That One Day (That One #1.5) (22 page)

When she turns away, I take ahold of her arm, desperate to keep her from running away. She yanks it away, as if I’ve burned her, and then dashes for the stairs.

It takes me a few seconds to react. The magnitude of what just went down has me rooted to the spot. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I should have told her from the start. Then maybe things wouldn’t be such a fucked-up disaster.

I need to set things straight. Need to let her in. I need to finally tell her the truth and hope I can salvage what’s broken.

Taking two steps at a time, I go after her, but she’s already at the door.

“Frankie, wait!”

Instead of stopping and listening, she speeds up. I follow outside, but she’s already in her car pulling out of the driveway.

“Frankie, stop!” I yell so loud it hurts my own ears, but she’s driving down the road and away from me.

I rush back into the house where everyone is looking at me open-mouthed. Even Archer has stopped playing and is watching all of us.

I ignore everyone and rush upstairs, snatching my phone from the dresser where I left it when she walked in. I hit dial before I even make it out into the hallway, but Frankie isn’t picking up. I hang up and try again, and follow up with a few text messages.

“What happened?” Dean asks, when I get back to the kitchen.

“A fucking misunderstanding went as fucking bad as it possibly could. And she isn’t picking up the phone.” I slam my fist onto the countertop with a loud thud, startling Archer in the process and making him whimper.

Walking over to him, I crouch down in front of his playpen. “Sorry, Archer. Daddy is just worried about Mommy, okay?” I hold his tiny hand, but have a hard time keeping my emotions at bay.

I turn around when I hear Dean speak. “She’s not picking up for me, either.”

“Fuck,” I swear and get up, running my hands through my hair, tugging at it in exasperation.

Mrs. Walsh stands up, taking Archer in her arms.

“I’ll give the little man a bath while you figure out what to do. All of the agitation in here is making him nervous.”

I nod at her and begin to pace back and forth through the living room, already busy dialing Frankie’s number again.

“Pick up, Frankie. Dammit.” I hurl the phone onto the couch when my call goes to voicemail again. Desperation is clouding my thoughts. I can’t think straight anymore. “I need to find her.”

“And where do you want to start looking, Ben?” Alex asks me, his voice calm and collected. “She could be anywhere. You need to calm down first.”

“I can’t fucking calm down, okay? She’s out there. It’s getting dark. It’s cold and she’s upset. She shouldn’t be driving like this.”

“Maybe if you wouldn’t have kept things from her, this wouldn’t have happened?” Dean says, his eyebrows raised, arms crossed.

“Do you think I don’t fucking know that. I know it’s all my fault,” I grind out through clenched teeth.

“Stop it, both of you. It doesn’t matter whose fault it is. We need to figure out where Frankie went.”

Alex walks past me and sits down at the edge of the armchair. A quick phone call to Vince tells us where Frankie isn’t.

Now I have a bit of an idea how she felt when I took off into the woods, though the conversation then wasn’t half as fucked-up as the one we had today.

“Can we call the cops?” I ask into the silence that has fallen over the room.

Alex shakes his head. “No. She hasn’t been gone long enough. She ran off because you had a fight. It’s not like she just disappeared.”

I look to Dean because I have no idea where to look for her, what to do other than comb the streets for her car.

Dean is still sitting in the armchair, tapping the phone to his chin, his eyes closed like he’s deep in thought.

“There are a few places she could be.” He opens his eyes. “But if she wanted to find some balance, she would have gone to this old cemetery in Amherst. She tends to go there for walks or to meditate.”

“Where is it?”

He explains to me how to get there and two minutes later I’m out the door with the keys to his car in hand. I’m breaking every speed limit in my need to find Frankie. I need to make things right. If I had the ability, I’d kick myself in the balls. I fucked things up, more than I ever thought possible. Not only did I hurt her when I left, but now she’s hurting again—courtesy of me.

With every passing mile, my worry for her grows, but so does the anger at her for taking off like that. She could have kicked me out, she could have thrown things at me, but to just run away while we’re all worried about her pisses me off. And yes, the irony of it doesn’t escape me. I got a taste of my own medicine and it’s revolting.

When I pull into the parking lot of Wildwood Cemetery, I easily spot her car and a big sigh escapes me. At least I know she didn’t crash it somewhere. Quickly pulling out my phone, I shoot a text to Dean to let him know I found her.

I get out and hurry through the gates, following Dean’s directions, but the cemetery is a huge maze. I have a hard time orienting myself and the darkness isn’t helping.

I start walking, past tombstones, old trees, and fields, but Frankie is nowhere in sight. Frustration is slowly crawling up my spine and it takes all my self-restraint not to stop in the middle of the damn path and shout Frankie’s name.

I turn corner after corner, slowly giving up hope that I’ll find her, or that I’ll find my way back to the parking lot, when I spot Frankie sitting on a bench. She keeps staring into space until my footsteps alert her that she isn’t alone any longer.

I pick up my pace and make my way over to her with long, determined strides. Now that I know she’s okay, the anger about her taking off bubbles to the surface and I struggle to keep it contained.

“You can’t just run off like that, Frankie. We were worried sick.”

