Fault Lines

by Rebecca Shea

  I hear him mumble something under his breath, but he walks away. This time, he’s the one running .

  * * *

  C arter brought me home and for the last two hours I've been peeking out the front window, hoping to see Cole's Jeep parked across the street in his driveway. He still hasn't returned home and my heart thrums nervously as I wonder where he's at and if he's okay .

  It's six in the morning and sleep won't come to me, so I decide to throw on my workout clothes and tennis shoes and go for a run. I hit the pavement with one goal in mind…to clear my head. I warm up with a slow jog, but before long I'm at a full sprint. My legs move quickly, carrying me across the old concrete streets of Crescent Ridge. I run past The Fault Line Bar and Grill and thoughts of Ted and the whole fucked up situation last night make me nauseous. I wonder for a moment if Ted is still in town, but knowing him, after getting his ass beat he's back in Los Angeles tending to his bruised ego and his broken nose .

  I slow down my pace as my heart beats wildly in my chest and I finally come to a stop, resting my hands on my knees as I bend over trying to catch my breath. My ponytail hangs over my shoulder and sweat drips off my nose and onto the pavement. My ears sting from the cool morning air and I take deep breaths of it, feeling the sting deep in my lungs .

  I hear a car pull up next to me before I hear Cole's voice. "Get in," he orders .

  Frowning, I stand up and look over at him. He's still in the same clothes as last night and looks as though he hasn't slept either. Swallowing hard, I press my hands into my hips and take in the beautiful sight of him .

  Thick forearms grip the steering wheel as he waits for me to move, and I wonder how our worlds could be turned upside down so many times and if we'll ever be able to get beyond our past .

  He rubs his eyes slowly with the heel of his palms as he patiently waits for me. I hesitate only because I’m angry at him for walking away last night, but I've never feared Cole. My feet finally move and I pull the handle on the Jeep and step up into the passenger seat. He takes off before I even have time to buckle my seat belt .

  We drive in silence for about twenty minutes, out past the edge of town to a secluded, wooded area. I remember camping out here once as a teen with Cole and Carter and some of the other kids from high school .

  "What are we doing here?" I ask when he finally kills the engine. I can tell his mood has shifted back to something more resolute and less angry. I find this an odd place to bring me as my eyes search for any reason he'd bring me here .

  He shrugs and rubs his cheek. "Used to come here after you left, just to think or get drunk." He turns and looks at me. "Never felt right going back to the fault line without you, but this place kind of reminded me of it so this is where I'd come ."

  "I shouldn't have cut you off last night, Frankie," he starts, clearing his throat. "I want you to finish, you deserve my attention, just as you gave me yours. I won't interrupt you this time ."

  For some reason, probably the lack of sleep, or maybe talking about our past and the deepest, saddest secret I've ever held on to…something inside me breaks. My anxiety is at an all-time high and I literally lose it. Burying my face in my hands, I sob. My entire body shakes and I struggle to catch my breath .

  "Hey, hey…" I feel Cole's hand on my shoulder. It's gentle and comforting, but I can't stop the flood of tears. "Talk to me," he says as I wipe my tears with the back of my hand. "Finish your story ."

  It takes me a minute to gain my composure, but I nod and swallow back the large lump in my throat. With a staggered breath, I continue where I left off last night .

  "I accepted the open adoption as it was proposed by Ashley's parents." I turn to look at Cole as he sits somberly, chewing on his bottom lip. "It was the best option for all of us," I tell him weakly. I will always regret not telling him about being pregnant, for allowing him a voice in my decision, but I was so broken and lonely and simply…scared .

  "Was it a boy or a girl?" he asks, his voice cracking .

  I turn my body to face him. "A girl ."

  He closes his eyes and his head drops back against the headrest. His fingers grip the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white .

  My voice wavers with emotion as I speak. "She was born on December twenty-seventh, over the holiday break of my sophomore year. She was a week early. She weighed five pounds, ten ounces. She was tiny and beautiful…and perfect," I barely manage to choke out. "I'll never forget her tiny pink face, even though she was so small her cheeks were full and round. The love I felt for our little girl is what got me through the worst time of my life—knowing I was making the right decision for her—for us ."

  Tears flow freely from Cole's eyes and down his cheeks. He turns his head and opens his eyes, looking at me through his tears. "They were with you at the birth ?"

  I shake my head and clear my throat. "They were at the hospital, but I was alone for the birth. I needed to do that alone and I needed those moments right after birth with her and only her. I held her for an hour, that's it." My shoulders shake violently as I begin to crumble completely, remembering my daughter’s perfect little nose, fingers, toes, arms…and those bright blue eyes that perfectly matched Cole’s .

  I can barely get out the next words. "I held her hand and promised her this was what was best for her…that the Whites would give her the life we couldn't ."

  Cole cries openly. It's something I've never seen from him…ever. He hits his fist against the steering wheel and I decide to give him a moment alone. I step out of the Jeep and walk toward the tree line. There's a large tree that's fallen over and I head toward it, taking a seat on it once I reach it .

