Whatever she’s working through is huge, I know that now. I mean, I had an idea before the night of the benefit, but I wasn’t sure how deep it ran. Now, I know it runs bone-deep. At night, sometimes when I’m trying to sleep, I think about the nightmare she told me about and how badly I wished it was only that—a nightmare—but now I’m thinking it was real. The cuts, the blood, the hits, the screams . . .all of it. And it kills me.
I hope Helen is telling me the truth and that Frankie is okay.
She has to be okay, because if she’s not okay, then I’m not okay.
The two of us are intertwined and at some point, I have to believe she’ll find her way back to me.
Chapter 24
Frankie
Gunnar: I saw some wildflowers today and thought of you.
I glance down at the text for probably the twentieth time since receiving it earlier today and smile. It’s the same reaction I’ve had every time I look at it but with one exception: with every look, my smile grows. In fact, it’s so big right now I don’t even try to hide it when my therapist, Samantha, not-so-discreetly clears her throat.
“Is that a message from Gunnar?” she asks.
Glancing at the text one more time, I nod.
“Are you going to respond this time?”
I shake my head no and place my phone on the floor by my feet so I won’t be tempted to look again. At least not until I’m home.
“Have you communicated with him at all since our sessions started?”
“I haven’t seen him or spoken to him since the night of the benefit, which was almost a month ago.”
“And why is that?”
Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I pick at my fingernail instead. I know it’s her job and the reason I’m here, but I really hate it when she’s so blatant with her questioning. She might as well have me lay on her couch and talk about my sex dreams. Maybe her questions seem typical to me because of my medical background or maybe it’s because, despite Samantha being a great therapist, I’ve been doing my own research into my issues and already know what to expect from our sessions.
“Because,” I say, sighing. “He doesn’t really know what he’s getting into with me. Hell, I barely know what he’s getting into, and I don’t want him to feel like I’m a waste of time. I don’t want him to regret me.” My voice is smaller now but I know she hears me. The look of disappointment on her face tells me as much.
“He seems very smitten with you and if he thought he was wasting his time, he wouldn’t still be texting you a month after last seeing you. Gunnar is an adult and his own person, so you can’t make decisions for him. If you truly don’t want to have contact with him, you need to let him know. It’s wrong to string him along.”
My face heats up with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. I don’t mean to string him along; I just don’t know how to face him after telling him to leave me alone.
“What if I gave you some homework to do with Gunnar?”
This catches my attention and I’m instantly interested in Samantha’s idea. “What kind of homework?”
“Trust-building exercises,” she replies.
“You’re not going to make us do trust falls with each other, are you?”
Samantha laughs. “You scoff, but trust falls work. I promise.”
“What are our other options?” I ask, ignoring her comment.
“You need to be honest with Gunnar and tell him what’s going on with you, why you ran off, and how your childhood memories are affecting your adult relationships. Before you do that, though, you need to know you can trust him. This is the easy part.” She gives me a genuine smile and I’m encouraged by her excitement over me considering her ideas.
“Sit across from each other and stare into each other’s eye for three minutes.”
“I don’t know about that. It sounds really weird and uncomfortable.” Although, I do miss Gunnar’s sea-glass eyes . . . he has amazing eyes. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as I think.
“It may be awkward at first, and it’s perfectly fine to laugh a little. But after a while, it’ll become easier and more meaningful. You can also send him on a very specific errand. Ask him to go to the store and buy a particular brand of food. Tell him to text you if the store doesn’t have exactly what you tell him to get.”
“I don’t want to make him jump through hoops for me or boss him around.”
“That’s not what the exercise is about. It’s to show you he can be trusted to do what you ask or get what you need.”
I already know Gunnar would get me anything I ask for at a store, no question. This actually relieves me, makes me feel like we’re already ahead of the game, even though he has no idea I’m even in therapy.
Shit. I really need to talk to him. The truth is, I’m dying to see him. I miss him so much, but I can’t bear the thought of him looking at me with pity or disappointment in his eyes.
“Let’s switch gears a bit,” Samantha says. “Have you spoken with your mother recently?”
Another topic I’d like to avoid. Super.
“I still go to her house once a week to pick up the things she wants me to sell at the farmer’s market, but we don’t really talk. I’m just not sure what to say to her.”
“Tell her how you feel. It’s okay to still be angry with her, you know?”
“The crazy thing is, I don’t think I am angry with her. Not anymore, at least.” I’m not sure when my feelings changed, because Lord knows I was pissed after she told me about my father. But those harsh feelings have dissipated. Even though I hate what she did, what she put me through, I’m trying really hard not to judge her for her decisions. I’ve never been in her situation and I know she must’ve felt completely hopeless and lost. I also believe she feels true regret and remorse and did the best she could to turn our lives around after that night.
“But she thinks you are?”
“I guess. Probably . . .” My words trail off as I realize I’m hurting the two people who care the most about me by closing myself off. This is what happens when you’re an emotional recluse, and it’s the main reason I’m in therapy. I don’t want to push people away. I want to love freely and openly without second-guessing every little thing.
