“Congrats, bro,” Cage says, wrapping a towel around my neck and holding up a bottle of water. “Great fight. That combo at the end was killer—” He continues to give a recap of my entire bout, but after a few moments, realizes he lost me. “You alright?”
“Fine,” I tell him, still searching. “Frankie left.”
He glances back over his shoulder, toward where Helen is sitting, and sees the seat next to her is empty. “Maybe she got called in for work?”
“Maybe,” I say, hoping it’s something as easy as that.
Vali shows up at the gate, grinning up at us. “Hell of a fight, man. Best I’ve seen in a long time.” His eyes turn to Cage and then back to me, a grin on his face. “You might even be better than this fucker.”
“I can still kick your ass,” Cage retorts, brushing it off as he turns back to me. “Let’s get this wrapped up. We’ve still got to break everything down.” It’s been a long couple of days and all I really want to do is bail and find Frankie. My phone is in my dressing room and I’m desperate to see if she left me a text.
My mind goes to the first text message I sent to her just a few days ago.
I miss you.
She messaged me back a while later. How can you miss me? You just saw me.
The answer was easy for me, but harder to explain to her. I’d missed her the second she walked out of Daisy’s and got in her car. I missed her sometimes when I even thought about being apart from her. I’ve been thinking about the future, what comes next. I came here to train with Cage, to be better, and win fights. I didn’t come here to fall in love, but that’s exactly what I’d done. And I don’t regret it, but it’s left me feeling a bit torn lately.
“Let’s present this check,” Cage says, checking my shoulder and pulling me out of my thoughts. “You good?”
I nod, taking the towel from my shoulders and wiping my face. This isn’t how I’d pictured this moment. The fear that Frankie and fighting wouldn’t mix has been something I haven’t been able to shake, like an annoying mosquito buzzing around my face. One second I would swat it away—convincing myself we’re more than that—and then it’d be back with a vengeance—telling me I don’t know shit.
Maybe it—the fear—was right.
When Helen walks up and into the ring, she’s wearing a tight smile. The lights are bright and everyone’s eyes are on us, so I try to plaster on what I hope is a happy expression. I just won a fight. We’ve raised a lot of money for a good cause. I should be happy. Frankie should be happy. She should also be here.
But she’s not.
Cage begins to speak into the microphone, gaining the still-lingering crowd’s attention, but not mine. Leaning over, I whisper to Helen, “Where is she?”
“She said she had to go,” she whispers back, keeping her eyes forward.
“Was she okay?” The need to run to the back and grab my phone is consuming me. Twisting my neck one way and then the other, I try to release the tension. I’m always amped up after a fight, but this is worse. My skin feels like it could literally crawl right off my body and walk away. After Frankie.
“We’d like to present this check in the amount of forty-seven-thousand-dollars to the Women’s Shelter of Maryville. Here to accept it is the director, Helen Murphy.”
Helen steps forward and claims the check, turning back to look at me. Normally, I might say a few words, thank people for coming out to the fight and for their support. But not tonight. I’m not feeling my usual high. Tonight, I just want to be done so I can go find Frankie, or at least call her and hear her voice to settle this unease in the pit of my stomach.
Suddenly, the crowd erupts. Helen must have said something about the fight in her speech, and I missed it. But I can’t miss the way everyone is now chanting my name. Honestly, I didn’t think anyone would know who I am. Even though I was on the ticket as the main event, I’m no one around here. If this was in Dallas, or just about anywhere in the state of Texas, I’d expect the support. I’ve been fighting since I was a kid, trailing Cage to every event. I’m close to becoming a household name, like Cage. But not in the middle of Tennessee. Guess the Erickson name travels further than I thought. I have my brothers to thank for that.
Helen looks over her shoulder at me and then Cage, looking for direction.
