19. Frankie

Regret hangs heavilyin the air tonight, much like the damp, clinging atmosphere of a crowded sports event I once attended. With every breath, the stench of past mistakes fills my nostrils, a constant reminder of choices I wish I could undo. As I sit here, trapped in the Jeep with Leo and Matteo, I'm painfully aware that my inner turmoil is invisible to them. The soft hum of the engine and the occasional rattle of loose gravel under the tires underscore the silence of our journey, emphasizing my isolation despite the close company.

Leo leans his head on my headrest, a stupid smile on his face as though he is just happy to be here beside me. The warm glow of the dashboard illuminates his face, casting shadows that flicker with each passing streetlight. He keeps stealing glances at me, soft and unassuming, while Matteo's gaze burns into the skin between my shoulder blades from the back seat. The weight of their attention makes me want to squirm, as if the leather clings tighter with each second.

Most of Morrow Bay closes at exactly six in the evening every single day. Andy's bar is one of the few havens of light and life that remain open, spilling warm, golden light onto the pavement. Unfortunately, my need to go to the store for girlie things means driving twenty minutes to the next town over and the grocery store that remains open all night.

It's a big box store, one that boasts cheaper prices than all other competitors. I've never really had it in me to actually prove it, but it's where I go for the things I need. As the town's lights fade behind us, the road is enveloped by the night.

No one talks because the top is down and the wind whistles through the Jeep, partially drowning out the radio Leo fiddled with until he found a station he liked. He began to sing to each and every single song that came on the radio, which he is still doing, only right now, there is a commercial on, and I just pulled into a parking spot. Shutting the engine down, I look over at the empty parking lot. The only cars sit at the back, probably belonging to employees, and there's a lone car a few aisles over.

The night sky and all her stars shine down on us, but they don't create enough light to kill the eeriness of the parking lot. "This is creepy," I mutter to myself, pocketing my keys.

"Do you often come here alone?" Leo unbuckles his seat belt and turns to me, his smile replaced with concern. The question hangs in the air, tinged with a protective edge.

"Yeah," I answer truthfully with a shrug. The shadows at my feet twirl around my ankles, reminding me that I'm never alone. They are there to keep me safe.

Leo hums under his breath. "Do you want the top up?" His eyes continue to scan the parking lot, then return to me. "I'm not going to lie, I don't like it. I feel like someone could hide in the back here and you'd never know."

"Hasn't happened yet," I tease, but it falls flat. "Do you mind zipping the top up?"

"I don't mind at all." His smile returns, comforting and warm in the chill of the night. "I'd do it for you."

"Do you know how?" I challenge, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of my lips despite the chill.

"Can't be that hard," Leo mutters, a frown creasing his forehead as he scrutinizes my old Jeep and the zippers that enclose my vehicle. He opens the door and hops out, determination etched on his face as he pulls out the cover and glares at it, as if challenging it to defy him.

"He will be fine," Matteo insists, hopping out of the Jeep and opening my door before I can react.

"Go get your things," Leo instructs, his tone more of an absentminded command than a request. "Matteo, grab me some snacks."

I should help him, but Matteo grabs my hand and begins dragging me toward the doors. "He's fine," Matteo reiterates calmly, making me want to believe him.

It's odd, having someone do things for me. It feels wrong somehow. I glance over my shoulder just as I'm about to walk in to see Leo completely focused on securing the Jeep in the parking lot. "I feel bad leaving him out there alone."

"Worried?" Matteo grabs a cart that I probably don't need and pushes it into the store.

"No," I lie, my answer a little too quick and sharp.

Matteo grunts and pauses just inside, waiting on me. "You shouldn't lie," he says, calling me out.

"Habit," I admit, unsure what to do with myself. I grip the side of the cart and push it in the direction of the toiletries. I might as well stock up while we are here.

"Break it," he suggests, as if changing a lifetime of habits is as easy as flipping a switch.

"It's not that easy." I sigh, gesturing toward the supplement aisle and beginning to browse. Clearly, I'm pretending to be far more interested in everything around me than I actually am.

Leaning over the cart, Matteo crosses his arms, his dark eyes watching me with more intensity than I'm used to. "Why?" he asks, that single word going off in my head like a gunshot.

A shiver worms its way through me, and I have to look away from him. He's intense, and he makes me feel like he can see beneath all the bullshit I throw up around me to keep him and everyone else out. Only, he keeps digging and chipping away at my walls until he can find the woman hidden underneath. I know if he ever gets there, he won't like what he sees—a broken woman full of scars that continue to haunt her.

I can't ever allow my scars to show. The moment I do, he will run away, leaving me alone.

Grinding my teeth, I pick up a bottle of old-school vitamins.

"Why?" he repeats, refusing to let it go.

I toss the vitamins in the cart and look at him. He sucks his pouty lip into his mouth, biting on it before releasing the plump flesh, then he raises a brow in question. This man has far more patience than any man I've ever encountered. It's unnerving, yet a part of me wants to open up to him.

"I don't know," I blurt and turn around. It's another lie, and it makes my body feel heavy as I walk to the end of the aisle where a wall of feminine products rises before me.

"You know," he says, following me. "You just don't want to tell me."

"Does it matter?" I glance at him as he pauses beside me.

"You can lie to me and everyone else," he says, his voice deep and gravelly, "but don't lie to yourself."

Swallowing my nerves, I look away and grab my usual box of tampons, tossing them into the cart before walking down the next aisle.

Truth is, the only way for me to survive is by lying to myself, telling myself that everything that haunts me didn't happen, because the moment I admit that the demons are real will be the moment I have to acknowledge that what happened to me is real.

I'm not ready to do that yet. I don't think I'll ever be ready to do that.

