by Abby Brooks
I’m losing him.
He’s slipping through my fingers.
He was there when I needed him, but now that he needs me, I’m on the other side of the country.
Frank makes a sound, deep in his throat. “You say that now…”
“And I’ll say it tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. You stood by me when I had nothing. When no one else would. When I ran from anyone who tried. Well, now it’s time for me to stand by you.”
There’s a stretch of silence long enough to make me think he hung up. I pull my phone from my ear and glance at the screen. He’s still there, though I’m not sure for how much longer.
I imagine him sitting alone in his apartment. Angry. Lost. Drunk. I wish I could be with him right now. I don’t want to wait until Friday. I need to be in Denver. Now.
When Frank finally responds, cynicism laces his words. “I thought no one could count on you to stick around.”
“Yeah. So did everyone else.”
“So why are you sticking around?”
“Because you’re worth it.” I start pacing, working on a plan, a list of ways to keep him distracted until I can get back to Denver and intervene. “Now do me a favor and get rid of that whiskey. I need you to be sober when you pick me up from the airport on Friday. I promise you, we’ll figure out a way to get through this.”
Though honestly, I don’t know how I’m supposed to help him. I’ve never been the one to hold someone else up and I suspect Frank’s not usually the one to fall. I end the call and race inside, desperate to figure out what to do next.
Tessa and Colton look up when I burst into the living room, twin looks of surprise on their faces. I explain what happened and Colton frowns.
“Don’t you think it’s a bad sign that this guy hits one little bump in the road and falls off the wagon?”
“You don’t know Frank,” I say.
“And you do? After two whole months?”
“Yes.” I place as much emphasis on the word as I can and then explain all the reasons I’m falling in love with Frank. His kindness. His intelligence. His humor. His willingness to stand by me when anyone else would have walked away.
Colton shakes his head. “But how do you know any of that is who he really is? It’s easy to be amazing when you have everything going for you. Maybe you’re about to meet the real him.”
My heart rejects the thought outright. “Frank is a good man.”
“Maybe he is. But it also sounds like he’s an alcoholic who’s still in denial.”
“He’s not in denial.” I begin to explain his one-drink limit but stop. Even I can hear how silly it all sounds. If Frank had everything under control, then he wouldn’t be drunk right now.
A battle begins between my heart and my mind as I digest the conversation.
“What are you going to do?” Tessa asks, her hand on mine.
“My flight’s in two days. I’m going back to Denver and I’m going to support him through this.”
Colton rolls his eyes. “Are you sure that’s the best decision?”
“I’m only here because of Frank. If it weren’t for all the good advice he had for me, I’d be hiding in Denver, nursing my wounds so hard I tore them open again. Whatever he’s going through, I owe it to him to be there.”
Frank
I end the call with Sarah feeling worse than I did before I spoke to her, which is a first and one more giant fuck you in a day full of fuck yous. Talking to Sarah always makes me feel better. Tonight though, there was too much pity in her voice. Too much worry.
“I’m not the one who needs saving,” I mumble as I pour myself another glass of whiskey. “I’m the one who does the saving.”
Sarah told me to get rid of the liquor.
She didn’t tell me how.
Might as well finish the bottle while I can.
I bring the glass to my lips and survey the wreckage of my apartment. The contents of the box from the office are scattered across the floor. I tried to fit everything onto a shelf here in the living room, but there wasn’t enough space. The things I did manage to find a place for looked so wrong sitting next to the things I keep at home. They reminded me of a life that’s no longer mine. In a fit, I pulled it all down.
All of it.
The things from the office.
The things already on the shelf.
The shelf itself.
A pizza box sits open on the counter, crusts strewn across the lid. Next to it, a half-empty two-liter of Diet Coke. And beside that, one open bottle of Jameson and two more, yet to be opened. It’s been so long since I’ve had more than one drink and it’s all gone straight to my head. I snort, realizing I’m a lightweight.
A knock startles me and I spin, scowling at the front door. I don’t remember ordering any more food, but drunk Frank does love to eat. The room tilts on its axis as I find my way to the door and throw it open. A lightning bolt of rage stabs through me when I see Bree standing there in her work clothes, wringing her hands and chewing her bottom lip.
“The fuck are you doing here?” I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re not welcome in my home,” I say as I start to swing the door closed.
Bree steps forward. “Frank, wait,” she says, and stupid me, I pause just long enough for Bree to push past me, right into my apartment. “I came to apologize.” Her eyes find the mess on the floor and she scowls. “You have to believe me when I say that I had no intention of getting you fired.”
How could she possibly think I want anything to do with her after what she’s done? I should have slammed the door in her face as soon as I opened it. “How are you even here right now?”
Bree shrugs. “There aren’t that many Francis Wildes out there. It was easy to find your address.”
“That’s not what I was asking. What I mean is, how are you even here right now?” I know I’m repeating myself, but I don’t think I could be clearer if I tried. “I mean, what’s going on in that weird little brain of yours that would make you think I ever want to see you again?”
