by Haley Jenner
So seeing him here, watching me expectantly, his grey eyes blazing with licentious promise. I’m confused. Guarded, definitely apprehensive, but mostly, I’m incensed. Livid. Fucking furious.
How dare he be here. In my hometown.
How dare he look at me, as he is now, knowing he broke me.
How dare he be so quick to dismiss me as no one, then stand here and look at me as though no one else has ever existed for him. No one but me.
I pull away from his heated gaze, focusing on the split wood of the table. My lungs struggle to expand as I try to pull in a full breath.
“Shit, he is hot,” Annabelle admires. “Don’t tell Archer I said that,” she adds as a side note and I can’t bring myself to force even the smallest of smiles.
“Shit, Frankie, he’s looking at you like he wants to fuck you pretty bad. Jesus. It’s turning me on. God, he’s looking at you like he has intimate knowledge of your body.”
“It’s because he does.” My voice cracks as I speak and I chance my eyes upward, three shocked stares aimed in my direction. “That’s Brandon. My ex,” I declare nervously, picking at my nails.
Quiet descends on our little group for a considerable length of time. I scan each of their eyes, attempting to read their thoughts, but each of them is a blank canvas. Their expressions uncharacteristically neutral, aside from the fleeting look of curiosity shining in their eyes.
“Babes,” Aubrey finally breaks the quiet. “I’m not one to hand out relationship advice, because, shit, I was a mess for longer than I can count, but he’s looking at you with a whole lotta love. You sure breaking things off was the right thing to do?”
I guess this is my fault, for not sharing, but I’m humiliated. He made me into his whore. How do I know them well enough to feel safe from judgment? Would they believe my naivety, trust that I was unaware? Or will they assume I knew, but ignored it anyway?
“He’s a good actor,” I grit out, feeling his molten stare burning into the side of my face.
“Frankie, how can you be so sure it’s an act?” This comes from my sister, concern leaking into her words. This is the first we’ve spoken about why I came home. Why I ran away from the life I was so hell-bent on living, I’d run away from my family to live it.
I always imagined I’d do this in my own time. When I was ready, and only then. But he’s here, haunting my present like he does my past. A ghost I can’t seem to escape. One cloaked in a promise that was once, with the bitter cold insides of heartbreak.
Taking a deep breath, I turn to my sister completely, essentially shutting Brandon off from seeing my face. From the utter heartache I have no doubt is shining from my eyes for all to see.
“Maybe he’s here to make whatever went wrong, right.”
Shutting my eyes against the sting of her words, I try to forget the warmth in his gaze. Fighting in earnest to stop the memories of how his words of love would make me feel.
Opening my eyes, I ignore the fire at my back, one hundred percent certain his eyes are pinned there. Waiting. Watching.
“Maybe he honestly thinks he does love me. I’m not actually sure even he realizes it’s an act.”
Darci turns to Annabelle and Aubrey, brows furrowed at my cryptic words.
“Are you being purposefully evasive? Or are the Sudoku styled confessions unintentional?” Aubrey challenges kindly.
Exhaling loudly, I turn back to Brandon, his back now facing me as he orders a drink. Luca is, of course, oblivious to who he’s serving, his smile coming easily at Brandon’s words. More intriguing is Brandon’s obliviousness. What would he do if he knew Luca and I were intimate? Would he see it as a betrayal? I’d guess yes. His want to possess, to own my body, my soul, used to fire my need for him. I found the idea of a man taking possession of me, of making me his, exciting.
“Frankie,” Darci prompts and I shake my head, bringing myself back to the moment. Sharing with others, with friends, is a foreign concept for me. But isn’t that why I’m here? Back in Carnation, a place I’d vowed never to return to. To build my relationship with my sister?
“I know it’s an act, because that look in his eye, that love shining openly for me and only me, is the exact same expression I saw him bestow upon his wife when I, unfortunately, stumbled in on their ten-year anniversary party.”