  I give him his space to deal with his emotions, as I've had ten years to deal with mine. Opening this wound was painful, and he may never forgive me for the choices I made—but for the sake of all involved, I did what I felt was best .

  Both of us mourn the obvious—our baby, but there was so much loss between us ten years ago, I wonder if we'll ever recover. I'll never get over letting her go, but there is peace and comfort in knowing she's safe, she's loved, and she's happy .

  After a few minutes, Cole slides out of the driver’s seat and walks around to the front of his Jeep. He leans against the hood and stares at me. While I'll never understand exactly what he's feeling, I have a pretty good idea of what he's going through. All I can do is ask for his forgiveness, just as he asked of me .

  I push myself up on wobbly legs and walk through the thick grass over to Cole. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets and his beautiful jaw ticks as I stop in front of him .

  "I'm sorry, Cole," I barely manage above a whisper. "You deserved better and you deserved to know ."

  He shakes his head and looks down at the ground where we stand toe-to-toe. He sounds so broken, I almost can’t take it. "I'm the one that's sorry. I shouldn't have lied to you. I should’ve been there for you—I should’ve been a better man — "

  I interrupt him. "We were kids, Cole. There are so many things I think we both wish we could take back ."

  He nods and looks up at me. His voice trembles when he speaks. "You deserve better, Frankie. You always did …"

  His words feel like a goodbye. My heart races and blood rushes through me, fogging my hearing. This is how we will end. This is how we will crumble and dissolve, and my heart drops to my stomach. I can’t go through this again. I can’t lose him again .

  "I think we both bear the fault lines for the hurt between us," I say, looking up into his blue eyes .

  "I have a million more questions, Frankie. But right now I just need to digest all of this." He looks away from me and back toward the road we came in on. "Come on, I'll take you home." He pushes himself off the hood of the Jeep and walks over to the passe
nger door, opening it for me .

  Cole isn't in a rush to get home. He drives slowly, lost in his thoughts. As he pulls onto our street and parks in his driveway, he turns to look at me. Something unspoken passes between us—an understanding, or maybe a goodbye. We both step down from the Jeep at the same time and meet behind it at the end of his driveway .

  "Bye, Cole." I barely manage to say, not sure if it's temporary or not. All I know is my heart feels like it's breaking into a million little pieces. This feels like the end—and while my heart is breaking, a sense of peace is also present. There are no more secrets. There are no more lies between us. Whether I ever see Cole again or not, one thing is certain—we're both living in the truth .

  "Bye, Frankie ."

  And just like that, he saunters up his driveway, onto his front porch, and through the front door—not once looking back at me .

  Twenty-Three

  W hen I finally wake up, it's seven o'clock in the evening and my head is pounding to the beat of my pulse. I grumble and push myself out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom. Two Tylenol and a hot shower is exactly what I need right now .

  I swallow down two capsules and step into the warm spray. As the hot water stings my face, I inhale the steam and let it burn my lungs. My stomach turns when I think about my child, my own flesh and blood, and Frankie keeping that from me. I draw in a deep breath and pinch my eyes closed as I envision what my little girl might look like, what she might be into these days, if she plays sports, if she loves music. Does she have my eyes and Frankie’s dark hair? Does she have Frankie’s fighting spirit? So many things roll around in my mind .

  Yesterday I was filled with anger and hurt, and today I'm just numb. I believe everything Frankie told me. I could see her pain written across her face as she recounted the decisions she made based upon her life in those moments .

  To think about how life may have turned out had I not gone through with my plan to push Frankie away…I can’t even think about it; it makes me fucking sick to my stomach. Is there a feeling deeper than regret? Because regret doesn't seem to even touch how I'm feeling for the part I played in all of this .

  Feeling lower than I’ve ever felt in my life, I finish my shower and throw on some clothes before heading over to the shop. Planning to lose myself in Jack Vanderbilt’s vehicle is a much better choice than what I used to lose myself in—booze and pussy .

  When I get to the shop, Carter's truck is parked at the curb and the exterior lights shine bright against the dark sky. Carter has gotten good at reading my mood over the years, and with my current state of mind, I fully expect him to leave me the fuck alone .

  When I push the door open and step into the large garage, I find Carter standing next to a rolling cart, holding a laptop. He does this when parts start coming in for restoration vehicles, ensuring every part ordered is correct. This is how we keep inventory and maintain accurate records of every part ordered for the vehicles we're restoring. Carter has always been the one to maintain organization in this place. I've always been the creative mind, the chaos, while he keeps the ship afloat .

  He looks up from the computer, giving me a onceover. His face hardens yet he says nothing, just as I expected. I toss my sweatshirt on the chair and push the power button on the car lift. As Vanderbilt's car rises, I mentally break down where we'll start with this thing .

  I run my fingers over the rusted muffler, feeling the old, rough metal under my fingertips. As I poke around under the car, I can see Carter powering down the computer and beginning to stock parts that have come in. He works quietly while I make noise. That's just how we work .

  Hours pass when I finally see him shrug on his jacket and toss the last cardboard box he's unloaded over in the corner. He walks over slowly, resting both of his hands on side panel of the Corvette I'm still standing under. "You know, this car has seen better days." He runs the palm of his hand over the large dent in the door. "When it was new, it used to be perfect." His eyes almost smile as he looks over the car. "But like everything else in life, wear and tear and abuse beat it down ."

