18. Frankie

I survived the day,each moment tinged with a silent tension only I could feel. Avoiding the guys was a small victory, but lunch with Dorian was a different kind of battle. His eyes searched mine as if he sensed the otherness within me. Every time he looked at me, I felt raw and exposed.

It's something I still feel hours later.

Now, as the Tuesday rush dissipates, I lean against the back bar, wiping my hands on a dry towel. As far as Tuesdays go, this one was busier. With classes back in session, it's like life was breathed back into the town. Everything feels brighter and happier.

An itch began between my shoulder blades, though, demanding for me to do something. I know what it wants, and like an addict seeking their next hit, I scan the bar.

I try not to hunt this close to school, the risk of being seen too great, but the whisper of my darker nature is insistent, compelling me to listen and observe. As I scan the crowd, memories of past encounters flicker in my mind—shadowy figures, silent struggles, the final sighs of those who truly deserved their fate. This internal conflict is my constant companion, a reminder of the thin line I walk every day.

There are a lot of regulars here, none of which I'd touch unless they did something truly heinous. Most of these guys are just old-school fishermen. They grew up here, work here, and will die here.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Andy chucks a towel in the laundry basket she has hidden under the bar.

"No thoughts, it's completely blank up here. Not a single coherent thought." I smile at her, lying through my teeth. Why, at the worst possible moment, do I think of Dorian? Does he really never lie?

Andy snorts, not believing me. "I bet that brain is full of chaos."

"What, this one?" I tap my temple. "Nope. Nothing up here but a stream of digital code."

"Now that I believe." She leans on the bar across from me, crossing her arms. "How are classes?"

I hate small talk. It makes me feel like it's just a bridge to close the gap of a peaceful quiet. There is nothing wrong with quiet. Also, it means I have to answer—well, I don't, but I will. I like Andy, and despite how creepy Professor Blackwood is, he was right about her.

"Do you know Professor Blackwood?"

She whistles long and low and chuckles. "Morgan?" She shakes her head, sending her red ringlets flying. "Now that is a name I haven't heard in a long time."

The door opens, and in walks Officer Hart. Her hand runs through her short hair several times as she strides over to the bar, weary and tired.

"Grotto's Gold." She sighs.

"I've got it." I push off the counter and point at Andy, who is still smiling in a weird, secretive way. "Tell me about the professor."

"Which one?" Abigail asks.

"Morgan Blackwood." Andy turns around to face her sister, a gleam in her eyes. "You remember Morgan?"

Abigail smiles fondly, and a flush creeps up her cheeks. "Oh, I remember."

I set Abigail's drink before her. "Alright, spill it. It's a slow night, and there are only ten people in here, including us."

"Anyone ever tell you about what happened to a curious cat?" Andy pushes off the bar and walks around, lifting the divider before sitting beside her sister, leaving me alone back here.

I hope that means she is going to tell me all about Morgan Blackwood.

"No," I deadpan, finally answering her question.

"Stop." Abigail swats her sister playfully. Side by side, their resemblance is undeniable. "We both dated Morgan in high school."

"Accidentally," Andy tacks on with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Oh, this sounds like a dramatic love triangle." I lean forward on the counter, my interest piqued, the din of the bar fading into the background. "Tell me more."

Laughing, Abigail downs a third of her drink, a sparkle of mischief lighting up her eyes as she leans forward, eager to share. "Well, it was junior year of high school, and Andy was the head cheerleader."

"While Abbi played the sax in the band."

"You two couldn't be more opposite," I observe, intrigued by their contrasting pasts.

"You have no idea." Abbi chuckles, her laughter rich and warm. "Well, we both had our eyes on the handsome senior rugby player."

"No." My jaw drops in mock horror. "Professor Blackwood?"

"Scrum half." Abbi wiggles her eyebrows, a playful twinkle in her eye. "I loved watching those boys play." She bites the air, her gesture theatrical.

"Someone is thirsty," I quip, sliding her a glass of water across the counter, her laughter filling the space between us.

"Damn right. They were—no, are the most delicious athletes," Abbi adds with a little shimmy, her smirk devilish. Honestly, I love it. "But Morgan, he was the best, and a man-whore."