"You are a very stoic man, Matteo," I comment as I grab body wash and chuck it into the cart, moving along the aisle. His presence is a calm force, steady and unobtrusive.

"I was raised to listen," he says, and I'm glad he's talking and not forcing me to spill my life story. "Not just to those who speak, but to listen to the silence."

Curiosity gnaws at my insides. I want to know more about this stranger, because despite sharing a moment at the diner, this feels far more intimate. I learned early on that my body is nothing more than flesh and bone, something others deem as theirs to use and play with at their whims and desires, but true intimacy is far scarier. Yet, I want to know about him.

"What does that mean?" I turn to him, the cart a barrier between us.

His lips twitch before he answers. "I'll tell you if you tell me why you lie."

Can I tell this stranger a piece of me that I've never willingly given another? Fear slices through me hard and fast, and my shadows suck in close to my body, ready to fight for me, but this isn't a fight they can help me with. This is one that exists solely in my head.

"Maybe," I whisper, and that's going to have to be enough, because I don't know if I can open up to him. I want to, but my tongue won't form the words.

Matteo nods once, reading all the things I fail to say. "I grew up in New Delhi," he says, and I turn around, continuing to look for things I don't need, but I want him to keep talking. "My family—let's say they had a very important job within the government."

Holding facial cleanser in my hand, I look at him. His expression never changes as he talks. In fact, it remains the same. Always the same.

"From the moment I could walk, my parents taught me the art of listening," he continues. "They taught that if we could just sit still, the world would speak, revealing her secrets, and there are many, many secrets."

The way he says "secrets" sends a chill through me. "Secrets? You mean just people talking around you?"

"Yes, but not only that." He follows me down the next aisle. "Meditation, breathing, and just listening. When I was six, my mother took me into the woods and left me there."

I drop the cleanser I was looking at. "Shit." Bending down, I go to grab it, only for my shadow to grab it and hand it to me. When I pop up, I see Matteo still looking at me.

Did he see that?

Pretending he didn't, I ask, "Your mom left you in the woods? That's child abuse."

Something I know far too well.

"To some, if the intent was cruelty," he answers. "I was never alone. They were there watching me, assuring I listened."

I toss the cleanser in the cart and lean on the edge. "How?" I shake my head. "That's insane."

Those damn pouty lips of his twitch. "If I had been raised like people in this country, perhaps," he concedes, "but I listened. Tell me, Frankie, do you believe that animals and trees can speak?"

"I can say with absolute honesty that no one has ever asked me that question in my entire life." Truthfully, I don't know if animals or trees can talk. What would they say?

"Ah, but how do you think six-year-old me got out of those woods?" he teases, and it sends a tingle of warmth through me.

"Ran?" I suggest.

"With no direction in mind?" he counters. "In my culture, if you listen, you will hear them speak, and if you listen long enough, you will understand their language."

I can't wrap my head around this, so I shake it, just trying to understand. "I don't think I understand."

"Then I shall teach you."

I nibble on my cheek as I lead him away from the toiletries. I already got more than I needed. I just kept throwing stuff in the cart to keep him talking.

"Would you like that, Frankie?" His question rolls over me, tugging at something in my core. It's almost wholesome that he wants to teach me a piece of who he is.

Dammit, I want it.

"Yeah." I swallow my nerves. "I'd like that."

"Good," he says. It's one word, but there is so much hidden meaning there. "The box of cheesy crackers for Leo." He jerks his head at them.

Grabbing the box, I toss them into the cart. Feeling brave, I spin around and once again grip the cold metal cart. "Lying is easier than telling someone the truth. If I tell them how I really feel, they won't look at me the same." The words spill out of me in one long, run-on sentence. I can't even hold eye contact as I speak.

"So you hide behind false words." He nods as though he understands, and the messed up part is, I think he does understand. "You don't have to pretend with me, Francesca. Your truth is sacred to me."

Just like that, all the tension disperses from me—for all of two seconds.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" The voice sends a chill through me before I even open my eyes. It's Marcus, speaking with his slimy tone I know all too well. Even though it's been weeks since we last crossed paths when he kicked me out of the shelter, his voice still carries the echoes of threats.

"Shopping," comes Matteo's harsh reply. The man who was compassionate is gone, and when I open my eyes, I find the hard edges that were present the day he threw his teammate against the wall for me.

"Shopping," Marcus repeats mockingly, his voice dripping with contempt as he edges closer. "Don't hang out with her," he sneers, his words a familiar barb meant to isolate me. His penchant for undermining my relationships has always been his weapon of choice, one he wields deftly to remind me of the control he seeks to exert.

I have yet to turn around, and when I do, I'm greeted with his bloated face and beady eyes that roll over my body. He's just like all the others I've sent to their graves.

He will be the next one to fall through my shadows.

I hide a smile and jut my chin out.

"Leave," Matteo says, still leaning casually over the cart.

Marcus must see something in his eyes, because he holds up his hands and backs out of the aisle. I can feel my body itching to deflate as he leaves my sight, but there are a thousand Marcuses in the world, some worse than him.

"He bothers you," Matteo observes.

"Only because I let him," I reply casually over my shoulder.

The truth is, Marcus never really did anything to me personally, but I know his kind, and I've witnessed his attempts to be like all the others. He's remained off my list only because of the shelter, but enough is enough.

"There you two are!" Leo skids around the corner, a smile on his face. "I got it up."

I glance at Matteo, seeing a smile on his face as he looks at Leo with so much love and compassion that for a moment, jealousy sweeps through me, threatening to knock me off my feet—until he looks at me with the exact same smile.

Damn, if I let them, they will break through my walls, but they won't want to keep me.

No one ever does.