Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
FRANKIE
Ifelt it instantly—the way Archie’s body went rigid beside me, the way his shoulders squared like a shield snapping into place.
“I’ll handle this,” Archie said, low. Protective. Absolute.
I touched his arm.
“No,” I said gently. “I need to talk to him.”
Mathieu stood a few rows away, backpack slung over one shoulder, hands tucked into his jacket pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. His expression was careful—open, but guarded. Like he was bracing for impact.
Archie head turned toward me, sharp. “Frankie—”
“This is mine,” I said softly, before he could finish.
Yes, I meant the conversation. That was mine, absolutely. But I also meant something else. Mathieu was mine too. I didn’t own him but… But he was mine to face, mine to speak to and to be honest with. I owed him that much.
Archie’s resistance rolled off him in waves—anger, worry, that fierce instinct to close ranks and keep me protected inside the circle he could control. He wanted to intercept, to absorb the impact so I wouldn’t have to.
“Take the coffee to the others,” I added. “Please. I’ll see you in first period. If not before.”
He stared at me, jaw tight, like he was fighting words already lined up behind his teeth.
I watched him wrestle with it. It was a fight for the ages. He hated the idea of leaving me out here. Then he blew out a slow breath. Hated it but he was going to do it.
“Okay,” he said.
It cost him. I could see that clearly. Letting me walk toward uncertainty always did. I squeezed his fingers once—gratitude, reassurance—then stepped away before he could change his mind.
Mathieu waited for me, hands tucked into his jacket pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
We stood there for half a second too long, the noise of the parking lot buzzing around us—cars pulling in, car doors slamming, voices carrying. The band was practicing somewhere, the drumbeat was almost too much—our own diegetic soundtrack. Too many ears. Too many eyes.
“Do you want to—” he started, then gestured vaguely. “Walk?”
I nodded.
We turned away from the building, cutting along the line of cars toward a path that led toward the athletic fields. It was quieter there, the sounds dulling as distance grew between us and the rest of the world.
For a bit, neither of us spoke.
Then Mathieu exhaled slowly. “I’m trying not to be weird,” he admitted. “But I think I’m failing.”
I glanced at him. “You’re doing okay so far.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “That seems quite a low bar.”
We walked a few more steps.
“I saw you with Archie,” he said finally. Not accusing. Just… honest.
I braced, but he didn’t push.
“And everything else,” he added. “You’ve been spending more time with them. They’ve asked you to Homecoming. The rumors. The pictures. Now you’ve moved in with him?” His mouth tightened. “It’s a lot.”
“It is a lot,” I agreed. “And I don’t blame you for feeling uncomfortable.
To be very clear on one part of this, my mother and his father moved me into that house.
Archie and I are both—dealing with that.
” I wasn’t bringing up the sibling tale at the moment.
I didn’t even want to think about it, much less discuss it.
And honestly, that part had nothing to do with Mathieu.
He stopped walking then, turning to face me. “I don’t want to be unfair,” he said. “I care about you. I really do. But sometimes it feels like I’m… already on the outside of something I don’t fully understand.”
That landed harder than I expected.
I wrapped both hands around the coffee cup in an effort to bolster myself for this conversation. “You’re not wrong,” I said quietly. “Things shifted. Fast. And I didn’t get a vote.”
Mathieu watched me carefully. “I don’t want to compete with anyone,” he said. “Especially not him.”
“You’re not,” I said immediately. “This isn’t about competition.”
“Then what is it?” he asked, not sharply. Just… searching.
I swallowed. “I think we need to actually talk. Like—really talk.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I think so too.”
We resumed walking, slower now.
“Are we dating?” he asked.
The directness startled me, but I appreciated it.
“I would have said yes.”
“Would have?” I could feel his gaze on me.
“Yes, I would have said yes, before a few days ago.” I lifted my chin and looked at him.
“And now?”
“Now, I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I feel like I asked you the same thing a few days ago when I asked if you were going to ask me to Homecoming.”
“And I told you no,” he said slowly and I got the feeling he didn’t like being on the other side of this conversation. “Have you decided—”
“No and this isn't about Homecoming. Is it a factor? Yes, but right now is not about that.”
He exhaled a long breath and I took a minute to knock back a long drink of the hot mocha. I almost wished it was alcohol.