She steps toward me. “I came to apologize…”
“Good God woman!” I widen my eyes, spittle flying from my lips as I speak. I wipe at my chin. “How crazy do you have to be? I can’t imagine I could have been more direct about my feelings for you!”
Her eyes dart to the glass in my hand. The bottles on the counter. Understanding dawns in her eyes, but she continues on, undeterred. “I just want to apologize. This didn’t work out the way I thought it would.”
“And just what did you think would happen? You’d get Sarah out of my life and then waltz right in? How many screws do you have loose up there?” I point a finger at my temple, then take a wobbly drink.
“Frank…” Bree puts her hands on my chest and I lurch backwards.
“I’ve tried being patient. I’ve tried being professional. I’ve tried being understanding. But now that we don’t have to work together, I’m done trying.” I set my glass on the counter and fold my arms across my chest. “There’s nothing between us, Bree. Nothing. Never was. Never will be. How can you not understand that? Any sane person would have gotten the hint by now because God knows I’ve not been subtle.”
Bree steps toward me. “Please. Just listen to me.” She grips my arms and steps even closer, her body touching mine. The contact repulses me, but damn it, I will not put my hands on her.
I step out of her grasp. “No. You listen to me. Get the fuck out of my house.”
Damn if the woman doesn’t try to close the gap again. “Frank…”
“Go!” I point at the door, but the crazy bitch isn’t listening.
“I can’t just leave without finding out what it feels like to have you…” She puts her hands on me again and finally, I push her back. She stumbles, her ankle twisting in her high heels. One shoe flies off and she cries out but catches her balance before she falls.
I thunder past her and yank open the front door. “Out! Now!” I cry as I shove her
over the threshold. “Do not come back. Do not contact me again. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Oh, and I’m calling the police!” I scream as I slam the door in her crazy face.
Sarah
I text Frank the moment my flight lands. He responds to tell me he’s waiting at baggage claim. His words are curt. Informational. There’s no hint that he’s excited to see me. No hint as to how he’s feeling. No hint as to whether or not he’s sober.
Except I know he’s sober.
He has to be.
He drove here and Frank isn’t the kind of person to get behind the wheel while he’s intoxicated.
I hurry through the airport, desperate to see him, but my heart drops when I do. His hair, normally perfectly messy, is an actual total disaster. His beard has grown way past five o’clock shadow. His face is strained, and his eyes are bloodshot, but he smiles when he sees me, wrapping me in a tight hug.
“You really do bring me joy,” he says, his breath whispering past my ear. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you again.”
I inhale, checking his breath for any hint of alcohol and am relieved to find nothing but mint. I melt into him, the familiar planes of his body feeling more like home than Brookside. “I missed you, too.”
We hold hands through the airport and then again on the drive back to his apartment. He asks me about my father and I give him the last two days’ worth of information. I want to talk about him, but every time I try, he changes the subject.
“I overslept,” he says as he fits the keys into the lock on his front door. “And didn’t get to clean up before I left.”
I’ve never seen Frank’s apartment look anything but spic and span, save some unopened mail or the remnants of his morning coffee left on the counter. But, I’ve never seen Frank himself look anything but spic and span, and the man in front of me is a disheveled mess. “It’s fine,” I say, though the moment I step through the door, I pause.
This is not fine. This is the remnants of a breakdown. Or the beginning of one, whispers a horrified voice in the back of my head.
Books cover the floors with pictures, knickknacks, and the shelves they sat on thrown in for good measure. Remnants of a pizza sit in a box on the counter, half-eaten pieces of crust strewn around the inside. An empty bottle of Jameson lies on its side on the coffee table, which is sitting at an odd angle to the couch, and two more bottles, one opened, the other still full, stand like sentinels near the trash. I turn to Frank who runs a hand along his mouth, the stubble scratching across his skin.
“It wasn’t a good couple days.”
“I’d say not.” I step close to Frank and run my hands up his arms, my gaze locked on his. “You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” He rolls his bloodshot eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
There’s actually quite a lot to talk about, but I take a page from his book and don’t push. “Okay. But when you’re ready, I’m here.” I smile and Frank turns away.
I doubt he’s been sober very much in the last couple days and sadness settles in my heart. In my head, he was impenetrable. An almost inhuman example of how to live life. Seeing him like this is like watching a hero fall. Graceless. Disappointing. Disheartening.
It feels like I’m standing next to a stranger. My Frank would swoop me into his arms, kiss me like I’m oxygen and he’s starving for air, then drag me into the bedroom while telling me how much he missed me. This Frank can barely maintain eye contact. “You wanna take a nap?” I ask.
“Nah.” He scrunches up his nose and runs a hand into his hair. “Guess I should probably start cleaning up this mess.” He bends to grab a book off the floor, then stares at it like he’s never seen it before. “I didn’t drink all of it,” he says, indicating the bottles near the trash. “I started to, but I got control of myself before I went through with it.”
“Good.” I smile, eager to find something positive to focus on, then crouch to start picking stuff off the floor. What he needs is action. He needs his apartment back in order, so we can start working on a plan.
