by Josie Wright
I stand next to him when his mom comes out of the kitchen. Her hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide.
“Oh my God!” Before I know it, she’s hugging me. “It’s good to see you, Ben. We were worried sick about you.” She then swats my upper arm. “Don’t ever do that to us again.”
“Well, if it isn’t the lost son.” I hear Mr. Gilbert’s voice when he comes around the corner from the living room. He too hugs me, clapping my back so hard that I’m unsure if it will make me burp or lose a lung.
“Welcome back.”
“Thanks. I’m glad to be back.”
Before I can say anything more, Mrs. Gilbert ushers me into the kitchen, hooking her arm through mine. “You must be starving. Follow me, I’ll fix you something to eat. I’m so happy you’re here.”
We talk for the next hour. Knowing Dave’s parents like to talk about themselves, I ask a lot of questions about their work and hobbies. That keeps them preoccupied for most of the hour. They try to learn more about where I’ve been, but I manage to keep the answers vague enough. When that isn’t working, Dave’s ready to help me out, taking the attention off me.
“Glad someone asked how my life in Florida is going. Great by the way. I’m having the time of my life. By paying my tuition, you not only guarantee me an education, but great parties, a fulfilling sex life, as well as an awesome tan. Thanks, Mom and Dad.”
I laugh and so do his parents, his dad winking at him. “Watch that mouth, Dave.”
Just then we hear a car pull up.
“Oh, I guess little sis is here,” Dave says before getting up, but his mom beats him to it and is out the door. Considering Frankie hadn’t been close to her parents when I left, I’m surprised by her mom’s eagerness to welcome her daughter home. But maybe things have changed in my absence.
Dave follows her, but stops next to me, talking so low that his dad can’t hear. “Don’t be a jackass or you’ll have another one coming.” He taps his jaw, reminding me of the left hook he gave me earlier.
What the hell was that? Why would I be a jackass? I wonder if I’ve nodded off and missed part of the conversation, but I don’t have time to contemplate it when his dad makes his way to the front door. I guess now it’s my turn. For a brief moment, I stand behind the door that’s fallen halfway shut again and take a few deep breaths. Either there will be a lot of shouting in the next few minutes, or hopefully, and this is my preferred option, a lot of hugging and forgiving.
I open the door and freeze, staring at the woman I couldn’t get out of my head for months. She looks different now. Her hair is short and black, complementing her slim face and making her green eyes pop even from the distance. She’s still slim, but her curves seem curvier now, her body softer. The way my heart is beating at the sight of her, I might be heading for a heart attack.
I can see the moment she recognizes me. Her body tenses up, her eyes go wide with surprise or shock, which of the two I’m not sure. But then her mouth draws into a fine line and her eyes are shooting daggers my way. I guess my assumption she might hate me wasn’t far off. But even in her anger, she’s more beautiful than ever. If that’s the last thing I’ll see before she takes me out, so be it.
My gaze fully focused on her, I don’t even hear what her mother is saying. I merely register someone’s talking.
This is what I came back for. Her. It’s always been her.
She walks over to me, her movements stiff as if she has to force her legs to move in my direction. Her jaw is tense and her nostrils flare with each breath she takes. When she reaches me, she stretches out her hand.
What the hell? I’m not a bank representative. I ignore it and move closer to take her into my arms. It’s like hugging a stone sculpture. Cold, unyielding, hard. She’s not hugging me back, even though I hold her longer than necessary, breathing in her smell—sandalwood and jasmine. A smell that is uniquely her.
There’s so much I want to tell her, so much I want to say, but instead I lean down, my mouth at her ear and I only say one thing, “Sorry.” I didn’t think it was possible, but she goes even more rigid in my arms. Well, that was the wrong thing to say.
“Fuck you,” she hisses at me, quiet enough so no one else will hear. As soon as I let her go, she’s gone. It’s as if she can’t get away from me fast enough and fuck, it hurts. I know she has every right to be angry, but I hoped for a different welcome. I didn’t expect the vibes of pure, unadulterated hate she’s sending out.