  I stop poking at the lines underneath and prop my hands on my hips, wondering where he’s going with this .

  "Sometimes we get cars with a history so bad I wonder if we'll ever get it back to its original condition." I narrow my eyes as he builds on his story. "And then I remember, we don't want it to be new. These cars have a history, and stories, and we're taking away all of the outside damage to make it look new, and work like new—but we can't erase that car’s history ."

  He clears his throat and his hands fall to his sides. "Kind of like you and Frankie ."

  Resentment burns inside me as he speaks of us. I clench my jaw, my heart squeezing in my chest at the sound of her name .

  "Back in the day, you two were perfect." He looks down at his feet, avoiding my death glare. "But then wear and tear happened…nothing that can't be restored. Pull off the damaged pieces and start building a new relationship. The history will always be there—you don't get to erase that—but you can put it back together better than it was." He raises his head to look at me. His eyes hold mine and I swallow hard against my dry throat .

  "Don't let this destroy you two," he says quietly before turning around and grabbing his car keys off the rolling cart. "Just like you, Cole, she deserves a second chance, too." He pushes the shop door open and steps outside. I hear the click of the lock moments before I hear his old truck roar to life. Fucking Carter Richardson, always dropping wisdom when I least expect it .

  * * *

  T he past week has been a time of reflection and mourning for me. I haven't spoken to Frankie since that night a week ago. I see her come and go, and a few days ago she had Maggie return the key I gave her to the old thrift store. She assumes that I want it back. I don't. It's hers. It always will be .

  I hate to admit it, but I've learned that there is nothing that time can't or won't heal—it's about learning to let go of the past and not becoming a hostage to it. The last ten years I've been a hostage to the choices I made that led to Frankie making choices that have held her hostage. We've been in an endless cycle of living our present based on consequences of the past .

  I'm done with that .

  Two days ago, I placed a lumber order, printed the building plans off my computer, and hired a construction crew to help me with one goal in mind—tear down the past and rebuild the future .

  So here I stand, on a Saturday morning at seven o'clock, with two cups of coffee, a sledgehammer, and a plan. The old front porch is flimsy and it takes only a couple of swings for the sledgehammer to bring the entire damn thing down. A part of me hurts watching an important part of my past descend into a pile of rubble, while another part of me understands that letting the past go is critical to building a future .

  Frankie and Faith stand in the large picture window, each juggling a mug in their hands while watching the crew work with a look of confusion on their faces. Faith looks pissed and Frankie looks…sad. I cleared the demolition and construction with Martha a long time ago; I just didn't have the heart to let go before now .

  Ten minutes later, Frankie rounds the corner of the house all bundled up in a large cream sweater. Her hair is piled on top of her head and a few loose strands hang down, framing her perfect face. Her bright blue eyes shine in the morning sun .

  "What the hell are you doing?" she yells over the sounds of saws and hammers .

  "What I should’ve done a long time ago." I turn and look at the pile of old wood sitting in a large construction dumpster. "Letting go of the past." I manage to say without getting emotional. I'm tucking those memories deep inside my heart. I'll never forget the days and nights Frankie and I spent sitting on this porch—every conversation we had here, and every dream we conveyed to each other. I'll carry those memories, and also the pain of some of those memori
es, with me forever. However, I decided it's time to focus on moving forward .

  Frankie tilts her head and narrows her eyes at me as I begin to speak. "If you thought for a single second I was going to walk away after getting you back, you are sorely mistaken ."

  I toss the sledgehammer onto the frost-covered ground and hold Frankie's gaze. "I needed to take some time to process everything." I look away from her and to the ground where I kick at the brown lawn. "I needed to think about how my choices and decisions impacted yours." I look back to her. "And I needed time to get my head put back together ."

  Frankie shivers and rubs her arms with her hands. She pulls her lips in between her teeth as she watches me .

  "I'm sorry," I tell her. I seem to always be apologizing. "I don't know that I'll ever agree with the decision you made, but I do understand why you did it ."

  I see tears forming in the corner of her eyes and her chin trembles .

  My voice grows hoarse with emotion as I tell her, "It's time for us to move forward, Frankie…if you still want me ."

  The tears that were pooling in her eyes finally spill over and she lunges forward, colliding with my chest. Her arms wrap tightly around my neck and I pull her closer, breathing in the scent of her. She smells like coconut and coffee, and while our story is far from perfect, it's also far from over .

  "I love you, Frankie," I whisper against the top of her head .

  "I love you, too." I hear her say as the final piece of our past is loaded into the dumpster and driven away .

  Twenty-Four

  One Month Later

  I walk the perimeter of the vacant building Cole gave me, pointing out ideas with the construction foreman of what I'd like to do to transform the space. I have an entire vision board with pinned transformation ideas incorporating the brick industrial feel of the building, along with modern office conveniences. While these ideas are far from final, I want his expert opinion on whether they’re feasible within the space we have before I have an architect draft up the plans .