Cage tilts his head at me, silently telling me this is it—this is what I’ve been waiting for, and I should take my moment. Tentatively, I step forward and the roar skyrockets. Pulling a canned speech out of my ass, one similar to what I’ve heard Cage make a hundred times, I say, “Thank you so much for coming out tonight. Your support means the world to me. MMA fans are the best fans in the world. None of us would want to come out and fight for an empty venue, especially not on a night like tonight. Not only did we get to enjoy a sport we love, but we helped a great cause along the way.”
Dipping my head and giving a wave, I humbly accept their praise, turning the microphone back over to my brother Vali, who says a few more parting words before the music kicks back up and everyone starts to file out.
“Was she okay?” I ask Helen again when the mics are off and it’s just the four of us—her, me, Cage, and Vali. “Did she seem upset?”
“I don’t know,” Helen says with a sigh. “She seemed to be handling it all well, but you know Frankie, she’s good at hiding. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea for her to come.”
The way her brows are drawn and her expression is dim, I know she’s worried too, which makes me worried even more.
“I’ll call her,” I assure Helen. “And if she doesn’t answer before I get back to Green Valley, I’ll go by and check on her.”
“If you don’t find her, I can check with the hospital and see if she was called in to work,” Helen adds.
I nod, trying not to let the worry take over. She’s fine. “Thanks.”
“Thank you,” Helen says, locking me down with her eyes and holding it for a moment before clearing her throat and plastering on a smile. “Thank you to all three of you. I’m so grateful for your help. This,” she says, holding up the check, “is going to help so many people. You should all feel so proud of what you’ve accomplished.” Glancing back to me and then to Cage and Vali, she continues, “I have to say, that was the most fun and excitement I’ve had in a long time.”
We might not have made a fan out of Frankie, but Helen is definitely a convert.
The three of us laugh as we all walk out of the cage, heading our separate ways—me to the dressing room to find my phone, Vali to direct the teardown, and Cage to check in with security, making sure the place is cleared out, and walking Helen to her car.
Once I’m down the hall, I break out into a run, not stopping until I get to the dressing room. I dig through my bag and I breathe a sigh of relief when my phone is in my hand, but my stomach drops when I look at the screen and there’s nothing—no missed call, no text.
No good job.
No sorry I had to leave.
No message about being called into work.
Nothing.
Pressing my thumb on her name, I wait for the ring . . .and then it rings, and rings, and rings. A message eventually comes on, telling me she can’t answer and please leave a message.
“Frankie,” I start, pacing the room as I talk. “Uh, hey . . . I’m calling to see where you are. Helen said you had to leave and we’re both worried about you.” Rolling my eyes at my nerves, I huff out a breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Call me, okay? I don’t really care why you left, I just want to talk to you, make sure you’re alright.” I hesitate for a moment, not wanting to hang up without putting all my thoughts and feelings out there, but I decide that’s good enough for now.
After I end the call, I stuff my phone and everything else scattered around the room in my bag. Before I walk out, I turn around, giving the room one last glance. Disappointment has me shaking my head, mostly at myself. Earlier, when I was preparing for the fight, I kept wanting to call Frankie and ask her to come earl
y and meet me here. Visions of her propped up on the counter, of me standing between her legs, devouring her, had filled my head. That’s what I’d had planned, but I decided to wait until after the fight.
Calling out to Vali and Cage, I tell them I’m going to Green Valley to look for Frankie.
The worry and dread are coming back in full force as I slip into the cab of the truck and start it up.
What if something happened to her?
What if she’s sick?
What if those fucking Iron Wraiths found her?
Got to her, or whatever the fuck they do?
Hitting my palm on the steering wheel, I mentally berate myself for not digging deeper where they’re concerned. I was hoping to have a chance as time went on, but this past week has been so good. I didn’t want to mess it up with talk of motorcycle clubs and what connection she has to them.
Please, God. Let her be okay.
Driving a little faster than I normally would, I make it back in record time. When I turn off the main road and then down Frankie’s road, my heart starts beating double time.
What if she’s here?
What if she’s not here?
What if she’s here and doesn’t answer the door?
