Chapter twenty-seven
Willa
Willa didn’t know how long they’d been lying there.
They were curled together on Frankie’s bed, tangled in limbs and warmth, her arms wrapped tight around Frankie’s trembling body.
She couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the other began—all she knew was the way Frankie’s heart pounded against her chest, the way her fingers clutched at the back of Willa’s sweater like she was afraid to let go.
Frankie had stopped crying. But she hadn’t moved. Her breath came shallow and quiet against Willa’s neck. And still, she held on.
Willa just kept running her hand up and down her back in slow, steady strokes. She pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Whispered nothing. Just held her.
It felt like a long time passed before she finally spoke.
“Baby,” Willa whispered, barely above a breath, “can I explain?”
Frankie didn’t say anything. But after a beat, she gave the smallest nod, her cheek still pressed against Willa’s collarbone, her eyes fixed on the crumpled sheets between them.
Willa took a breath—slow and intentional, like pulling oxygen into a collapsed lung.
“I know what you saw,” she said gently. “And I know how it looked, love. But none of it was for the article.”
Her voice was soft but steady. Honest.
“None of it.”
Frankie didn’t move, but Willa felt her listening.
“I was taking notes, yes,” she went on, her fingers still stroking over Frankie’s back, “but some of the things I wrote—most of them—were just for me. For me.”
She leaned in, just slightly, like trying to shrink the distance her words couldn’t yet close.
“You saw the line—she’s just a story.” Her throat tightened. “I wrote that to remind myself. To keep the walls up. To make sure I didn’t blur what I was feeling with what I was writing. Because you were never just a story, Frankie. Not from day one.”
Frankie’s breath hitched, sharp and uneven. Her fingers fisted in the fabric of Willa’s sweatshirt, like she needed something solid to hold onto as the words sank in.
“You were the thing I was terrified of wanting, and I wrote it down because I didn’t know how else to keep myself from putting all of you in the piece. Because you weren’t mine to give away.”
Frankie’s head lifted then—just enough to meet Willa’s eyes, wet and glistening.
“When you told me about Mimi,” Willa whispered, voice cracking now, “and when you told me your real name… those moments were sacred. I knew that. And I wasn’t writing them down to publish them. I wasn’t cataloging your life—I was holding onto the pieces that felt like they belonged to both of us.”
Frankie’s eyes glistened, her lashes wet. She looked frayed, like even breathing cost her something.
“I wrote them down because I didn’t want to forget,” Willa whispered. “Because I was afraid I’d wake up back in my bed in New York one day and wonder if any of it had actually happened. If I’d imagined it all.”
Her throat tightened. She swallowed hard.
“I was scared I made you up. That I dreamed you.”
Frankie’s lips trembled. Her gaze darted downward again, like the weight of being seen so fully was too much to carry in that exact second.
“I wasn’t going to use it,” Willa said. “I swear. What you gave me, Mae… I would never put that in print. That was ours.”
Frankie’s voice came small and rough. “I know,” she whispered. “Now I know.”
A beat passed. Then she shook her head, guilty and tired. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I just… I saw it. My name. Mimi’s. And I—I panicked. I felt exposed and betrayed and stupid. So, I ran.”
“You went into self-preservation mode,” Willa said gently, brushing her fingers through Frankie’s hair.
Frankie gave a brittle laugh. “Yeah. Like I always do.”
“It makes sense,” Willa murmured. “You’re carrying so much. With Mimi. With the tour. With everything.” Her voice softened even more. “I wanted to be there for you. But you didn’t let me.”
Frankie lowered her gaze, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t know how. And I’m sorry. And I know—I know you told me you have trust issues. That you think people always leave. And then I did exactly that. And I’m so sorry, Willa.”
Willa nodded, heart full and breaking at the same time. She pressed a kiss to Frankie’s hair, still holding her, still wrapped up in her like a lifeline.
She tilted her chin just slightly, enough to look into Frankie’s eyes.
Frankie looked back.
For a moment, they just breathed each other in—close and quiet, hearts thudding, something soft and fragile hanging in the air between them.
Then Willa moved first.
She leaned in and brushed her lips gently against Frankie’s—barely a kiss. Just a question. Just a breath.