“Funny coming from you.” Sarcasm drips from her every word and her face contorts into an angry mask again.

Trying to calm myself down, I breathe in and out a few times, sitting down next to her.

“How did you find me?”

“After we called Vince and you weren’t there, Dean suggested this place. He said you like to come here to think, to recharge your batteries. It’s a maze; I’ve been wandering around for the past twenty minutes trying to find this spot.”

She takes in a ragged breath. “Maybe I didn’t want to be found.” She pauses and I’m about to reply, to try to explain things, when she speaks again.

“Do you have any idea what it felt like? Waking up alone?” Pain pours out of her with every word. “I wasn’t even worth an explanation. It tore my fucking heart apart, Ben. And just when I was starting to let you in, you did it again.”

I try to come up with the right words, find a way to explain, but she again beats me to it.

“I’m done, Ben. I’m done talking. I’m done listening. I’m done caring. I can’t fall apart again. Archer needs me.”

I’d love to take her in my arms, to tell her everything will be all right, but her posture is rigid. It couldn’t be any more unwelcoming if she had barbed wire wrapped around herself. Misunderstanding my silence, she gets up, ready to walk off. I know this is my last chance. This is it—either I tell her or I lose her.

I have a hard time getting the words out. It was hard enough to speak them to Allie and Jake, who were practically strangers, but speaking them to someone who’s known me all my life, someone I care about, someone I love, is so much harder.

“It was my dad.”

“What? What are you talking about now, Ben?”

I stare down at my hands, wringing them together in my lap and sigh. “I was on the phone with my father.”

“Oh, come on, Ben. This is ridiculous. Why would you be hiding conversations with your father from me? And why would you have to tell me about him? I know him. I grew up next door, remember? This is complete bullshit.” She’s louder, her voice hard. I’m not doing a good job explaining myself.

It takes so much effort to say it, to face all those emotions again.

“Not Ron. My real dad.”

I can feel her body turn toward me. She’s silently watching me. I don’t say anything, just stare off into the distance, preparing myself for the explanations that will be even more difficult to make.

When she speaks, her voice is softer. “Ben, what do you mean?”

“Ron is not my real father. It was all a lie. That’s why I left—I wanted to know who my father is.”

The memories of that one day that changed everything flood back into my mind. The letter, my mother’s admission, her betrayal. If I weren’t already sitting, it would bring me down to my knees.

Frankie’s hand on my arm brings me back to the here and now. I shake my head, dispelling all the memories, and focus on Frankie instead. It’s cold as fuck and she’s been sitting here for about an hour. She’s shaking and her teeth are chattering.

“Let’s go somewhere and talk. You’re freezing.”

We walk back to the car in silence, both of us digesting the past couple hours.

Once we’re in Dean’s car, I turn on the heat to warm her up, then I lean back in the seat and run my fingers through my hair and down my face, mentally preparing myself for the conversation to come.

I don’t know where or how to begin, but Frankie makes it easier on me by breaking the silence.

“I shouldn’t have taken off like that.”

I chuckle at the irony of her words. I should be the one apologizing since I started all the drama in the first place. She deserves an apology and so much more. It’s about time she knows the truth; she needs to know how sorry I am. It’s up to her to decide if she gives me another chance after I tell her everything.

“Me neither, Frankie.” I take a breath to steady my shaky voice. “I’m sorry how I left. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I was a mess. My world felt like it was crumbling. The man I considered my father being nothing more than a liar. And my mom not being any better.”

It’s funny how those things don’t get better with time. Time doesn’t heal shit. You don’t just get over it. It still fucking hurts when you realize how alone you really are.

Since I’m lost in my thoughts, I don’t pay attention to Frankie’s movement and am surprised when I suddenly feel her climbing into my lap. She puts her arms around me and lays her head into the crook of my neck.

It’s the single most encouraging thing she could have done in this moment. I hug her back, holding her close to me, as I open up to her.

I tell her everything, starting with the moment I found the letter in the mailbox. How I hoped it would be all a mistake. That I was the wrong Benjamin Gibson. I tell her about confronting my mom and the ugly truth she revealed.

Reliving that afternoon is messing with my head. Despite everything that happened, it still feels like a bad dream.

I need Frankie closer, don’t want any space between us. The warmth of her body, her calm breathing, all ground me and make me feel whole; she makes me feel whole. This gives me the courage to continue.

The memory plays in my head like a bad movie while I recount what happened up to the point where she found me on her parents’ couch.

At the mention of our night together, her body tightens and she makes a stifled sound. I don’t want her to hurt at the memory, and I don’t want to risk her pushing me away, so I tilt her chin up, forcing her to look into my eyes as I say, “That night, Frankie, it meant everything to me. It wasn’t just a fuck. But I wasn’t in a good place. I didn’t know who I was. I was confused and didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. The life I knew turned out to be a lie. The people I trusted the most had betrayed me from the beginning. I was angry and there was no way I could’ve let anyone close—not even you. I wouldn’t have been any good to be around and I needed to meet my dad.”

Her body instantly relaxes, melting back into mine, but there’s still pain in her voice as she’s teetering on the verge of tears. “Why didn’t you say something? You just left a note, Ben.”

