25. Frankie

TWENTY-FIVE

Frankie

11:34 pm

I wake up to the soft glow of the television as the credits of something, I'm not sure what, roll silently across the screen. My body is curled into the warmth of Hunter's, his arm draped protectively around my waist.

The steady rise and fall of his chest against my back is soothing. Beneath that, the firm evidence of his arousal presses into me. He's asleep, lost in dreams, and I can't help but wonder if those dreams involve me.

Slowly, I reach my hand around, my fingers brushing against the fabric of his boxers, absorbing the heat he puts off even through the soft, thin cotton.

I trace the outline of his erection, a surge of desire coursing through me as it twitches in response to my touch. I'm turning myself on while stroking his pleasure, the sensation of his hardness growing under my caress too tempting to ignore.

As I continue to explore him, his breathing changes, becoming shallower, and I realize he's waking up. His hand finds mine, guiding it more firmly against him, and when I look back over my shoulder, I see the smoldering look in his eyes.

"Frankie," he murmurs, my name a soft pleading on his lips.

Without a word, I roll over to face him, our mouths meeting in a kiss that's equal parts hunger and tenderness. Our hands are everywhere, pulling at clothing, seeking skin. He slips his fingers under the waistband of my pajama shorts, finding me already slick and ready for him.

Our movements are impatient and frenzied as we are both suddenly desperate for each other. He pulls my shorts down just enough to free me from them, and I push his boxers down, aligning our bodies as they were meant to be.

He enters me with a single, fluid thrust that draws a gasp from my lips. The couch isn't wide enough, isn't comfortable enough for what we need, but we're beyond caring. We're driven by a need that's as primal as it is profound.

The slap of skin against skin, the sofa as it pounds against the wood floor, our ragged breathing, and the occasional moan or whimper as we chase our pleasure are the only sounds. We're lost in each other, the world outside our little bubble ceasing to exist.

We move to the floor, removing our shorts along the way. The change in position allows for a deeper connection. I'm straddling him now, my hands braced against his chest, pressed against the ripple of his muscles as he thrusts up into me. The new angle sends waves of pleasure crashing over me, each one more intense than the last.

I throw my head back, my hair cascading down my back as I ride him harder, faster. The tension builds within me, gathering low in my belly, and I know I'm close, so close.

"Hunter," I gasp, and he knows I'm coming.

He sits up, wrapping his arms around me, holding me close as he drives into me with renewed vigor. I cry out as my orgasm rips through me, my inner muscles clenching around him.

He follows me over the precipice, his body shuddering beneath mine as he finds his own release, his name a whisper on my lips as we both come down from the high.

The other times have been good, but lying next to each other, naked on my floor, makes this time even better. Initially, we don't say anything. Panting is the only noise we make. I dare to press myself against him, hoping I haven't overextended my welcome on this precarious night after he lost his mom.

"You doing okay?" I ask him, keeping my gaze on the distinct lines that trace his pecs. I continue to rest my cheek on his inked chest. His left arm is cradling me and I sense a mild hint of tension as I ask this question. I can tell he isn't used to talking about his feelings.

"I'm doing better now that I'm with you."

I didn't expect this, nor did I think he would ever be so forthcoming with affection for me. But I'll take it, even if it is just a moment of weakness.

"I'm sorry, Hunter. That was a shitty way to have to say goodbye your mom."

He doesn't move either, but he does continue speaking. I listen because I figure that's the best thing to do right now. What I hear as he continues to talk about his family is far different than what I heard during our first night together. He kept it short and sweet.

At some point, I even find myself ready to cry as he reveals what he was put through. I can imagine now, knowing him, the kind of pressure on him. But hearing the pain as he describes it makes me want to hold him and never let him go.

"My mother barely spoke to me at my father's funeral," he says, his voice distant and emotionless. "We weren't really talking because after he got sick, I recommended a doctor they ended up not agreeing with. Somehow, everything that went wrong was my fault. When they switched doctors, they stopped taking my calls. He went downhill fast, and it turns out my recommendation was the way to go. Anyway, that is why I was so reluctant to help with my mom."

"That's awful. The end should not be like that."

All I do is hold him tighter. He definitely suffered some emotional abuse from his parents. I guess we all do to some degree. My mom did what she thought was right by keeping my father away. But in reality, believing he chose to stay away was more painful than anything she was protecting me from.

I don't resent my mom because we had a different kind of relationship than Hunter had with his mom. But I understand how our parents have the ability to cut us deeper and hurt us more than anyone else on this planet.

Although I know I can't do anything to take away the pain, hopefully, my being here with him gives him some comfort as he comes to terms with all of this.