Frankie answered it. She leaned in too, her hand sliding to Willa’s cheek as she kissed her again, deeper this time. Slower. Like she was pouring everything she couldn’t say into the space between them.
Willa let herself sink into it, let herself feel every inch of it—Frankie’s lips warm against hers, the familiar press of her body, the way her fingers curled in Willa’s hair like she didn’t know how to let go.
It was soft. Real. Full of ache.
But then it grew.
The kiss deepened—hungry, desperate, the kind of kiss that tasted like forgiveness and longing and the breathless need to make something whole again. Willa gasped into it, her hands sliding down to Frankie’s waist, holding her close.
Frankie shifted with her—closer now, straddling her hips, kissing her like the world might end if she stopped.
They stayed like that for a long time. Tangled. Mouths pressed together, hands moving over familiar skin, chasing comfort and connection and everything in between. And when they finally pulled back—just far enough to breathe—Frankie pressed her forehead to Willa’s.
“I missed you,” Frankie whispered.
Willa’s heart ached with it. “I missed you too.”
Minutes passed like that—ten, maybe fifteen. Time wasn’t real anymore. Only this was.
Finally, Frankie spoke. It was so soft, Willa almost missed it.
“I don’t know how to do this without her.”
Willa’s heart cracked. She tightened her arms around her, tucking Frankie closer to her chest, feeling the brokenness in her words like it was her own.
“You don’t have to know yet,” Willa whispered. “You just have to let yourself feel it.”
Frankie’s body trembled once—a full-body shiver that made Willa hold her tighter.
“I don’t want to lose her,” Frankie whispered. “And I don’t want to lose you either.”
Willa smoothed her hand down Frankie’s spine, swallowing around the lump in her throat.
“You are not losing me,” she said fiercely, her voice thick with emotion. “Not now. Not ever.”
Frankie shifted, pulling back just enough to look at her. Her face was blotchy, tear-streaked, her eyes glassy—but open. So vulnerable it made Willa ache.
“I’m scared,” Frankie whispered, voice cracking.
Willa cupped her jaw gently, running her thumb along the line of her cheekbone. “Me too,” she said, smiling through the burn in her throat. “But you’re not doing this alone.”
Frankie closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to Willa’s. They stayed like that, breathing the same air, trading quiet terror and quiet hope between them, until Frankie’s hand came up, shaky but certain, sliding into Willa’s hair.
“I love you,” Frankie whispered.
The words hit like lightning—raw, real, trembling but brave. And they wrecked Willa completely.
Tears spilled over her lashes again, but she smiled as she pressed their foreheads even closer.
“I love you too,” Willa whispered back. “So much.”
Frankie let out a broken sound—half sob, half laugh—and then she was kissing her. Messy and desperate. Clumsy with emotion.
Willa kissed her back, matching the ache, the urgency, the relief.
Frankie kissed her like she was afraid the world might end mid-breath. And Willa kissed her like she was willing to be her whole heart that it wouldn’t—as long as Frankie kept holding on.
Their mouths moved slowly against each other, soft gasps filling the quiet between kisses, hands tentative but hungry, memorizing skin they already knew by heart.
Frankie’s fingers slipped under the waistband of Willa’s jeans—not pushing, just anchoring there. Her palm was warm against the small of Willa’s back.
Willa cupped her jaw, thumb brushing the hinge of it, feeling the tremble in her muscles. She tilted her head, deepening the kiss with a tenderness that unraveled her.
“Mae,” she breathed into her mouth, the name reverent, sacred—so hers it made Frankie whimper.
Frankie pulled her tighter, until there was no space left between them, their hearts pounding in sync.
Willa’s hands slipped up under Frankie’s hoodie, fingertips skating across bare skin. Frankie gasped at the contact, her body tightening under Willa’s touch, every nerve sparking alive.
They kissed until the room blurred. Until all Willa could taste was Frankie—her breath, her skin, her forever.
When they finally broke apart, it wasn’t far. Just enough to breathe. Their foreheads pressed together. Noses brushed. Mouths hovered, open and wanting.
Neither spoke. They didn’t need to.
But when Willa finally whispered, soft and certain, “I’m not going anywhere, Mae. Not unless you make me,” Frankie closed her eyes, a sob catching in her throat.
She tucked her face into Willa’s neck like a prayer.
“I don’t want you to,” she said, voice breaking.
