Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
FRANKIE
The waiting was worse than the fear.
I hadn’t expected that. I thought the fear would be the thing that hollowed me out—the possibility, the what if, the word siblings echoing in places I didn’t want it to exist. But fear, at least, had edges. It flared. It burned. It receded.
Waiting just… sat there.
It followed me through the house, through conversations, through the quiet moments when I thought I was finally alone with my own thoughts and realized I wasn’t.
Not really. It was there in the pauses, in the way my chest tightened whenever Archie walked into a room, in the way my body reacted to him before my brain could catch up and remind me that this might all be wrong.
That we might be wrong.
I was in my room that afternoon, sitting cross-legged on the bed with my laptop open and absolutely no idea what I was pretending to work on, when a soft knock sounded at the door.
I knew it was Archie before he spoke.
“Babe?”
My pulse kicked.
“Yeah,” I said, and closed the laptop like it had offended me.
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, slower than usual. Deliberate. His shoulders were tense, jaw set—not angry, just… braced. Like he was walking into something he couldn’t control.
That made my stomach drop.
“What’s wrong?” I asked immediately.
He shook his head once. “Nothing’s wrong. I just—” He stopped, ran a hand through his hair, then looked straight at me. “I need to tell you something.”
I slid off the bed, suddenly unable to sit still. “Okay.”
He didn’t rush it. Archie never did when something mattered. He took a breath, grounding himself, and then said it.
“I arranged the DNA test.”
The words hit like a sudden drop in elevation.
“Oh,” I said.
Not because I didn’t understand. Because I did. Completely. Every implication, every consequence, every possible ending rushed through me at once.
“I didn’t tell anyone else,” he continued quietly. “Just Jeremy. It’s already in motion.”
I nodded, because nodding was easier than speaking.
“You didn’t have to—” I started.
“I know,” he said immediately. “But you deserve certainty. And so do I.”
That cracked something.
I wrapped my arms around myself, fingers digging into my sleeves. “When?”
“Soon,” he said. “I don’t have an exact timeline yet, but—soon.”
Soon felt both merciful and unbearable.
I looked at him then—really looked—and saw the strain he’d been carrying without complaint. The control. The restraint. The way he hadn’t touched me since the kiss in the parking lot except by accident, like he was afraid that if he let himself want, it would mean something terrible.
“I’m scared,” I admitted.
He nodded. “Me too.”
The honesty was disarming.
“What if—” My voice caught. I cleared my throat. “What if it’s true?”
He didn’t dodge it. “Then we deal with it.”
“How?” I demanded softly. “Because I don’t know how to unfeel this.”
His gaze softened, but his voice stayed steady. “I don’t either.”
That was the moment everything shifted—from fear, grief, and longing into something else entirely.
“I hate this,” I whispered. “I hate that I want you when I shouldn’t. I hate that wanting you feels like breathing. I hate that my brain keeps telling me to stop and my body refuses to listen.”
“I will never hate hearing you say you want me. I will never hate wanting you. I can’t.” He took a step closer. Not touching. Just… closer. “I hate that I don’t regret it,” he said quietly. “Any of it.”
My breath shuddered out of me.
“Archie—”
“I’m not asking anything from you,” he said. “I’m not asking you to wait. Or choose. Or promise. I just didn’t want you to think this was happening to you. I wanted you to know I’m doing everything I can to make sure you get answers.”
Tears burned behind my eyes, sudden and unwelcome.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
The space between us felt charged now—tight, electric, alive with everything we weren’t saying.
I took the last step without thinking.
He inhaled sharply, like he felt it too—that invisible line snapping tight between us. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move, didn’t touch me, didn’t give himself permission.
Then his hand slid to my waist.
Not tentative. Not careful.
The kiss burned hotter far more than any other. Not because this connection was new—but because it wasn’t. Because we both knew exactly what we were doing this time and did it anyway.
His mouth found mine with intent, slow for half a second and then deeper, like restraint was a language he’d spoken fluently until this moment. Like he was done pretending he didn’t want me this badly.
I made a sound—quiet, involuntary—and his grip tightened, fingers pressing into my back like he needed the confirmation. Like he needed me to be solid under his hands.
I kissed him back with everything I hadn’t let myself admit out loud.
With the truth that had been building in me for weeks now—that wanting him wasn’t a flare or a lapse or a mistake. It was a current. Strong. Persistent. Pulling me under whether I fought it or not.
