Chapter twenty-eight
Willa
Willa stirred about an hour and a half later, the light in the room dim and warm, filtered through the drawn curtains. The kind of light that made everything feel suspended—like time had taken a breath with them, like the world outside had hit pause just for a while.
Frankie was still tangled up in her arms, curled against her chest, her cheek pressed to bare skin, her breath steady and even.
One of her legs was draped across Willa’s, her arm snug around Willa’s waist, fingers curled lightly against her ribs like she was clinging to her even in sleep.
Like some part of her knew exactly where she belonged.
Willa didn’t move—not at first. She just lay there wide awake, the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of Frankie’s breath anchoring her to the moment.
Her fingers traced faint, tender lines up and down Frankie’s spine.
Feather-light touches. Not enough to wake her—but enough to make sure her skin remembered.
Enough to say: you’re loved. You’re safe. I’m here.
She pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there a beat longer than necessary. Then another, softer, against her temple.
Willa let herself kiss her like it was a language—like every press of her mouth could whisper I miss you. I’m staying. You’re not alone.
When she kissed the tender place where Frankie’s jaw met her neck, she felt her stir—just slightly. A soft sigh against Willa’s skin. Lashes fluttering where they brushed her chest.
Frankie blinked up at her, like she hadn’t yet decided if she was awake or dreaming. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, but soft. Unguarded.
“Thank you for coming,” Frankie whispered, voice thick and gravelly from sleep and emotion.
Willa smoothed a hand through her hair, soft and careful. She smiled—small but real. “Thank you for being willing to hear me out.”
Frankie shifted, propping herself up slightly on her elbow. Her hand rested at Willa’s ribs, her thumb brushing light circles there. She was so close, Willa could feel every shaky exhale against her skin.
“Honestly, I wanted to,” Willa said, her voice raw, unfiltered. “But when Kara reached out… I hesitated—because I called and texted and you didn’t answer.”
Frankie nodded. “I know. And I’m sorry. I was trying to avoid it. And spiraling. Hard.”
Willa didn’t argue. She didn’t try to explain away the pain. She just leaned up and kissed her, measured and lingering. A kiss that said, I know. And it’s okay. I’m here now.
When they pulled apart, Frankie’s voice was steadier. “But that’s not a good excuse. I know that. I’m sorry.”
Willa brushed her thumb along Frankie’s cheek and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Their eyes stayed locked, the silence between them heavy but full. Full of all the things they didn’t need to say out loud anymore.
The forgiveness.
The sadness.
The love still blooming between the cracks.
“No more sorries,” Willa said softly, kissing the tip of her nose. “Let’s move on. Besides…the make-up sex was more than good enough.”
Frankie grinned at that—wicked and devastatingly beautiful. That dangerous little smirk that always made Willa’s stomach flip.
She raised an eyebrow. “It was so fucking good,” she said, voice low and teasing.
Willa flushed, but her smile curled knowingly. “Yeah,” she whispered. “It really was.”
They fell quiet again after that. But this time, it was the good kind of quiet. The healing kind. The kind of quiet that didn’t require words to be understood.
Willa shifted closer, her voice gentler now. “Can I ask about Mimi?”
Frankie blinked, her throat going tight. Willa reached out, tucking her hair behind her ear, her thumb lingering at the edge of her jaw.
“I’m scared,” Frankie admitted.
Willa’s heart twisted in her chest. She kissed her forehead. “I know, babe. And nothing I say can take that pain away. But I’m here. I know. I’ve got you.”
She wished she could do more—wished she could fix it, stop the clock, keep the worst thing from happening. But all she had—all she could offer—was herself. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked gently.
Frankie shook her head and burrowed tighter into Willa’s arms. “Not right this second. Is that okay? I just want to lie here. In your arms.”
“Of course, baby,” Willa whispered, wrapping her arms around her again. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Frankie tilted her chin up, her voice trembling with hope. “You’re staying?”
Willa looked down at her and smiled, eyes stinging. She brushed her thumb across Frankie’s cheekbone.
“For two days,” she said. “I’ll be here for the show tomorrow and with you on your off day before you travel again.”
Frankie’s smile then—small and pure—nearly undid her. She leaned up and kissed Willa, her mouth brushing hers like a thousand quiet promises.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Willa nodded, her voice thick. “I love you too,” she said, a little broken, a little whole. “So, fucking much. I mean that.”
