chapter eighteen
Frankie
Frankie pulled the thick velvet curtain across her small back bunk and patted the mattress beside her.
Willa didn’t say anything. Just slid in, curling into her, letting her head rest on Frankie’s chest, and the warmth and rhythm of her heartbeat settled something in her—made her breath come slower. Quieter.
They lay like that for a while. The hum of the road and the thrum of the tires sang them into a fragile, heavy stillness.
Frankie’s phone buzzed once on the ledge above her head. She grabbed it and read the message. A text from her mom—about Mimi.
“Bad?” Willa asked, her voice no louder than a sigh.
Frankie didn’t answer right away. She flipped the phone over, face down, and closed her eyes, taking a few slow breaths. “A text from my mom,” she said finally, her voice thick.
Willa shifted onto her side, watching her. Waiting.
“My Mimi—the one I told you about?” Frankie swallowed. “She’s not doing great. She has dementia. Some days are good. Some just… aren’t. Most of the time lately she doesn’t remember who we are.”
Willa’s hand found hers, warm and steady.
“When I left for tour, she was still having good days, but Momma’s been keeping me updated. She’s starting to have fewer of them now.”
“I’m sorry, babe,” Willa said softly, the words solid and sure, like she meant every one.
“Momma just told me she aspirated for the first time yesterday.” Frankie’s voice broke. “I guess it’s common with dementia—you forget how to swallow. I don’t know, I just… I feel bad being here.” A tear slipped down her cheek. Willa brushed it away and kissed her skin.
Frankie gave a quiet, helpless laugh. “She’d want me here. She always told me to chase this. She used to say, you have music in you, Mae. But it’s hard not being there, you know? Hard not knowing if she still feels like I’m hers.”
Without hesitation, Willa threaded their fingers together. Then she leaned in and kissed her—gentle enough it made Frankie ache. “That must be impossibly hard,” she whispered.
Frankie nodded once, sharp and quick, like anything more would crack her open. Another tear slipped out anyway, trailing down her temple and disappearing into the pillow.
Willa shifted closer, wrapping her arms around her.
Frankie tucked her face into Willa’s collarbone and didn’t fight it.
She just let the tears come, soaking into Willa’s shirt while the bus rocked them gently, like a lullaby.
Little by little, the ache loosened. She calmed in the safety of Willa’s arms.
After a while, Willa’s voice broke the quiet. “My dad left us when my brother came out.” She paused, breath unsteady against Frankie’s hair. “Well… he kicked my brother out of the house. And my mom wasn’t having it. She fought back—said it was him or her son.”
Frankie blinked, startled, lifting her head. Willa’s eyes were shadowed, serious.
“Mom packed us up the next day,” she continued. “Me, my brother, my sister. Left the house. The life we had. She didn’t even hesitate. We didn’t have much, but we had each other. She got a second job, worked nights. Made sure we had what we needed.”
Frankie’s chest ached. The words sank heavy inside her, and she didn’t know how to hold them—how to hold Willa’s strength, her survival, the sheer weight of what she’d been through. How had she carried all of that and still smiled the way she did now?
“You’re stronger than you think,” Frankie whispered, the truth raw on her tongue before she could stop it.
Willa reached up and brushed a curl off her forehead, her touch unbearably gentle. “You too.”
Their foreheads met—an offering, not a demand—and Frankie let her eyes fall shut. The kiss that followed was slow. Soft. The kind that settled into her bones, the kind she knew she would remember long after the world shifted.
A sigh slipped from her chest like she’d been holding her breath for weeks. And when Willa smiled against her mouth, Frankie felt it—felt the warmth, the welcome, the impossible relief of knowing she wasn’t the only one who wanted this.
For the first time, Frankie let herself believe she didn’t have to be scared to let someone see the real her.
* * *
Willa
They woke up tangled together in Frankie’s tiny bunk, the world outside a low, cold, foggy hum. The bus swayed once more, then stilled completely, the brakes hissing in protest. Somewhere up front, the driver muttered something about downtown traffic and brunch spots.
Willa stirred first, shifting, feeling the brush of warm skin, a tangle of curls against her jaw, a heavy arm draped over her waist.
She glanced at her phone. 2:01 p.m.
“It’s two o’clock,” she croaked, voice rough with sleep.
“Shh,” Frankie mumbled, her breath hot against Willa’s throat. She nuzzled in closer, one knee sliding between Willa’s legs like it belonged there. “Let’s just live here.”
Willa laughed softly, threading her fingers through Frankie’s hair.
“We’re literally parking in a Nashville lot, right now.”
