chapter seventeen
Willa
The after party was already a mess by the time Willa got there—sweaty bodies crammed into a low-ceilinged dive bar, neon beer signs buzzing overhead, music pounding hard enough to shake the floor. It was too loud to think. Too chaotic to breathe.
Frankie had disappeared sometime after the third round of shots.
Kara, in her usual jeans and cozy sweater, caught Willa’s arm at the bar.
“You see her?”
Willa shook her head. “Nope.”
Kara smiled faintly. “She does this sometimes. Slips away when it gets too loud.” She squeezed Willa’s shoulder gently, like she knew something Willa wasn’t ready to admit out loud. “If you find her… just be soft, okay?”
Willa nodded, heart thudding harder than it should.
She slipped out the side door, hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets, boots scraping against the cracked concrete of the alley.
And there she was.
Frankie.
Leaning against the wall in her leather jacket, purple curls twisted into a messy knot on top of her head, cheeks flushed from the cold air.
She hadn’t heard Willa approach.
For a moment, Willa just watched her—head tipped back, eyes closed like she was trying to breathe herself steady.
“You always disappear like this?” Willa asked, remembering that night outside the bar a few stops back.
Frankie turned her head slowly, the barest smile tugging at her mouth. “Only when I’m trying not to fall apart.”
Willa stepped closer. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off her. Their shoulders brushed.
“You okay?” Willa asked softly, her pinkie hooking gently with Frankie’s.
Frankie nodded. Slow. Deliberate. “Now I am.”
They stood like that—barely apart, breathing each other in. Pinkies linked. Letting the city noise fade into background static.
Frankie’s voice came quieter this time, like she didn’t want to say it but couldn’t stop herself. “Next stop is your last one.”
“I know,” Willa said, throat tightening. “I don’t want it to end.”
Frankie let out a shaky breath of a laugh. “You once wrote about me like I was easy to forget.”
Willa stepped forward, crowding into her space without hesitation. “You weren’t,” she said. “You’re not.”
Their eyes locked.
It wasn’t shy anymore. It wasn’t playful. It was raw.
Frankie looked at her like she was daring her to do something about it.
And Willa—God, Willa had been holding it in for far too long.
She took a breath. Whispered into the charged space between them, “Fuck it.”
And kissed her.
It wasn’t wild or rushed. It was everything
Frankie made a soft, broken sound in the back of her throat—surprised but not hesitant—and kissed her back like she’d been waiting for this longer than either of them wanted to admit.
They kissed like they were trying to make up for every wasted moment. Two days left, and they needed all of it. But tonight was theirs.
When they finally pulled apart, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, Frankie whispered, “‘Bout damn time, Archer.”
And then she kissed her again.
This one was hotter.
Frankie didn’t hesitate—just grabbed Willa by the collar of her jacket and pulled her in, mouth crashing into hers like she couldn’t stand not touching her for another second. Her teeth caught Willa’s bottom lip and bit down, just enough to drag a low, surprised moan from her throat.
Willa gasped into it, her fingers fisting in Frankie’s jacket like she needed something to hold onto, or she’d come completely undone. Her whole body lit up—electric, tingling from the inside out—like every nerve ending had just snapped awake.
Frankie’s hands were everywhere—skimming down her sides, sliding around her back, gripping her hips like she wanted to memorize the shape of her. And Willa kissed her back just as fiercely, matching her urgency, like all the tension they’d been skating around had finally cracked wide open.
When they broke apart, both of them were breathing like they’d just sprinted full-speed off a cliff.
“Fuck,” Willa whispered, voice shaking. “You.”
Frankie grinned, breathless. “Yeah? You gonna write about that?”
Willa smiled—small, real, wrecked. “No. That was strictly off the record.” She looked up at her. “Just for us.”
Frankie brushed her thumb along Willa’s jaw, light enough to be a secret.
Inside, the party kept pulsing. The world kept spinning. But here, in the dark, pressed against crumbling brick and possibility—it wasn’t about music. Or the articles. It wasn’t about anything they’d pretended it was. It was just them. And it wasn’t the end. It was the beginning.
They didn’t say anything right away. Just stood there in the alley, forehead to forehead, hearts pounding in sync. Then Frankie nudged her nose against Willa’s and whispered, “Come back in with me?”
Willa nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
Inside, the party was still going. Loud and a little sloppy now, someone had taken over the aux and was playing early 2000s pop like it was a personal mission. Kara was dancing with Juno in the middle of the sticky floor, beer bottle raised like a trophy.