My declaration earns three sharp intakes of breath and I smile sadly. “It’s also the same look that wasn’t gifted to me when he saw me in that moment. Instead, he found it quite easy to look through me, completely shut off and become void of any of that warmth you think you saw.”
I pause, needing the reprieve. Needing to find the voice that wants to break. “I know it’s an act, because it’s not possible to love someone with that intensity and be able to disregard them so effortlessly.”
I glance back to Brandon and let him scrutinize my expression. He reads me well enough, his shoulders deflating slightly in annoyance as his eyes scan over the girls, all currently glaring daggers at him. Tilting his head, he beckons me over. I ignore him, no doubt further incensing him.
Turning back to meet Darci’s traumatized gaze, I attempt a smile to reassure her. I fail. Miserably.
“Frankie, that’s awful.”
None of them treat me with questions of my integrity. Of whether I really had no idea. I’m thankful that these past few months have given them reason to know me well enough to know that’s not my gig.
“What fucking scum,” Aubrey spits, the anger in her words slicing through us all.
“He has kids,” I continue. “Two of them that I had no idea existed. Boys that look just like him.”
Annabelle moves her seat closer, grabbing onto my hand.
“He has a wife and two sons, and I had no fucking idea.”
I let the heartbreak in their eyes cloak me for a few minutes before speaking again. “Brandon’s a piece of shit, but even in this moment, my heart aches for him, for what we had.” I laugh humorlessly, hating myself for needing to admit that.
I pick at a dampened coaster on the table, that awful feeling of regret and shame itching under my skin.
“Frankie, you’re allowed to mourn something you thought was real. It’s not on you that the love you had for him as built on deceit. That’s entirely on him.”
I nod my head at Annabelle’s words, knowing they’re right. Doesn’t make me feel any less guilty about being the other woman, a homewrecker, a whore.
“What did the wife say when you told her?” Darci’s distraught tone touches my ears the same time her hand entwines with mine.
“I didn’t.”
She doesn’t attempt to disguise the shock on her face, and I don’t know whether to feel ashamed or defensive.
“Damn straight she didn’t fucking tell her,” Aubrey leans forward. “Frankie, babe, the guy’s a prick. Maybe his wife should know, but the truth of it all is, you’re the one that came into their marriage. Knowingly or not. You’re always going to be the asshole in this scenario.” Her words are spoken with conviction. “She loves him. You’re no one but the whore who tempted her man away. Nah.” She sits back in her seat, shaking her head. “Don’t put yourself through that. Likely you weren’t the first.” She sounds a little apologetic at the color draining from my face. “And I’d bet my bottom dollar you won’t be the last. You don’t need her toxic accusations making you feel any worse than you already do.”
Darci is mortified by Aubrey’s words, her entire face contorted in a lethal combination of outrage and disagreement. “I… no…”
“I see it from both sides.” Annabelle drags me from the turmoil brewing between Aubrey and Darci. “When it comes down to it, I would want to know. Wouldn’t you?” She glances to Aubrey, then Darci, landing finally on me.
We all nod. “As painful” —her hand pushes against her heart— “as heartbreaking as it would be to have a stranger come to me and tell me Archer was with somebody else, and not just physically, that they were engaged… I’d want to know
.”
She’s right. I would one hundred percent want to know if my partner, the love of my life (or so I thought) was betraying me in that way. By the haunted looks on Aubrey and Darci’s face, they agree.
“But,” Annabelle continues. “Aubrey’s right. Logical or not, I’d want to attribute blame. I’d want to place all responsibility on the woman, because the alternative is that the person who owns your heart, didn’t care enough not to crush yours. If I could convince myself she chased him, that she was relentless in her pursuit of my man, maybe it would hurt a little less…” Her words trail off on a shrug. “We haven’t lived it though. I don’t think there is a right or wrong path to take. You just need to look after you. Maybe that’s selfish, but your heart is all that matters to us.”
They might not all agree on how I managed the situation, but there is a solid belief in the words that Annabelle just spoke. Their eyes communicate that, my feelings are most important to them.
