Chapter thirty-five
Willa
Willa woke slowly, like surfacing from the warmest dream.
Her limbs were heavy with satisfaction, her skin still tingling in places where Frankie had touched her hours ago—her inner thighs, the slope of her shoulder, the underside of her breast. Everything ached in the best way.
Thoroughly wrecked. Loved. Worshiped. The sheets were tangled around her hips, still warm with the ghost of the night they’d spent wrapped around each other.
The air smelled like lavender and sex and Frankie.
Sunlight spilled across the bed in long golden stripes, hazy through the sheer curtains.
Beside her, Frankie slept with one leg thrown across Willa’s, their fingers still lightly threaded together, like even in sleep she couldn’t let go.
Her breath was warm against Willa’s shoulder.
Her mouth was parted just slightly, lips still pink and swollen from being kissed, bitten, claimed.
Willa didn’t move at first. She just looked at her.
Frankie. Here. Home. Hers.
She reached out, fingertips trailing down Frankie’s bare back, featherlight. A slow, devoted touch that made goosebumps rise in her wake.
Frankie stirred, her voice a low, sleep-heavy murmur. “Mm… you’re awake.”
“Barely,” Willa whispered, smiling against the crown of her head.
Frankie’s hand flexed where it rested on Willa’s stomach. “Can I wake you up better?”
Willa hummed, then turned slowly, easing Frankie onto her back, her own thigh sliding between hers. “You can try.”
Frankie’s eyes fluttered open, and then Willa kissed her—deep and slow.
The kind of kiss that started in the chest and worked its way down.
Her hand slipped behind Frankie’s neck, thumb stroking her jaw.
Frankie moaned into her mouth, her hands grabbing at Willa’s hips like she needed to feel every inch.
“I missed you,” Willa breathed, kissing down her neck, her collarbone, pausing at the pulse point that fluttered beneath her lips. “So fucking much.”
Frankie gasped softly, arching into her. “Say my name.”
Willa’s mouth brushed her ear. “Mae.”
Frankie shuddered.
Willa pulled back just enough to look down at her. “My beautiful Mae.”
Frankie’s lips parted, her voice a rasp. “Fuck… that does something to me.”
“Good.” Willa dragged her hand down Frankie’s chest, brushing her thumb over one nipple, watching her squirm. “You’re gonna feel a lot of things this morning.”
Frankie grinned, breathless. “Bossy already?”
“You love it.”
“I really do.”
Willa kissed her again, deeper now, tongues sliding, teeth clashing in a way that made both of them moan. Then she started kissing lower—down Frankie’s neck, between her breasts, over her stomach. She sucked a mark into the soft skin just beneath Frankie’s ribs and felt the way her hips jerked.
“Willa…”
“I know, baby.” She licked a stripe up her sternum. “I’ve got you.”
Frankie’s legs fell open like instinct. Willa settled between them, dragging her fingers through her folds, teasing, slow and wet. She circled her clit just once, then again, light and maddening.
“You’re so fucking wet for me already.”
Frankie whimpered. “Always.”
Willa slipped two fingers inside her—slow and deep. Frankie’s back arched, a strangled moan ripping out of her throat.
“That’s it,” Willa said, pressing her lips to Frankie’s inner thigh. “Let me fuck you, Mae.”
Frankie clutched at the sheets, her hips rolling up into Willa’s hand. “Harder,” she gasped. “Don’t tease me—fuck—just like that, baby.”
Willa’s rhythm picked up, fingers curling with purpose now, each thrust deliberate. She licked over Frankie’s clit, slow and then fast, keeping pace with her fingers, swallowing every moan she pulled from her.
“God, yes—Willa—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come—”
Willa didn’t let up. She pressed her hand down harder, her mouth working in perfect rhythm with her fingers. “Come for me, Mae. I want to feel you fall apart.”
Frankie shattered. Her body seized under Willa’s touch, thighs clenching around her head, her voice raw and loud as she came, sobbing Willa’s name. She trembled through it, every muscle pulled tight, tears springing to her eyes from the sheer force of it.
Willa slowed gradually, letting her come down, her mouth softening, fingers easing out with a final press.
When she kissed her way back up, Frankie grabbed her and pulled her in, kissing her through the aftershocks. Her face was flushed. Her hair wild. Her voice completely wrecked.
“I love you,” she whispered, cupping Willa’s cheek.
Willa kissed her again, gently this time. “I love you more.”
