Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
COOP
Ihadn’t planned to come in hot, that was the problem.
I’d told myself the whole drive over that I’d be calm.
That I’d knock, take a breath, keep my hands loose at my sides instead of clenched into fists like I was walking into a fight.
I’d even rehearsed what I was going to say if Archie answered the door instead of Frankie.
I’m here to check on her. I’m not here to cause shit. I just need to see her face and know she’s okay.
All reasonable.
All lies.
Because the second Archie’s gates slid shut behind me and I parked the borrowed car in a space that still didn’t feel like mine, something in my chest went tight and sharp. Like every mile I’d driven had wound me up instead of calming me down.
Borrowed car. Borrowed time. Borrowed grace.
Archie hadn’t told anyone about it. Not Jake. Not Bubba. Not even Frankie. He’d just handed me the keys and said, “Use it to work. Get yourself steady. That’s it.” No lectures. No pity. No scoreboard.
Which somehow made the guilt worse.
I cut the engine and sat there for a second, forehead resting against the steering wheel.
Own your actions, my dad’s voice echoed in my head. Not angry. Not accusing. Just… firm. Like he was trying to give me something instead of take it away.
Funny how it took my life imploding for him to finally show up like that. I got out of the car and headed for the front door. The bell echoed louder than I expected.
Almost immediately, I heard raised voices inside—muffled, sharp. A woman’s voice I knew too well, even through walls. Sharon. No—Mrs. Curtis. Frankie’s mom.
Fuck, she does sound like Sharon and now there’s a comparison I can’t fucking unsee in my head.
A man’s calmer tone I didn’t recognize at first but had to be Edward Standish followed Maddy Curtis.
Archie’s house had to be the most luxuriously appointed war zone ever. The door opened a few seconds after I rang the bell. Jeremy stood there, immaculate as always. Chaos had no place in his universe unless he allowed it.
“Mr. Cooper,” he said evenly. “You’re expected.”
That alone made my stomach drop.
“Is Frankie—” I started.
“She’s upstairs,” Jeremy replied smoothly. “She’s safe.”
Relief hit hard enough that my knees actually felt weak.
“Thank you,” I said, meaning about twelve things at once.
Jeremy stepped aside to let me in. “If you’ll follow me.”
I took two steps in and stopped dead.
Because Archie was standing at the far end of the hall, shoulders squared, jaw tight, phone in one hand like he’d just finished—or paused—some kind of battle.
Our eyes met.
There was no hostility there. No suspicion. Just… understanding. Which somehow felt worse.
“I got him, Jeremy.”
“Very good, Mr. Archie.”
“She knows you’re here,” Archie said quietly after Jeremy left us alone. Maddy’s voice rose, almost stridently, down the hall and I had a feeling that she and Mr. Standish were behind closed doors.
Probably a good thing.
My throat tightened. “Is she okay?”
Archie hesitated for half a beat. “She will be,” he said carefully. “Right now, she’s exhausted. Overloaded. She doesn’t need anger.”
“I know,” I said immediately. Too fast. “I’m not—I’m not here angry.”
Archie’s mouth twitched like he didn’t fully believe me but appreciated the effort. “Good. Then come on.”
He turned, leading the way upstairs, and I followed, hands shoved into my pockets like that might keep me from breaking something. Or someone. Or myself.
The house grew quieter the higher we went.
At the top of the stairs, voices drifted from down the hall—Bubba’s low and controlled, Jake’s sharper, cutting in and out. Guard dogs. Both of them.
“Guys are in the game room, that’s where I’m heading.” Then Archie motioned to a closed door a couple of feet away. “Jeremy put her in the butterfly room,” he said. “Rachel’s with her.”
Rachel. Good. Thank God.
I nodded, then froze. Was I grateful for Rachel Manning? Yeah, you know what, I was. So I shoved that oddity aside and squared my shoulders. If she was in with Rachel…
“Did she… did she ask for me?”
He looked at me for a long second. Long enough that my pulse started thudding in my ears. “She asked where you were,” he said finally. “I didn’t tell her you were working or anything else. Just said we’d keep reaching out.”
I swallowed. “Okay.”
He knocked once, lightly, then waited a beep for her to call out before he opened the door. The room already smelled like Frankie. Clean cotton. Something floral. Home.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, phone in her hands like it weighed a thousand pounds. Rachel was beside her, one arm loosely around her back, like she’d been holding Frankie together by proximity alone.
