“You’re trembling,” he murmured into my ear.
“I’m okay,” I assured him. “Go back to the table, I’ll get plates ready.”
We sat at the table across from one another, the room filled with uncomfortable silence. I stared down at my plate of eggs sans bacon. He said one word, and I’d forgotten all about it. It wasn’t as if he had seemed overly interested in it anyway.
“How long has it been?” I asked.
“Since?”
“Your brother’s death.”
“Three years.”
I let out a long and heavy breath.
“I can’t imagine how hard it’s been—not having him. I have three siblings, and the thought of losing any of them. . .”
“It was always just the two of us,” he said, taking a bite of eggs. He chewed for a while and swallowed before following them with a sip of coffee. I no longer held an appetite. “The day he died, the day I’d found him. . .it felt like I lost a little bit of myself.”
What could I say in response to that? Not a fucking thing. I could never hope to make any of it better, nor could I ever take any of it away. Was this what I had set my family up for that day, two years ago when I sliced myself open? Did my mother sit and think about what I looked like as I had lain, sprawled on the bathroom floor in a pool of sticky blood? I hoped she’d been able to scrub that memory from her brain. She didn’t deserve the constant, painful reminder.
I heard the chair scrape across the ceramic tile, the fork clang on the plate, and I furrowed a brow as I watched Rory rise from the table.
“I’m going to go. . .I, uh, have some things I need to get to,” he said, his words leaving in a rush. His face was blank, his color washed out. “Thank you for going to dinner with me, for allowing me to experience your laughter and your smiles, and for giving me your kiss. Thank you for keeping me safe and allowing me to crash here.”
“Rory, it’s five degrees outside, and you have no car. Let me get dressed. I’ll drive you back to the winery.”
“No, no,” he declined. “I’ll walk, or call a cab.”
“That’s really dumb. I can drive you—”
“No, Francesca,” he snapped, making me shrink back into the chair. “I’ll be back around soon.”
He stooped low, brushing a soft kiss on my lips before walking back into the living room to slip into his boots without socks and walking out the door with his coat in hand. I stared at the door he’d just walked through wondering how things went from friendly and flirty to him walking out.
Had my eggs been that bad that he had to bolt into what I could only assume was a blizzard without so much as socks or a coat on?
No, I made good fucking eggs. Even if they were a little well done. Rory had opened himself up this morning, probably a lot more than he expected. My gut told me that his brother’s death was something that haunted him—it chased and toyed with him. That was his illness—his thing that he couldn’t escape. That was the shadow that blocked the sunniest days.
His most painful memory was linked so perfectly with my painful past.
**
“Did you sha-boink him again?”
“Karleigh.” My voice held an edge as I pointed the knife at her. We stood across from one another on opposite sides of the counter. I sliced and diced meats and cheeses while she worked on fruits. “I am not ‘sha-boinking’ anybody at the moment.”
“At the moment. That can change at the drop of a hat.”
“It’s not changing at the drop of a hat, dime, or tail feather.”
“Okay,” she replied. Karleigh didn’t believe me and that was okay. I barely believed myself. “Well, what’s he like? What did you learn about him?”
“He wasn’t very impressed with my food choices.”
“Who the fuck is, Frank? You eat like a gerbil, and if I’m being real, you can’t cook worth shit.”
“I cook well enough for myself, and I eat like someone trying to avoid diabetes and coronary artery disease,” I replied with a shrug of my shoulders. “He likes my ink.”
“He likes your bare skin,” she joked, laughing into her arm. No doubt about that.
“He had a twin brother that took his own life.”
“Frankie,” she warned as all humor washed away.
“He tells me about his brother, about finding him after his death, and then he left. He just stormed off. Walked out into the blizzard without socks on, carrying his coat.”
Karleigh puffed up her cheeks before releasing a long breath through her teeth.
“Have you told him your history?” she asked and my stomach started that queasy feeling from earlier all over again.
“I barely know him.”
“You have to tell him. Especially now, after knowing his brother’s story. He needs to know all your cards so he can decide whether he can take the leap with you or not.”
“Who says I am looking for a leaper?” I asked in all seriousness.
“You. Have. To. Tell. Him.”
“I hardly know his story, Karls. I know he took his life. I don’t know the how or the why. I just know the ending.”
“Do you not think that knowing you have a history of. . .” her voice trailed off as it did every time she tried to find the words to describe my own attempt to end my life.
“What if he isn’t worthy of my history?” I asked, ending the silence, saving her from the agony of finishing her sentence.
“What if he is?” she countered. She was such a romantic, such a hopeful and positive person. I had to keep her around just to keep me from crashing and burning.
“Christ, Karleigh, I’m not sure which scenario would be worse.”
“Well, it isn’t the one where you fall madly in love and ride off into the sunset.”
“Karleigh—”
“Franks, embrace the possibility of fucking happiness. For once.”
She really needed to meet someone, to settle down, have a good life. This way, she’d stop focusing on how much she believed I needed those things.
**
I was in a fog. I had been since an hour after I walked in the door.
It felt like I lost a little bit of myself.
