, my face heating. “I want all of it.”
The words hang there, heavier than I expect.
“Frankie- what are you saying?”
“I want to fall asleep on your chest. Like, every night. And I want all the normal, little things. I want you to kiss me again like you did in the street.”
I feel more than hear him groan at that.
“But…” I exhale, shaking my head slightly. “I think- with everything- I need to figure things out a little more before we go any further. Like… physically.”
It feels almost cruel, to be lying here against him, pressing kisses to him, telling him I want him, but setting a hard limit.
“I get it,” he says, not an ounce of annoyance in his tone.
.“You do? Because I don’t think I even understand it.”
He huffs a quiet breath, a little laugh and I start to see the carefree boy I knew start to surface. His eyes are a touch brighter.
“Yeah,” he says, after a beat. “There’s so much love here, absolutely. But we aren’t the same people we were. We kinda… need to get to know each other again.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and once again I'm struck by the thought that I don't deserve this man.
His patience.
His forgiveness.
His love.
And yet somehow, I have all three.
“Besides,” he says, a slightly crooked grin tugging at his mouth, “it's not like I'm the only guy you're relearning a relationship with.”
My throat tightens.
A little panic rises at that. At acknowledging what I feel about all of them.
“I don't- I mean, I'm not...” I blow out a breath. “Ryan, you are enough. More than enough. Please don’t think- ”
“Stop freaking out,” he says, tugging me back down against him. “Just come here.”
I settle against his chest.
“You've never just been mine, Frankie,” he says, almost a whisper.
~
The next morning, Ryan leaves for work after giving me a kiss. Not a soft peck, but a deep, slow kiss that leaves me aching.
Then the door closes behind him, and the house falls quiet.
I pull out my phone and open the group text.
Right after I left, they texted me constantly. Messages stacked on top of messages, filling the screen faster than I could read them. They went from concerned to angry to scared in a matter of hours.
I read every single one.
Every “Where are you?” Every “Please answer.” Every accusation. Every desperate attempt to make sure I was still alive.
My chest aches just looking at them. Because I wanted to answer so badly. Wanted to tell them I was okay. That I missed them. That leaving hurt me too.
But every message was proof of exactly why I had to stay away. I was hurting them just by existing in their lives.
So I never answered.
Over time, the messages slowed out.
Then they stopped.
I don’t scroll. I can’t. It feels like if I start, I won’t be able to stop, like I’ll get dragged back into it.
So I don’t touch any of it. I just open a new text.
Me: I need to go clean out my place and get my last paycheck. I’ll be back later tonight. I just didn’t want any of you to worry or think I took off again. I’m staying. At least for a while.
Before I can overthink it, I turn on location sharing and send it.
All three of them immediately share theirs back.
Then the texts start.
Jamie: You aren’t going alone.
Ryan: Can it wait until I’m off work? I’ll take you.
Me: No. My rent was due. They’re clearing my room today.
Jamie: You aren’t going alone. Give me half an hour.
Me: There’s a bus. It’s fine.
Ryan: You can’t bring your stuff on a bus.
I smile despite myself. I could bring my stuff on a skateboard…
Me: I’ll be fine. It’s not much.
Jamie: YOU AREN’T GOING ALONE.
Ryan: I’d listen to him. He used all caps. Scary.
I’m still smiling when there’s a knock at the door. Just one- then the sound of a key sliding into the lock.
Before I can even reach it, the door opens and Christian steps inside.
He stops when he sees me.
“Shit,” he mutters. “Sorry. Habit.”
He pulls the key from the lock and starts fumbling with his key ring. “I’ll leave this- ”
“Stop,” I say quickly.
His eyes lift to mine.
“It’s fine. Really. Keep it.”
And it is fine. More than fine, actually. I always liked knowing they all had a key. It made it feel like I was never alone.
“Come on,” he says. “I’m driving you.”
Of course, he read the texts and never responded. Just immediately moved to solving the problem.
“You don’t have to- ”
“Francesca.”
The way he says my name stops me cold. He isn’t looking at me, isn’t facing me, halfway out the door, but the timber of his voice holds me, frozen.
“There is no version of this where you’re going without me.” He reaches for the door. “It’s just not happening, so save us both some time and don’t argue.”
Heat blooms unexpectedly in my chest.
I swallow.
There’s something almost unfair about the fact that Christian is at his most attractive when he’s being impossibly stubborn.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “Thank you. It’ll be nice not to be alone.”
His hand pauses on the door.
“You aren’t alone.”
My breath catches.
“You never were.”
Then he walks outside, leaving me a tad stunned and needing a second to gather myself.
Christian is on his phone when I reach the car.
“We’ll be there in ten,” he says before hanging up.
I slide into the passenger seat and buckle in.
“Hi,” I say, glancing over at him.
“Hi.”
Something about the way he says it makes my stomach do a weird little flip.
“Where will we be in ten?”
“My office,” he says, starting the car. “We’re swapping cars and picking up Jamie.”
I blink.
“Jamie’s at your office?”
“Yeah. He works for me.”
I turn toward him.
“Since when?”
Christian glances over, one hand resting casually on the wheel the other resting on the gearshift.
“A couple weeks ago. He asked for a job, so I gave him one. Pretty sure that lines up with when he got sober.”
“Wow.” I stare at him. “What’s he doing?”
“Maintenance. Repairs. Renovations. Whatever needs doing.”
“He can do all that?”
A quiet laugh escapes him.
“Francesca, he rewired half a house by himself.”
I stare.
Christian shakes his head.
“He’s good. Really good.”
He sounds so proud I can’t help but smile.
“He could’ve been an engineer. A contractor. Pretty much anything he wanted.”
For a moment neither of us says anything.
I turn forward and just watch the road stretch out in front of us.
Then he clears his throat.
“I’m glad- really happy actually, that you are staying.”
“Yeah?” I ask softly.
“Yeah.”
The single word carries more weight than an entire conversation.
Warmth spreads through my chest and before I can lose my nerve, I reach over and slip my hand into his.
Christian goes completely still.
Just for a second.
Then his fingers tighten around mine.
He never looks away from the road.
But he doesn't let go, either.