CHAPTER 38
Frankie
We get dressed in silence. Special K loads up Pussy in the carrier and we pick up any bits of trash we might have left behind.
I feel like such an idiot. He asked me how I named my cat, and I answered with a rundown of my employment history. Not cool.
At all.
And once I started talking, I couldn't seem to shut up.
Until he asked me who I’m running from.
It’s steep going back to the peak, and I feel like my mental turmoil is sucking the life right out of me. It’s slow going.
Special K slides the pack off his shoulders and slips it over mine, then tightens the loops. He turns his back to me. “Jump on, girls.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask. Just come on up. Hop aboard the Hunk-a-Hunk Express.”
He’s trying to lighten the tone of the conversation. I know I just cut him off back there. How is it that I feel like I messed up by saying too much—and yet not enough?
I jump up and grab his shoulders, then throw my legs around him. He reaches around to pull me tight against him. Pussy seems fine with the arrangement, so I sigh and go along for the ride.
I worry that I’ve already made too much of this situation in my head, that I’m attributing feelings to Special K that he doesn’t have, and that I’m seeing more between us than there is.
The sex is… I don’t even know the words for it. A shock, I guess. Way more than some kind of wild fling should be. And it seems to get heavier and more complicated every time.
He said I’m liquid sex in a pair of boots. Fine. And he said he’s crazy about me. Sure.
But I’ve heard that before.
It’s a miracle how being with him washes away every hint of stress and anxiety from my body. He’s the antidote for what ails me—Nikolai Koslov, the one-man wrecking ball that destroyed my life.
But does that make it okay for me to admit that I can’t get enough of MacLaine? Even when I know I have to leave?
I want to tell Special K what’s going on. I’ve given my body to him. I’ve half-given him my heart.
Why am I lying to myself? It’s not just that I want to share myself with him. Deep down, I wish he really could save me. If anyone in the world could save me, it’s Special K. But how can I put him in that kind of danger? How can I put his beloved family in that kind of danger?
I can’t. I can’t tell him about Niko, and I can’t ask for his help.
And I’ll have to find a time to pack up and leave when he’s not around. I can’t be that selfish. He doesn’t owe me anything. Just the opposite. He’s given me so much—too much—already.
I feel his body against me, moving with ease up a difficult trail.
He’s reliable. Strong and capable. And all those things he said about me, they all apply to him, too.
He’s at home in his skin, at peace with his sexuality.
Confident down to his bones. Master of a whole lot more muscles than I’ll ever have.
He’s a SEAL. Of course, he’s confident and strong—but he’s not strong enough for this. No man is. Niko has a fucking army at his disposal, and every foot soldier has no sense of humanity.
“Frankie—”
I cut him off. “I grew up in the Pacific Northwest, in a small coastal town—nothing but a small beach, a few restaurants, and enough tourist shops to handle the trickle of summer visitors. It was a safe and happy place. I had a good childhood.”
He’s quiet for a moment before he says, “Thank you for that, Frankie.”
I know he means it. He accepts each little scrap I give him like it’s a priceless treasure. I can see that every time I open up, it makes him care for me more. It makes me care for him more.
What am I doing to this man? To myself? I’m leaving!
“My Dad raised me. He was a really good guy, Special K. He had a huge heart. My mom took off when I was a baby, so he tried to make up for it. He wanted to give me the world. I took swimming and horseback riding lessons. I took dance classes for ten years—ballet, jazz, ballroom, hip-hop. Played soccer and volleyball. And I was surrounded by a kind of informal support network. I felt loved and taken care of. I had it good.”
He nods, waiting for me to continue.
“But I had to leave when I was fifteen after my dad died in a traffic accident. A drunk driver in a pickup truck hit him. Dad was on his Harley and died on the scene of massive injuries.”
He tenses under me. “Fuck. How awful, Frankie. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
“Me too. I miss him every day. I loved him a lot. Still do.”
“But… fifteen is so young. Wasn’t there someone else in your family? Your support system? Someone who could step in? Please tell me the drunk driver served time.”
A bitter laugh escapes me.
The last thing I ever wanted to do was drop my sob story on Special K—my sob story of origin or any of the sob stories that followed. But something broke in me back there at the waterfall. I started talking, and now I want to spill my guts.
But I know this is the perfect place to stop.
Special K carries me in silence the rest of the way to the campsite. I hear and feel Pussy purring in the backpack. My cowboy’s steady pace rocks me, lulls me into a deep relaxation. I feel cared for. Like I belong.
If I didn’t have to hold on I would already be asleep.
If I didn’t have a psycho killer after me, I’d allow myself to fall in love with Special K.
I wish things were different. I’d give anything to have a life built around this kind of connection and belonging. Around this man.
I close my eyes and turn my head, resting my cheek against his sturdy shoulder.