I decide to do something I rarely do. I open up even more than usual, and share what I've been going through with Bill and my family dynamic. It seems like the timing is appropriate, not to mention it's a way to connect with him and to seek some comfort.

"My father wasn't in my life at all. I saw him a handful of times as a kid," I start. I pause, before finishing, "I thought he traded us for a new family."

"Frankie, I'm so sorry."

"No, you don't have to say that. I guess since we are opening up, I thought I would share what has been going on in my life with my parents. He has been contacting me," I say softly. "He's the one I was referring to when I asked you about Hodgkins."

"Oh, my goodness," he says sincerely. "Last you told me he was doing well, right?"

"Yes, it seems so. Although I saw him today and he looked frail to me."

"It's probably just his body going through the treatment. It's hard on the body."

I decide to leave it that for now. Tonight is his night to grieve. I just wanted him to know he can trust me, by showing that I trust him. Even if it is just a little bit, that feels good. It feels right.

Saturday, June 1

8:14 am

The first thing I notice is the warmth of Hunter's hand on my arm. The morning light is peeking through the curtains, but I'm awake now, acutely aware he is kneeling beside my bed.

"I've got to get some of this restless energy out," he whispers, his tender voice the best wake-up I've ever had. "I'm going to the gym, and then I have a few errands, but I want to see you later."

I nod, not trusting my voice yet, and feel him stand. But before he can move away completely, I grab his hand and pull him back down to me. I turn to face him, our noses almost touching in the dim light.

"Text me when you get up?" he asks, his eyes searching mine.

"Of course," I whisper, my voice still heavy with sleep. But before he can pull away again, I slide my hand to the back of his neck and pull him down for a kiss.

It's not the light, quick kiss he was expecting; it's deeper, more urgent, the kind that leaves no room for doubt about how much I want him to stay.

He responds instantly, his hand tangling in my hair, his body pressing against mine in a way that makes me never want to let him go. He climbs in the bed beside me, staying on top of the covers.

"I have an idea for how to get some of that restless energy out," I whisper, my hand sliding down his chest, tracing the curves of ink on his skin that I can barely see in the almost nonexistent light. "See what you think."

He groans softly as I find the waistband of his shorts, his resolve melts away with every touch. "Frankie," he protests halfheartedly, but I can feel him hardening against me, and I know I've won. Again.

I push him onto his back and straddle him, my hair falling around us like a curtain. I lean down and capture his lips in a searing kiss, my tongue sliding against his as I grind against him, his erection fully intact against me now.

His hands are on my hips, pulling me closer, his fingers digging into my skin as he bucks his hips up to meet mine. I break the kiss and sit up, rolling my hips as I ride him, the sound of our bodies moving together filling the room.

He reaches up and cups my breasts, his thumbs stroking over my nipples, making me gasp and arch my back. The tension builds inside me, a spring winding tighter and tighter with each movement.

"Fuck, Frankie," he growls, his voice strained as he fights to maintain control. But I don't want him to hold back. I want him let go, to lose himself in me the way I'm losing myself in him.

I lean down and nip at his bottom lip, then soothe the sting with my tongue. "Let go, Hunter," I whisper, and he does.

He flips us over in one swift motion, pinning me beneath him as he drives into me with a fierce intensity that makes me cry out. He pulls my legs up, my heels digging into his ass as he thrusts deeper and deeper, each stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through me.

The room is filled with the sounds of our passion—moans and gasps and the wet slap of skin on skin. As my orgasm builds, a tide of sensations threaten to overwhelm me, until I'm there, clinging to Hunter as I fall apart beneath him.

He follows me, spilling his seed in me, burying his face in my neck as he groans out his release. We lie there in the aftermath, our bodies slick with sweat and tangled in the sheets, our breathing slowly returning to normal.

Finally, he lifts his head and looks at me, his eyes filled with a warmth that has nothing to do with the heat of our lovemaking. "You were right. That was the best way to burn off some energy," he says, a note of amusement in his voice.

I smile and press a kiss to his lips. "Glad you are pleased."

9:49 am

I'm floating somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, the warmth of the bed and the lingering scent of Hunter on the sheets wrapping around me like a swaddling blanket.

I could easily sleep for another few hours, letting the events of the night before drift through my mind. But then, I hear it—Carly's voice calling out from the front door.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead!"

I groan and bury my face in the pillow, cursing myself for ever thinking it was a good idea to give Carly a key. She's the best friend anyone could ask for, but her timing… not so much. Reluctantly, I throw off the covers and reach for my robe, tying it loosely around my waist, and run to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

When I walk into the living room, Carly is already making herself at home with a wide grin on her face. "Good morning, sunshine! What took you so long to drag your lazy bones out of bed?"

