Love Burns

by Mandi Beck

  Sonny moves forward, arm outstretched. “Detective. Thank you for coming out.” Nodding she shakes his hand.

  “My partner is upstairs with Ms. De Rosa. Do you boys want to tell me what’s going on in here?” Her eyes go to the indentation in the drywall left by Cristiano’s head, then to me. Obviously she’s come to know me pretty well.

  “Have you met Cristiano Palomo yet?” I question. “He just hand-delivered a picture to Frankie that he insists was given to him by some guy outside the gym.”

  I hand her the picture, now tucked inside the envelope it came in. I loathe that anyone will see that picture of her, but I have to give it to them. I know I do. There’s no part of me that will be happy about it though. She handles it gently, with a tissue, sliding the photo out and then quickly back in, her expression never changing. She’s a professional through and through. She just saw not only my girl but also me, in all of my naked glory, cock in hand, and she never even flinched.

  Adams looks over at Flashdance. “Mr. Palomo, is that true?” Taking her little notepad out of her back pocket, she looks to him expectantly.

  “Yes. It’s correct. As I told them, I was on my way in and he stopped me. Acted like he knew Francesca, and about us even.”

  “There’s nothing to know about, dick,” I interrupt.

  “That’s enough, Deacon,” Sonny warns. “Let Detective Adams ask her questions so we can be finished with all of this. I’m sure Frankie is not handling it all that well. The quicker we finish the sooner you can go check on her.” That is enough to shut me up.

  “Mr. Palomo, had you ever seen this man before?” When he shakes his head that he hasn’t, she continues, “Can you describe him? What he was wearing?” I listen as Flashdance recounts his story, going into detail about the man’s clothes and facial features. Glancing over at Reggie, he nods, letting me know that he’s paying attention and committing it all to memory. “Did you see what he was driving?”

  “I think it was a BMW but can’t be sure. The guy who handed it to me got into the backseat, but I wasn’t able to see who was driving.”

  “Do you think you could pick him out of a lineup, or take a look at some pictures back at the station, talk with our sketch artist?”

  “Yes, of course. Anything to help Francesca. I only want to keep her safe,” Cristiano speaks solely to Adams, turning his back on all of us.

  I’ve stayed quiet long enough. “I want you gone,” I say forcefully, my voice filling the room. Waiting until he turns to look at me, I continue, “Frankie told you and now I’m fucking telling you. I see your ass here again and shit’s gonna get ugly. I can promise you that.” There’s truth in my words, and I know he hears it.

  “Are you threatening me in front of an officer of the law, Deacon? Did you hear that, Detective? He threatened me.” Cristiano smiles at me smugly. I delight when it slips quickly from his face with Adams’ answer.

  “I didn’t hear anything.” It surprises the hell out of me and clearly surprises Flashdance. “Come on, let’s get down to the station. We can file your report and get to work on the other stuff. Your Visa is in order, right, Mr. Palomo?” she asks as she ushers him out of the room.

  “It’d be a real shame if it wasn’t, Flashdance. A real fucking shame,” Mav calls after them, stopping Cristiano in his tracks. He turns and is faced with a smiling Maverick.

  Eyes narrowed, I will him to feel my heated glare, what I have to say won’t be repeated again. When finally he glances my way, I intone in a deadly calm voice, “Don’t test me. I’m done with your bullshit. I’ve knocked your ass around once. I won’t hesitate to do it again.” Stabbing my finger in his direction, “Don’t come back. There’s nothing here for you. That’s my girl. My baby. They’re mine. Not yours. Mine.”

  Adams puts a hand to his back, urging him to go ahead of her. Hopefully that’s the last time I have to see his ass.

  I make my way up to the bedroom calling for Deacon. My Loves are here to take us to lunch before we head to the gym for the rest of the day and then to the doctor. They’ve all been doing their best to keep me busy, keep my mind off the Cristiano and picture debacle. And I love them for it. He and his expired work Visa are back in Spain where he belongs.

