Chapter 20
Chapter
Twenty
FRANKIE
The second Jeremy opened the sunroom door, the sound hit me first.
Tabby’s offended yowl—loud and accusatory like I’d personally abandoned her in a crate on purpose—followed by Tory’s softer, breathier meow and then the unmistakable rattle of something plastic being attacked with tiny teeth.
My chest unclenched so hard it actually hurt.
“There they are,” Jake said quietly beside me, like he was worried saying it louder might spook me.
I didn’t answer because I couldn’t. My throat went tight, and the world narrowed to warm light and green plants and three carriers lined up near the windows like someone had set them out as an offering.
Tabby’s carrier was shaking. Tiddles’ was silent in a way that made panic flicker up my spine. And Tory had a paw shoved through the bars, batting at the air like she was trying to slap the whole universe for inconveniencing her. Or reaching out to me for help.
I crossed the room too fast.
Jeremy moved like he’d anticipated it, stepping out of my path but staying close enough that if I crumpled he could catch me without making it a whole thing.
He had already arranged everything—fresh litter in a temporary box, food bowls, water, a folded blanket, a little tower of toys, all positioned as neatly as if my cats were aristocracy.
Tabby saw me and screamed again.
“Oh my god,” I breathed, dropping to my knees in front of her carrier. My fingers shook so much I fumbled the latch once. Twice. “I’m here. I’m here, baby, I’m here.”
“Take your time,” Jake said behind me, his voice low, steady.
I didn’t take my time.
The latch popped, and Tabby burst out like a furry cannonball. She launched herself onto my chest, claws hooking my shirt, and immediately started purring so hard her whole body vibrated.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, pressing my face into her fur. “I’m so sorry.”
She headbutted my chin like she accepted my apology but still wanted to file a formal complaint. My hands were full of cat and relief and shaking, and I barely noticed when Jake crouched beside me and went for Tory’s latch.
Tory came out with the kind of dignified disdain only a cat could manage, stepping over Jake’s hand like he was furniture. She sniffed my knee, flicked her tail, and then—thank God—rubbed her cheek against my leg before hopping onto the low bench by the window to glare at the world outside.
“That’s one,” I said, breathless.
Tiddles’ carrier sat there like a threat.
My pulse kicked up again.
I shifted Tabby into the crook of my arm and reached for the latch with my free hand. The metal was cold. My fingers were still trembling.
The door opened.
And Tiddles stayed inside.
A hot wave of fear surged through me so fast I went lightheaded. “Tidd—”
A pair of sleepy eyes blinked up at me from the back of the crate, and then—slowly, dramatically—Tiddles yawned. Wide. Luxurious. Like he’d had the most exhausting day ever.
Then he crawled forward, put one paw onto my knee, and climbed into my lap with the deliberate grace of a king accepting tribute.
I let out a laugh that broke into a sob halfway through.
Jake’s hand hovered near my shoulder, hesitated, then landed gently. “You’ve got them,” he murmured.
I nodded hard, biting my lip because if I let go even a little, I’d fall apart in a way I wasn’t sure I could stop.
Jeremy cleared his throat softly, not interrupting, just… existing. “The veterinarian said they did well,” he offered. “They were displeased, of course, but healthy. All up to date.”
“Thank you,” I managed, voice wrecked. “Thank you for—everything.”
He inclined his head like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just saved my sanity with a litter box and a calm tone. “Of course, Miss Frankie.”
Tabby, apparently sensing we were done with this emotional display, decided it was time to see what was in the bowls. She jumped down and immediately started eating like she’d never been fed in her life.
Tiddles followed, slow and regal, and then Tory hopped down too, sniffing each bowl like she was inspecting the quality control.
I sat back on my heels, staring at them like if I blinked they’d vanish.
Jake stayed crouched beside me, quiet, while Jeremy was a presence at the edge of the room, giving me space without leaving me alone.
And my whole body still felt like it was buzzing. Like even with my cats safe, the rest of the day was still sitting in my bloodstream, waiting to hit again.
It did.
Because the next thing my brain did—because it hated me—was remember the sitting room.
My mother’s voice. Her smile. Everything worked out. Mr. Standish—no, Edward—watching us like we’d always belonged there. And that ring on my mother’s hand.
My stomach turned.
“You okay?” Jake asked.
I blinked at him, too slow. “No.”
His mouth tightened, but really, what else did he think I’d say? I was so far from okay, I wasn’t even sure I could find it on GPS.