Before I said those words, I’d been able to keep Ryan away. The moment they passed my teeth, there he was. He laid front and center, cold and dead with a fucking bullet in his head. And my entire world was spinning, and I felt like my chest was going to cave in. I had to escape. Frankie looked shocked, saddened, and like she pitied my existence. I couldn’t run fast enough.
The cab met me about two blocks from her place and carted me to the winery where I had to unbury my GTO. My skin felt like a million bugs scattered just beneath the surface the whole way home. I didn’t even bother turning the heater on; I already felt like my blood was fucking boiling.
I stumbled up the stairs, barely fitted the key into the lock, and nearly ripped the drawer from the counter. I pulled out a colorful mix of tablets, tossing them back, following it up quickly with whiskey. The burn it provided me was harsh and more than fucking welcome. The pills were gone, swimming around in the depths of my stomach, but I kept drinking. The whiskey kept flowing, like a fucking amber river of solace.
Once I finally had my fill, I stumbled to my bed and fell out. That’s where I stayed until the pills wore off. And then I pumped myself up with a few more. There would be no work done in the shop today. That wouldn’t be good for me or for business. Fuck.
The incessant pinging of my phone is what pulled me from the drug-induced slumber, planting me foggily into the waking world. I would have thrown it and rolled back over if the first three words of the text hadn’t jumped out and slapped me in the fucking jaw.
Hey, it’s Frankie. I wanted to make sure you made it safely to wherever you needed to be.
If I were smart, I’d walk away from her. I’m damaged—painfully damaged. So much so, I stormed out of breakfast and walked in a goddamned blizzard. I followed that up with some pills and dr
ink. All because I needed to be numb. It wasn’t a choice for me. It was the only way I could exist. Frankie was damaged in her own right. All I’d do was fuck her up even more before I was done.
Made it, finished it, and would love to make plans to see you again. . .soon. Dinner tomorrow?
I’m not smart. In fact, I’m a dumb fuck. I make a million mistakes every day. And Francesca Winters will be the greatest mistake I ever make.
Meet at 6?
That would allow plenty of time to medicate, work, have a drink, shower, and get out to Knotted Vines. I hoped like hell I’d be able to hold my shit together long enough to make it through a meal. I needed to figure out a way to work my way into her mind. I had to know more of her before she’d ever be willing to let me in.
Sounds great. Will the next sleepover be at your place or mine?
My phone pinged almost immediately, her response bringing a smile back to my lips.
Keep it up and you can sleepover in a snowbank, Mr. O’Neill.
Chapter 15
I held a healthy love/hate relationship with Sundays.
The winery was closed for business, but I often used the time to catch up on the books, or to work on bottling, or even marketing endeavors. But there were a few random Sundays I would do nothing. By nothing, I mean I would relax around the house in pajamas, glasses, and slippers all day. I could read a good book or not, nap or not, and I could catch up on housework. . .or not. The day was a blank canvas for me to splash with color.
I also had a lot of time to wallow in memories. Good and bad. There were times I’d sit and think of my dad, think of our talks or our time spent working on the truck, the time he taught me to throw an effective punch, or even the time we spent in the vineyard together. Those memories would bring me an armful of happiness for a blink of an eye before fading into despair. I missed him so much that it manifested as a physical ache. He was who I always fought to stay well for.
After he passed, I started to realize that if I were going to stay well, I had to want it for myself. If I didn’t, I would eventually succumb to my inner demons. And I wanted to be well. I wanted to be fucking normal. More than I wanted anything. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I grabbed it to check the message.
Looking forward to seeing you tonight, Bubbles.
That message caused a flurry of nerves in the pit of my gut. Rory did something to me that I was unable to understand. I’d known Lukas almost my entire life, spent two years sharing my bed and body with him, and hadn’t felt anything close to what Rory made me feel just by saying my name. And that didn’t hold a candle to what I felt when he touched my skin.
Me too, Mr. O’Neill.
I set the phone on the coffee table as the doorbell rang. I looked into the peephole and stared into deep hazel eyes.
“Lukas,” I greeted, opening the door.
“Hey, Frankie,” he answered, walking in, stomping the snow from his boots. He stripped his coat and hat off, hanging them on the hook by the door. “It’s fucking cold out there.”
“Tell me about it. I’m starting to worry about the damage it will do to the grapes if it doesn’t let up soon.”
“Nah,” he answered, toeing his boots off. “They’ll be all right. This is typical up here; nothing we haven’t seen in recent years.”
He may have said it, but I knew he didn’t believe it. All of the vintners were becoming more nervous as winter grew deeper and deeper. Mother Nature was threatening our business as well as our livelihood.
“You want coffee or tea?” I asked, leading him toward the kitchen. This was the first I’d seen of him since I set him free. He’d sent a few text messages, even called me a couple times. But he had been avoiding me as if I had contracted bubonic plague.
“Tea sounds nice, thanks.”
He sat at the table, humming something that sounded like Death Cab for Cutie while I fixed us both a cup of green tea. I added a little ginger and honey to mine, straight sugar to his, and joined him at the table.
