by Mandi Beck
Turning away, I lead us through the house and toward the party. Stopping on the patio I turn back to them.
“Yeah, well, we can’t all be a prosecutor for the D.A., can we? No worries though, I wouldn’t have let you anyway, Drew.” He hates when I call him that, which only makes me use it as often as possible. “This is a tradition and you don’t fuck with tradition. I’ve been throwing Frankie her birthday party for as long as I can remember. Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I say as I glance over at Frankie and wink before I swing my gaze back to his beady, hate-filled eyes.
I love to remind him of my place in her life every chance I get. Meeting his cold stare unblinkingly, I convey my message, That’s right, asshole, you may be here with her, but make no mistake about whose girl she is. He breaks eye contact and I smile.
Point one for The Hitman.
Sitting at the bar, where it appears my brother has taken up residence, I take stock. The party is going really well -- they always do. Frankie loves everything that Indie has chosen, just like she does every year. If there are two people that know her, it’s me and Indie. There is no question that she would like anything that we put together. I did however hear Drew say something about it being crass or risqué or some shit like that. Fucking prude. He probably fucks with his socks on and the lights off. Fuck. I don’t even want to think about it.
I look over at Sonny drinking his bottle of Furious. “What the fuck does she see in that guy?” I ask, shaking my head in confusion.
“I don’t know, brother. She’s never really had a type. Even still, he’s definitely not right for her. Indie said that Frankie told her that Drew hates her tattoos. Wants the Princess to get them removed—even offered to pay for it,” Sonny conveys, tossing a handful of peanuts into his mouth.
“You’re kidding me, right? She’s not going to do it, is she?”
Chewing thoughtfully, he swivels his stool in my direction.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Indie said that she flew off the handle at Frankie, was telling her what bullshit it was and all that. Frankie said that she’d think about it. Indie thinks that he’s trying to mold her into some country clubber so that she fits in with his associates down at the State Attorney’s office or something.”
That pisses me off on every level. I’ve been the one to take Frankie for all of her ink. It’s our thing and some of my fondest memories. I have more of my body covered in ink than not, and so many of them have something to do with her or a memory that includes her. When she told me that she wanted some work done, I jumped at the chance to share that bond with her. Now this asshole wants to erase it like it’s dirty or something? No fucking way! Not on my watch!
I’m lost in thought when I see Andrew make his way to the DJ and say something to him. The DJ nods his head and pulls out a mic, handing it to him.
What the fuck is he doing?
When the song ends, the DJ waves his hand as if to say “All yours.” Drew clears his throat, thanks the DJ, and starts talking.
“Francesca, can you please come up here, darling?”
“Darling?” Really? I hate this motherfucker. I. Hate. Him.
All I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears, drowning out everything around me. My eyes following her every move, I watch Frankie glide up to the stage. As soon as she reaches him, he takes her hand and smiles at her. Then he drops to one knee.
What the holy fuck is going on right now?
I don’t even realize that I’ve taken a step toward them until I feel both Mav and Sonny press their hands to either side of my chest and push back a little. I don’t acknowledge them, or anyone else for that matter. I just stare at the train wreck in front of me, feeling my heart race, threatening to beat right the fuck out of my chest. I can see his lips move, imagine what he’s saying, the promises, but I can’t actually make out the words. Still, I hear nothing but the sound of my own blood, a deafening roar through my head, and to myself I just keep repeating, “Please don’t say yes. Please don’t say yes.” I see her nod her head yes and watch him slip the ring on her finger, stand up, and wrap his arms around her, kissing her. I’m not sure whether I want someone to kill me or I want to be the one doing the killing. No, I know what I want. And it’s not his pretty boy ass standing next to her, where I should be.
Love Hurts is AVAILABLE NOW