  At the top of the stairs, I call out for Deacon again, stopping right outside of his slightly ajar office door when I hear that he’s on the phone. I’m just about to go to the other room and freshen up when I hear him say, “Carter, I don’t care what the fuck you have to do, you bury that shit. Frankie doesn’t need to see it. I can’t deal with anymore bad publicity right now. I just got the okay I need to fight.” He goes quiet, clearly listening while Carter talks. I slowly push open the door, and lean against it. He’s shirtless, facing the fireplace, his back turned to me. I let my eyes roam over the tattoo of his family crest on his flank that I can just make out from this angle. The hearts and dagger-covered shield that all of the Loves have. Then to his back and the tattoo that covers the whole left side. Running along his spine, bleeding into his shoulder and arm, linking all of the artwork. My attention is drawn back to his conversation. “No, I haven’t told her about all of them.” He pauses. “I really don’t fucking care what you think, Carter. Everything is finally good with us. I’m not fucking that up with all of this bullshit. I’ll tell her what she needs to know and nothing more.” He tosses the phone to the side in disgust and runs his hands roughly through his hair.

  My blood is boiling. When will this infuriating man realize that keeping things from me is not the way to go? The last time he pulled this shit, it exploded in both of our faces and we both got burnt. By the sound of it, this time might be worse. I know that I don’t have any room to talk, clearly our communication skills suck, but it doesn’t make it right.

  “What is it that you don’t think I need to know, Deacon?” I ask, straight to the point, no bullshitting. He whips around and his face tells me everything. This isn’t going to be good.

  “Baby, I didn’t even hear you come in.”

  Taking a step toward me, I raise a hand to stop him. “I heard you talking to Carter. I suggest you tell me what the fuck is going on, and you can start at the beginning.” My arms crossed over my growing-by-the-minute chest, I stare him down, waiting. He obviously sees that I’m not letting him off the hook, that I won’t be coddled and kept in the dark. Not anymore. How can we ever be a team, move forward, if he’s constantly picking and choosing what I need to know and what he thinks he can keep from me?

  Deacon looks pained as he drags his hands down his face, tugging on his bottom lip before expelling a deep breath. “Why don’t we sit down?” He’s just trying to buy some time and I’m not having it. When I make no move to sit, he sighs. “That picture from Flashdance wasn’t the first picture of you or the last.” Shrugging, he says, “That’s it. That’s all there is to tell you.” He’s full of shit and we both know it.

  “Why wouldn’t you tell me that? I thought that everything just stopped. I felt safer! Have there been more letters too?” When he doesn’t answer, I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Jesus, Deacon! Did you know that Andrew was in witness protection as well?” My voice is dangerously low, and I feel just as dangerous. I cannot believe that he kept this from me. If he knew about that . . . I don’t know if I can forgive him. Knowing how I struggled to remember that night, my attacker.

  “I had no clue that they had him, Frankie. All I know is that there are bad fucking men out there who want to get to you because of him. We don’t know who they are or where they came from. I don’t know how deeply he may have involved you, or what they want with you.” He’s getting pissed, and I really don’t care. I’m pissed too. “Be mad all the fuck you want, Princess. I was protecting you and I didn’t tell you because I figured the less you knew, the less trouble you could be pulled into, and I don’t want you to be scared any more than you already are.” Looking at me in that defiant way he has, I want to hit him. Deacon knows damn well that he’s wrong, but there�
�s no making him see reason when he’s like this.

  “And now? Why were you still keeping it from me?”

  His shoulders hitch up in a small, nonchalant shrug. “Because I still don’t know the depth of the shit he’s involved you in. I’m not okay with you being put in danger for his ass any more than you already are, Frankie. The letters are all pretty vague. None of the pictures are like the one Flashdance brought us though.” He doesn’t have to say it, I know what he means. That picture was invasive and demeaning. It tainted something beautiful that Deacon and I had shared in the privacy of our home. Listening to him huff out deep breaths in frustration, I get pissed all over again. Why the hell is he upset?

  “Isn’t that my decision though, Deac?” My voice is raised, my temper a second away from detonation. “You can’t just keep shit from me because you think it’s what’s best for me! Regardless of what you think, I am a grown ass woman. A competent woman. A smart woman, Deacon. You don’t get to make my decisions for me.” I’m flushed with anger; I can feel the color creeping over my skin with every word I speak. Then he goes and blows me away.

