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17. Frankie

17 /

frankie

The thing is, my dad doesn’t look sick.

I watched him laugh and bellow his trademark ho, ho, ho all day yesterday and most of today. The only time I’ve seen him look fatigued is when he’s on the ice. I figured it was just him being out of shape. He hasn’t skated much since the boys left for college. But now that I’m looking with clear eyes, I see how tired he is all the time.

He never seems to get enough sleep, even if it’s ten hours a night.

I’m less scared now than when I first found out, though. Anthony and I are both scheduled to get tested next week. I think my brother is more worried about the blood draw than anything. For such a rugged, aggressive guy, he’s a bit of a wimp when it comes to needles. Not me. I would take the blood myself and walk it in right now if it meant I got the results faster.

“Pretty solid crowd,” Noah says over my shoulder.

His hands massage my shoulders, and I do my best to release the tension and let them fall back in place. Between prepping for tonight’s Christmas Eve dinner and finishing up at the photo booth and, well, my dad, I’ve been a bit stressed.

“It always is.” I sigh. I love seeing so many people gather and share a meal together, but I don’t love how many of them count on this meal. It’s the reason I’m going into community work.

“You did good,” he says, circling his arms around me and rocking us side to side. I grasp his arms and admire the room. It’s not half bad for a bunch of décor bought from the dollar store.

“You did, too,” I say, glancing at the boxes of food stacked on the far side of the room.

“I got you a little something.”

I turn to face him with squinted eyes. We agreed we wouldn’t exchange gifts because my life is so chaotic and I won’t have time to shop.

“I know we had a deal, but it’s a simple thing. And I really think you’ll love it. At least, I hope you do.”

Eying him sideways, I fall in step as he walks backward and leads me to the community center kitchen. The room is thick with the scent of beef broth, roasted turkey, and honey ham. Everything left over is on simmer and warm since my mom and I are the only cooks. I haven’t made a plate yet. I like to make sure everyone gets seated and fed first, but damn . . . I’m hungry.

Noah stops at the door to the business office, where I changed for the last time this season into this snug and revealing green dress. At least being inside, I get to wear my furry boots. I know the kids like to see Santa and his helper skate during breaks, and part of the charm of the photo booth is that it’s right off the ice. But this year was especially cold. Noah and his damn, accurate snow forecast.

“Close your eyes,” he says.

I narrow my eyes but follow his request, folding my hands over my face. Noah’s hands land on my shoulders, and he spins me around.

“I’m closing my eyes! Why do I need to turn around?”

“I don’t trust you. You were gonna peek,” he teases. I think.

“I don’t like that you don’t trust me,” I grumble.

“Were you going to peek?”

Was I? Damn it!

“Fine,” I huff.

He chuckles, and I hear rustling tissue paper. Such a boy. I bet he stuffed my gift in a bag. He turns me around and pulls one of my hands from my face, hooking a heavy bag on my finger. The red tissue paper still has the purchase sticker on one corner, and the price tag for the bag is hooked along with the gift tag, which is blank.

“It’s about what’s inside, not the wrapping,” he huffs, clearly noticing my scrutiny.

“Yes, true. You’re right.” I pull the paper away.

My hands touch the familiar stitching immediately.

“Really?” I flash my gaze to Noah as I let the bag fall away, and I hug his high school hoodie to my chest.

“It was always supposed to be yours,” he says, taking it from my hands and gathering it up so I can slip my head inside. I may still be Santa’s helper, but there’s no law that says she can’t also be a Noah Drake fan.

I hold the collar up to my nose and breathe in his scent.

“I always wanted this thing,” I admit. And by always, I mean since his junior year when the school gave it to him.

“It looks good on you.” He smiles, admiring me and sinking his hands in his pockets.

“You look good on me,” I reply, twisting in half circles so my skirt sways against my hips. I hug the front of the hoodie to me, and Noah closes the gap between us then tugs on the strings.

“I’m keeping this, just so you know.” No way I’m throwing it back this time.

“Good. Because you have a pretty good arm,” he teases, tapping his finger on my right bicep.

I smirk and flex my other arm, and Noah’s head falls back with a quick laugh.

“That’s right. You’re a lefty.”

I tug him close with my left hand, sliding my palm up his jawline and rising on my toes so I can kiss him. I’m about to deepen it and convince him to follow me into the business office when a throat clearing startles us from the kitchen door. Noah looks over his shoulder as I peer around his body to see my brother standing in the doorway and covering his eyes.

“I’ll be glad when the honeymoon phase wears off. I’m getting sick of walking in on . . . stuff.”

“Then, maybe you should knock!” I holler. I’m only half kidding.

“Yeah, I know. But there’s someone out here asking for Noah. Something about the food donations, and I don’t really know the deal, so . . .” Anthony points his thumb over his shoulder, and my stomach tightens because this is happening earlier than I expected. It’s Noah’s dad.

“I’ll be right out,” Noah says, turning back to me.

