Chapter 17 #2
I moved on unsteady legs until I was right next to Archie. Slowly, like if I hurried too fast this would all shatter. I stared up at him.
He was already staring at me, the same dumbfounded look stamped on his face.
“That’s…” I started, then stopped because my mouth had gone dry.
“My house,” Archie finished quietly.
The words didn’t land so much as sink.
My new residence.
His house.
I looked back into my bedroom. Or what used to be my bedroom.
The boxes were gone now. Everything gone.
What was left was… nothing. The aftermath.
A few stray scraps of paper near the baseboard.
A black hair tie by the wall. Dust outlines.
A faint tumble of gray and orange cat hair clinging stubbornly to the carpet where Tabby liked to sleep.
Litter.
Actual litter.
Tiny grains that had been hidden beneath furniture, beneath the life that had just been erased.
My chest hitched.
“They’re already loaded?” Archie asked, his voice tight again as he turned back to the movers.
“Yes, sir.”
“And the cats?”
“They were crated and taken to the vet first, per instructions. They’ll be delivered this evening.”
Archie nodded once, clipped. “You’re done here.”
They didn’t argue. They didn’t patronize him. They didn’t smile.
They just left.
The apartment fell silent in their wake.
Too silent.
I stared at the empty room, at the debris of myself left behind like proof I’d existed here at all. My fingers curled into the fabric of my backpack strap.
Archie turned to me fully now.
“Frankie,” he said, softer. Careful. “Hey. Look at me.”
I tried.
“I didn’t know,” I whispered. “I swear I didn’t know.”
“I know,” he said immediately. No hesitation. “I know you didn’t.”
My phone buzzed in my hand.
Bubba:
I’m here. I can stay on the line. You don’t have to do this alone.
I stared at the message, Archie’s house address still echoing in my head. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or sit back down on the floor and stop moving entirely.
My cats were on their way to his house.
My things were on their way to his house.
Somehow—without my consent, without my knowledge—so was I. Did Jeremy know? He had to, right? Jeremy knew everything. But if he did, why wouldn’t he have said something to Archie?
The silence pressed in after the movers left, thick and heavy, like the apartment itself was holding its breath.
Archie didn’t rush me. He didn’t touch me. He just stood there, solid, like if I tipped over he’d be ready.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said quietly.
The words hit something raw. I let out a breath that shook on the way out and laughed—thin, watery, wrong. “How?”
Archie didn’t look away. Didn’t soften it with a lie.
“I don’t know,” he said.
That did it. My chest caved in a little more.
“But,” he added, stepping closer now, careful like I might spook, “I will make it all right.”
I searched his face for hesitation and didn’t find any. Just resolve. Stubborn, immovable resolve.
Before I could say anything—before I could ask how again or admit how terrified I was—the front door opened hard.
Footsteps. Fast. Angry.
“Frankie?”
Jake.
He charged straight down the hallway, eyes already scanning, taking everything in. Or rather—not taking anything in. His momentum carried him into my bedroom doorway and then he stopped dead.
“What the hell?” he snapped, spinning in a slow circle. “Where’s your bed? Where’s your desk—are you—” His head whipped back to me. “You’re moving?”
The disbelief in his voice cracked something loose. I laughed again, a little wetter this time, swiping at my cheek with the back of my hand.
“Apparently.”
Jake’s jaw tightened. He dragged a hand through his hair and started pacing, sharp, restless steps.
“This is bullshit. This is so fucked. You can’t just—” He cut himself off, glancing at my face, visibly reining it in.
He took a breath. Another. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, careful. “Okay. Okay. Where are you moving?”
I glanced at Archie.
Then back at Jake.
“To Archie’s.”
For a split second, Jake just stared at me. Then his eyes flicked to Archie. Then back to me.
“…Fun,” he said flatly.
Archie didn’t rise to it. He didn’t explain. He just stood there, shoulders squared, like this was already settled in his mind.
Jake resumed pacing, but slower now, contained fury rolling off him in waves. “Why?” he demanded. “Why his place? Why wasn’t this discussed? Why were movers in your apartment like it’s a foreclosure?”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Then shrugged helplessly. “Because my mother decided it.” I certainly hadn’t been consulted. Neither of us had been. Archie seemed to be processing better than me, but maybe he just played it better.
Jake swore under his breath and stopped pacing long enough to plant his hands on his hips. “Of course she did.”
He looked at me again, really looked, taking in my backpack still on, the empty room, the way I was standing like if I leaned too far I’d fall apart.
“You okay?” he asked, softer now.
I thought about my cats in crates. About litter dust and cat hair on bare carpet. About how my entire life had been packed up without me.
“No,” I said honestly.
Jake nodded once, jaw tight. “Okay.”
He didn’t say anything else. Didn’t push. Just stayed—angry, coiled, present.
Archie shifted slightly closer to me, not touching, just there.
For the first time since I’d walked in the door, since my world had been dismantled piece by piece, I wasn’t completely alone in the wreckage.