  “I can and I will, Frankie. You’re mine to protect, you and my baby. Be pissed all you want, but I would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you safe.” Mouth set in an I-don’t-give-a-fuck-smirk, he watches me, daring me to argue, and I’m about to.

  “Let me see them.”

  “Not gonna happen, Princess. There’s nothing good that can come of that.” His bottom lip caught between his teeth, he shrugs his shoulders yet again. It makes me want to physically harm him.

  “Deacon, let me see the damn letters. I know you have them!” I demand. My voice rising in tone and volume.

  “You’re right, I do have them. I’m waiting for Detective Adams to come and get them, just like she did last time.” He says it so nonchalantly, so matter of fact is his demeanor.

  “I want to see them—right now!” I shout.

  “You want to see them? Fine, you can fucking see them. It’s not gonna do shit but upset you though, and that’s what I’ve been trying to prevent.” He stomps over to his filing cabinet and yanks it open. Pulling a large manila envelope out, he tosses it on the desk. I watch as it slides across the smooth surface, right off the edge, the contents littering the floor as they spill out. Gingerly I walk over to the mess and stoop to pick up one letter, “We know you have it,” and another, “He’s next—won’t be so brave without your man,” and another, “Don’t think because you’re knocked up you’re safe.” One by one I flip through the garbage, feeling my anger and fear rise with every one I set eyes on. I don’t realize that he’s come from around the desk until he reaches out to take them from me.

  “You shouldn’t be touching these,” Deacon says softly. “Frankie, I’m sorry. I just—I just didn’t want you to worry. Wanted to try to make it all go away for you.” Lifting my hand, he places a kiss on my wrist.

  Pulling it from his grasp, “This is my life too. I’m a part of this. You just choose for me. I’m not a child.” Hands a trembling mess, I stalk away from him, putting some much needed distance between us. “What are we doing? We don’t talk. We’re always so concerned with protecting the other one that we’re getting it all wrong.” I shake my head and am just about to continue when his phone dings with a text message and then immediately starts ringing. Deac ignores it, still watching me. The phone stops and then starts instantly all over again. Throwing my hands in the air in exasperation once more, I stomp over to the couch and scoop up the annoying noise maker. The song stops just as I reach it, the missed call log and message filling the screen.

  My gasp fills the now silent room when I see the text he received. My heart feels like it literally starts to shatter as I stare into the sleeping face of my fighter with not one but two naked women draped over him. Touching his bare skin, his ink, my ink. Smiling coyly as they snap a selfie. His voice breaks through the deafening sound of my heart pounding in my ears.

  “Princess, what’s wrong? Who called?” He sounds cautious, like he thinks he knows but hopes like hell he’s wrong. Gathering all the strength I have left in me, I meet his gaze with tear-filled eyes.

  “Is there something else you want to tell me, Deac? Something else you’ve been protecting me from?” I practically snarl.

  Eyes wide, he shakes his head no until I flash him the phone with the offensive picture on display. “Fuck. Fucking, fuck. Frankie, I—”

  “You what? Do you know what that says? It’s on her Twitter account, in Portuguese. Would you like for me to translate?” I ask him, my voice breaking in pain and rising in anger all at once. Not waiting for an answer, I read the caption to him, “Nós trepamos com o campeão—We fucked the champ.” Looking at him, his guilty expression is enough to set the pieces of my shattered heart on fire. Here I had been dying inside because of the hurt I’d caused us both by staying away from him. All the while just doing my best to keep him safe from whatever danger was lurking. And he was out having orgies with hot Brazilian chicks. How do I compete with that? Do I even want to? Is this what my life with him will always be?