“And… you’re still trying to understand everything else.”
Yes. At the same time, I wasn’t sure that my bruised heart had the space for all this drama. “I do,” I said slowly. “I—”
“Are we exclusive, Frankie?”
That one made my chest tighten, but it was direct and to the point.
“I don’t think I’m ready for that anymore,” I admitted.
The words spilled out and I didn’t even try to gate them.
Not this time. A week ago? Two weeks ago?
I’d have said yes without reservation. “Please believe me when I say it’s not because of you or the guys or any one factor or person.
But because my life just… exploded. And I don’t know where I land in any of it yet. ”
He absorbed that in silence.
After a moment, he said, “I don’t know what I can say to help you.”
I winced, but more in sympathy because... “That makes two of us. I really don’t know what to say to you or to me right now.” Or even what I wanted to say.
“Would it change anything if I said I would take you to the dance if that is what you want?” The question was so straightforward, genuine and earnest. It didn’t feel cruel or deceptive at all.
“Do you want to take me, Mathieu?” We’d stopped again and the school felt a mile away, we were alone out here in the morning sun. At least it was a nice morning.
“I like being with you.” He stared over the field for a moment, then turned to face me. “I don’t regret being honest with you—I don’t regret anything with you.”
Relief spilled through me, unwinding a point of tension I hadn’t even realized had been knotting me up. “Mathieu… I don’t regret anything with you either.” The fact I could say that and mean it, eased another boulder off my chest.
A smile softened his expression and when he lifted a hand to cup my cheek, I leaned into the touch. “I don’t want to pretend that seeing you with him doesn’t affect me.”
“I wouldn’t want you to pretend,” I said. “I mean that and I promise, I’m not trying to make this difficult for you or for me. I do like you.” I had.
He studied my face, stroking his thumb along my cheekbone then nodded slowly. “Okay.”
The word carried acceptance—not surrender, but understanding.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he said quietly. “But I also don’t want to hold you to something you can’t give right now. They are important to you.”
Emotion swelled in my throat. “You’re important to me too,” I said. I couldn’t deny that my feelings for the guys were complicated or that everything was complicated. I should have that word tattooed on me somewhere. “That hasn’t changed.”
“I know.” His voice softened. “And I’m still here.” Then, gently, he added in French, his accent slipping just a little, “Certaines des plus belles choses dans la vie sont compliquées.”
Some of the most beautiful things in life are complicated.
I smiled at him—small, tired, real.
“Yeah,” I said. “They really are.”
We stood there for another moment, the field quiet around us, the day waiting whether we were ready or not.
Eventually, we’d have to go back.
But for now, this—honest, complicated, unfinished—was enough.
Mathieu shifted, glancing back toward the school like he was recalibrating. “Do you want me to walk you back?”
The offer was simple. No pressure. No expectation.
“Yeah,” I said after a beat. “I’d like that.”
We turned together, falling into step more easily than we had earlier. Some of the tension had eased—not vanished, but loosened enough to breathe. Maybe just naming everything had helped. Maybe it was the relief of not pretending.
As the building came back into view, he glanced sideways at me. “Are you free tonight?”
I winced apologetically. “No. I have to work. The week’s been… insane.”
He nodded immediately. “Of course. That makes sense.”
No disappointment. No guilt. Just understanding.
We slowed near the edge of the parking lot where students were funneling toward the doors. Rachel appeared ahead of us, leaning against a railing like she’d been waiting without waiting.
Her eyes flicked to my face.
Not asking. Just checking.
I gave her a small nod. Still standing.
Mathieu stopped a few steps back, already easing out of the moment. “I’ll see you both in French,” he said lightly.
“à plus tard,” Rachel replied without missing a beat.
He smiled at that, then looked back at me. “Take care, Frankie.”
“I will.”
He turned and headed toward the main entrance, blending back into the current of the morning.
Rachel waited until he was out of earshot before lifting her eyebrows.
“You okay?”
I lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, the truth sitting easier than I’d expected. “Way better than I thought I’d be.”
She smiled—small, knowing—and bumped her shoulder against mine. “Good. Let’s survive first period.”
We headed inside together. The day was still waiting. For the first time in a while, I felt like I could meet it.
The rest of the day went… better than I expected.
Not perfect. Not magically fixed. But manageable in a way that surprised me.