by Cate Ashwood
I had the luxury of invincibility while I figured out what the hell I was doing and got my feet under me as an entrepreneur.
But Frankie… he was all the way on the other side of the continent. There wasn’t a safety net on earth that could stretch that far. But it didn’t matter. I didn’t need the net anymore because there was something that mattered more. I could find comfort and safety without it.
It had been stupid not to fight for him in the first place, to take enough of a risk back when he was in Sawyer’s Ferry that maybe I could have lived these last three months with him rather than missing him so fucking much it ached every damn day.
I stayed in my office until I was sure everyone had arrived for the day. It gave me a chance to mentally gear myself up for what I was about to do, and if I’d had a bottle of whisky stashed in there, I would have taken a shot for a little liquid courage.
Instead, I figured I’d fake it. And then I had an idea.
I hurried down the stairs and behind the bar. Placing six glasses on the bar, I proceeded to fill each one with our newest lager, then called everyone over.
“Have a seat,” I said as the group filtered in.
Once everyone was there and Mason was looking at me like I’d lost my damn mind, I slid each glass across the bar.
“Barrett,” Dee started. “It’s nine o’clock in the morning.”
“It is. Thank you,” I said.
“You okay, man?” Cody asked.
“Never better.” I smiled to show how serious I was. It felt like I hadn’t done that in months. Maybe I hadn’t. “Today is a day for celebration, so, drinks.”
“You’ve decided to have the stick surgically removed from your ass?” Mason guessed.
“Yep, and I plan to beat you with it once it’s out.”
“I’ll take one for the team if it means you’re not moping around here scowling all day anymore.”
“What I’m about to tell you should explain some of that.” Everyone was silent and I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. “For a long time, I’ve been happy to be married to my work. I love Copper Creek, and it’s been a huge part of my life for so long that I didn’t even realize something was missing.”
I took a breath, my throat feeling suddenly tight, like if I said one more word, it would get stuck halfway up and I might never speak again.
“You’re good, boss. Keep going,” Mason said.
The “boss” triggered a memory of Frankie, and I took one more deep breath before I continued. “Like I said, I didn’t realize what I was missing until it appeared, right in my face, with a purple leather jacket.”
“You needed a jacket?” Ted asked.
“No, you moron. He’s tryin’ to tell us he’s gay,” Cody said, sounding annoyed.
“Bi, but yeah. Decidedly not straight. And any of you who have a problem with it, well, you can either keep your mouths shut about it, or you can go. Your choice.”
“You’re an asshole,” Cody said.
I set my beer down on the bar. Of all the employees, Cody wasn’t who I’d expected to be a dick about it.
“Cody,” Mason warned.
“No, he’s an asshole if he thinks any one of us would give a shit who he wants to be with. We didn’t have a problem with Frankie. So why the hell would we have a problem with you?”
There was a chorus of various versions of “yeah, what Cody said,” and God as my witness, I very nearly broke down.
I was totally blindsided by the immediate acceptance. I wasn’t dumb enough to think everyone in town was going to be quite so ready with an outpouring of love, but these guys were who mattered most to me, outside of my family. Their opinions were the ones that counted, and apparently, I never had a thing to worry about.
“Thank you,” I said, unable to properly convey just how much it all meant to me. “I know you probably all have questions, and I’ll try to answer them the best I can. I might not have all the answers yet, though. It’s something I’m still figuring out myself.”
“We love you, man,” Mason said. “We all just want you to be happy. You’ve been walking around here like a zombie for months. It’s about time you fixed your shit.”
“I’m gonna try.”
He pulled me into a hug, and I tried to think if Mason had ever hugged me before. When he pulled back, his eyes looked a little misty.
“Good. You deserve it. And we’ll do anything we can to help.”
“I’m glad you said that. I’m gonna need you to take care of things around here while I’m gone.”
“Anything you need,” Mason said.
And I nodded, because I knew if Copper Creek was in Mason’s hands, everything would be fine.
Frankie
“Quit moping around like someone killed your dog,” Holden said. “It’s your big night.”
I was standing in the middle of my new apartment, still wondering how the hell I’d managed to get here. I’d been living through the last three months like I was my own ghost haunting this place. It was a small miracle I’d managed to summon enough energy to get dressed before Holden and Gage had arrived, let alone in a suit.
I bristled at Holden’s tone, feeling even more bitchy and irritable than usual. Part of it was because it was my big night. It was a huge night—one I hadn’t even realized I’d been waiting for since the first time I’d considered becoming a photographer.
It might have been an eleventh-hour cancelation that had gotten me this show, but it was mine and I should be enjoying it. Instead, all I could think about was how empty I felt and how the night would be a thousand times more meaningful if Barrett was there to share it with me.
Maybe that was slightly ungrateful and more than a little immature, but it was how I felt.
“Give him a break,” Gage said, with gentle understanding in his voice. “We were in a not-too-different situation not that long ago.”
Holden waved him off. “Everything’s gonna work out.” He threw his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer. “So, try to forget about all the shit going on in your life and enjoy your party.”
“Wow, thanks.”