“He expects me to go to him,” I tell them. “He’d be getting more irritated with every second I don’t. I’m fighting so many emotions right now. I want to give him the middle finger. Flip him off and not give him another thought. I want to scream at him to fuck off, that he’s a piece of shit. I want to go to him, cry and tell him that he broke my heart. I want him to tell me that I didn’t see what I know I did. Is that wrong? For me to want him to lie, to try and convince me what he felt for me was real?”
I meet each of their eyes, individually, trying to find an answer amongst them.
“Won’t do you any good. Denying the truth. That’s the only certainty I can offer.”
Both Annabelle and Darci nod at Aubrey’s softly spoken declaration and my shoulders sag. “I know. It would just be nice to think that I wasn’t a complete fool.”
I stare at Brandon again. Trying to work out in my head the best way to deal. I should just leave, slink out the back and avoid. But he’s stubborn, entitled, and I have no doubt that he’ll just keep coming back, messing with my head, until I crack, one way or the other.
He crooks a single finger in my direction and beckons me over once again. I narrow my eyes in annoyance, remembering all the times he’s used that exact move before. Intimately.
He smiles, the heat in his storm-colored eyes evident, even from across the bar.
Sensing, rather than seeing Luca’s animosity, I drag my glare from Brandon, down the bar in search of my Viking.
He looks ferocious, his large frame coiled tight, watching mine and Brandon’s silent exchange. With effort, I pull my gaze back to Brandon and watch his eyes flicker between Luca and myself. It doesn’t take him long, understanding settling within as he stands to full height, his bitter stare falling to Luca and freezing.
“Oh. Shit.” Annabelle sounds anything but concerned, more hopeful.
“Hope Luca kicks his fucking ass. Douche.”
I ignore both Annabelle and Aubrey’s commentary, my attention solely focused on the pissing contest currently occurring between my lovers, past and present.
“Frankie, babe, let’s have you up here,” Jake’s voice echoes over the room and I startle from the animosity swarming the bar.
My sweet friend is completely oblivious to the turmoil he’s just interrupted, and I’ve never been more grateful for anything in my entire life.
Pushing back heavily, my chair bangs forcefully against the one behind it, and I turn to offer my distracted apology to its occupant.
Moving toward the stage, I feel a sense of ease overtake me. While I want nothing more than to run, to escape the claustrophobic feeling suffocating me, I know neither Brandon or Luca can reach me on stage. Not without making a scene.
“Relax.” Jake squeezes my shoulder gently. “You’ll be great.” He mistakes the spooked look in my eyes and I don’t correct him, instead taking his words of reassurance and applying them to my life as I need them.
I will be great. No matter what happens. I’ve got this.
For the next hour, I get lost in the music. In singing with Jake. In being somewhere, anywhere else but here. I refuse to look toward the bar in search of either Luca or Brandon, only focusing on the melodies, on the lyrics coursing through my body.
Finally, as Jake blasts me with an ecstatic smile, which I can’t help but return, do I give in to temptation, eyes searching for the two broken pieces of my heart; yesterday and today.
Brandon hasn’t moved, his eyes drilling into me blankly. I hate that I can’t read him. That he can hide so effectively behind his impassive mask.
Luca, obviously running the bar, has had to move, continually serving. His eyes meet mine and for the briefest of moments, his lips tip upward, his wink coming easy in congratulations. It schools almost immediately, his eyes turning to Brandon and his large frame tensing once again. But it was there. His happiness. His joy in me living the life I want.
“Frankie, babe, that was freakin’ awesome.” Jake breaks into my thoughts and I force a genuine smile. Because it was.
“Totally freakin’ awesome,” I concur, watching him pack away his instrument.
“Mind if I do a solo, just one last song, to finish off?” I test and he smiles so big, a dimple appears in his cheek.
It’s cute. It’s genuine, and it makes me want to make the guy smile all the time. It lights up his entire face.
“Have at it, babe, I’m gonna grab a beer and find Aubrey.”