They curled together, still naked, still burning. And eventually, the fire settled into something tender—steady and whole.
Frankie’s hand moved to Willa’s cheek, her thumb stroking lightly over her skin. “I can’t believe I get to wake up to you now.”
Willa kissed her temple, then her jaw. “Get used to it.”
They lay there a while longer, listening to the world start waking up outside the window—the distant hum of the city, the soft clink of radiators, the occasional horn. But the room itself felt suspended in something sacred.
Frankie traced the length of Willa’s arm with the tips of her fingers, her voice quiet when she finally spoke again.
“Hey…”
Willa turned toward her. “Yeah?”
Frankie hesitated, eyes still on the ceiling. “I think I want to go see Mimi today.”
Willa’s breath caught a little. Not from surprise—but from the tenderness in Frankie’s voice. From how carefully she said it.
She shifted, turning more fully to face her. “You should. I think that’s a really good idea.”
Frankie nodded slowly. “Would you come with me?”
Willa’s heart swelled. “If you want me there, of course I will.”
Frankie looked at her then—really looked. Her eyes glassy with something fragile. “More than anything.”
Willa brushed a thumb beneath her eye, smiling softly. “Then I’m there. Always.”
Frankie leaned in and kissed her again, sweet and slow—like thank you and I love you all at once.
And when they finally pulled themselves out of bed—wrapped in robes, fingers still laced—they did it as something solid. Something certain.
They were each other’s now.
In all the ways that mattered.
They showered quickly—just enough to warm up, rinse off, and kiss under the water a little longer than they needed to. Frankie was quieter than usual, but Willa didn’t push. She could feel the weight in her, the nerves wound tight beneath the calm.
They dressed warm: layers and hoodies and thick scarves.
Willa pulled one of Frankie’s beanies low over her curls—it was cold in the city for early March, snow falling lightly outside—and Willa couldn’t stop smiling about it.
She tugged it down just before they stepped out the door, pressing a kiss to Frankie’s forehead like it was instinct.
The city felt softer than usual that morning.
Snow dusted the streets, clinging to the edges of buildings and fire escapes like powdered sugar.
It was cold, sure, but the air was crisp and clear, and for New York, it was oddly still.
No honking horns. No construction clatter.
Just the sound of footsteps on salted sidewalks and the low hum of morning.
They walked hand in hand through the quiet, cutting down side streets toward a bagel shop near the venue. The windows glowed with golden light, and the second they stepped inside, they were hit with the warm, heady scent of fresh bread and brewing coffee.
The place was packed—line out the door, orders being called over the hiss of the espresso machine—but somehow, they snagged a small table by the window. The kind with only two chairs and a slightly wobbly leg. Willa didn’t care. She sat close, knees knocking against Frankie’s beneath the table.
They shared a cinnamon raisin bagel, pulling it apart with their fingers, spreading too much butter across the halves. Willa added extra cream cheese to hers just to be annoying. Frankie made a face. Willa grinned.
Without warning, Willa lifted her phone and snapped a photo just as Frankie took a huge bite—her cheeks puffed, eyes wide in mock indignation.
“You’re a menace,” Frankie said, half-laughing, half-chewing.
“You love it.”
“I do,” Frankie admitted, brushing crumbs from her hoodie.
Their fingers brushed as they reached for their coffee cups at the same time. They didn’t pull away.
Outside, the snow kept falling—lazy and light, dusting the sidewalks and smudging the skyline in soft white.
Frankie’s smile faded a little as she looked out the window. Her thumb traced the rim of her coffee cup. “We should head over soon.”
Willa nodded and reached across the table, wrapping her fingers around Frankie’s and giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
“Let’s go see Mimi.”
Frankie looked back at her, eyes shining just slightly. She nodded.
“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Frankie
Frankie felt at ease almost immediately as she walked into the memory care facility. It was good to be back after so long away. She stopped at the window to check in.
“Hey there, rockstar,” Olive, one of the nurses, said with a smile. “How was the tour?”
“So good.” Frankie’s grin softened. She gestured to the woman beside her. “This is my girlfriend, Willa.”
“Hi, Willa, welcome. Nice to meet you,” Olive said warmly.
“You too,” Willa replied.
Frankie hesitated before asking, “How is she?”
Olive’s smile dimmed. “We don’t really have good days anymore, love. She talks very little now, and doesn’t remember much. But I think it’ll be good for her to see you.”
