Chapter thirty-three
Frankie
The last two weeks had blurred into a carousel of cities and neon signs, green rooms and bus calls, adrenaline and bone-deep exhaustion.
Ten weeks on the road had shaped her—worn her in ways that were permanent. You could hear it in her voice, feel it in her spine, see it in the way her fingers touched the strings at soundcheck like muscle memory.
It wasn’t glamorous most days. It was load-ins at noon, lukewarm coffee, and running on three hours of sleep and instinct. It was singing her guts out under lights that made her sweat clean through her clothes, only to end up alone in hotel rooms that didn’t smell like home. And it was still magic.
Because, somewhere between P-town and Atlanta, between late-night diner stops and backstage laughter, love had stitched itself into every mile.
Willa.
She was the constant. The gravity. The voice in Frankie’s ear when the noise got too loud or the loneliness edge too close.
FaceTime calls every morning—Frankie sipping coffee in the bus, Willa still wrapped in Frankie’s hoodie back in New York.
Texts between load-in and soundcheck, some filthy enough that Frankie had to excuse herself to her dressing room, others sweet enough to make her chest ache.
And voice notes—Willa’s low, sleepy murmurs sent at midnight, which Frankie played on repeat in her bunk until she drifted off smiling into her pillow.
They sexted when they could. Whispered I miss yous when they couldn’t.
And Frankie wrote—God, she wrote.
Two new songs in the bus lounge. Another scratched into the margins of a hotel room notepad at two a.m. A fourth, half-finished, born between forkfuls of greasy diner pancakes while the band laughed around her.
All of it felt like Willa.
All of it felt like home.
* * *
Philly had been the last big show before the end—her last sold out, full-tilt crowd before everything narrowed down to the finish line.
And she’d left it all on that stage.
Her voice had cracked on the final note of Stay Right Here—not from strain, but from feeling. From looking down and thinking about the way Willa had watched her the last time she was there—camera in hand, heart wide open.
She wore herself out that night in the best way. Fell asleep in her hoodie with her fingers still wrapped around her phone, Willa’s ‘goodnight baby’ text the last thing she saw.
Now only two shows remained.
New Haven Connecticut was tomorrow.
And then—New York.
Her.
Frankie could feel it—rising in her throat, pounding at the inside of her ribs—the urge to run toward something for once. Not away.
She already knew what she’d say when she saw Willa again.
Not a song. Not a speech. Not some grand gesture.
Just the only thing that mattered.
“Hey baby, I’m home.”
Because Willa wasn’t just the girl she loved. Willa was home.
She was where all of this had started—the hope, the hunger, the pieces of Frankie that she thought had burned out but had only been waiting for the right hands to catch them.
And this time?
Frankie wasn’t coming back broken, clawing at some dream that didn’t know her name. She was coming back to someone who saw her. Loved her. Knew her.
And for the first time in a long time, Frankie wasn’t running from anything. She was running toward her future. She was coming home.
* * *
Willa
The past week had felt like its own kind of countdown.
Work had been a blur—meetings, edits, a couple of quick deadlines she’d hammered through in record time just so she could keep her nights free.
She’d slept in Frankie’s sweatshirt, eaten way too much pad Thai, and fallen asleep more than once with her phone tucked under her pillow, still glowing from a late-night FaceTime neither of them wanted to end.
She missed her like crazy.
But it wasn’t a sad kind of missing.
It was sweet. Buzzing. Electric. Because this wasn’t the end.
This was just the beginning.
Tonight was New Haven. Frankie’s second-to-last show.
And then—Frankie was coming home.
To New York.
To her.
Willa had just gotten off FaceTime with her, cheeks still warm from smiling, when she sank back onto the couch beside Lena. She opened Instagram, hoping for glimpses of the show that was set to start any minute. Maybe someone would go live. Maybe she’d get lucky and see Frankie in real time.
Her phone rang.
It was Kara.
“Hey,” Willa said, sitting up straighter. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah—more than okay. A few things actually. One: do you want to watch the show tonight?”
She blinked. “I mean—yes, obviously. But how?”
“I’m going to set up the iPad right in front of the barricade, where you usually stand. I’ll have Brad or one of the security guys hold it to make sure no fans try to run off with you.”
Willa laughed, already grinning. “Seriously?”
“Dead serious. I figured you’d want to watch. And honestly? I think Frankie’s gonna love it when she sees you.”
“Um, yes please!”
“Okay, second thing—you’re really gonna like this one.” Kara’s voice lifted with barely contained excitement. “We’re driving straight home after the show. Frankie should be back around one in the morning. It’s only an hour and a half drive from New Haven.”
Willa shot upright. “Wait—seriously?”
“Seriously. And I arranged for Grace to meet you at Frankie’s after the show, so you can be there when she gets in. If you want.”
Willa clutched the phone tighter, heart racing. “Um—yes! Oh my God. Does she know?”
“She has no idea. Not about the iPad, not about you being at her apartment.”
Willa could already feel her smile breaking wide. “This is—Kara, this is amazing.”
“I’ll FaceTime you from the iPad in a few once I get it all set up,” Kara said. “So, get ready.”
“I’m on it. Thank you,” Willa said, already jumping off the couch.
“You’re welcome. See you in a few!”
The call ended, and Willa stood frozen for a second, beaming—her phone still clutched tight in her hand like it might disappear if she let go.
“What?” Lena asked, wine glass dangling from her fingers as she leaned against the doorway.
