chapter twenty-five
Willa
Willa stared at the screen.
Read it once.
Again.
A third time.
Her heart thudded in her ears—louder than the hum of the radiator, louder than the muted sounds of the city outside her window.
She locked her phone and tossed it face-down onto the couch like it had burned her. Then sat completely still.
Staring at nothing.
Feeling everything.
What the hell was she supposed to do with that?
It had been two weeks since Frankie walked out of that hotel room without looking back.
Two weeks of reaching out—texts, a voicemail she hated herself for leaving—and getting nothing in return but silence.
Willa had lived in that silence. Eaten breakfast in it. Showered in it. Fallen asleep with it wrapped around her throat like a second skin.
She was just learning how to survive. And now there was a crack in it. An opening. A tiny, frantic SOS from someone else.
Not from Frankie. That was the part that gutted her the most.
It wasn’t Frankie reaching out.
It wasn’t Frankie saying I need you. I’m sorry.
It was Kara. Kara reaching out to say Frankie needed her.
But did she really?
Willa wanted to go.
God, she wanted to.
She wanted to hold her. Kiss her. Tuck a blanket around her shoulders and whisper that she wasn’t alone. That she was here.
She wanted that more than anything.
But if she got on a plane now, if she threw herself back into Frankie’s orbit without being asked—really asked—was she helping?
Or just hurting herself more?
Her hands were shaking. She pulled them into the sleeves of her sweatshirt like that might keep her from falling apart.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair that loving someone didn’t guarantee you a place in their life.
It wasn’t fair that you could be willing to set yourself on fire for someone who might not even be reaching back.
Tears burned behind her eyes. She blinked them away.
She couldn’t do this to herself. Not again. Not unless it was Frankie asking.
Not unless it was her voice on the other end of the line—raw and real—saying I miss you. I’m sorry. Please come.
Anything less would break her all the way open.
And she was barely stitched together as it was.
Willa stood up. Paced once. Twice.
Her heart hammered like a fist against her ribs.
Then she sat back down, wiped her face on her sleeves, and pulled her phone toward her again.
The text was still there. Waiting. Heavy as a boulder.
Her thumb hovered.
She didn’t answer.
Not yet.
Instead, she curled up on the couch, pulled a blanket over her knees, and stared at the ceiling.
Ten minutes passed before Lena spoke.
“You’re quiet,” she said gently, not looking up from where she was peeling the label off her beer in slow, steady strips. “Like, quiet-quiet. Not just your usual broody.”
Willa didn’t answer right away. She couldn’t.
Her phone sat heavy on her thigh, Kara’s message still glowing through the cracked screen protector. Her heart hadn’t stopped pounding since it came in—a tight, relentless beat in her chest. She didn’t know if it was dread or hope or grief—or some awful cocktail of all three.
Finally, she said, voice low and raw, “Kara texted me.”
Lena’s head lifted slowly. Cautious. Bracing. “What about?”
Willa swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Frankie’s grandma. Mimi. She’s getting a feeding tube. Kara said she’s… declining. Fast.”
Lena’s whole face softened. “Oh, Willa…”
“She asked if I could come to Atlanta.”
There was a beat of stunned quiet.
Then Lena sat up straighter. “Frankie texted you that?”
Willa shook her head, the motion stiff. “No. Kara did.”
That stopped Lena cold.
She pressed her lips together like she was weighing her next words. Then said, “But… Kara’s asking for Frankie. Right?”
Willa let out a short, breathless laugh that didn’t sound like laughter at all. “Is she? I don’t know. I want to believe that. God, I want to. But it didn’t come from Frankie. Not directly.”
Lena set her beer on the coffee table, the peeled label ribbons spilling onto the wood.
“Wills. You don’t seriously think this doesn’t mean anything.”
“I don’t know what it means,” Willa said, frustration tightening every word. “I don’t know what anything means anymore.”
Her fingers twisted into her sleeve like she was trying to anchor herself to something.
“She hasn’t replied to anything,” she added, quieter now. “Not my texts. Not the voicemail. She won’t even read the ones I sent after Nashville.”
Lena was silent, just watching her.