I rub my eyes and manage a sleepy smile. "Ah, I had to brush my teeth. It's early morning on a Saturday. What in the hell are you doing here?"

"That's right. You can't do anything before your beloved morning ritual. Just thought I'd check on my favorite gal on my way home from my night shift. Plus, I brought you a latte. Figured you could use the pick-me-up."

She holds up a to-go cup like it's a peace offering, and I can't help but smile as I take it from her. "You're lucky you're cute. Otherwise, I'd be tempted to throw you out. After I take the latte, of course."

"Love you too, babe," she says, flopping down onto the couch. "So, how's my favorite friend doing this fine morning? Besides being sleepy."

I smile to myself remembering to myself what happened on that very sofa just a few hours ago. And then the floor below it… And then the bed I just peeled myself out of… I digress.

I take a sip of the warm amazingness in a cup, savoring it as it travels through my body. "Not bad. Just tired."

"Poor baby, who calls her own hours and works from home," Carly says, smiling like the smart-ass she can be. "I had another overnight shift. It was pretty quiet, though, thank God. Grace is still the same—no real status change. The docs are trying to figure out a long-term solution for her. She's really sick, Frankie. It's so hard to see her like that."

I nod, a pang of concern for Grace forms as a lump in my throat, but I decide not to mention the possibility of the pacemaker. It's too soon to get anyone's hopes up, and we don't even know if it's feasible yet.

"How are you doing, really?" Carly asks, her tone shifting to something softer, more concerned. "I was giving you a hard time, but seriously, are you okay?"

I sigh and sink into the armchair across from her. "Yeah, life's been busy and full, for sure."

"Talk to me," she says, leaning forward. "What's going on? Now that you have a boy toy, I don't get to see you as much."

I take a deep breath, trying to figure out where to start. "I had a really intense conversation with my dad yesterday."

Carly raises an eyebrow. "Bill? That dad?"

"Yes, Carly. That dad. Only got one."

"What happened?"

I tell her everything—about the history with my dad, the truth he revealed about why he wasn't in my life, and how he's been trying to make amends now that he's sick. As I speak, I can see the sympathy in Carly's eyes, the way she listens without judgment.

"Wow, Frankie… that's a lot to process," she says when I finish. "How are you doing with all of it?"

"I don't know," I admit, running a finger over the rim of the plastic cup top. "Part of me is relieved to finally understand what happened, but another part of me is just… exhausted. I'm sad we lost all that time."

Carly nods, her expression thoughtful. "It's going to take time. But I'm glad you're talking to him. It sounds like you're starting to heal."

"I guess the bright side is, we have the future. In some good news, his treatment seems to be working for his cancer."

"Yes, I like that perspective."

"Hmm," I think to myself softly. "And then, on top of that, Hunter's mom passed away yesterday."

Carly's eyes widen. "Oh my God, Frankie. You did have a busy day!"

"Yeah," I say with a wry smile. "It's been overwhelming. Hunter was really vulnerable last night and opened up to me about everything. In a weird way, it brought us closer, I think."

Carly's expression softens, and she reaches over to squeeze my hand. "I'm really happy for you, Frankie. I know this is a lot you have on your plate, but it sounds like you're handling it really well. Like always, a badass bitch."

I laugh at that notion. I'm a lot of things, but a badass bitch is not one that comes to top of mind. "You're a nerd. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'd probably sleep a lot more," she says with a grin, making me laugh despite everything.

"True," I admit. "But then who would bring me lattes and listen to my life's drama?"

"Exactly," Carly says, leaning back into the couch. "So, what's next? How are you going to deal with everything?"

I shrug, taking another sip of my coffee. "One step at a time, I guess. I've got the trial to focus on, and… well, Hunter and I will see where things go, I suppose. Still keeping my expectations low, don't worry."

Carly gives me a knowing look. "Sounds like a plan. Just remember, I'm here if you need anything. Even if it's just to vent. Or, drink coffee."

I nod, grateful for her as a sounding board. She gives me pause. "I know. And I appreciate it."

"Alright, enough heavy stuff," Carly says, suddenly brightening. "What's for breakfast? I'm starving."

I laugh, as the tension slides off my shoulders. "What does this look like, Waffle House?"

4:36 pm

I'm deep into the third draft of the protocol when I hear a knock on the door. It's firm but not urgent, the kind of knock that makes my stomach flip with a sense of unease. I know it isn't Hunter, I know his sound now. And Carly wouldn't knock, she barges in like she owns the place.