Mostly, I want what everyone wants: to love and be loved in return.
**BC**
As I drive into work, I think about Gunnar. Not for the usual reasons, but for another homework exercise Samantha wants me to do. Because I’m so good at putting people and situations in their own little boxes, keeping them nice and tidy in my mind, Samantha thought it would be good to do the same thing with Gunnar and his fighting.
It was very alarming to hear Samantha describe my aversion to violence as almost obsessive, but the more I think about it, the more I’m starting to agree. Because I associate violence with what Razor did to me and my mom, I can’t fathom why someone like Gunnar would want to participate in a violent act for fun or for a career. But, if I remind myself he’s not a violent or angry person, he’s not aggressive or hurtful, and most importantly, he’s not Razor Dennings, it’s easier to accept his fighting as sport.
Speaking of my father, I’ve recently learned he’s on death row here in Tennessee for multiple murders with no chance for parole. That was the day I realized I needed to seek professional help. The confusion, hurt, and anger I felt morphed into a deep self-loathing until Samantha made me realize I had nothing to do with Razor’s crimes. Why I thought I did, I have no idea, but it’s a perfect example of how irrational I’ve been lately.
The other thing I’ve had to come to terms with was the fact the Wraiths lied to me for over two years, stringing me along and making me believe my father was somewhere behind the scenes, when in fact he wasn’t. It should probably piss me off more than it does, but I can’t find it in myself to care anymore. Most of the men are despicable excuses for human beings and I never should’ve put any amount of trust in them. I was chasing a dream—a pipe dream—and that’s over now. No lo
nger am I trying to find myself. I’ve been here all along, and it’s up to me to decide what makes me feel happy and whole.
After clocking into my shift and leaving my things in my locker, I walk to the nurse’s station to see what patient needs to be seen next.
“Hey, Frankie. There’s a lady here who’s been waiting to see you.” Gladys, the ER receptionist, hands me a file with paperwork inside, explaining why the patient is here.
“Really? It must not be a medical emergency if she was willing to wait for me to get here.”
Gladys shrugs then points across the room. “I’m just relaying the message. She and her little girl are over there in the waiting room.”
A woman and little girl are here to see me?
Could it be Lisa and Allie?
I try not to get my hopes up, but still walk with great purpose across the ER and into the waiting room. I’ve barely made it inside the area when I hear my name being yelled by a sweet, little angel voice. I turn toward the voice and nearly fall on my knees at the sight of Lisa and Allie.
Rushing over, I quickly hug them both before assessing whether or not they were hurt. “Are you okay? Let me take you to triage. You shouldn’t have waited for me if you need to see a doctor.”
Lisa places her hands on my shoulders to get my attention. “We’re fine, Frankie, I promise. I do have a favor to ask, though.”
“Anything, just tell me what you need.”
“We’d like to go back to the shelter. Could you bring us when your shift is over? We would’ve gone straight there but the hospital was closer. I remembered you saying you worked here so we came to see you and ask for help.”
“Of course, I will. My shift just started, but I can take you when I get a break in a couple of hours. Would that be okay?”
“That would be fine, thank you.”
I pull some cash out of my scrub pocket and hand it to Lisa. “Why don’t you go get some food in the cafeteria while you wait? I’ll come find you when my break starts.”
I know Lisa doesn’t want to take the money but she also has her daughter, Allie, to think about. There’s no way I will let either one of them go hungry on my watch. “Take it,” I implore. Eventually, she takes the cash and slips it into her pocket before hugging me again.
“Thank you so much,” she whispers. She quickly wipes a stray tear from her eye and grabs Allie’s hand, leading her down the hall to the cafeteria. I watch them until they turn a corner, relief filling my body with every step they take.
They’re here, and they’re safe.
I’m hit again with the similarities between Lisa and Allie and me and my mom. Lisa and my mom made decisions that put both mother and child in danger but I truly believe they thought they were doing the right thing, the best thing for them and their situation. Unfortunately, they were wrong and consequences were paid, but that’s in the past now. Like Samantha says, the past can be nice to visit from time to time but if we truly want to live, we need to stay in the present.
After my shift is over, I take Lisa and Allie back to the shelter, assuring myself they’re back and they’re safe at least a dozen times. Helen is ecstatic to see them. The look she gives me as she welcomes them back in with open arms says she’s just as relieved as I am. To her credit, she doesn’t fuss over them, just shows them to their room.
The two of us share a quiet conversation out in the hall. “So they just showed up at the hospital?” she asks. She checks back at the closed door one last time, like she has to assure herself they’re here and they’re safe, too.
“Yeah,” I reply, smoothing down my hair, which I’m sure looks atrocious after the long day. “I would’ve brought them back sooner, but it was a crazy day in the ER. I’m sure they’re both exhausted.”
“Well, they’re back and they’re—”
“Safe,” we say in unison, giving each other a tired, weary smile.
Helen squeezes my hand. “You should get home. I’m sure you’re beat.”