They stayed like that—breathing it in, letting it anchor them—until the weight of it finally settled into something gentler. Something known.
The sun had long since dipped behind the Atlanta skyline by the time they finally rolled out of bed. The sheets were tangled around their legs, the air in the room thick with the scent of sleep, sex, and something sweeter—something like forgiveness.
Frankie stretched, her body aching in that good way, and tilted her head toward Willa with a lazy, sated smile. “Shower?”
Willa grinned, her voice still rough from sleep. “Only if I don’t have to stand under the water alone.”
Frankie didn’t answer—just pulled her up by the hand and led her toward the bathroom.
The moment the water started, steam began to fill the space, curling up around the mirrors, fogging the glass. Frankie stepped in first, her curls already beginning to frizz at the edges. Willa followed, and the second the warm water hit her shoulders, Frankie’s hands were already on her.
There was nothing rushed about it. Nothing frantic. Just that low hum of need that never seemed to leave them, even now, wrapped in the softness of a second chance.
Frankie’s fingers slid along Willa’s sides, her lips pressing to the wet slope of her neck. “You drive me crazy,” she murmured.
Willa laughed, breathless. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Frankie leaned in and kissed her, mouths slick and warm, the kiss lingering. “It’s definitely not.”
They moved around each other like magnets—soap and skin, touch and tremble.
Willa washed Frankie’s hair, fingers massaging gently through the curls, while Frankie trailed kisses down Willa’s back.
They didn’t rush. Couldn’t. Every time they tried to be practical—get clean, get out—it pulled them right back into the gravity of each other.
Eventually, though, they made it out, wrapped in towels and damp hair and that low, sleepy smile that said I still can’t believe we’re okay.
Frankie was slipping into jeans when she glanced over her shoulder. “Do you wanna do dinner with the group tonight? Or just us?”
Willa paused, towel in hand, twisting her wet hair gently. “Just us,” she said quietly. “If that’s what you want.”
Frankie turned to face her, a softness in her eyes that hadn’t been there for days. She stepped closer, kissed her. Then pressed her forehead to Willa’s.
“That’s exactly what I want.”
They ended up at a little local restaurant Frankie remembered from her last Atlanta stop—low lights, worn-in wood floors, the kind of place that didn’t care about fame or followers.
They sat across from each other in a small booth, knees brushing beneath the table, sharing bites of each other’s food and sipping cold drinks that dripped condensation onto their napkins.
Willa watched Frankie talk with her hands, the way her eyes lit up when she described a new guitar riff she’d been working on.
And Frankie watched Willa watch her, like she was trying to memorize the way her eyes softened at the corners when she smiled, or how she wrinkled her nose when she tasted something she didn’t expect.
After dinner, they stepped out into the warm night air, hand in hand. Atlanta hummed around them—cars passing, neon signs glowing above storefronts, the faint pulse of music spilling from somewhere down the block.
They wandered leisurely through downtown, like the walk was its own kind of destination.
Frankie’s voice was soft when she broke the silence. “Mimi’s getting worse. They put in a feeding tube yesterday, and Momma said she doesn’t remember a lot most days now.”
Willa’s fingers tightened around hers. She didn’t ask how—Frankie would tell her if she could. She just listened.
“And the last time I visited, she kept calling me by my mom’s name. And I know it’s not her fault, I do. But it still…” She swallowed hard. “It still fucking wrecks me.”
They stopped walking. Willa turned to face her fully, both of her hands coming to rest gently on Frankie’s waist. “I know I can’t fix it,” she said softly. “I wish I could. But I’ll be here for you. Every single step of the way.”
Frankie looked down, her voice barely a whisper. “Even when you’re not here?”
Willa brushed her knuckles across her cheek. “Even then. When I’m back in New York, when you’re halfway across the country, you can call me. Anytime. You can text me at two in the morning or FaceTime me from the bus. I don’t care. I’ll pick up.”
Frankie didn’t cry. Not this time. But her eyes were glassy when she nodded, when she leaned forward and pressed her forehead to Willa’s.
“I missed you,” she whispered.
“I missed you too,” Willa said, her voice breaking a little. “So much.”
They kissed beneath the city lights—nothing showy, nothing dramatic. Just two people finding each other again. Holding tight in the middle of everything.