"That doesn't feel like the professor I met. He's stuffy and stuck-up." I wrinkle my nose as though I can smell his mothball scent from here.

"He wasn't always." Andy shrugs nonchalantly. "Keep those beers coming, doll."

I give her a mock salute. "You keep talking."

"No, he was quite the catch," Abbi continues, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "He had this air of indifference about him that you just wanted to peel away to uncover the real Morgan."

So even then he played pretend. "He's a psych professor now," I remark, tapping Andy's beer before moving on to Abbi's.

"That makes sense," Abbi muses, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. "There was that one rumor…" She taps the bar with her fingertips, each tap a drumbeat of secrets.

"You mean the one?—"

"Oh yeah." Abbi shudders, but this time, it's not with pleasure.

I place their drinks down before them. "What kind of rumor?"

"Well, some secrets, young one, are meant to stay secrets." She nods, her expression grave.

I turn to Andy, hoping for more, and she says, "Nope. I agree with her on this one. One day, you'll understand."

"Everyone keeps telling me that lately," I grumble, feeling frustrated. The bell rings over the door, and I automatically turn to look. A rugby player strides in wearing our school colors, a girl on one arm and a guy on the other, a tableau of youthful exuberance. "Huh."

Abbi and Andy glance at the door where the trio finds a table in the corner, the one guy remaining standing, probably about to order drinks.

"Young love." Andy sighs nostalgically. "Oh, how I miss those days of forming bonds."

"What an odd way to word that," I whisper to myself.

"Well, college is when we form bonds that'll last a lifetime," she adds, her tone reflective.

She isn't the only one who's said that lately.

Pushing off the counter, I walk to the guy who saunters up to the register. "What can I get you?"

"Three ciders," he begins, pulling out bills as I ring him up.

Leaving him to wait, I fetch his drinks, my eyes constantly straying to the other two. My curiosity burns inside me. I've never seen a throuple out in the wild before.

Is that a normal thing?

In the years I've spent here, I didn't pay attention to anything around me. Sure, I've served all these people before, but it's like this is the first time I'm truly seeing them. I thought I was observant. I have to be to pick my victims. Otherwise, how would I know they are bad people? I wouldn't. That's the simple answer. Chewing on my lip, I set the drinks on the counter and ring him out, my ears straining to listen to their chatter.

It's all dreadfully normal. They chat about schoolwork and classes—normal things. Annoyed at my curiosity, I turn back to the twins who whisper to each other in hushed tones.

"Is that normal?" I ask, blurting out the question.

"What's that, doll?" Andy follows my gaze to the three students. "What about it?"

"The three of them," I hiss, trying to keep my voice low.

"Sweetheart, they aren't the only pack"—Abbi hits her sister in the shoulder— "of students dating who come in here," Andy says slowly, rubbing her arm.

"Love is love." Abbi gives me a strained smile.

"Or rather, lust is lust." I toss a towel over my shoulder and glance at the clock on the wall. Nine, I have an hour to go, and then it's back to campus where I can no longer hide from my problems.

Why is a small part of me yearning for one of them to come through the door? "So that's normal?" I question, returning back to the conversation at hand.

Abbi and Andy don't answer me, not so much with words, but they give each other a knowing look.

I think back to all the groups of students that come in and out of the bar, and how a lot of them come in and hang out in little groups. Again, not strange, but now I'm thinking about it with a different perspective.

"What are you overthinking there, echo?" a familiar voice calls to me.

Turning around, I find Leo leaning on the counter, Matteo sitting at the window table, his dark eyes on mine.

"Echo?" I lean on the counter opposite him. I didn't even hear them come in.

"Yeah, echo," he taunts me.

"And where did that come from?" Why is he so damn appealing to me? Maybe it's everything he whispered in my ear while we sat at the diner—filthy words that set my entire body on fire.

That was just lust, though, and lust is lust. This is different. Lust, I understand. Hell, I've understood lust from a young age. The way Leo looks at me right now has nothing to do with lust and everything to do with interest.