Frank snorts. “Good, huh? You telling me I’ve been a good boy for kind of doing what you told me to do?” His words are caustic and the look in his eyes tells me he intended them to hurt. I furrow my brow and refocus my efforts on cleaning up. There’s no telling how long he’s been sober, though I’d venture to guess not long. He’s definitely hungover and probably feels like shit. I can handle some mean words while he’s working all this out. If the tables were turned, Frank would stick by me until I got myself under control.
“Is there any place you’d like me to put this stuff?” I hold out the things I’ve gathered from the floor. I don’t bother to smile. He’s not looking at me anyway.
Frank drops onto the couch. “I’m kinda partial to where I had it.”
I glance at the space on the wall where the shelf used to be, only to remember the shelf itself is on the floor. “Well, the shelf is broken, so I don’t think this stuff will go back…”
“I mean the floor, Sarah. Just put it back on the floor.” Frank drops his head on the back of the couch and closes his eyes.
I take a long breath as hurt rolls through me. With anyone else, that would be my cue to leave, and leave permanently. I’d be gone faster than he could blink. And part of me is ready to go. Of all the people in the world, I never expected Frank to treat me this way. I thought he was better than this.
He is better than this.
This isn’t him.
This is the alcohol talking.
I glance at him and watch as his features soften, the stress between his eyes melting away as he loses his grip on consciousness. Looks like maybe that nap is happening after all. I tiptoe, quiet as I can, and gather a handful of stuff into a pile. Maybe, if his apartment looks more like the way he’s used to when he wakes up, it’ll help him feel more like himself.
“I told you to leave it.”
Frank’s voice startles me and I whirl, then trip over something and fall to the floor, only to find a woman’s high heel shoe staring me in the face.
The dumbest question in all the world falls from my lips. “What’s this?” I ask, even though I know exactly what it is.
“What’s what?” Frank shifts forward so he’s perching on the edge of the couch and drops his head in his hands.
I pinch the shoe between my thumb and forefinger, as if the material might burn me. “This.” I hold it out for him to see as panic spins, hollow and empty, throughout my body.
Frank’s lips part.
His eyes go wide.
He shakes his head.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“It looks like a woman’s shoe.”
“It is a woman’s shoe.”
“Then it’s exactly what it looks like. Please, Frank. Please explain how this is anything but exactly what it looks like.” I stand. Images of Frank and the owner of this shoe burn through my brain.
His hands in her hair.
Her mouth on his skin.
The two of them, frenzied, knocking the shelf off the wall in their passion.
I drop the thing and put a hand to my heart. “Frank…?”
It feels like my insides are curling up and drying out. Like everything that was right with the world is now shriveling up and dying. My life was blooming after a long, harsh winter. Tender shoots of growth breaking through the cold ground.
And now…this.
A blast of frigid air shocks my system and my hand starts to tremble in front of me.
“Bree came over—”
“Bree?” I brace myself on the wall.
Frank stands and crosses the space between us in just a few long strides. “Sarah…”
“Bree?” I press a hand against my stomach and draw my brows together.
Frank’s gaze pins me in place. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“You keep saying that but then not saying anything to help me understand what it
really is.” I cannot, not even for a second, wrap my mind around Frank sleeping with someone else while I was gone. It’s not the kind of man he is.
But Bree?
There’s just no way.
There has to be a logical explanation for her shoe to be in his living room. There has to be. I wait for him to tell me, fighting back panic riding in on wave after wave of nausea.
Frank’s eyes darken. “You know what? Fuck it. You won’t believe me if I tell you the truth. You’ve already decided that I’ve slept with her. Or…” His eyes go wide before he narrows them. “You’re just looking for a reason to leave me. Now that I have nothing to offer you, why would someone like you stay?”
I open my mouth to respond, but the words get caught by the giant lump in my throat. Someone like me? What’s that even mean? I’ve been nothing but good to him. And sure, I’ve shared my past, and yes, I deserve to be judged. Hell, I judge myself. But is it fair of him to judge me off of those stories when I’ve been different with him? Even after my brother warned me that I might not know the real Frank, I’m still here because I’m willing to judge him off the man I know, not the man he used to be.
Frank glares. “That’s it, isn’t it? You, the woman who wouldn’t go to her own brother’s wedding, the woman whose best friend knows the only thing you can count on her to do is let everyone down…God!” He rakes his hands into his hair. “It makes so much sense now. I thought you were falling in love with me. But you were using me, weren’t you? And now that I have nothing to give you, you’re going to create some big drama over something, regardless of the very reasonable explanation I have.”
I hold out my hands in exasperation. “But you’ve never even given me the explanation!” Was I wrong? Is he still drunk? That’s the only thing that makes sense right now. Frank is too rational to behave this way.
He pinches his brow, then runs his hand along the back of his neck. “I can’t fucking deal with this right now. My head is throbbing and I can’t remember the last time I ate anything but a pizza crust.”
“How am I the bad guy here? Please just tell me what’s going on.”