“Then you’re stuck with me,” Willa murmured, fingers tracing slow, reassuring lines up Frankie’s spine. “For as long as you’ll have me.”
Frankie made a soft sound against her skin. Willa kissed her temple.
“As long as I get to keep you,” she whispered back. “You have me.”
They stayed wrapped around each other, fully clothed, lost in the quiet warmth of skin and breath and safety.
Frankie kissed her again—lazy and soft at first.
Willa wasn’t sure when the kiss changed. One moment it was gentle. Then Frankie shifted over her, straddling her hips, kissing her like she couldn’t bear another second without more. Her hands framed Willa’s jaw, her tongue deep in her mouth, and Willa let herself fall—into her, into this.
A low moan slipped from Frankie as she kissed down Willa’s neck, her breath hot against her skin.
Willa arched beneath her, fingers digging into Frankie’s waist, the ache sparking sharp and electric through her.
Frankie’s hand slid lower—down her stomach, across her hip, then slowly up the inside of her thigh. Careful. Intentional. Her touch like a promise.
Willa’s breath caught. She looked up, body buzzing, chest tight. Frankie’s eyes were dark, hungry.
“Can I—can we?” Frankie asked, brushing their noses together. Her lips were parted, her voice low and wrecked.
Willa kissed her hard. “Yes,” she whispered. “God, yes. Whatever you want. Baby, please.”
Frankie let out a sound that vibrated against her mouth, half moan, half sob. Then she kissed her again—deeper this time, all tongue and hunger and hands pressing into skin like she was starving for it.
Willa moaned, raw and unfiltered, as Frankie rocked her hips down, slow but steady, grinding into her with purpose.
“Fuck, baby,” Willa gasped, her hands slipping down to grip Frankie’s ass. “Just like that. God, yes, Mae.”
Frankie stilled at the sound of her name—her real name—falling from Willa’s lips like that. Her eyes shone, her whole body trembling against her.
“I love you,” she whispered fiercely.
“I love you too,” Willa said, voice shaking. “So fucking much. I’m so sorry, I’m—”
Frankie kissed her quiet.
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I need you. Just… please.”
She slipped off the bed and stood, breathless, stripping down with trembling hands.
Willa’s pulse hammered as she watched, her whole body aching. Frankie was flushed and naked and stunning—and so completely hers.
Willa undressed too, tossing her clothes aside, and when Frankie climbed back into bed, she settled on top, bare skin sliding against bare skin, their mouths crashing together in a kiss that was all years of want and too-late and thank God.
Willa’s hands dragged up her back, grounding her. Loving her.
“Can I ride you like this?” Frankie asked, voice husky, thick with want. “I want to come with you. I want to feel everything.”
Willa’s whole body pulsed.
“Fuck yes,” she whispered. “Please, baby. Ride me. Make me yours.”
Frankie rocked her hips, slow and deliberate, their slick centers aligning with ease. Willa gasped, head falling back as the pressure bloomed between them—hot and fast and perfect.
Their clits slid together in a rhythm that felt primal, inevitable. They were drenched, desperate, their bodies syncing like they’d never been apart.
“Willa…” Frankie moaned, breath catching. “Oh my god, you feel so good—fuck—don’t stop.”
Willa held her hips, grounding her. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Come on me, Mae. Let go.”
Frankie dropped her forehead to Willa’s, gasping, whimpering, rolling her hips harder. “I’m gonna—baby, I’m—”
“Come with me,” Willa whispered, her own body tightening, the edge so close it burned. “Please, Mae, I need you—”
It broke over them like a wave.
Frankie cried out, sharp and guttural, her whole body shaking. Willa clutched her, hips lifting to meet her, mouth open in a soundless gasp as the pleasure tore through her, raw and blinding.
They stayed there, collapsed in a trembling heap, gasping for air, sweat slicked between them, the weight of everything exhaled into the room.
Frankie lay on top of her, face pressed into her shoulder.
And Willa just held her. Kissed her temple. Breathed her in.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “Always.”
Frankie didn’t answer right away, but her arms tightened around her. Her lips brushed Willa’s collarbone, soft and tentative.
And then, quietly: “Don’t let go.”
Willa kissed her again.
“Never.”
They fell asleep like that. Twined together. Naked and safe.
Two hearts—finally at rest.
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