At the same time, it’s oddly reassuring. If the night meant nothing to her she wouldn’t hate me as much. I’m surprised she’s so passive though. That’s not the Frankie I know. The Frankie I know would be calling me names and kicking my ass seven ways to Sunday right now. Instead, she is controlled, distant, and cold.
I watch her busy herself with the luggage when a voice cuts through my thoughts. When I look to my right, her mother is standing there holding a baby. “Look Archer, this is Uncle Ben.”
Archer? Uncle Ben? Who is this kid and what the hell is she talking about? All air has left my lungs, while I’m trying to come to terms with what I see. I tell myself that it’s not possible, when Frankie’s words cut through the air and into me as if she’s wielding a knife.
“He is not his uncle.”
“Of course. I know that. But he has always been like a son to us, so why shouldn’t Archer call him that?”
What goddamn alternate universe did I end up in? I wonder briefly if I hit my head somewhere, or if the left hook from Dave gave me a concussion. It can’t be. This can’t be Frankie’s kid.
As I turn away from the baby, my gaze zeroes in on Frankie, who looks like she’s going to lose it any second. She’s breathing in and out slowly before she speaks.
“Because to be part of my family, you have to earn the right. So we will refer to him as Ben.”
Her mother walks past me and my eyes follow her and the baby in her arms.
Finally, the things I see seem to register as my brain kicks in again, and all I feel is shock. I’m frozen to the spot, my mind working overtime to come to terms with what I just witnessed.
Fucking hell, Frankie has a son. I clench my fists, anger and jealousy coiling around my heart like a noose. It takes a lot of effort not to punch something.
While I've been living like a fucking monk, she went out and got knocked up. I want to rip the guy’s head off, or better yet, his dick and then feed it to him. And here I am like a fucking idiot wanting to win her back. I wonder where the baby daddy is and what kind of fucker she hooked up with.
Dave’s voice pulls me from my thoughts as he walks over to Frankie’s car. “Wanna help?” He points to his sister and the bags she’s getting out of the trunk. Not like I can say no, so I join him. She bristles when she notices me, as if she smelled something really disgusting. She’s got some balls. Not like I’m here with a kid.
I can’t take my eyes off her despite the jealousy and anger running wild through my body. I feel like a menopausal woman when the jealousy is joined by a feeling of regret. I can't blame her for moving on, for finding someone to share her life with. But damn if it doesn’t make me go crazy. And that only reminds me of my father, and now all my other emotions are joined by fear. For the first time in months I miss whiskey.
We carry all the stuff inside for her. After she exchanges a few sentences with her parents, she excuses herself to her bedroom, wanting to put her son to bed. Her son, that just sounds so fucked-up. I must look like I’m not right in the head. I keep staring at her, not paying attention, still trying to wrap my head around all of this. Until Dave interrupts, that is. He laughs, throwing a bag toward me and I barely catch it before it hits me in the face.
“Move your ass, you lazy bastard.”
Without replying, I simply follow him up the stairs, trying to sort through my thoughts while I do so. I expected a lot, but not this. She sets the baby in his crib in the corner of her room and after we put her bags down, she quickly says goodnight to Dave.
All the while, she ignores me. Not even a single glimpse my way—nothing at all.
When Dave leaves the room, she turns her back to me as if I’m not even here. Her body is still tense, her movements stiff. She unzips one of her bags and starts taking things out, placing them on the bed. I wonder if I should say something, talk to her. I’m tempted to just grab her by the shoulders, press her against the wall, and ask all the questions burning through my mind.
I don’t understand why she’s so angry, so pissed off at me. Why she appears so hurt. It’s not like she took a long time to get over our night, considering the baby sitting in the crib, watching me intently. A thought crosses my mind—something that would explain her hostility and nearly makes me hurl.
I shake my head, trying to shake off the thought. I’m going crazy even thinking this could be my kid. Am I that desperate to get her back? Jesus. I push the thought away and leave her room, pausing at the door, wondering if I should just ask her. But she’s making it clear my presence isn’t welcome.