Pulling a chair into center stage, I adjust the mic downward, making it level in my seated position. My fingers pluck against my guitar strings lightly, finding the right sound. Only when I’ve found it do I lift my head, searching for the two sets of eyes that have twisted my heart so surely.
One set grey. One set blue.
The first lyrics fly from my throat, my voice cracking slightly as I fixate on Brandon. His mask falters as Emèli Sande communicates my pain. They’re softly sung and hauntingly desperate. The way I feel.
I feel lighter, freer, leaving a little bit of my broken heart on the stage. This is why I love music. The depth of feeling. The ability to shed everything but the lyrics of the song. The words that can mean something so different to each and every person.
Applause reaches my ears and I smile gratefully. I stand confidently, jumping from the stage and walking toward Brandon. I can see he’s misread the meaning of the song. He took what he wanted from it, like a true narcissist, smiling expectantly.
“Let’s go,” I instruct, walking past him without looking back.
Chapter Twelve
Luca
I pace the apartment floor, wearing the wooden floor down with the heavy falls of my feet. Griff moves in time with me, anxiety radiating from his tiny body. He reads the volcanic temper rolling off me in waves, suffocating the apartment in my fury.
I can’t get the image of her leaving with that scaly motherfucker out of my mind. It replays on a loop. A nightmare I can’t escape. Worse, the moment I chased her the fuck outta the bar. Like a love-sick puppy. Thank fuck she was gone before I could make a fool out of myself.
I can’t believe her. After what the slimeball did. To his wife. To her. He oozed prick. A vainglorious, conceited asshole. What she ever saw in a piece of shit like that is beyond me.
She deserved more. Or so I thought. Right up until that single fucking moment when she walked out of my bar, inviting him with her. The smile he threw my way, my fist clenches just thinking about it. What I’d give to connect it to his face, knock out his cosmetically whitened teeth.
I’ve called her five times. Offered five opportunities to second-guess the decision she seems hell-bent on making. Five opened-ended invitations to stop her turning into the whore she so desperately hated him for making her feel like.
She rejected every single fucking one.
Threw them back in my face and continued with her want to be involved with a guy who promised his life to someone else. She chose, in every one of those missed opportunities to back out, to pull herself down to his level
.
Now she’s nothing more than the whore he decided she’d be.
Her key sounds in the front door and my feet cease their pacing, my acidic stare trained to the space. My breathing is so thick, my chest deflates and expands noticeably. I feel shaky, ready to break something.
Cracking my neck, I let my unwarranted sense of betrayal seep further into my bones.
“Luc.” She smiles, her face clear of remorse.
“Pack your shit, get the fuck out of my house.”
I did not expect that to be the first thing to fly from my mouth. But it’s too late to take it back, so I own it, arms crossing my chest in condemnation.
“What?” The easy smile on her face falls away, replaced by shock.
I feel sweaty, my shirt clinging to my skin in panic. Nostrils flaring, I take a step forward. “You heard me. Pack your shit, and get the fuck outta my house,” I grit through clenched teeth.
Hands rising in surrender, her eyes drag down the quaking temper of my body. “I’ve clearly missed something…. What’s crawled up your ass?”
Hands linking at the back of my head, I tip my neck back, laughing darkly. Turning on my heel, I pace once more, wanting to roar in frustration. “You wanna whore yourself out to a scum bag like that, that’s on you. But it means I want less than nothing to do with you.”
Her feet falter backward, pain slicing across her pretty face. “What the fuck did you just call me?”
My spine straightens, lips turn down in a frown. “You heard what I said.”
“Don’t you ever call me that again.”
She steps forward, the fury coursing through my veins now shared in hers.
“You’re the one that chased after his dick, Francesca. Forget that he was married?” I bait. “Or have you decided you just don’t give a shit?”
I see water pool in her eyes. The tears she’s fighting so hard to control brimming in her black eyes. Eyes I’ve just discovered match the broken shade of her heart.
“I don’t know what you think you saw,” she snarls, her voice as sharp as shattered glass, the fragility in it just the same. “You were wrong.”