Seeing her Mustang in the drive calms the pounding in my chest a little, but I still need to see her. I need to know why she left and that she’s okay, so I park the truck and hop out.
When I get to the front door, I exhale, trying to release the nerves as I wipe my palms down the front of my shorts before tapping lightly on the door. Holding my breath, I wait. She doesn’t answer, so I knock again. This time, I lean in and place my ear on the door.
Eventually, I hear movement on the other side and step back, not wanting to crowd her or scare her. It takes a few more seconds, but the door finally opens, and there she is in a baggy t-shirt and sweats, looking more beautiful than ever before.
But it’s her eyes that get me.
They won’t make contact with mine and she’s holding the door as a barrier between us.
“Frankie?” I ask, my voice dropping low as I lean down to try and get her to look at me. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Did something happen?”
She visibly swallows and then licks her bottom lip, bringing her head up, but averting her eyes past me. “I’m sorry . . . I, uh . . .” Pausing, she inhales deeply and closes her eyes before continuing. “I had to leave.”
It’s then I notice she’s been crying and I turn to look behind me, trying to figure out where her distress is coming from. Surely, it’s not me. I would never hurt her, but she looks like she’s ready to bolt the door to keep out the bad people.
“Why did you have to leave? Talk to me.” I try to keep my tone gentle, non-threatening. She should know by now she can tell me anything. I’d never judge her or demean her. Nothing she could say would drive me away. “Hey . . .” When I go to reach out and touch her—needing to touch her—she backs up an inch and that’s when I see it: fear.
Of me.
Fuck.
“Are . . .” I swallow, forcing the bile back down into my stomach. This fucking kills me, but I have to get it out. “Are you afraid of me? Is that what this is about? The fight? Did something happen?”
She shakes her head and a tear slips down her cheek. She wipes it away, not looking at me, and says, “I just need some time. There’s . . . I have a lot . . .” Pinching her lips together, she shakes her head again. “I just need some time.”
Then she’s gone. The door is shut and I hear the deadbolt slide back into place.
She’s shut me out.
And this time, I’m afraid it’s for good.
Chapter 22
Frankie
I’ve waited for as long as I can.
I’ve lived with lies and half-truths for far too long and I won’t accept anything less than the whole story from my mother. Today is the day I learn everything.
Everything.
That word twists the existing knot in my stomach tighter.
After my run in with Crow last night and some of my own research on my computer, I’m pretty sure I know most of it. My mother is the only one who can fill in the missing pieces and stitch together the last of my frayed memory. Knowing the truth about my past will only do so much, though. I know that. It’s only information. It’ll be up to me what I do with it. I get to decide how my past affects my present and, ultimately, my future.
That’s all I’ve ever wanted.
These are the thoughts that spur me on toward my mother’s house, and I fully believe in them, but they do nothing to calm the emotional storm brewing inside of me.
When Gunnar stopped by my house, I wanted to hide and pretend I wasn’t there, but I know him and I knew he wouldn’t stop. He’d have the cops showing up and breaking down my door. So, I answered, but I wish I hadn’t. Facing the cops would’ve been better than facing him. My heart wanted to reach for him while my mind wanted to run. It was the worst feeling.
Clenching my stomach, I try to focus on the passing trees to keep from being sick.
I haven’t eaten or slept since yesterday morning.
Last night, after asking Gunnar to leave, my body felt exhausted. The tears I’d been mostly able to hold off fell freely and I’d tried to close my eyes to avoid thinking about how he’d looked when I turned him away. But my attempts at sleep were useless. Behind my closed lids were flashes of fists and blood, accompanied by my mother’s screams. The wretched combination ensured I got no peace and no sleep.
Sometime around two o’clock, I gave up trying and I cleaned my house. And not your everyday cleaning, mind you. No, I tackled the deep cleaning—baseboards, ceiling fans, light fixtures, blinds—trying in vain to either erase the visions plaguing my mind or succumbing to sheer exhaustion.
Neither happened.
