10. Chapter 10
Frankie practically jumped the last step of his front porch, his knee only giving him a minor protest, which he promptly ignored due to the thrill of victory.
Ryan had won his fight, and it had been glorious.
So incredible in fact, that it felt like Frankie had won.
He never thought anything could come close to winning in the arena, but watching Ryan’s gloved hand held up by the referee and his name announced over the stadium's loudspeakers, followed by thousands of cheers, Frankie was transported, standing right next to Ryan and feeling it all.
And the only person he wanted to celebrate with was Sammy.
He wanted to share this moment with him, but he knew he was waiting for him, and fuck, he couldn’t get home fast enough. He drove recklessly through downtown Boston, heart racing the whole time, knowing that Sammy was there.
Frankie noticed the darkness of his front porch as he reached for the handle. It was still locked. The smile on his lips slipped, and he unlocked it quickly, stepping inside. The house was dark.
“Sammy?”
No answer. The house was still.
No.
It took him all of five seconds to sweep the house and find it empty. Sammy wasn’t there.
Gritting his teeth, Frankie pulled out his phone and called him. It rang a few times before he finally answered.
“You’re not here,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Sammy replied. “I’m at the airport. Managed to book a flight back to LA. I leave in thirty minutes.”
He gripped his phone, wanting to crush it. “Really?”
Sammy was silent for a long minute before letting out a deep sigh. “You know I had to.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did,” he retorted coldly. “You said it yourself. We both want something that neither of us can give.”
Something hard and heavy dropped into Frankie’s stomach and he wavered, clutching the doorframe of his bedroom and recognizing the finality in Sammy’s tone. The same tone he had used in the stairwell before Frankie had trapped him.
“What did you think was gonna happen, Frank?” Sammy whispered. “That I would be there waiting for you? That I’d let you fuck me and… that’s it?”
Guilt washed over him as he scrubbed a hand over his face. He hadn’t thought about tomorrow. He only wanted tonight—only wanted Sam. Hearing him gasp like he had, listening to those sweet, gravelly moans that had made his chest tighten, feeling his body tremble and give beneath his.
“I just…” Frankie began, and stopped, words becoming elusive.
“Yeah,” he replied softly, almost compassionately. “You know, I think I’ve always, deep down, been a coward.”
“Sammy…”
“No, let me finish. I’ve always been scared of everything, all the time.
Then Papi died, and I realized life was so fucking short.
Too short to be scared. So, I kissed you.
I let myself take what I had always wanted.
” He sighed. “I can’t know what it feels like to have you in bed…
to truly feel you, Frank. I’m scared I won’t… ”
Frankie collapsed onto the edge of his empty bed, the weight in his stomach churning. Hearing the pain in Sammy’s voice hurt him. It hurt everywhere.
Sam suddenly laughed. It was bitter and fraught with emotion. “Who am I kidding? You already ruined me. All I thought about was you when Caz kissed me. And I can’t keep fucking living like this. I can’t. This has to end, Frank. I… I…”
Tears welled behind his eyes and he nodded, swallowing the achy lump in his throat.
Of course, it had to end. Frankie had been selfish. He hadn’t been thinking about how all of this was affecting Sammy. What it must have been like to have the person he wanted finally want him back, but not in the way he needed.
It could never just be sex with them.
Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be just sex.
Frankie closed his eyes. Pain as he had never felt before filtered through the fibers of his soul as he realized that this was truly over.
Whatever happened this weekend only pushed Sammy further away from him.
And there was absolutely nothing he could do.
He felt helpless. All he wanted to do was reach through the phone and soothe the pain he had caused.
“Yeah, Sammy. I know.” His voice cracked. “I know. It’s okay, baby…”
Shit! He hadn’t meant to say that word again. It just slipped out…
“Fuck.”
The line went dead, and the phone dropped from his hand.
Regret washed over him as he bit his lower lip, fighting back the tears.
His gaze landed on Nona’s bed in the corner of his bedroom.
Her ragged, well-loved stuffed rabbit and blanket were folded beside it.
Her death was painful, and it still ached.
But this—this was worse. So much fucking worse.
Frankie fell backward onto the bed, tears blurring his vision in the darkness of his room.
Sammy was gone.
And he wasn’t coming back.