42. FRANKIE
FORTY-TWO
FRANKIE
Jackson walks in the door, and my pulse stutters to a stop. Something’s not right. His gait is all wrong; his shoulders are weighed down, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. He’s almost unrecognizable compared to the man who left here yesterday.
I hurry to meet him. “What happened? What’s—”
He swallows me in a hug. And doesn’t let go.
No, he latches on and holds on to me like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth.
Fuck. What the hell happened at lunch? I know he always dreads seeing his family, and I don’t blame him—I wouldn’t want to have lunch with those trolls either—but this is alarming.
He’s never been like this after they’ve visited.
“I told them.” His words are muffled in my shirt, but he might as well have screamed them.
I manage to pry myself from him and grip his face. “You what?” I search those red-rimmed blue eyes. Oh God. Red-rimmed. “Jackie, what happened? What’d they say? What’d they do?” My blood boils over. “Dear fucking God, who do I need to kill?” I will murder. I will fucking dismember.
“What’s going on? Why is Frankie killing people? Should I grab a bat?” Shane’s voice filters into the townhouse. East is right behind him. They’d met Maddy in the city for a quick lunch. “And who the fuck is this? Ohhh, you’re totally Olander’s brother. Can’t miss the family resemblance.”
My attention lands on the stranger standing awkwardly at the far end of the kitchen, close to the entry.
The one I totally missed while wrapped up in my concern for Jackson.
And yes, he is very clearly Jackie’s brother.
They’re nearly identical except for their hair.
They both have the sides buzzed, but Jackson’s is long and messy on top, whereas this guy is all short and neat and contained.
Shane’s attention falls back on me, where I’m in Jackson’s arms, and his eyes widen. The oh-shit alarm bells are going off in his blue eyes. Oh dear, and poor Easton looks like he’s seconds from passing out. This is way too much for that poor, anxious boy to handle.
“Jackson?” I ask, searching his misty blue eyes.
“I told my family,” he says quietly. “The fact that only one of them is here tells you everything you need to know.”
“Dolcezza,” I whisper. I settle my hand over his heart as an aching sadness spreads through me.
He shrugs a shoulder and sends me a stiff, dimple-less smile. “It was expected.”
“Doesn’t make it hurt any less. Doesn’t make it any less wrong.”
We all seek it: love from our parents. Even when they don’t deserve us. My gaze strays to Shane. Unfortunately, we live in a world where parental love isn’t a given. Something I will never understand.
“It’s okay.” His whisper is broken and so clearly gives away the lie, but a little warmth blooms in his eyes. He grabs my hand and gives it a little tug. “I still got a happy surprise out of it. Come meet my brother.”
“I really feel like I’m intruding on something I should not be a part of,” Shane says. Then he plops down in one of the kitchen chairs, crossing his ankle over his knee. He pulls one out next to him for Easton, pats it, and watches on with interest.
Jackson chuckles as we walk by them. He leads me up to his brother. “Frankie, this is my brother, Jacob.” He squeezes my hand hard. “Jake,” he says, the word sounding like it’s choking him, “this is my…um, this is Frankie.”
My heart rate stumbles just like Jackson did over his words. Over what he nearly let slip but didn’t. Because we are that in almost every sense of the word, but circumstances won’t allow for it to be real.
“Breathe, Jack.” His brother shoots him an encouraging smile, and that’s all I need to know that this is going to be okay. Their parents might be heartless bastards, but these two will hold strong.
“Wait. You two are Jake and Jack?” Shane exclaims. “What the fuck is wrong with your parents?”
The brothers share a look, a silent conversation I can practically hear. Where do we start? It reminds me so much of Pao Pao and me that it heals a little of the heartache from earlier. Yeah, these two are definitely going to be all right.
Jake looks at me. “Nice to meet you, Frankie.” He holds out his hand. “I, um, see what my brother sees in you.”
I cock my head. “You do, do you?”
“Yes, um…you’re very…um…”
“Brooo,” Shane says. “This is painful.”
