Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Frankie

The sun was still up when a knock on the RV door woke me, though the angle of the light was different. Either I'd slept an entire day, or it had only been a few hours.

Based on how groggy I felt and the grit clinging to my eyes, either option was a possibility.

"Frankie," Newt's familiar voice called through the door. "You awake?"

"Yeah, I'm up." My throat felt like it had been replaced with a tube of sandpaper and my eyes were sensitive around the edges. If I didn't know better, I would have thought I spent my entire time in the RV crying, but not a single tear had escaped me.

When Newt stepped through the door carrying a large glass of water, I groaned in relief. As soon as the drink was in my hand, cold condensation dripping over my fingers, I chugged half the glass in one go. I would have drunk more if it weren't for my need to breathe.

"Thanks," I gasped when I came up for air. "How'd you know I needed that?"

Newt shrugged. "I noticed you didn't eat or drink much these last few days. There's food prepared back in the house. Also..." He held up a bag with some supplies. A closer inspection revealed they were the hair care items I'd bought at the store the other day.

I sheepishly tugged at the braid that had mostly come undone. "Is it that noticeable?"

"Not really." Newt took my hand and led me out of the RV. "But you're more easily agitated when your hair needs to be redone."

Back inside the house, we went through the familiar motions of my hair care routine. Just taking out all the braids and washing and conditioning everything took over an hour, but it was much easier with two people than if I'd done it alone. Newt had been helping me with my hair for years, ever since our first semester of college when we became roommates. He'd noticed me struggling with my hair on my own and offered to help.

At first, I thought it would be simple. So long as I walked him through the steps, then everything would be fine.

How wrong I'd been.

The first time he tried to help with my hair, he messed it up so badly I had to go to a salon to get it fixed. My anger had quickly died in the face of his numerous apologies, and I eventually agreed to let him try again. With a lot of practice on his part, and patience on mine, he'd eventually gotten better.

Now, years later, Newt easily managed my tight curls without a second thought.

"Do you want the same braid pattern as before, or something new?"

I thought about it for a moment, while at the same time finishing the last few bites of food on my plate at the kitchen table. A new pattern did sound enticing, but there was already enough upheaval in my life right now.

"Keep it the same. We don't have the usual materials, so it's probably not the best time to experiment."

Newt started partitioning out the sections for the braids, using a chopstick we'd found in a kitchen drawer since we didn't have a proper stylist comb.

"So, do you want to talk about it?" he asked as his fingers deftly twisted the first braid into shape.

"Talk about what?"

I was glad he stood behind me so I couldn't see his disapproving look.

"About Gabe."

I shrugged, though I was careful not to move my head. "Not much to talk about. He's missing, and as you and Sebastian have so helpfully pointed out, there's nothing we can do about it."

The first braid was finished and hung against my neck. The feeling brought a sense of comfort. I always felt a bit naked when my hair was unbraided, like some sensitive part of me was exposed to the open air.

Newt ran some leave-in conditioner through the second lock of hair before he started braiding.

"Not about that. I'm talking about the fact that Gabe has obviously gotten under your skin. That's not like you. Normally you have an endless amount of patience, yet Gabe is constantly getting a reaction out of you."

I frowned. The downside to having Newt standing behind me meant I couldn't glare at him. "That's not true."

Newt stopped braiding for a moment to lean over my shoulder and look me directly in the eye, one eyebrow raised in an incredulous look. "Frankie. I once saw a patient call you a tar-baby and order you to go back to picking cotton, and all you did was laugh."

Ah, yes, Mr. Locklin. I remembered him. His family had warned me about him when they brought him to me for therapy. He was "raised in a different time" they'd said.

Even now, that phrase made me snort and roll my eyes.

Yeah, the man was raised in a time when the amount of melanin in a person's skin dictated the amount of respect they were owed.

Still, I'd eventually managed to win the man over by not taking any of his crap. In the end, he'd listened to my instructions, and even seemed to have a higher opinion of me than his own sons.

"Getting angry at Mr. Locklin wouldn't have done anything except enforce his racist beliefs. Plus, I'm pretty sure half of his angry outbursts were fueled by dementia."

"True, but most people wouldn't have the patience to put up with that kind of mistreatment and find a way to work with him. You did."

The second braid was done and joined the first.

"So what? I'm good at my job. What's that got to do with anything?"

The chopstick dragged over my scalp as Newt sectioned off the next piece of hair. "Gabe's gotten more under your skin than any patient I've seen before. Why? He's hardly the most challenging person you've ever met. Half the things he does that make you mad aren't even that bad. So, I can't help but think there's something more going on."

Rather than demand an immediate answer, Newt let me sit in silence for a while as he continued to braid my hair. A quarter of my head was done by the time I finally responded.

"He reminds me of my family." Newt's silence, and the unceasing motion of his fingers in my hair, were all the encouragement I needed to continue. "They micromanaged everything I did. When I was younger, I thought it was their way of showing that they cared, since they weren't the most emotionally expressive people."

As Newt sectioned off the next lock of hair, he was careful not to let the point of the chopstick touch the scar on the back of my head.

The gesture was appreciated. Newt knew how much I hated having that spot touched, but the obvious avoidance only reminded me of its existence.

"However, when I actually needed them, it turned out that their protectiveness had nothing to do with love. It was just about control."

Newt finished off the braid and carefully moved on to the next lock of hair on the other side of the scar. "I think I get what you're saying, but it still doesn't answer my question. Surely you've encountered overprotective and controlling people before and you've never reacted so strongly. What makes Gabe different?"

When Newt finally finished braiding the area around my scar, I sighed in relief. "I think I'm afraid of being disappointed. Gabe could be better than my family was, but what if he's the same?"

Behind me I could feel Newt thinking, although his hands never stopped their work.

"I guess that's the risk of getting to know someone," he said after a moment. "They might let you down. But then again, they might not."

Grumbling under my breath, I refused to admit that Newt had a point. We finished my braids without any other issues, and I took a moment to admire them in the mirror. With my hair back in proper order, I felt more like myself again.

Newt placed a hand on my shoulder, while staying out of the mirror so he didn't block my view. "You should talk to Gabe. Like, really talk. Not that snarky thing you do when you're trying to keep someone at arm's length."

Running my hands through my braids one last time, I let them fall loose around my neck, so they just barely touched my shoulders.

"We did talk for a bit when he brought me breakfast. You know, the morning you taught him how to apologize. That wasn't so bad."

I distinctly did not mention what else Gabe and I had done that morning. If Newt ever found out about my reaction to feeling the other man's body so close to mine, I'd never live it down. Just like I would never let Newt forget that he gave Sebastian an accidental lap dance when the two of them first met.

What are friends for, if not to tease each other relentlessly?

Before I could say anything else, I was cut off by the phone ringing. I'd never heard that particular cellphone go off before, and at first I didn't realize where the sound was coming from.

Why did it not surprise me that Gabe had chosen the most generic beeping sound as the ringtone?

Picking it up, I shoved the phone against my ear. "Gabe? You there?"

At first, I was met with only static and silence. Then, very faintly, I heard a single word spoken in Gabe's familiar voice.

"Frankie."