Lukas looked tired—his vibrant eyes ringed light purple. His clothes were wrinkled as if he’d slept in them. He ran a hand through his dark hair and pushed his sleeves up, exposing the tattoos that covered every inch of his skin.
“What’s up, Luka?”
“Work has been a fucking nightmare,” he answered.
“You look like shit.”
“You look good.”
“What is really up, Lukas?” I questioned, sensing there was more hidden beneath the surface.
“I’ve been worried about you,” he answered.
“Don’t be,” I replied, taking a sip of tea. “I can take care of myself.”
“I have a date this weekend.”
I smiled. I wanted Lukas to find happiness and settle down. I wanted him to have a happy ending. He deserved that and much more.
“That’s great.”
“You been out with that wedding guy?”
“Is this what we’re doing now—sitting and talking about our dating lives?” I certainly hoped the fuck not.
“I’ll talk about what happened on Bones last week if you’d prefer. I will talk about anything that you want. I just miss my best friend, Frankie.”
I reached across the table and wrapped my fingers around his. He was warm and familiar. Our eyes danced together as his lips tilted up into a faint smile.
“Just because we’re not having sex anymore doesn’t mean we can’t visit with each other,” I said.
“I wanted to give you space.”
“I never asked for space, Luka. I gave you freedom.”
“Right,” he grumbled. “Freedom. . .”
“I should have listened to Karleigh a long time ago,” I admitted. As much as I fucking hated it. She had been warning me since the day she found out about our arrangement that it was a recipe for disaster. She was right. “You are more important to me than I ever realized. I was stupid to jeopardize that.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up, Winters,” he exhaled, pulling his hand from mine as he eased back in the chair. “You sound like a girl.”
“I happen to have a vagina. At least I did last time I checked. . .”
“And for the love of God, don’t ever let Karleigh hear you say you should have listened to her. Next thing you know, she’ll be giving you stock advice.”
“Maybe she should give me stock advice.”
“She shouldn’t,” he replied. “Just as she didn’t know shit about what was going on between us. We’re okay, Frankie. Really. I guess I was just. . .surprised. I hadn’t seen that coming in the slightest.”
“You’re not the only one.”
“I’m going to ask you something, and it’s probably going to piss you off, but I want you to do your best to look past the initial anger and understand that it’s coming from a good place.”
There was that bad feeling again. I wanted to find a closet and hide. But only after I threw up.
“Okay. . .”
“Are you taking your meds?”
When you have an illness like I do, this is a question that you get used to hearing. You get used to it because you hear it all the time. It comes from your doctor (family and psych), parents, siblings, close friends, and sometimes even your hairdresser. You may get used to it, but you never like it, and you sure as fuck never appreciate it. It comes with the implication that their perception is you are acting impulsively or under duress—much like you would in a manic or depressive state. It gives the impression that they think you lack the ability to make good, sound choices. While it comes from a good place (most of the time) it also carries an impressive insult.
“Every goddamn day,” I snapped. “I’m also showering, brushing my teeth, and wiping my ass.”
“Frankie—”
“How about you?”
“Don’t you dare get angry. It’s a fair question.”
“Why? Because I won’t spread my legs for you anymore?” I asked. He opened his mouth to reply, and I continued, “I must
be off my meds for making the choice to end emotionless, no strings attached sex to explore the bizarre gooey things Mr. O’Neill is making me feel?”
“Bizarre gooey things?” he asked, cocking a brow. “This O’Neill have STDs or something?”
“Are you blanketing the huge point I just made with humor?”
“Gotta blanket it with something, you obviously haven’t.”
“Fuck you, Lukas,” I replied, storming from the kitchen.
“Now?” he asked, following me. “I’m a little tired, but I could knock one out.”
“You are not as charming as you’d like to think.”
“I am,” he said, standing directly behind me. “It’s a fair question because you are acting out of the norm.”
“Explain out of the norm,” I demanded, turning to him.
“First it was the tequila—”
“It was my sister’s wedding!”
“Then the random sex—”
“That was the tequila!”
“Then you decide to end our arrangement. The arrangement that was your idea. You gave me no option—”
“I did that for you. . .”
“Then you go against your rule of no dates—”
“Mostly at Karleigh’s insistence.”
“And talking about feelings. You don’t do feelings.”
“Maybe I should.”
“Can you still not see why I would worry that you stopped taking your meds?”
Okay, maybe I could see where he might have some concern. Everyone always watched my behaviors, they looked for subtle inconsistencies. That was their way of making sure they never found me a heartbeat away from death again. I could see where I had been different, could see where his concern came from. But, I’d never admit that to him. Ever.
“I am taking all of my meds, making all of my appointments. I may be the best I’ve ever been,” I began, lifting my chin, “I may not know him that well, but Rory intrigues me. In one night, he was able to reach a really cold and untouched place inside me. I want to explore that, Luka. I fucking deserve that.”
“You’re right, shining girl,” he replied. He lifted a hand, placed his palm to the nape of my neck, and stared into my eyes. “But don’t explore it with an unworthy passenger. All passengers carry heavy and hidden baggage that can make us sink.”
Madness Page 11