I chuckle and take Jake’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “As long as you’re not a bigot and you promise to be a good brother to Jackie, then nice to meet you too.” I smile sweetly at him. “And if not, then you can get the fuck out of my house.”
His eyes go wide, and he chokes on a laugh. “Um. Not a bigot. Definitely been a douche but working on it.” He gently bumps his shoulder into his brother’s. “Love my little bro. Always.”
Jackson stares hard at the floor with glassy eyes. Poor guys. Lots of big emotions today.
“You have some time to stick around, Jake?” I ask.
He nods, his gaze darting between Jackson and me.
Yeah, these two need more time to settle into this. “Who’s down for a Mario Kart tournament?”
Shane jumps up. “I’m in!” He dashes for the stairs. “I’ll get Paulie.”
“I’ll get it set up,” East says.
I shoot him a smile. “Thanks, babe.”
I turn back to the brothers. God, these two are giants. Jackie’s brother is even taller than he is. “Sound good to you two?”
“I’m down.” Jake bounces his eyebrows. “What do you say, little bro? Want to get your ass handed to you?”
Jackson glares at his brother, then pushes him toward the living area. “There are no loose-wired controllers here, Jake. You can’t short-circuit the game when you’re about to lose, so you better get ready to get your ass kicked.”
A laugh bursts from Jake. “Shit, I forgot I used to do that.”
I cross my arms and lean against the wall, a smile tugging at my lips.
Jackson shoves his shoulder playfully into his brother’s. “You were such a fucking dick. No smacking me across the head to distract me either.”
“No promises. Video games always call for sabotage.”
The two brothers start arguing and wrestling over the “best” spot to play, and I shake my head.
I can’t believe he came out to his family.
The bravery it took, knowing the views his family holds…
I’m in awe of him. Not a perfect outcome, not what a better world would have given, but seeing those two like this makes me so happy.
Maybe now, freed from their parents’ shadow, they can finally build something genuine.
Jackson slowly pushes my bathroom door shut, then drops his head to it with a thunk. He stands there, palm on the wood, shoulders slumped, and I can feel it—the exhaustion. It curls off him like mist and slowly settles over the room like a weighted blanket.
He just got back from dropping Jake off at his car.
Jake stayed late—well past midnight. It almost seemed like neither brother wanted to say goodbye, which I take as a good thing.
He and Jackson split off for a while to talk after the video game tournament, and then Jake spent some time getting to know me.
I think that hit Jackson the hardest, seeing his brother taking an interest in me.
I also got the feeling Jake might be just as lonely and troubled as Jackson was when we’d first met.
Jackson’s head still rests against the door, so I go to him. “Come here, loverboy,” I whisper.
I grab his hand and gently lead him to bed.
His movements are stiff; his muscles rigid.
His cheek keeps flexing in a telltale sign that he’s chewing on it.
He’s in his head, and I’m not sure what war he’s waging, but I give him some time to himself while I silently help him out of his shirt and jeans.
I gently guide him to sit on the edge of my bed. He stares over my shoulder, unseeing, while I remove his socks. Washing up seems to have taken the last of any energy he had left. I pull back the covers, and he collapses onto the mattress with a groan.
His gaze drags up to mine. “I have played double-digit innings games,” he murmurs, his words slightly slurred. “Double-headers. Pushed my body to the limit of what it’s physically capable of.” He shakes his head slowly. “But I have never been more tired in my life than today.”
I walk around the bed and slide into my side, rolling to face him. “Then let’s go to bed. Tomorrow is a new day. We’ll tackle it with renewed energy.”
He settles in next to me, mirroring my position. “Together?”
I dust my knuckles over his cheek. “Of course, together.” If only forever together.
His mouth tightens, and he nods. The muscles in his face twitch and jerk. It’s not the first time I’ve caught this strain on his face. A few times tonight I saw it on his brother’s as well.
“You can let go with me. You don’t need to keep holding it back.”
His nostrils flare, and he shakes his head tightly. I have a feeling, given what I’ve learned thus far about his family, his household was very much a men don’t cry kind of home.