“That’s fine,” Frankie whispered stubbornly, her voice heavy with sleep and something sweeter.
They stayed like that for another handful of heartbeats—long enough for the bus’s low hum to settle into silence, for the world to start moving outside.
Eventually, a voice came from beyond the bunk and jolted them both.
“Hotel’s ready whenever you’re conscious,” Kara said.
Frankie groaned dramatically. Willa just smiled and pressed a soft kiss to Frankie’s lips before forcing herself upright.
They stumbled off the bus with the rest of the crew, blinking into the bright Tennessee afternoon like vampires seeing the sun for the first time. Kara met them in the lobby area—she’d clearly been awake for hours.
“Keys,” she announced. “Itinerary for the next few days. Don’t lose it.”
She handed them out like a dealer.
“You two,” Kara said, nodding between Frankie and Willa, “are in adjoining rooms. There’s a door between you. I checked you in, Willa.”
Frankie smirked as she accepted the key. “Might just leave it open.”
Kara arched a brow, clearly amused but pretending not to be.
“Glad we’re finally done pretending,” Juno murmured.
Frankie rolled her eyes. “Don’t make it weird.”
Willa flushed instantly, heat rising up her neck.
Kara rolled her eyes. “The rest of the day is a free day. Tomorrow is a day off, Saturday soundcheck is at 5 p.m., then the show. And then an after party, because this is Willa’s last show and we’re going to send her off in style.”
Willa smiled.
Everyone murmured things like, “Sounds good,” and “Don’t leave us, Wills.” Willa reached down and grabbed Frankie’s hand, squeezing it.
They headed to the elevator, dragging their bags behind them as the doors opened on their floor. Their rooms were side by side.
“I’ll see you soon,” Willa said, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Frankie’s lips.
Frankie nodded with a smile and kissed her again before opening her door, and they went inside.
Willa unpacked in distracted silence—folding clothes she didn’t remember packing, arranging camera gear she didn’t plan to touch. Every few seconds, she glanced toward the adjoining door, her pulse flickering.
A soft knock.
She crossed the room, heart hammering in her throat, and opened the door. Frankie stood there in short sleep shorts and a tank top, curls still messy from sleep, bare-faced and impossibly, unfairly beautiful. She leaned casually against the door frame like she had all the time in the world.
“Want to come over?” she asked, voice playful but with something serious underneath.
Willa didn’t answer. She just stepped through the doorway, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
Frankie caught her by the wrist gently, tugging her toward the bed. They collapsed onto it in a heap of limbs and laughter, the hotel sheets cool against their overheated skin.
Frankie kissed her slowly—unhurried—exploring like they had all the time in the world.
Willa kissed her back, just as slowly. Her hands slipping under the edge of Frankie’s shirt—feather-light—and when she brushed against the waistband of Frankie’s shorts, she looked up at her, pulling back slightly, forehead resting against Frankie’s.
“Can we—” she breathed, “—wait just a little longer?”
She hated herself for asking. She wanted her—something terrible—but she just wanted to live in this for a bit longer. It was still so new. She didn’t even know what the fuck it was yet.
“This—” she added quickly, “is fucking perfect. I just—want—”
She was stammering.
Frankie nodded, eyes locked on hers, soft and unshakable. She kissed her gently.
“Hey,” she whispered, lips brushing hers, “I got you. This is more than good. For now.”
Willa closed her eyes tight, overwhelmed, and then kissed her again—hungry this time.
Frankie matched her instantly, mouth parting under hers like she’d been waiting for that exact switch.
Her hand slid up the back of Willa’s neck, tugging her closer.
The kiss deepened—turned messy, heady, hot.
Willa’s hands slid beneath Frankie’s shirt again, not tentative now.
She pushed it up inch by inch, knuckles grazing warm skin until Frankie broke away just long enough for the shirt to come off in a blur, hitting the floor without care.
Willa froze for a heartbeat. Black bra, flushed skin, Frankie breathing hard in front of her—like temptation made real.
“Jesus,” she muttered, already leaning in again. Her mouth found Frankie’s collarbone, her shoulder, the slope of her throat—biting lightly just under her jaw.
Frankie groaned, low and wrecked. “You trying to kill me?”
Willa smirked against her skin. “Just returning the favor.”
Frankie rolled them without warning, pressing Willa back into the bed, straddling her hips. Willa arched into her touch as Frankie pulled her own shirt off too, leaving her in a deep red bra that made Frankie’s mouth go slack for half a second.
“You’re so fucking hot,” Frankie murmured, trailing her fingers along Willa’s ribs. “Like, it’s actually unfair.”