  My head is swimming with too many questions that I don’t have answers to. “I guess this doesn’t matter, just like Veronica didn’t matter because we weren’t together, right?” Sniffling, I laugh softly at my own stupidity. “It shouldn’t hurt this much, Deac. Love. It isn’t supposed to feel like this.” I flick the tears from my cheeks. “Every time I forgive you, every time I get my heart pieced back together, you break it all over again. I know that we weren’t together, but how can you replace me so easily?” My voice is low, but I know he hears me. He’s watching me, a look of defeat on his beautiful face. “How can you tell me that you want to fight for us, for me, and then turn around and fuck random women? I just don’t get it.”

  The phone in my hand feels like it weighs a hundred damn pounds, like it holds the weight of all of my problems, all my heartache and despair. Slowly I look up at him, my eyes resting on the grim set of his mouth, “Do you know how many people I’ve slept with since my birthday last year?” When he stays silent I let my gaze meet his. He’s confused, and if the tick in his jaw is anything to go by, pissed. I go on to answer my own question, “One. Just one.”

  “You mean two. Me and Andre—”

  Cutting him off, “One. After you told me how you felt that night, there was no way that I could let him touch me, let him inside me, because you were already there and a part of me knew it.”

  He groans like he’s in pain. “Princess, we didn’t talk for months.”

  My lips kick up in a small, sad smile, “Sixty-three days. For sixty-three days, I agonized over you and my feelings and what to do about them. For over two months, I made excuse after excuse to my fiancé about why I couldn’t—wouldn’t—sleep with him. Do you remember how many women there have been since that night?” There is no way I want him to answer, I just want him to see that this isn’t the way it should be.

  As I watch him, he goes from upset and a little bit sad to angry. I can tell by the subtle shift of his stance, the way his eyes go from that mossy green to a murky color I can’t pinpoint. Like a mood ring. I watch in fascination and wait him out. It doesn’t take long, “Yeah, well, that’s great, Princess. What about Flashdance? You flaunted his ass in front of me at every turn. You might as well have been fucking him, you were with him so much,” he seethes.

  I deserve that, I know I do. I hurt him unnecessarily because I was too lost in my own spiraling out-of-control fears and need to stay away from Deacon. “You’re right, Deacon, and I’m sorry.” Not what he was expecting. “I wasn’t doing it intentionally though. He was never a threat to you or us, and that made me get a little too comfortable, and for that I’m sorry.” Getting this off my chest is actually a relief. I didn’t like who I was when Deacon and I were apart, I wasn’t myself. I was a coward, weak, and I wasn’t raised to be either of those things. I’m a fighter too. I just lost my way. “I was lonely and
scared and hurt and I reacted badly, but I never took it farther than anything you had to witness.” My voice hitches on a little sob as I swallow past the tears clogging my throat. “I guess that’s where we’re different. You say I belong to you, that I’m yours, and I believe it.” In a voice thick with emotion and raspy to the point of being hoarse, I ask him a question that a week ago, hell, ten minutes ago, would never have crossed my mind. “This ring, this promise, was it a lie? Something you gave me out of obligation because I’m having your baby?” I look down at my finger twirling the ring around over and over. The thought of that being true obliterating my very being. “No. Love shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t hurt so much, burn your soul. That’s not the kind of love I want.”

  He wants a fight to make himself feel better about what he did, but I don’t have it in me to give it to him. Placing the phone down, I quietly walk out of his office and out of his house with Reggie and Trent scrambling up off the couch to catch up with me.

  My head hung down in shame, I don’t even bother calling after her or try to stop her. We both need a minute, and honestly, I have nothing. No excuses, no defense, no sweet words to soften the blow. How much can we possibly put each other through before it’s enough? Not for me—there’s no limit for me—but for her. She’s cautious about a relationship with me, and she has every right to be. Picking up the phone in disgust, I pocket it and stride into my room just as Mav walks in.

  “Yo, what the fuck? Why was the Princess crying? You better not be stressing her out, little brother. It’s not good for her and the baby, especially after Drew knocked her around and all that shit she went through.” His eyebrows are raised in warning.

  Fuck! What else can I possibly fuck up today? “Is she downstairs?” I ask as I head that way to check on her.

  “Nah, man. She left. Didn’t say a word to any of us, just walked out the front door crying.” His accusing glare isn’t lost on me, but that’s the least of my worries right now.