"Maybe I'll tell you one day." He leans in like he has a secret to share with me, and because I'm a fool, I lean in to listen. "But see, you'd have to stick around for me to share my secrets."

Ouch.

I lean away from him. I know I should apologize for running off, but I'm not going to. I'm not sorry. Instead, I say, "You found me again."

"Well, when you weren't in your dorm, and when you skipped your classes, I called here," he says, not feeling an ounce of guilt over tracking me down.

"Stalker." I turn to the register. "What'll it be?"

"If that's what it takes to gain your interest," he replies, his ocean eyes peering through me as if they could unravel my deepest thoughts.

"Honestly, I don't know what it takes," I tell him truthfully, feeling a tinge of vulnerability as the words slip out.

"Porter and a rye," he says, sliding a twenty across the counter, which I ring up before moving to get his drinks.

"Well, look at you, sunshine," Abbi calls out to Leo, her voice tinged with playful flirtation, her eyes sparkling with interest.

Jealousy flares hot inside me, forcing me to look away. It's ridiculous. Leo isn't mine. Besides, Abbi is older and more confident in her flirting, seemingly unworried about the boundaries of casual bar banter.

"Officer Hart!" Leo replies with a jovial voice that carries across the bar. I once heard someone describe a person as having golden retriever energy, and I didn't get it until now.

"Leo," Andy says, her voice laced with amusement, "found your girl?"

I shoot a glare at Andy, not appreciating the spotlight.

"Sure did, right there making our drinks. Isn't she beautiful?" Leo sighs, placing his chin in his palm, and it would look adorable if he hadn't just announced to the entire fucking bar that I'm his girl.

"Not yours, Leo." I set his beers down on the counter, trying to suppress the heat rising in my cheeks. "Not anyone's."

"Yet," he counters, a slow smile spreading across his face as he lifts his beer to his lips. When he looks at me like that, with so much more than casual interest, I have to force myself to look away.

"Aww," Abbi coos, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding before her.

"I'm cutting you off. Don't make me call Tori," I threaten, the name dropping like a stone in still water, even though that is the very last thing I would do.

"Don't you dare." She sobers up quickly, scanning the room with sudden caution.

I hide my laugh and turn back to Leo, my face settling into a more composed expression.

"What time do you get off?" he asks. His tone is casual, but his eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that feels like a physical touch.

I pause, the weight of his gaze unsettling yet oddly thrilling. "Not soon enough," I respond with irritation and reluctant amusement. This thing between us, whatever it is, is complicated. Leo's presence stirs a storm within me, one I'm both drawn to and desperate to escape.

It's a simple question with a simple answer, but I had plans to let my shadows walk, stalk, and kill.

That is a private activity—one not done with anyone.

"Ten," I answer honestly, but only because Andy and Abbi are staring me down, their expressions a blend of curiosity and mild concern.

"Want company after?" he asks hopefully, leaning in slightly as if trying to coax the truth or perhaps more out of me.

"I have plans," I say, and for some reason, I feel guilty over the look of disappointment that flickers across his face. "Rain check."

"What are your plans?" he persists, taking a sip of his beer, not addressing my rain check comment. The sneaky bastard.

"Ah…" I clear my throat, glancing from him to Matteo, who sits in the corner, watching. His gaze is intense, almost piercing. "You know, I have to stop for girlie things," I tell him, the excuse hanging lamely in the air.

"Want company?"

"You're like a bulldog," I retort.

"Well, I want to make up for yesterday." Heat flares in his eyes.

Does he want to repeat yesterday or apologize? I can't get a read on him. Either way, I'm not so sure he's about to just walk away or give in.

One more night, shadows.

"Alright," I reply. "Did you drive?"

"Wait." He pops up really fast, spilling some of his beer. "Really?" He turns to Matteo, shouting across the bar. "She said yes!" He turns back to me, a grin spreading across his face. "We got a ride here, so we are all yours."

"Were you hoping I'd drive you back to campus?"

"Yep." He winks at me. "Get to know us, Frankie," he cajoles. "What could go right?"

I snort. What could go wrong, is more like it, and everything could go wrong.