Frankie grabbed Willa’s hand—not tentative, not showy, just hers—and led her back in, weaving through the crowd like they’d done this a hundred times. They found a spot near the back wall, half-shadowed, watching everyone spiral into the late-night part of the night.
Willa sipped something she didn’t remember ordering. Frankie kept stealing glances at her when she thought Willa wasn’t looking.
They didn’t talk much. They didn’t need to.
At some point Kara passed by, arm slung over Malik’s shoulders, and smirked when she saw them leaning close. “Took you two long enough,” she shouted over the music, and then disappeared again.
Eventually, they slipped out together. Into the cold, into the quiet, into the buzzed haze of what they weren’t ready to name.
* * *
Back at the hotel, Frankie fumbled with her key card and cursed softly under her breath.
“Seriously?” she muttered, trying again with the wrong side. “Who designed these things? Satan?”
Willa laughed, low and warm behind her. “Need some help?”
She stepped closer, reaching around to guide Frankie’s hand—fingers brushing hers—and Frankie stilled. Her breath caught audibly.
The hallway felt suddenly smaller. Closer. The air between them thick with everything unsaid.
Willa’s palm settled lightly on Frankie’s waist, grounding her, steadying her. Frankie leaned back instinctively, spine meeting the door with a soft thud.
They stayed there for a beat. Just breathing.
Then Willa tilted her head and asked, voice soft and serious, “Hey… you wanna come to my room instead?”
Frankie’s eyes flicked up. Searching. Something quiet and hopeful flashed across her face. “Yeah,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I do.”
They didn’t make it far.
The second the door shut behind them, Willa reached for her, pulling Frankie in by the lapels of her leather jacket and kissing her like she’d been aching for it all night.
Frankie melted into her, fingers tangling in Willa’s hair like it was instinct. Like she’d done it a hundred times before in some other lifetime.
This kiss wasn’t soft. It was all heat. Hands. Full of want.
Frankie groaned into her mouth, and Willa drank it in like oxygen. She backed her toward the bed, their bodies colliding in stops and starts—laughter breaking between kisses, jackets shrugged off mid-step.
When Frankie’s thighs hit the edge of the mattress, Willa didn’t stop. She pressed her in gently, hovering above her as they kissed again—slower, this time, but still hungry.
Frankie let her legs part, letting Willa slot a knee between them, and the sound that slipped from her lips was wrecked.
“Fuck,” she whispered, voice wrecked and needy. “You make me forget my own name.”
Willa grinned against her mouth. “You don’t need it right now.”
“God, Willa…” Frankie gasped, hips rocking up, chasing the pressure.
Willa kissed her jaw, her throat, the space just below her ear, that made Frankie shiver.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Willa murmured. “You know that?”
Frankie made a helpless sound—half laugh, half moan—and tugged Willa closer by the waistband of her jeans. “I wanna feel you,” she whispered. “All of you.”
Willa froze. Her breath caught, her pulse stumbling.
God, she wanted Frankie so badly she ached—but the wanting made her panic.
Because with Frankie, it wouldn’t just be sex.
With Frankie it would mean opening herself up, and letting her all the way in.
And that wasn’t something she had done in a long time and the fear still gnawed at her that anyone she let close enough could just walk away.
She pressed her forehead to Frankie’s, breath uneven. “I want that too,” she said, her voice low, edged with something raw. “But—”
Frankie tilted her chin up, and Willa felt her looking right through her. She knew Frankie had seen it—the flicker of panic she couldn’t disguise.
“Hey,” Frankie said softly, her thumb brushing against Willa’s jaw. “We don’t have to do anything tonight that you’re not ready for.”
The words landed like a lifeline. Willa’s chest warmed, her fear colliding with the ache of wanting her anyway. God, she wanted her. But she also needed this—needed to know she wasn’t being pushed, that Frankie would stay whether or not they went there tonight.
Willa smiled softly, brushing her fingers through the curls that had come loose around Frankie’s face. “Thank you.”
Frankie kissed her, cupping her jaw. “Of course.”
Willa kissed her again. And again. Each kiss deepened, growing hotter, hungrier—yet still threaded with something softer. They weren’t kissing like it was a prelude. They were kissing like it mattered, and that was enough.
Frankie’s hands slipped beneath Willa’s shirt, palms warm against her bare skin. Willa let out a low moan into her mouth, clutching Frankie’s hips like she needed the contact to stay upright.
“This okay?” Frankie asked.
Willa nodded. “Yes, so okay.” She moaned into another kiss.
Clothes stayed on, and somehow it was still the hottest thing Willa had ever felt.
By the time they finally collapsed into bed, limbs tangled and lips kiss-swollen, both of them were breathless.