Bottle, bottle, bottle the emotions.
All that leads to is men exploding.
I hit the lights on the app on my phone, and the room fades into darkness. I pull him to my chest and stroke his hair. “You’re safe with me, Jackie.” The same words he said to me only a few nights ago.
His arm comes around my waist, and his fingers dig into my back. His body is so damn tight, a rubber band almost at its limit. Just waiting to snap.
A shuddered breath punctures the quiet and immediately cuts off. He buries his head into me, fingers latching on like hooks, like if he clings on hard enough, he can stave off what he’s feeling. But what’s inside him is going to win.
And it’s okay that it does. To let it out. Sometimes we need to feel—the pain, the anguish—before we can truly move on.
I press my lips to the top of his head. His body vibrates. I cup the back of his neck and hold tight. “I have you.”
A sob jolts through him, cutting through the room.
Cutting into me.
Then nothing. Just a wall of muscle quaking in my arms.
I gently squeeze his neck, massage the muscles that are as tightly coiled as steel wire. “I love you,” I whisper.
A strangled, wounded noise rips from him. He tries to bury it. His fingers claw at my back as he fights to regain control. His ragged, panicked breaths pierce the room.
My hand flexes around his neck, firm, supportive, secure. I have you.
And he breaks.
And I break along with him.
Sobs tear from him, his body shuddering violently, erratic breaths ricocheting like shrapnel around us.
I shift and wrap my arm around him, squeezing as tight as I can, trying to be the blanket of security he needs.
I’ll hold him—every piece that breaks off, I’ll catch.
I’ll keep them safe, and when he’s exorcised his demons, I’ll put him back together.
Lighter.
Free.
Loved.
Each pained sound that falls from him hooks into my heart, drags down like sharpened talons. Tears slide down my cheeks into his hair. I press a kiss there and hold, another way I can surround him. “I love you.”
A hiccupped breath bursts from him, and then his shaking eases slightly. “I-I’m s-s-orry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Jackson.”
Another hiccup jerks through him, softer this time. He draws back, and I cup the back of his head as he looks up at me. We’re nothing but a kaleidoscope of gray in the shadows, but not even the shadows can hide those shattered irises.
“I don’t ev-v-ven know why it’s hitting me like this,” he says hoarsely. He sniffs and then squeezes his eyes shut as another tremor wracks his frame.
“You’re grieving.” I gently push back his hair, scoring my fingers over his scalp. He leans into the touch. That’s right, baby. I have you. “We don’t only grieve death, dolcezza. We grieve what could’ve been.”
His breathing hitches again, then steadies. Tear-clumped lashes flutter open, and his gaze meets mine.
“And sometimes…” I trace the shadows on his jaw. “Sometimes we grieve what couldn’t. The heartbreak that comes from accepting that certain dreams can never be. Because deep inside, it’s what we’d always wished for.”
He nods slowly.
I drift my thumb along his jawline, and we just breathe, softly existing in our safe little bubble.
“Kiss me,” he murmurs.
I catch his lips with mine. His hand finds the back of my head, pulling me closer. Pulling me so tight that we’re fused together, no movement, just us. Then his body relaxes. His fingers slide away. His lips soften under mine. I kiss him once more, then pull back.
His lids hang heavy, blinks slow. He’s fading.
He loosely cups my jaw. “You’re everything,” he mumbles.
I clutch his hand to my cheek, turn and press a kiss into it.
His eyes sink shut. “I love you, Frankie,” he slurs.
My heart stops. “What did you just say?” I whisper.
But sleep has already claimed him.
I rest his limp hand on the mattress and press a quiet kiss to his forehead as my pulse skitters through my veins.
“Rest well, dolcezza. I’ll stay with you and guard your dreams.”
I watch him, chest rising and falling in a gentle, even rhythm.
He loves me. He loves me too.
And for the life of me, I’m not sure if that makes the situation we’re in better or…
All the more heartbreaking.