For the rest of the night, I hang out with Dave, playing video games, trying to get lost in killing aliens. Yet that one thought keeps coming back, causing me to lose more games than I care to count.
***
It’s three a.m. and I haven’t slept a wink. Once Dave and I finished our umpteenth game at midnight, I went to my room. Dave’s parents have three guestrooms in their house, so I don’t need to crash in Dave’s room or on the couch. This gives me the opportunity to lie in bed, look at the ceiling, and replay the past few hours. Frankie has a kid. Frankie is a mother. This doesn’t compute. At all. The craziest thing is I still want to win her back. Even though some fucker got her pregnant, I want her for myself.
Chapter 17
Getting Frostbites
After a couple hours of sleep and some more tossing and turning, I finally give up and take a shower before making my way downstairs to the kitchen. To my surprise, Dave is already up and dressed. His dad is sitting at the counter reading the newspaper.
“Yo, man, do we want to go out for breakfast? My mom went shopping and I want something decent, a man’s breakfast, not just cereal,” he says with his mouth full of said cereal.
His dad just shakes his head, smiling.
Figuring I not only get to hang out with Dave but maybe have a chance to question him about Frankie and her kid without his parents snooping around, I agree.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
I grab my jacket from the hanger and slip on my shoes, following Dave out to his car. Once we’re at our favorite place in town, Bec’s Diner, and have ordered our food, I bring up what’s been bugging me since last night.
“So you didn’t tell me Frankie has a kid,” I say, glaring at him across the table.
“Yeah, must’ve slipped my mind.” He gives me a stupid grin and then turns his attention to Bec, who’s bringing our breakfast. I give her a tight-lipped smile, but otherwise ignore their conversation.
As soon as she leaves our table, I lay into him. “Seriously, man?” I’m not even trying to hide my annoyance. It would have been nice to get some warning. “You suddenly being an uncle has slipped your fucking mind?”
“Dude, if you would’ve called any of us, we might’ve been able to tell you. Telepathy isn’t one of my strong suits.” He narrows his eyes at me. “And what is it to you, anyway?”
Oh, I fucked your sister before I left without saying a word and now I want her back, right after I kill whoever got her pregnant, unless it was me. I don’t think Dave would appreciate that version.
“I was just surprised.” I evade his question. “So who knocked her up?”
Dave raises his eyebrows in surprise, but then shakes his head before responding.
“No clue.” He focuses on devouring his pancakes while I have yet to touch mine. No clue—what the fuck does that mean? She had so many she can’t narrow it down?
“What do you mean no clue?”
Dave sighs, clearly getting frustrated with my sudden interest in Frankie’s life.
“Listen, man, I don’t know. She didn’t tell us. Didn’t want us to know, I suppose.” He swallows a bite. “If you want to know more, ask her. I’m sure you have enough to talk about as it is.”
A state of utter confusion keeps me staring at my breakfast instead of eating it until it’s time to head back. My mind is reeling with the information, making me slowly question my sanity. There is no way in hell I’m the father. If that was the case, she’d never keep it a secret. It doesn’t make sense, and I feel like I’m missing something here. I need to talk to Frankie.
***
When Dave and I walk into the kitchen after our breakfast, we find Frankie preparing something to eat. She’s wearing sweatpants and a tank top that does nothing to hide her curves. As soon as she notices us, she focuses on her brother, completely ignoring me again. This is going to be fun. The room temperature has already dropped a few degrees from her less than warm welcome, and I haven’t even said a word.
“Hey, guys,” she says, still not sparing me a single glance and it’s starting to piss me off.
Dave seems oblivious to his sister’s iciness. “Hey, Stinker, you finally up?”
“Been up longer than you. Just didn’t want to see your face first thing in the morning,” she replies, her voice filled with warmth and affection for her brother.
I decide to make her take notice of my presence, forcing her to interact with me.
“Morning, Frankie. How did you sleep?” I keep my tone even, not letting her see the frustration eating away at me.