When the sky began to lighten, signaling the beginning of a new day, I’d made myself a pot of coffee and drank the entire thing while sitting on my back porch. Once the last drop was consumed, I’d decided I’d waited long enough and got in my car, which is where I am now.
As I drive down the highway, my earlier bravado starts to wane, and when I approach the turnoff that leads to the cabin, it feels like such a huge step.
I’m literally and metaphorically at a crossroads.
Easing my car onto the shoulder, I sit there.
I could turn around and head back to town and go back to living my life full of questions.
Now, I can see I’ve only been fooling myself all these years. I’d told myself I was fine, normal even, and dealing with the things in my past the best way I knew how. And that may have been true then, but it’s not anymore.
Not since Gunnar Erickson walked into my life and pushed me out of my comfort zone.
He’s changed me in so many ways—making me think differently, respond differently, allow someone in . . . allowing me to trust. He opened me up to new thoughts and feelings, things I thought were for other people, not me. He made me feel safe and secure and cared for, even when I didn’t think those things were possible, up until last night.
Last night scared me.
The flashes of violence.
The shift in Gunnar’s demeanor.
The fists.
The blood.
All of it.
I thought I could handle it, but I can’t.
The logical side of my brain knows that’s not Gunnar, not the real him. I should be able to compartmentalize—separating him from the fight—but I can’t.
I want to, though.
And I think the first step in doing that is talking to my mother and getting the answers I deserve.
I need to handle my past so I can have a future.
This new me wants more. I’m tired of the fear and the running. I’m ready to face this head-on, regardless of the outcome or repercussions.
Turning my car down the tree-lined path, I take a deep breath, fortifying my resolve.
Deep down, I know Gunnar
is good. He’s the best. And I want to be with him. I want it so fucking badly. I just hope when all of this is over, he’ll still be around.
Regardless, I have to do this for myself.
After parking my car in front of my mother’s house, I take a deep breath and let it out, trying to mentally prepare for what awaits me inside her walls. I’m not sure what’s worse: the fear of the unknown, or being afraid of what knowing the truth will do to me.
I walk up the steps, exhausted but resolved, determined to see this mission through. When the door opens, she takes one look at my disheveled self and steps back to let me in. “I’ll fix us some tea,” is all she says, before turning toward the kitchen, every bit as resolved as I am.
“I know who my father is.” I know it’s an awkward way to start this conversation, but I need to get it out, like poison from a snake bite. Besides that, she knows why I’m here. After our last visit, I knew I was close to uncovering the truth. So did she.
She doesn’t respond for a long time. We’re both sitting on her couch, blankets on our laps and teacups in our hands, not in a rush to have a conversation that’s been a long-time coming.
“Who told you?” she finally asks.
“Some guy named Crow.”
She nods her head slowly, swirling a spoon in her tea and not looking at me.
“I still don’t know anything about him, about my childhood, and that’s why I’m here. The nightmares are only getting worse and what I assume are memories are getting triggered more and more lately and I can’t make sense of them. You have to fill in the blanks, Mom. I’m not a child anymore. You don’t have to protect me.” I want to add that she’s not protecting me, she’s only hurting me and making things worse, but I don’t. Her pain has always felt worse than my own. “I deserve to know the truth.”
She sighs, eyes trained on the tea, and then the words begin to tumble out like an avalanche. “I was always an outsider. I never fit in with anyone, but I wanted to. And because of that, I got mixed up with the wrong crowd. I did things I’m not proud of just to have a place to belong.” She pauses, wincing. “Even though I knew the Iron Wraiths were bad news, I thought they’d be my friends—my family—as long as I stayed loyal and did what they asked. When Razor Dennings showed interest in me, I thought I’d won the lottery. The leader of the Wraiths wanted me and I thought that made me special. When I found out I was pregnant with you . . . well, it was the best day of my life. I was gonna have a baby, someone to love and take care of, and we were gonna be protected by the most powerful and feared man in town. I truly believed that . . . until his old lady, Christine, made herself known.”
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