“You only get one debut. Squeeze every ounce of enjoyment out of it.”
I nodded and pasted a smile on my face, trying to look like I was a happy, functional adult, but my throat was so tight I could barely swallow.
It had been tight for three months, like I’d left my ability to not be on the edge of a mental breakdown back in Sawyer’s Ferry. I wanted to tear my suit pants off and pull my sweats back on, hole up in my brand-new sublet that I had no idea how I was going to afford three months from now, and gorge myself on cinnamon ice cream from the bodega on the corner.
“You’re right,” I said, smoothing my jacket down. At the same time, I tamped down the sadness that bubbled up more often than it should. “We should be celebrating.”
I walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of champagne. The gallery owner had sent it to me with a little card and a framed copy of my exhibit poster. It was a nice gesture, but I’d nearly dropped the whole fucking thing when the courier had delivered it. I was proud of my photography, but it was difficult to see it now.
I handed the bottle to Gage and grabbed three mugs from the cupboard and passed one to each of them.
“Still embracing that starving-artist thing.” I shrugged apologetically.
“Not for much longer,” Holden said.
“You know something I don’t know?” I asked, laughing. “Last I checked, one single exhibit—for which I am only a last-minute fill-in, might I add—doesn’t mean this is going anywhere.”
“Not with that attitude, it isn’t.”
“Since when did you become all sunshine and rainbows about shit. You used to be a legit, cynical New Yorker. Now you’re one of those optimistic, look-on-the-bright-side, small-town pricks.” I leaned in. “You’re a tourist.”
“You know, you gotta be careful who you say shit like that to. Some people would take ser
ious offense, and you could end up getting hurt.”
“You threatening me, Prescott?” I laughed. “I’d fall over dead right now if you told me you’d ever been in a fistfight.”
“And you have?” he challenged.
“I wore silver glitter stilettos with my tux to my junior prom. I went through a Pussycat Dolls phase in my early teens. And in the ninth grade, I presented a self-choreographed sexy dance number to ‘Fergalicious’ for the talent show—and walked away with first prize.” I lifted one eyebrow. “I was in plenty of fights. Didn’t use my fists for some of them, but I won.”
“I could take you,” Holden said. “And I’ve got backup.”
“You leave me the hell out of it,” Gage said, laughing as he poured the champagne.
“See, even your husband is scared of me. He knows I’m scrappy.”
“If you two stand around snarking at each other much longer, we’re going to be late.”
“Right. Okay.” Holden held out his cup. “To Frankie, and the start of a long, successful new career.”
“To Frankie,” Gage echoed, lifting his mug.
I tried to think about the positives as we clinked glasses and drank our champagne. They were right. This was an exciting night—it marked a new start for me, which was something I desperately needed.
It had been a long time coming, and I’d worked hard for this. I deserved to enjoy my accomplishments. I still wished Barrett were there to celebrate with me, though.
Leaving Sawyer’s Ferry had been one of the most difficult things I’d ever had to do. I’d never wanted to go there in the first place, but I felt as though I was leaving a huge part of myself behind when I got on that plane, and in the months since, it hadn’t gotten any easier.
I kept waiting for the pain to dull, for the ache of missing him to become softer with time. But the longer I was away from him, the more it hurt.
The limo arrived to pick us up, and Gage, Holden, and I climbed in. There was more champagne, in real glasses this time, and we killed the bottle before we got to the gallery.
When the driver pulled up outside, it was totally surreal to see my name on the banner, even though I’d walked through earlier in the day. Somehow, it looked different at night; illuminated by the overhead lights, it seemed more official, like it hadn’t just been printed off at Staples that morning.
I knew, though, that just beyond that banner was a whole gallery filled will a thousand memories—nearly all of them good, but it was the bittersweetness that really killed me.
Curating those photos, editing them and developing them had torn my heart out with each image, but I’d loved every second of it too. I’d been able to relive the best two months of my life, and now I hoped that the strangers coming to my show would see the emotion behind them.
That was all I could hope for.
“You ready?” Holden asked, reaching over and squeezing my hand.
“Probably not.” I gave a weak laugh. “Can’t be that weirdo who doesn’t show up to his own debut, right?”
“Definitely not.”
“Okay, let’s go, I guess.”
“I have a good feeling about tonight,” Holden said. “It’s going to be a night to remember.”
Barrett
The gallery was small and tucked away and the kind of white on white on white that let you know without asking that everything inside was very expensive.
Before I’d even set foot through the door, I was bursting with pride.
I had no right to be. None of this success was mine, but Frankie had done so well for himself, and the wall-to-wall people milling through the place meant they must have liked what they saw.
The room was small but with high enough ceilings that it seemed cramped and airy at the same time. But once I’d gotten through the hordes of people near the desk, putting in requests for originals and prints, the gravity of the display hit me hard.
I was anxious to see Frankie—nervous energy flowed through me like someone had injected adrenaline right into my heart. I couldn’t anticipate how this was going to go, but no matter what happened, I had to lay everything out on the table, raw and vulnerable, or I’d never forgive myself.