I set my laptop down and head for the door, stretching as I walk. I didn't realize how long I've been sitting until I got up and everything is tight.

When I open it, a woman is standing there, probably in her early fifties, with kind eyes and a face that shows the lines of life lived fully. She is strangely, vaguely familiar, but I can't place how.

"Hello," she says, her voice soft. "Are you Frankie Renna?"

I nod, unsure where this is going. "Yes, that's me. Can I help you?"

She hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with what she's about to say. "I'm sorry to intrude, but I'm Janice Renna. Bill Renna was my husband."

As soon as she says it realize I recognize her from the commercials of my father's dealership years ago. She is older now, but the resemblance is unmistakable.

The world tilts for a moment. My heart stops, and I stare at her, trying to process what she just said. "Bill Renna?" I echo, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," she says, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "May I come in? There's something I need to talk to you about."

I step aside, still in shock, and gesture for her to enter. She walks in slowly, taking in the space around her as if trying to get a sense of me through my home. I lead her to the kitchen table and offer her a seat.

"Can I get you something to drink?" I ask, my voice sounding far away even to my own ears.

She shakes her head. "No, thank you."

I sit down across from her, worried my legs might give out at any moment. I'm not sure if I want to hear what she has to say, but I know I have to. She wouldn't have come here if it weren't important.

Janice looks at me with those kind eyes and takes a deep breath. "Bill specifically asked me to deliver the news to you in person. I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, but… your father passed away last night. Peacefully."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My eyebrows involuntarily raise and I blink rapidly as my breath catches in my throat. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes while the room spins around me. "He's… he's gone?"

She nods, her expression full of sympathy. "Yes. He didn't want you to know how sick he was. He wanted to spend what little time he had left with you focused on healing, not on his illness."

I can't speak, can't move. The room seems to spin and close in around me as the reality of what she's saying sinks in. We still had so much left to do, to say.

Janice continues, filling in the blanks my father never mentioned. "Bill's Hodgkin's had been present for a while. It was an aggressive form, but he was in a clinical trial that seemed to be working—until the last several months. When the doctors told him there was likely nothing else they could do, he made it his mission to find you. He wanted to apologize in person before he died. That was all he wanted."

Through trembling voice, I manage to say, "He didn't tell me. He said nothing."

"He didn't want you to worry," she explains gently. "Only when he knew time was running out did he truly dedicate himself to locating you, after years of trying. Yesterday, he didn't feel well, but none of us thought it would be the day. He took a turn for the worse in the late afternoon, and by the time we got him to the hospital he was in organ failure. There wasn't much time."

Tears spill over, and I can't stop them. "I didn't know. I didn't know he was that sick."

"He didn't want you to," she says, reaching across the table to take my hand. "He wanted you to remember the good, to focus on the time you had together. He was so happy to have found you."

I nod, trying to steady myself, as an overwhelming wave of grief, regret, and anger falls over me all at once. Janice continues, her voice gentle but firm. It's not her fault, but her presence is intrusive right now and I suddenly want her gone.

"I also wanted to let you know Bill wanted his estate divided equally among his three children—you, and the two sons we shared. For the last twenty years, he built a considerable fortune through his used car business. He has several dealerships all around the Southeast. There are twenty-five Bill's Bargains across Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina, and North Florida. I'll be retaining ownership of three of the Alabama dealerships and the house. But he secured a buyer for twenty-two of them before he died and the proceeds will go to you kids. He wanted to make sure you knew how much he loved you."

I stare at her, unable to process the magnitude of what she's saying. "He did all that?"

She nods. "He did. And he wanted to make sure you were taken care of."

I'm speechless, the tears still falling as I try to absorb everything she's telling me. My father, the man who had been a ghost in my life, spent his final days trying to make amends, to leave something behind for me.

Janice squeezes my hand again, then slowly stands up. "I should go. I know this is a lot to take in. But if you ever need anything, or if you want to talk more, please don't hesitate to reach out."

I nod, unable to find the words. As she heads to the door, I follow her in a daze, my mind spinning with everything I've just learned.

She turns back to me before she leaves. "He really did love you, Frankie. He never stopped. Losing you broke a piece of his heart that was never whole again."

And with that, she's gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts, my grief, and the overwhelming sense of loss. I stand there for a long moment, unable to move, unsure of what to do next.

The first person I want to call is Hunter. I need his steady presence, his calm, his understanding. But even as I reach for my phone, I hesitate, not wanting to burden him with more after what he's just gone through with his own mother.

With trembling fingers, I type out a message, asking if he can come over.