Frankie tucked her face into Willa’s neck and whispered, “You’re gonna ruin me.”
Willa chuckled, curling her fingers around Frankie’s wrist where it rested against her stomach. “Too late.”
They stayed like that, wrapped around each other, chests rising and falling in sync.
“Okay?” Willa asked quietly, her lips brushing Frankie’s hair.
“Yeah,” Frankie said, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone. “You?”
“Yeah,” Willa echoed. “More than.”
Neither one of them said much after that.
Just one more kiss—slow and deep—and then silence, except for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the rhythmic beat of two hearts learning how to fall.
Tomorrow, they’d get back on the bus. Head to Nashville.
The final show was waiting. One more city. One more stage.
But tonight? Tonight, it finally began to feel like something real.
* * *
Willa woke to the soft brush of lips against her shoulder and the warmth of a body tucked behind hers.
Frankie.
Still here. Tangled up with her like they hadn’t stopped touching all night. Even after the kissing slowed and the adrenaline faded, they hadn’t let go.
Frankie made a sleepy noise behind her, nuzzling closer. Her arm tightened around Willa’s waist.
“Mm. You’re moving,” she mumbled, voice rough with sleep.
“You’re breathing on my neck,” Willa said.
“That’s because I’m trying to inhale you,” Frankie muttered.
Willa huffed a quiet laugh and rolled over to face her. Frankie’s curls were a mess, her eyeliner smudged to hell, but she still looked stupidly beautiful in the glow of the bedside lamp someone had forgotten to turn off.
“Hi,” Willa whispered.
“Hi,” Frankie echoed, stretching one arm above her head and letting the other slide lazily over Willa’s hip. “What time is it?”
Willa reached for her phone, squinting at the screen. “Five-oh-two.”
Frankie groaned and dragged the pillow over her face. “Disgusting.”
“We have to be downstairs in twenty-five minutes. Or Kara’s going to come bang on your door and find us in bed together.”
“I hate this life.” Frankie’s groan was muffled by the pillow.
Willa grinned and leaned in, kissing her forehead, then her cheek, then slowly down to her mouth. Frankie met her there, still soft with sleep, but her hand was already finding the small of Willa’s back.
The kiss deepened fast, like they were already halfway there. Frankie rolled her onto her back, slotting their bodies together with a low hum of satisfaction.
“We could be late,” Frankie murmured against her mouth, her hand skimming under the hem of Willa’s shirt.
Willa’s breath caught. “Tempting.”
Frankie nipped at her jaw. “We’re already halfway naked.”
Willa laughed, breathless. “We’re not even close, babe.”
“Okay, but I was really convincing just now, right?”
“You were—almost.”
Frankie pulled back just far enough to look at her. “We don’t have to do anything. I just like kissing you.”
Willa softened, brushing a knuckle along her cheek. “I know. And I like kissing you too.”
Frankie’s face turned serious, but soft, “I was kidding, I meant what I said last night—we don’t do anything you don’t want to do.”
Willa nodded. “I want to, I do. I want you. I just—need a little time.” she smirked. “And more than twenty-five minutes.”
Frankie’s smile turned quiet, affectionate. “Deal.”
They kissed again, slow and drawn out, toeing the edge of something neither of them wanted to rush.
Eventually, they got up. Pulled on yesterday’s clothes. Shared the tiny hotel bathroom in a sleepy shuffle that made Willa’s chest ache in the best way. Frankie borrowed her eyeliner. Willa stole Frankie’s hoodie.
By 5:28, they were in the lobby. It was mostly empty, just a few early travelers and the soft ding of the elevator. They moved through the space like a secret no one else knew yet, shoulders brushing, fingers occasionally grazing.
Willa looked over as Frankie took a long sip from a to-go coffee cup. Her fingers were curled tight around it, but her other hand kept drifting close, bumping against Willa’s as they walked.
“You okay?” Willa asked quietly.
Frankie gave her a small look—gentle, tired, and still a little dazed. “Yeah. Just…” She hesitated. “Last night didn’t feel like a mistake.”
“It wasn’t,” Willa said.
Frankie bumped her shoulder lightly. “So… Nashville next?”
“One more city.”
“Two more days. One more show,” Frankie echoed, quieter now. “And then what?”
Willa didn’t answer. Not yet. But as they stepped outside into the early morning light, her pinkie hooked around Frankie’s.
They had nine hours on the road. A day off tomorrow and then, one last show.
But something had definitely shifted. She was tired of holding back, and letting one old wound decide what she deserved.
And whatever came next—Willa was finally ready to find out.
* * *