“And now Kara wants me to get on a plane? Like none of that happened? Like I’m just supposed to… show up?” She shook her head, blinking fast. “Maybe she doesn’t even want me to.”
“She does,” Lena said, fierce and certain. “She’s just scared.”
“She should be,” Willa whispered, voice cracking at the edges.
The radiator kicked on. The city buzzed faintly outside the windows.
But inside, everything held still. Like even the air was waiting.
“She’s scared,” Lena said again, softer now. “And you’re scared. But that doesn’t mean you’re supposed to stay stuck like this.”
Willa tipped her head back against the couch cushion and closed her eyes.
“What if showing up just makes it worse?” she asked. “What if she doesn’t want to see me? What if she’s just too kind to say it?”
Lena didn’t answer right away. She scooted closer until their knees bumped and slid her hand over Willa’s—gentle, grounding.
“You know her,” she said. “Better than anyone. If you showed up—really showed up—you’d know. You’d see it in her face. You’d hear it in her voice.”
Willa opened her eyes. They stung with unshed tears.
“But what if she doesn’t?” she whispered. “What if she doesn’t forgive me?”
Lena squeezed her hand. “Then at least you’ll know you tried. You’ll know you fought for her. You won’t be sitting here months from now wondering what might’ve happened if you’d just gone.”
Willa didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Her heart was a mess. Her mind a minefield.
But she had loved Frankie.
Still did. Maybe even more now—now that missing her was stitched into every breath.
She stayed quiet long after Lena let go of her hand.
Stayed quiet when Lena got up and went to bed.
Stayed quiet when the city slowed to a crawl outside the window.
But her heart?
Her heart screamed.
She didn’t sleep. Not really. Just lay curled up on her side, blanketed tight like it might hold her together if she didn’t move.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Frankie.
The way she looked when she walked out—defeated, shattered.
The way her mouth trembled when she held up that notebook and said, “You used me.”
The heartbreak in her eyes.
It played on a loop. Over and over. Until Willa felt sick with it.
She tried to replay the good memories too—
Mornings tangled in hotel sheets. Frankie’s sleepy smile.
The way she sang Patsy Cline in the kitchen.
The way she called her baby like it was the only name she’d ever wanted.
But even those hurt now.
Like they’d been dipped in something sharp.
Around 4 a.m., Willa sat up.
The city was dark. Quiet. A cab passed by below, headlights sliding across the wall.
She reached for her phone.
Kara’s message was still there. Still waiting.
Hope twisted in her chest—sharp, painful.
She didn’t open it again, didn’t text back.
But she whispered into the silence, “I miss you.”
And this time—She didn’t try to stop the tears.
* * *
The next morning, Willa tried to pretend it was just another Monday.
She pulled on clean jeans, a button-down linen shirt, and twisted her hair into a messy bun. Then she walked into the Side B office like she wasn’t unraveling from the inside out.
The building buzzed with its usual low hum of energy—music drifting from the intern’s desk, someone talking too loudly on speakerphone, the faint smell of overpriced espresso beans clinging to the air. Familiar. Normal.
She felt like a broken transmission, picking up signals she couldn’t decode.
Jordan spotted her first. She looked up from her monitor, brow furrowing as something careful crossed her face.
“You okay?” she asked, voice soft but steady.
“Yeah,” Willa lied. Her voice was so thin it barely sounded like her at all.
She didn’t even try to sound convincing.
Jordan didn’t press. She just nodded and went back to her screen—but Willa still felt the weight of her glances every few minutes, like Jordan was bracing for the inevitable crack.
Brody passed her desk not long after and slid a coffee beside her keyboard. Black. No cream, no sugar. Just caffeine and mercy.
“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” he said.
“That’s because I haven’t,” Willa muttered, managing a ghost of a smile.
He didn’t say anything else. Just gave her shoulder a squeeze—brief, grounding—before moving on.
She opened her laptop. Pulled up the draft of her article. Stared at the blinking cursor.
Nothing came.
She checked her phone—again. The same way she had fifty times already. Still no new messages. Still nothing from Frankie. Just Kara’s text sitting there like a bruise she kept pressing.