I nod and tell her I’ll see her soon. When I plop down in my car, all I can think about is driving to my mother’s house so we can talk—really talk. Seeing Lisa stirred up things that have been left unsaid. I need my mother to know I’ve forgiven her, and I want to move forward, leaving the pain in the past.
But before I do that, I have a text to send. Pulling my phone out of my bag, I turn it on. Not surprisingly, there’s a new text waiting from him. Unable to fight back the smile, I swipe to read it and my heart clenches in my chest. His words bring back the vivid memory of a vulnerable Gunnar showing up in my ER, kind of like Lisa and Allie did tonight. He didn’t know if I’d throw him out or accept him.
I don’t think, I don’t worry, I don’t do anything. I just start typing.
Chapter 25
Gunnar
“You’ve got ten minutes,” Cage calls out from the hallway. “I want you to have time to warm up and get in the zone.”
I grunt from my spot on the floor of my dressing room at the venue in Nashville. It’s a lot nicer than some of the other places I’ve fought at over the years. Unlike at the benefit fight, I’m not the main event tonight, but I am next to last. Typically I’d be sitting here with my earbuds in, losing myself to the music while I prepare for the fight. But instead, I’m staring at my phone, my thumb scrolling through the text messages I’ve sent Frankie.
Thirty-two.
That’s how many messages I’ve sent Frankie, one a day since I last saw her. She hasn’t replied once. At first, I didn’t expect her to, but I still wanted her to know I was thinking of her. But now, I’m starting to feel desperate and hopeless, which isn’t like me. I’m definitely a glass-half-full kind of person, but I’ve never been through something like this.
Before we left yesterday, I had to fight the urge to drive to her house. It was Friday, and I know she volunteers on Fridays, so I didn’t do it. Even if it had been a day she was home, I still wouldn’t have.
If and when Frankie decides to let me back in, I want it to be on her terms. I need to know she really wants it—us, me.
The separation between us has done nothing to dull the ache and need I have for her.
I want her.
Even her broken pieces and scars.
I just wish there was some way for me to break through her walls, once and for all.
A while back, Cage told me some people need to know you’re going to be there when they fall. I felt that in my soul and like it was something Frankie needed, so I tried to give her that as best as I knew how. But then, after the benefit, everything went to shit and now I don’t know what she wants or where we stand.
Glancing at the time, I see it’s almost eight, so I quickly type out what I’m feeling in the moment. Over the past couple of weeks, my text messages to Frankie have become more like a journal, a place for me to leave my thoughts. They’re all for her anyway. I don’t care if they make me seem weak or desperate. I have nothing to hide.
Me: I miss you, so bad it hurts.
Me: I’m so confused why it all went wrong.
Me: Help me understand.
Me: Give me a chance to be there for you when you fall.
After hitting send on that last text, I toss my phone to the side.
“Five minutes,” Vali hollers.
As I go to grab my hoodie from the floor, my phone chimes with an incoming message.
I swear to God, if Cage is texting me from the hallway again, he’s a dead man.
If anyone ever thinks I’m too persistent, they’ve never met my brother. Growling, I grab my phone to silence his ass, but then I see the name and my breath catches in my throat.
Frankie.
My heart beats like crazy in my chest as I swipe my thumb across the screen to read the message.
Frankie: I miss you too.
It’s just four words, but they’re the best fucking four words I’ve ever read. They feel like a lifeline pulling me out of the deep.
My thumb hovers over the screen a
s I try to decide what to say. What the fuck do I say?
Do I not say anything at all?
Will it seem too eager or desperate if I tell her I feel like I just took my first real breath in over a month?
I’m still debating when Vali yells again for me to get my ass out there.
Unplugging my phone from the charger, where I typically leave it during a fight, I take it with me and run out the door. When I get to the hallway, Vali and Cage are both standing there giving me the look. The same one they’ve been giving me my entire life, like I’m inconveniencing them while simultaneously raining on their parade.
“Fuck off,” I grunt, pushing past them. “I got a text message from Frankie.”
They can give me all the shit they want. I don’t care. Besides, I might be the little brother, but my day has come and I can officially kick both their asses.
Neither of them say a word as we walk down the hallway and into the holding area. All the while, I’m running possible responses through my head, none of them making the cut. As I’m staring at the words again, three little dots show up.
She’s typing.
Unfortunately, they disappear as fast as they appeared and my heart sinks back down into my chest. Then they’re back.
Frankie: Can we talk?
Letting out a laugh that’s somewhere between relieved and pained, I run a hand through my hair and lean back against the wall. Of course she’d want to talk now, while I’m three hours away and getting ready to fight.
“What’s up?” Cage asks, coming to stand in front of me, his hands going to my shoulders as he starts to work me over to loosen me up. His eyes find mine and I see the concern. “Everything okay?”
Even though he’s told me to cut ties with Frankie, deep down, he didn’t really mean it. They might not know her very well, but Vali and Cage care about her well-being. If she means something to me, she means something to them. That’s just how our family is.
Beef Cake Page 19