Frankie nodded, swallowing hard, fighting the sting behind her eyes. “Okay. Thank you.”
They moved down the hallway, Frankie’s steps slowing as her hand tightened around Willa’s.
Her boots gave the faintest squeak against the linoleum as they turned the corner.
Her pulse thudded steady beneath her coat—not sharp with nerves anymore, but heavy, familiar.
A weight she’d been carrying since before the tour even started.
They reached the door.
A nurse passed with a small, knowing smile and quietly opened it for them, as if she understood the kind of moment waiting on the other side.
Mimi sat in her chair by the window, wrapped in a soft blue cardigan, her frame small and still. Her gaze stayed fixed on the city beyond, where snow drifted down light and steady, dusting the skyline white. She didn’t look over when they entered.
Frankie’s throat tightened. Ten weeks since she’d seen her—and the stillness of it hit harder than she’d braced for.
She squeezed Willa’s hand once before letting go.
Then she walked across the room slowly, lowered herself into the chair beside Mimi, and smiled through the knot in her chest.
“Hi, Mimi,” she said softly. “It’s me. Mae.”
Mimi didn’t turn. Didn’t speak.
But something flickered in her eyes.
A shift.
Not full recognition—but not absence, either. Something between.
Like maybe a piece of her remembered.
Frankie leaned in a little. “This is my girlfriend, Willa.”
Willa came closer and offered a small wave, then gently slid her hand into Mimi’s other one.
“Hi,” she said softly. “It’s so good to meet you.”
Mimi didn’t react. Her hand was cool in Willa’s, her gaze still trained on the snow.
But the three of them sat there, a triangle of quiet warmth.
Willa gave Frankie a small nod, then turned her attention to Mimi.
“You always told Frankie she’d go on tour,” she said gently, her thumb brushing over the back of Mimi’s hand. “She talked about you all the time while we were on the road. You’re the reason she loves music the way she does.”
Frankie swallowed hard.
“I did it, Mimi,” she added, her voice barely above a whisper. “We went on tour. Fifteen cities. Sold out most of ’em.”
She gave a soft laugh and blinked back the sting in her eyes.
“I wrote all my own songs. Some of them were about her,” she said, glancing at Willa.
Willa squeezed her hand.
“I got to sing them to rooms full of people. They knew the words, Mimi. They sang them with me.”
Mimi’s gaze was still soft and far away, but there was something in the way she leaned slightly toward Frankie’s voice that made her keep talking.
“I kept playing Patsy, you know. Before shows. In hotel rooms. In green rooms when I needed to settle. You got me hooked early.”
Frankie smiled, but her eyes stayed on Mimi’s.
No response. No words. Not even a nod.
But her presence was like a hum in the room. And maybe that was enough.
For nearly an hour, they sat that way—telling her stories, sharing tiny pieces of the road, of what Frankie had seen and done and felt. Willa spoke gently when Frankie couldn’t. Frankie rested her hand on Mimi’s knee when the words caught in her throat.
Eventually, the snow thickened outside, and Frankie looked down at Mimi’s hand in hers.
“I’ve got a show tonight,” she whispered. “Last one. Here. Home.”
She leaned in, kissed Mimi’s temple.
“Gotta go, okay?”
She started to pull back.
And then—Mimi’s fingers moved.
Frankie stilled.
The hand in hers squeezed.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Frankie’s breath hitched so fast it hurt.
Three squeezes.
Her grandmother’s silent “I love you.”
The one she had used since Frankie was small. Before dance recitals, after breakups, backstage at talent shows, waiting in the car on the first day of school.
Three soft pulses in her hand. I. Love. You.
Frankie looked up sharply.
And for just one second—one glowing, flickering second—Mimi’s eyes met hers.
They were clear and aware. And Frankie knew—even if just for a moment—she knew her.
Frankie choked back a sob, clutching her hand tighter, returning the squeezes.
“I love you too,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Willa’s hand pressed steady against Frankie’s back, as if to remind her—she wasn’t carrying this moment alone.
Frankie didn’t let go of Mimi’s hand for a long time. When she finally stood, her legs shook. Willa was right there—her touch, steady, holding her through it.
They walked out in silence, the door shutting quietly behind them.
Outside, the snow was still falling.
And Frankie—Mae—walked taller.
She carried something now. Not weight, not grief. Not anymore.
It was something brighter.
It was love. Alive and remembered.
And it would carry her straight to the stage.
* * *