My voice draws her attention to me and our eyes meet. Just as quickly, she looks away.
I really wish she would talk to me instead of playing these games.
“Good, thanks,” she replies, her voice now monotone and void of any emotion, bordering on robotic. I want to rip my hair out, or grab and shake her. I’d rather have her screaming at me and kicking my ass at this point. Maybe we could get this awkwardness over with. But from the look of it, she’s hell-bent on ignoring me.
I notice Dave grabbing a pizza slice from the fridge.
“Didn’t you just come back from eating out?” Frankie looks at Dave wide-eyed.
In an attempt to break the ice, I snatch the pizza from Dave and take a bite, my eyes not straying from her face for even a second. “Like that’s ever stopped him,” I say with a smile, knowing I have her attention now. Finally, her eyes meet mine and hold our connection. She’s chewing her lip—a nervous habit she’s always had. It’s fucking cute and sexy at the same time, not that I will tell her. At least not now.
Even when Dave elbows me in the stomach and grabs the pizza out of my hand, taking a bite, I keep the eye contact with her. It’s the first time since she got here yesterday that she isn’t trying to get away from me as fast as possible.
“Dude, you eating the slice of pizza I just took a bite out of is like you’re French-kissing me.”
“Not cool, man. Not cool,” Dave says and I laugh when he drops his pizza into the trash as he glowers at me. But my laugh quickly fades when Frankie jumps at the chance to look away. Dammit.
I hang my head and sigh. Not that she would notice. As soon as Dave leaves the room to take a shower, she goes back to ignoring me. She’s concentrating on cooking as if her life depends on it.
The air is stifling with all the unspoken words between us. I move closer, standing next to her. It takes all of my self-restraint not to press my body against hers and hold her. But the vibes she’s sending off aren’t inviting. She goes tense as soon as she feels me next to her, her shoulders pulling back, her jaw clenching.
“Frankie, I think we should—” I start, hoping we can talk and clear the air, although I want so much more than that. But she interrupts me by yelling to her dad that breakfast is ready. Her voice is loud and shrill with a tinge of panic to it. As soon as her father enters the room with the baby in his arms, and she’s placed the plate in front of him, she grabs the kid
and beelines it out of the kitchen like a bat out of hell.
I’m left standing next to the stove, staring after her and wondering what the hell happened to the Frankie I know. I’m confused. She isn’t someone to dodge conflict. I’d expected her to throw things at my head—literally and figuratively. Instead, it’s as if she’s hiding, trying to stay out of my way.
***
Dave and I are playing video games in the basement. After Frankie fled the kitchen, I came down here to wait for Dave to finish his shower and join me. Now we’re shooting shit, with an occasional conversation thrown in. I’m about to win a damn boss fight when Dave clears his throat.
“So, what did you and Frankie talk about after I left the kitchen? Anything interesting?” He sounds oddly amused, and once again I question what he knows about that night between me and his sister.
“Your dad showed up, and she left to meet up with a friend. So we didn’t talk. She’s acting really strange.”
“You think?” Dave shoots me a glance, arching his eyebrows.
Yet again, thanks to Frankie being on my mind, I lost the fight. I put the controller aside and grab my water bottle, taking a swig.
“I still can’t believe she has a kid. I mean, fuck, it’s Frankie.”
“Yeah, hard to believe. I bet the father would think so too, if he knew.”
I nearly choke on my water, unable to hide the surprise. It’s not like Frankie to hide something like this.
“The father doesn’t know?”
Dave turns off the game, reclining back on the couch.
“Nope. I asked her about it once, and she said she’s the only one who knows. I’m sure it’ll be quite the surprise if he ever finds out.” He chuckles before adding, “And when he does, he better fucking step up to the challenge.”
The gnawing thought that kept me awake last night comes back with a fucking vengeance and lingers in my mind, even when we make our way upstairs for dinner hours later. It simply can’t be. I mean…me? A father? It’s not possible. No way. At least it’s what I tell myself when I walk into the dining room.