From somewhere down the hall, muffled voices carried—along with a sharp spike in their tones. Jake’s head turned, listening.
I could feel it too, even without understanding the words. The house had a way of carrying sound, like it was built to amplify important conversations and drown out the ones you didn’t want overheard.
My mother was probably furious.
Archie… Archie had sounded like ice. The way his face had gone blank, the way he’d positioned himself between me and her—
I didn’t know what to do with that.
I didn’t know what to do with any of it.
As soon as she abandoned the food to come back to me, I scooped Tabby into my arms again—mostly because I needed something physical to anchor me—and stood.
“I should—” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat. “I should go… deal with them.”
Jake was up instantly. “No.”
The single word landed hard.
I stared at him. “What?”
His eyes were bright, intense. Protective in a way that made me feel both safer and trapped at the same time. “You shouldn’t have to deal with them right now,” he said, lower. “Not when you’re like this. Not when they just—” His jaw clenched. “They treated you like you were luggage.”
My chest tightened again, and Tabby let out a small, irritated noise like she agreed.
I swallowed. “They’re my—”
“They’re them,” Jake cut in, then checked himself, visibly forcing his voice down. “Sorry. I just—” He exhaled. “Frankie. Please don’t go back in there. Let Archie handle it. Let me handle it. Let Jeremy handle it. Hell, let the cats handle it. Tory’s always looked like she could commit a felony.”
As if summoned, Tory jumped onto the bench again and stared toward the door with murder in her eyes. A laugh slipped out of me—small, shaky, unwilling—and then the laugh turned into a breath that hitched.
Because Jake was right. I didn’t have anything left for confrontation. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I moved over to the bench by the window and sat, letting Tabby rest in my lap as I stroked her then Tory. The light outside was fading, sky going lavender. The neatness of it—trim hedges, perfect lines—felt unreal after the chaos of my apartment.
Jake came to sit on the floor near me, back against the bench, like he was guarding the door without making it obvious.
For his part, Jeremy moved quietly around us, checking bowls, smoothing the blanket, doing small practical things that kept the world from tipping. I half-expected him to leave us, but each time he caught my eye, he gave me the most firm of smiles.
The argument beyond the doors continued, but Jeremy remained here. Ready to intercept them if they came in? Or just…being here for me? The man really was a treasure.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again.
I pulled it out with reluctance, thumb hovering like the screen might bite me.
Mathieu.
Mathieu:
Are you okay? I’m worried.
Mathieu:
Frankie, please.
The sight of his name made my stomach twist in a totally different direction. I stared at the messages until the words blurred.
Next to me, Jake shifted. I could almost feel his gaze dipping to my phone, but he tilted his head and looked away. It was a choice on his part, deliberately giving me privacy. A choice he didn’t like but he was doing it anyway.
Taking a deep breath, I opened our message thread and typed with stiff fingers.
Me:
I’m not okay. My mom moved me without telling me. I’m at Archie’s. My cats are here now. I can’t talk tonight.
Three dots flashed immediately.
Mathieu:
Elle t’a fait déménager sans te prévenir?
Mathieu:
Tu veux que je vienne ? Je peux être là.
My pulse jumped. He only slipped back into French when he was very emotional and his concern radiated from those messages. For the first time since that—whatever our argument had been—I felt that connection between us again. That said… did I want him over here right now?
No. Absolutely not. The last thing I needed was another person in this house, another set of eyes, another variable.
Me:
Non. Je t’en prie, ne viens pas. J’ai simplement besoin de calme.
I needed quiet, because right now I wasn’t even sure how any of this would go, much less what I thought about it. At the same time, there was warmth and comfort in Mathieu’s words.
Mathieu:
D’accord. Je suis là, quoi que tu veuilles. Prends le temps qu’il te faut. Je pense à toi.
He wasn’t arguing or pushing, just reassuring. He was the Mathieu I’d spent the summer getting to know all over again.
I stared at that last line.
I’m thinking of you. It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t help. But it wasn’t nothing. The three dots reappeared a few seconds before another message popped up.
Mathieu:
And I’m sorry for earlier—for letting my jealousy speak before I even realized it was there. You don’t deserve that from me. You don’t deserve that from anyone. I will talk to you tomorrow, I hope.
The apology asked for nothing but offered everything. It added to the tempest of emotion threatening to strangle me. I set the phone face down on the bench like if I couldn’t see it, it couldn’t demand more of me.
The door opened.