I could make something up to make it easier on her, on me. But it’s time I man up and tell her everything—no secrets, no holding back.

“It’s a shit excuse, I know. But I didn’t know what to say. I barely held it together as it was.” Her body starts shaking with quiet, small sobs as I continue, “I couldn’t deal with your feelings. It was hard enough to leave. But I had to leave. I had to figure my shit out.”

“And did you?”

There is no simple answer for that. No black and white, I guess. I place a soft kiss on the top of her head.

“As good as I could, I suppose. I went to Tucson, first seeing the lawyer. He gave me the papers and then he told me where to find my dad. It took me nearly two months to gather the courage to go see him. I was a mess. I basically lived on whiskey. When I didn’t feel angry about my situation, I felt guilty for leaving you the way I did.”

“So you met your dad? What happened? Why didn’t you just tell me about him?”

This is it. The moment of truth. She’ll either run screaming from the car, or she’ll accept my dad with all his issues and the possibility I might end up just like him—being nothing more than a burden to her and Archer. I hug her closer in a sad attempt of keeping her from running away. My heart nearly bursts out of my chest and my mouth is so fucking dry it feels parched. Feeling my unease, Frankie takes my hand and interlaces our fingers.

“When my mom said he was not a good man—what she forgot to mention was that it’s her fault. He lost his mind because of her. I know this sounds dramatic, but he really did. He found out she had an affair with Ron, she left him and took me with her, making up some story to terminate his parental rights.”

Every muscle in my body is tight from the pain the memories bring on and the anticipation of how Frankie will react. I can’t look at her, can’t risk seeing judgment, apprehension, or worse—rejection.

“He…he became so depressed that he never recovered. He’s been in a mental health institution most of the time since. He’s a shell of man, Frankie. I hate my mom for what she did to him, but even then I know his reaction isn’t normal. It’s fucking scary. I’m his son, what if I end up like him? That’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how you would react. I didn’t know if you’d still want me.”

It’s finally out and I’m not sure if I’m relieved or petrified, but I don’t get a chance to think about it because Frankie turns my face. Though my head is turned toward her, I still don’t look at her, don’t make eye contact. I’m too lost in the emotional turmoil the memories and fears bring about.

“Ben, of course I still want you. Your dad isn’t you. Your family isn’t you. This doesn’t define you.” She pauses, giving me a moment to digest her words, then she asks, “Did you talk to your mom about it?”

“No, she had twenty-five years to tell me. She didn’t. She lied to me all my life. Now, I have nothing to say to her. My dad told me everything I need to know. He’s a broken man—all because of her. If not for my grandmother, I would have never even known.”

“I’m sorry, Ben. Sorry this all happened.” She pulls back and I feel her gaze on me. Finally looking into her eyes, I see sympathy and pain, but none of the things I was so scared of. Despite the relief I feel, I need to make sure she knows my biggest fear. It lingers under the surface, waiting to attack.

“I was worried you wouldn’t want to be around me or have me around Archer if you knew my dad was crazy. And I understand if you want me out of your life. Out of Archer’s life.”

Making sure I can’t turn away, she holds my face between her hands, her fingers stroking my cheek.

“Ben, I’m a psychology major. I don’t look down on people because of a mental illness. I don’t look down on your father. I can’t begin to understand how difficult it has to be for him. But no matter what your father’s issues are, they aren’t yours.” The conviction in her eyes and voice leaves no room for doubts. “I want you here, Ben. I need you. And so does Archer. I’ve wanted you for years, and it hasn’t stopped.”

She lends weight to her words when she touches her lips to mine, lingering at first before her kiss turns wild and wanton. She’s not holding back. Her tongue slips into my mouth and her body melts into me. It’s a tangle of tongues and limbs, our breaths mixing and mingling. We’re both lost in the moment where finally nothing stands between us—no past mistakes, no pain, and no secrets. The intimacy of the kiss and Frankie’s body pressed against mine are a testament to the feelings she still has for me and it’s a turn on in more than just one way.

Unless we want to end up fucking in the car in the parking lot of a cemetery—which even for my standards would be highly inappropriate—we need to stop this now. I pull my face away from her an inch or two.

“Whoa. This was…wow,” I say breathlessly. This woman literally takes my breath away. Before we leave the car, there is one more thing she needs to know—the one thing she deserves to hear.

“I’m sorry, babe—for hurting you.” I kiss her gently, not rushing it, not pushing, just a gentle caress with my lips. She gives in even more than before, her muscles loosening, her body leaning into me. The fight and the hesitation are gone.

“I think we should take this slowly—for now at least.” She looks up at me, biting her lip. It’s cute and hot as hell at the same time.

“Not if you keep that up, we ain’t.” I free her lip with my fingers and pull her closer. She snuggles into me and then I hear it again. Something I noticed before when we hugged. She inhales me, my scent, and it’s fucking funny.

“You sniffing me again?”

“Problem with that?” Defiantly, she drags in another breath.

“Not at all, you little weirdo.” I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in a long time.

“Thank you, Frankie. For understanding and not judging my dad or me.”

“You’re welcome,” she whispers, kissing my jaw.