My blood pulsed to the cadence of his name as I walked past the first display. Each of the photographs was bright, filled with contrast and angles and vibrance that was so Frankie. The saying that art imitated life took on new meaning in that I could feel him in each and every one of the photos.
I got lost in the images, each one more beautiful than the last, until I came to the end of the first section of photographs. I paused for a minute, letting Frankie’s talent sink in. People chattered around me, but their voices were just a distant hum as I stepped through a door into the back half of the gallery and was met with one of the photos Frankie had snapped of me the first time we’d gone to the lighthouse together. I was facing the sea, eyes closed, lost in the crispness of the wind and the tang of the ocean air. I looked happy and peaceful.
Each of the photos from that one on was of moments we’d spent together. And each one was a punch to the gut, twisting me inside and reaffirming I’d made the right choice. No matter what it cost me, I had to try.
I loved him. How could I go on living like that didn’t matter? How did I hide myself away in Alaska and pretend that half my heart wasn’t a whole continent away? How could I live with myself if I didn’t at least ask?
I rounded the corner, taking in the snapshots of memories, my throat getting tighter as I walked until I reached the final photo.
Set apart from the others, mounted in a huge frame with an oversized mat, was a picture of me from our trip to Juneau. I was staring into the camera—staring at Frankie—and there was no mistaking my expression.
I glanced at the title.
Love Unbound.
It was. The love I had for him was boundless, and he needed to know.
Then from behind me, I heard a voice that all but stopped my heart from beating.
“What are you doing here?”
I turned slowly, terrified it wasn’t him. How many times had I thought I’d heard his voice in the months since he’d left? But of course it was him. I was standing in his gallery. I’d flown across the country to find him.
“I came for you.”
He paused, and when he spoke, his voice shook, and the look of hurt was as clear on his face as the look of love had been on mine in the photograph. “That was kind of you. I appreciate your support.”
“No.” I shook my head for emphasis. “I came here for you.”
“I don’t—”
“Is there somewhere we can…” I looked around and spotted a door marked Staff Only. A waiter came out carrying a shining silver tray of tiny foods. I grabbed Frankie by the arm, hauling him after me.
Pushing through the door, I maneuvered him against the wall, and when the door clicked shut, I dropped my hand.
“I came here for you,” I repeated. “I was so fucking wrong not to have gone after you in the first place. I’m miserable without you.” I took a breath. This wasn’t coming out the way I wanted it to. I tried again. “So I’m late doing this… it should have been three months ago, but I’m here now. So either you’re coming home with me, or I’m staying here with you. Whatever makes you happiest.”
He looked shell-shocked. “You’d leave Sawyer’s Ferry?”
I smiled. “If that’s what made you happy. Because you make me happy. So I couldn’t give less of a shit where we live, as long as you’re with me.”
I’d run through a thousand different variations of that speech in my head, and every time, when I got to the end, imaginary Frankie would throw his arms around me and kiss me until I forgot about the months we spent apart.
But real-life Frankie was staring at me, eyes narrowed.
“You’d be willing to move to New York after three months of knowing me.”
“I’d be willing to move to Timbuktu for you.”
A hint of humor passed o
ver his face. “I think you’d enjoy living in Timbuktu more than New York.”
I laughed. “You might be right about that.” I carded my fingers through my hair, suddenly nervous again. “Look, most people would say three months is nothing. But it felt like so much longer than that.”
“Wow. Thanks.”
“No, I mean…” I sighed. “I’m fucking this up.”
“Probably. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t keep going.”
“Exactly,” I said, feeling like he’d just hit me with a lightning bolt. “We’re gonna fight. Things will fall apart, but we just pick them back up, shove them back together, and keep going. We’re gonna make mistakes. Hell, we already have. But this is me, sprinting out of my comfort zone to try to fix it.”
“How can you be sure this is what you want after two months?”
“Two months is nothing, but it was long enough for me to fall in love with you. It was long enough for you to teach me more about myself than I’d learned in the previous thirty-five years.”
“I don’t understand.”
“When Naomi left Sawyer’s Ferry, I was heartbroken. I grieved the end of my marriage for months. But ultimately, I knew I’d made the right choice. Sawyer’s Ferry was my home, and I did love Naomi, but I couldn’t leave.” My heart was pounding, and I hoped to God he understood what I was trying to say. “And then I met you and you came into my life like this chaotic force of… just… you, and everything changed. And now, as sure as I’d been before about my choice to stay, I am sure about how I feel about you. Being with you is the only choice for me, and I will do anything to make that happen.”
“Have you really thought this through? Like, if you move here for me, people are gonna know. You know Sawyer’s Ferry. The second you set foot on that plane—hell, the moment you book your ticket—people are gonna know why. They’re gonna know…”
“They already know. I had a fucking meeting.”
“You had a meeting…”
“Staff meeting. I came out to my crew, and by now the whole town knows, and I don’t give a shit.” I shook my head. “No, scratch that. I do give a shit. I’m glad everyone knows. I’m glad my staff knows. They know more about who I am now, and they know how I feel about you. That shit’s important.”