By noon, she hadn’t typed a single word she didn’t immediately delete.
So, she caved.
She slipped out of the bullpen, ducked into the cold hallway near the staff kitchen, and pulled out her phone. Hit call.
Lena answered on the second ring. “Tell me you’re eating.”
“I can’t focus,” Willa said, pressing her forehead to the wall. Her voice was frayed at the edges. “I’m going crazy.”
“So, call Kara back,” Lena said. “Ask the things you’re scared to assume.”
“But what if she’s just trying to fix things that aren’t hers to fix?” Willa’s words tumbled out fast. “What if I go and it just makes everything worse?”
Lena didn’t hesitate. “Then you’ll know. Because you tried. Not because you stayed stuck.”
Willa rubbed at the back of her neck, her voice small. “I don’t even know what Frankie wants anymore.”
“I’m going to ask you again,” Lena said—patient, unrelenting. “Do you know what you want?”
The answer came fast. Heavy.
“Yeah,” Willa whispered. “I want to see her. I want to explain. I want to just… be there for her. Even if she doesn’t want me anymore.”
“Then go,” Lena said, steady as ever. “Be there. Not to fix it. Just to stand beside her.”
Willa didn’t answer. She just closed her eyes and let the weight of it settle.
—
By 3 p.m., Willa stood outside Julian’s office, heart pounding so hard she could hear it echoing in her ears.
Her fingers curled tight around her phone. Kara’s message still burned in her mind. She smoothed her shirt for the third time, even though no one cared how she looked.
This was about surviving the next five minutes without giving herself away.
She took a breath. Wiped her damp palms on her pants. Knocked.
Julian looked up from behind his desk, adjusting his glasses, a pen twirling between his fingers. “Hey, Archer. What’s up?”
Her throat tightened. But her voice stayed steady. “I wanted to ask if there’s any chance, I could fly out to Atlanta tomorrow. Just for a couple of days.”
Julian leaned back slightly, curiosity sharpening into something more thoughtful. “Atlanta? What’s going on there?”
She’d rehearsed this. On the subway. On the walk up. Even standing outside his door.
“There are a few things I didn’t get during the last leg of the tour,” she said, neutral and even. “I want to grab some updated live shots—closer range stuff. They’ve made a few changes to the set, and I think it’ll play well for the layout.”
He tapped the cap of his pen against the desk.
She kept going. “I was thinking behind-the-scenes footage, too. Just candid stuff for socials. And more shots of the band would really round out the piece, make it feel lived-in.”
Her stomach twisted, but she kept her posture straight. Professional. She wasn’t chasing a girl. She was chasing a story.
Julian studied her. Willa met his gaze, even as her nails dug into her palm behind her back.
Finally, he nodded. “You think it’s worth it?”
“Yes,” she said—too fast, too fierce. But she didn’t backpedal.
Another pause.
Then he shrugged. “Alright. How long do you need?”
Relief crashed through her.
“Two days. Maybe three. I’ll work from the hotel.”
“Send me your flight info and a rough schedule,” he said, scribbling something on a sticky note. Then, more softly, “And Willa?”
She tightened her grip on her phone. “Yeah?”
“You’re doing a great job with this one,” he said. “It’s good work. Feels real.”
For a second, Willa couldn’t breathe.
Not because of the compliment—though it landed deep—but because it made everything heavier.
It was real. All of it.
And she wasn’t just chasing a story anymore. She was chasing a life she wasn’t ready to give up on.
“Thanks,” she managed, voice thick.
* * *
Back at her desk, the office noise swallowed her up again.
She opened her laptop like it was just any other Monday.
Her fingers hovered.
Her reflection stared back at her from the screen—wide eyes, flushed cheeks, heart pounding.
She was going, it was happening.
It wasn’t a perfect plan. It wasn’t safe or guaranteed to end in anything but more heartbreak.
But it was right.
For Frankie.
For herself.
For everything they hadn’t finished saying.
She let out a shaky breath and began to type—booking the flight, reserving the hotel, making it real.
She was going. And this time, she wasn’t running away.
She was running toward her.
* * *