Willa turned to her, practically glowing.
“I get to watch the show live. Kara’s setting up an iPad right in front of the barricade—my usual spot.
And then…” Her voice dropped to a breathless whisper, her grin turning almost shy, almost unbelieving.
“Frankie’s coming home tonight. I’m going to be at her apartment when she gets back. ”
Lena let out a soft, delighted oh my God and wrapped her into a hug, the wine in her hand miraculously unspilled. “Go get ready, lover girl.”
Willa didn’t need to be told twice.
She darted toward her room, heart thudding like a drum, calling back over her shoulder, “Come watch with me!”
A few minutes later, her iPad lit up with Kara’s name. Willa answered on the first ring, barely breathing.
And there it was—the stage. Crystal clear, perfectly framed. Center-left, just behind the barricade. The same view she’d had for show after show, but this time from the comfort of her own bedroom. Her stomach flipped.
Kara leaned in close to the screen, her voice raised over the pre-show noise. “You’re all set. Jerry’s standing right here to keep it safe—no one’s stealing my fake Willa. Enjoy!”
Willa laughed. “Thank you! Seriously. Thank you.”
Kara gave her a thumbs up, then disappeared backstage.
Lena settled onto the bed beside her with a smirk. “So, how excited are you?”
Willa didn’t look away from the screen. “So excited. I miss her like hell. And watching her perform? God, it never gets old.”
Lena grinned into her wine glass. “Who would’ve thought? Willa fucking Archer, Frankie Monroe fangirl.”
“I love her music,” Willa said without hesitation. “But more than that—I love her.”
The words slipped out like a secret she wasn’t afraid to share anymore. Not with Lena. Not with the world.
Faint murmurs came through the iPad speakers—other fans arriving, buzzing with pre-show energy.
“I think that’s Willa,” someone whispered. “The reporter. I’m pretty sure they’re dating.”
Willa’s grin stretched wide and stupid across her face. Lena nudged her with her shoulder. “You’re famous.”
And then—click—the lights dropped. Darkness swept over the stage. The crowd screamed.
A moment later, the lights blazed back up—and Frankie appeared in silhouette.
“There she is,” Willa whispered, breath catching in her throat.
“Oh my God, you’re so cute it’s disgusting,” Lena said, but her voice was warm with affection.
The stage lights snapped to full intensity, casting Frankie in gold and violet. Willa felt it like a jolt. Her heart stuttered.
Frankie stepped to the mic, guitar hanging at her hip, her voice bright and alive. “Hello, New Haven!” she called. “You look so fucking good tonight.”
The crowd exploded.
She adjusted the strap on her shoulder and added, “Let’s start with a classic—this one’s called She Said / I Said.”
And then she started to play.
Willa couldn’t look away. Every note was muscle memory now, every lyric wrapped in history, but somehow Frankie still made it feel new. Electric.
Halfway through the song, Frankie’s eyes shifted—scanning the crowd—and then she froze. Just for a beat.
She stammered slightly but caught herself before the next line. Willa saw the exact moment it clicked. She’d seen her.
When the song ended, Frankie shook her head, laughing softly to herself.
“I’m sorry,” she said, voice breathless with disbelief. “I got a little distracted there for a minute. There’s a really fucking hot girl in the audience. Well… kind of. She’s on an iPad. Hi, baby.”
She waved.
Willa’s heart nearly burst. She waved back, smiling so hard it physically hurt.
Frankie let the crowd settle before stepping back to the mic, her voice turning more intimate, almost like she was letting them in on a secret.
“So, I guess we might as well talk about it.”
The crowd quieted.
“This tour… this whole experience… it’s been everything to me.
But it turned out to be a little more than I expected.
” She paused, and her eyes flicked to the iPad again.
“At the start, I was assigned this journalist. A photographer. And at the time, I thought she was kind of annoying—too smart for her own good, honestly—but she was here to document the tour. Five weeks.”
A small laugh rolled through the crowd.
Frankie smiled. “What I didn’t expect was to fall completely in love with her.”
Cheers erupted.
“I wrote this song during the messiest part of all of it. Some of you know it. Some of you might’ve heard it once or twice.” She adjusted the mic, voice dropping soft and sure. “It’s called Stay Right Here. And it’s for you, baby. I love you.”
The crowd roared. Someone screamed FRANKILLA 4EVER.
Willa wiped a tear from her cheek, trying to breathe through it. Her chest ached in the best way, so full it felt like it might shatter.
Then Frankie played.
And Willa didn’t move. Didn’t blink. She just felt.
Every lyric, every chord, every glance Frankie sent to the camera—it was all hers. All for her.
And it felt like the world had cracked open, just wide enough for something holy to shine through.
What she didn’t know—what Kara had texted her about in a flurry of excitement, all-caps messages that afternoon—was that Frankie had changed her plans.
No hotel. No waiting. Frankie was driving straight through the night. And Willa wasn’t meeting her somewhere halfway. Wasn’t waiting until the morning to see her again.
Frankie was coming back tonight. Late, but still. She was coming.
The plan was already in motion—Kara had coordinated it all. A spare key under Frankie’s mat, so Willa could go over there, and surprise her when she walked in the door. Kara had even made sure the fridge was stocked with Frankie’s favorite junk food.
It was happening. Tonight. After ten weeks. After a lifetime. Frankie was coming home. To her. And Willa had never wanted anything more.
* * *