Then Frankie looked up.
Our eyes met.
And five-year-old me—the kid who’d shared crayons with her and loved how she punched another kid for me—crashed straight into seventeen year-old me, the idiot who’d made a mess of things because I didn’t realize she had no idea how we felt and instead of making it blatantly obvious, I chased other girls.
Her face went through about six emotions in two seconds.
Shock. Relief. Wariness. Something softer. Something hurt.
“Hey, Coop,” she said, a flicker of a weary smile trying to turn up the corners of her mouth. Even in the midst of her own misery, she was trying to reach out to me.
I crossed the room without thinking and then stopped myself short, like I didn’t trust my instincts anymore.
“I’m sorry,” I said, because it was the only place to start. “I didn’t mean to ambush you. I just—I got your text.”
Rachel glanced between us, sharp and assessing, then stood. “I’m going to grab water,” she said, clearly translating I’m giving you space but I will absolutely murder you if you hurt her.
Fair.
The door shut softly behind her.
Frankie hugged her phone to her chest like a shield.
“You said not to come angry,” I said quietly. “So I tried not to.”
Her mouth wobbled. “You rang the doorbell.”
“Okay, I failed a little,” I admitted. “But I’m not here to yell. Not at you, I promise.”
She studied my face like she was searching for something specific. “You look tired.”
I laughed once, breathless. “Yeah. You too.”
Silence settled between us, heavy but not hostile.
I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck.
“I didn’t answer earlier because I was at work.
I didn’t have my phone. Archie loaned me a car—so wild that someone can loan a car—” I stopped.
She didn’t need to listen to me ramble but…
“I needed to get my shit together and part of that meant working, delivery had the most flexible hours but you need a vehicle. So… yeah I was telling him about it and he tossed me the keys and said to go for it. I feel weird about having it and I didn’t want to explain over text. ”
It all kind of tumbled out of me in a rush.
Her eyes flicked up, surprised. “He did?”
“Yeah,” I said. “He didn’t make it a thing, you know how he is and I think he was trying to protect me.”
That earned a small, tired smile. “That sounds like him.”
I took a breath. This was the part my dad would tell me mattered.
“I need to say something,” I said. “And you don’t have to forgive me or even respond.
I just—” My voice caught, and I forced it steady.
“I screwed up this summer. All of us did. But I did too. I told myself you weren’t interested.
In anyone. That it didn’t matter. That doesn’t excuse my choices or even make them okay.
I did some pretty shitty stuff to other girls and I…
I spent more time thinking about how to make myself feel better. ”
Another breath exploded out of me and I tilted my head back, eyes closed.
“Look, you don’t need me dumping all of this on you.
But I wanted to stress again how sorry I am that I made decisions and choices for you—hell made ones I didn’t even like—rather than just tickle you into submission and putting up a sign to make sure you knew what I was thinking rather than just assuming… anything.”
By the time I reached the last few words, I had my eyes open and I met the shimmering dampness in her green eyes. She didn’t look away.
“I should’ve been here,” I went on. “Not just now. Before. I should’ve checked on you.
Should have stalked you until you talked to me instead of getting my ego crushed and letting my butthurt feelings decide anything.
You’ve been my best friend since we were five.
That doesn’t disappear just because things get complicated. ”
Her voice was very soft when she said, “I missed you.”
That was it.
That was the thing that cracked me open.
I stepped forward then—slow, giving her time to stop me if she wanted—and sat on the edge of the bed, close but not touching.
“I missed you too,” I said. “Every damn day.”
She stared at our hands, so close they were almost brushing.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked.
The question hurt worse than any accusation.
“No,” I said immediately. “God, no. I’m mad at myself. And at the situation. And maybe at your mom—no, make that definitely pissed at your mom. Absolutely irked with the universe. But I could never be mad at you Frankie.”
Her shoulders sagged, like she’d been holding that question up all night.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted. “Everything feels… decided for me.”
“I know,” I said. “And I hate that. Do you want to stay here?”
“I don’t know.” There was an abundance of pain in those words. “This is Archie’s place. But she had them move all my stuff out of the apartment. She broke the lease, I guess. So—if not here? Then where?”
“You know my mom likes you better than me at the moment, she’d probably let you have my room.” I wasn’t even joking. “I could go stay with my dad…”
“Coop,” she scolded, but only a little.
“I’m only half-joking.”
“I know.”