And it wasn’t just him.
That was the terrifying part.
It was Coop’s laugh and the way his hand felt warm and familiar at my waist. It was Jake’s sharp attention and Bubba’s steady presence and the way they all looked at me like I mattered. Like they chose me.
Wanting them—all of them—had ceased feeling like confusion and begun to feel like hunger.
Addictive. Expanding.
Archie kissed me like he felt the same. Like he knew this wasn’t just about us anymore—it was about everything we were standing in the middle of and choosing anyway.
When we finally broke apart, my breath came unsteady, my pulse loud in my ears.
His forehead rested against mine, his thumb brushing once—just once—over my hip like a question he wasn’t asking yet.
“This is dangerous,” I whispered.
“Yes,” he said, voice low, roughened. “And I still want it.”
So did I. More than I was ready to admit. More than I knew how to stop.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Not loud. Not abrupt.
Polite.
Jeremy.
Archie froze first.
Not pulling away—just stilling, every muscle going alert like a held breath. My pulse jumped anyway, heat flushing my face as if we’d been caught doing something far more incriminating than kissing.
“Mr. Archie,” Jeremy said from the other side of the door, voice smooth and perfectly neutral. “Miss Frankie.”
Of course he knew exactly who was in here.
“Yes?” Archie called, his voice steady enough to pass, though I could feel the tension humming under his skin where his hands still rested at my waist.
“I merely wished to inform you that Mr. Edward and Ms. Curtis are hoping you’ll join them for dinner,” Jeremy continued. Not a question. An announcement. “No urgency. I told them you were occupied.”
Occupied.
My lips twitched despite myself.
“We’ll be down soon,” I said, grateful my voice didn’t wobble.
“Very good,” Jeremy replied. There was the faintest pause—just enough to acknowledge the situation without commenting on it. “Take your time.”
His footsteps retreated down the hall, calm and unhurried, like he hadn’t just walked past a closed-door humming with unresolved want.
The silence that followed felt louder than before.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Well,” I murmured, resting my forehead briefly against Archie’s chest, “that was… something.”
A low laugh vibrated through him. “Jeremy has the timing of a Greek chorus.”
“Do you think he—”
“Yes,” Archie said immediately. “And no, he will never say a word about it.”
I smiled, easing back just enough to look up at him. His eyes were dark now, focused in a way that made my stomach dip pleasantly.
“I should probably go change,” I said, though I had no idea why I needed to change my clothes. Maybe to get distance? Maybe to catch my breath? I didn’t want to move, so I didn’t.
“Mmh,” he agreed, clearly not convinced by the suggestion.
I hesitated, then tilted my head. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Your birthday is almost here.”
His mouth curved slowly. “Hmm.”
“What do you want for it?”
The grin he gave me then was unapologetic. Dangerous. Familiar. “You,” he said.
Heat bloomed instantly, low and sharp.
Then his gaze shifted—just slightly—toward the garment bag hanging on the back of the door. The one Rachel had insisted on putting somewhere safe. Somewhere visible.
“And,” he added, “I wouldn’t mind seeing what’s in there.”
I laughed and shook my head, stepping back just enough to reclaim space before my resolve evaporated completely. “Absolutely not.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Not even a peek?”
“Nope.” I backed toward the door, fingers brushing the handle. “You’ll see the dress on Homecoming night.”
His smile softened into something intent. “Worth the wait?”
I didn’t hesitate. “I think so.”
The look he gave me then—like he believed me, like he was already imagining it—sent another shiver through me.
“Dinner,” I said, mostly to remind myself that reality still existed.
“Dinner,” he echoed.
But when I slipped past him, his hand brushed mine—just briefly, just enough—and the promise in that touch followed me out the door.
Some things, I learned, were only getting harder to resist and I wasn’t sure I wanted to anymore.
Work was… grounding.
That surprised me.
The place smelled like burgers, fries, and the shakes I was constantly making, the kind of sensory overload that forced my brain to stay in the present instead of spiraling.
Orders came in. Drinks went out. I smiled on autopilot, wiped counters, counted change.
Muscle memory took over in a way that felt almost merciful.
For a few hours, I was just Frankie. Not a headline. Not a complication. Not a potential family tree disaster.
Archie had dropped me off earlier, because my car had been “sent in for service.”
Courtesy of Eddie and Maddy.