He flinches when our eyes meet, and I realize it’s probably because mine are book-owl wide.

“You okay?” he laughs out softly.

“Oh, yeah.” I shake my head. “Just, I hate when he walks in on us. That’s all.”

Anthony is a far better liar than I am, but thankfully, I can kiss away suspicion, which is exactly what I do.

“As long as he doesn’t walk in on us later. Because I have things I want to do to you before this outfit goes back in the box for the season.” He grabs my ass under my skirt, and I yelp.

“You know, I do own it. I can pull it out anytime I want.”

“How about when I want,” he suggests, waggling his brows.

I pat his chest and roll my eyes as I encourage him to follow me to the door.

“My dress, my rules, buddy,” I say, pausing with my hand on the kitchen door.

It’s quiet on the other side, and I hope Noah doesn’t notice the sudden drop in conversation. Before he has a chance to mentally compute it, I crack open the door to meet my brother’s gaze. When Anthony nods, I push it open fully and guide Noah into the dining room.

“Where is the pers?—”

Noah’s words cut off the second his gaze lands on his dad, and without another second passing, he breaks into tears and cups his mouth.

“Damn, did you do this?” He moves toward his father while eyeing me, his smile at war with the tears welling up.

“I’m pretty sure your dad did this,” I say. “We were all just decoys.”

Noah shakes his head at me, then rushes the rest of his way toward his father, slinging his arms around the man who could be his twin were it not for the graying in his closely trimmed hair. His father falters back a step or two on impact, then pats his son’s back with two heavy hands, both tucking their faces in each other’s necks and letting the moment swallow them up.

“Thank you for helping with this,” Noah’s mom says, linking our arms together and looking on as father and son cling to one another amid applause and whistles from their neighbors.

“He really misses him,” I tell her.

She runs her fingertip under her eyes, then twists to face me so I can check her mascara. It’s a mess. I grimace through my smile and shake my head.

“It doesn’t matter. You look beautiful.”

She laughs as my mom hands her a tissue. She cleans up some of the black smears, leaving her eyes smoky and red as she steps into her family’s embrace, her husband holding both of them close.

While Noah spends some very needed and deserved time with his parents, I slip into the kitchen and make the three of them and myself a plate. As I’m configuring the plates in my hands, balancing one on my forearm, Anthony slips in through the kitchen door.

“Oh, thank God. Can you take one? I think I’m giving my waitressing skills too much credit.”

My brother laughs softly and takes the plate perched on my arm.

“You get food for yourself?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’ll take one of these. I wanted to make sure Noah and his parents eat, and I wanted to give them some time alone.”

Anthony nods, then picks up a slice of ham from the plate he’s holding and takes a bite. “This one’s yours now.”

“Ha, yeah. I guess it is.”

I head toward the door with Anthony behind me, probably still raiding my dinner. Before I push the door open, though, his hand lands on my shoulder. I pause and turn to the side, expecting him to point out something I dropped or to cop to eating my plate clean in seconds. While his expression looks guilty, however, my plate is still full. A new jolt of panic zaps through my body.

“What is it?”

I don’t know that I can take one more thing. Not now, at least. I need time to spread things apart. To feel happy about Noah and worried about my dad. And joy for Noah’s dad being here. And pride for the holiday dinner.

“No, it’s nothing bad. It’s . . . it’s good, actually.”

“Oh.” I fall back on my heels and my chest deflates. My pulse needs to catch up now.

“I’m giving Dad a kidney,” he says. And just like that, my pulse has no chance in hell.

“What?” I’m pretty sure he doesn’t just get to declare such a thing and make it so. We’re both getting tested, and so is my uncle. We won’t know the results for a few days. Unless?—

“Did you already test?”

I can tell by the way his mouth tightens that he did. He lifts a shoulder slightly and blinks through our gaze.

“I had it done right after Thanksgiving. I drove up to Chicago from Tiff, and I told Coach why I needed to miss practice. Noah thought I was taking an early final, and he was honestly so mopey and distracted over you, apparently, that he didn’t seem to care when I came home late that night. I wanted to know. Just in case.”

My eyes are glued open. I can’t seem to blink, I’m so shocked by his news. But also, I understand why he did this. I would have, too, if I knew when he did. I would have needed to do something. It’s better than feeling helpless.

“I’m a good match, Frankie. I told Mom and Dad I’d already tested after they set up the appointments for me and you. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you then. I guess I didn’t want you to think I was trying to one-up you or something. It’s stupid, but I just . . . I need to do this. I’m a good match. Even if you’re a match, the doctors said my percentage will likely be the strongest.”

“What about hockey? You can’t play if you’re healing. And I don’t think they let kidney donors play contact sports, so even if you take a year, you . . . you’ll be done.”

I finally blink when the tears prick the corners of my eyes. Damn these tears. Showing up way too often this year.

“Looks like I’m officially retired from the ice.” He shrugs.

“Does Noah know?” I glance over my shoulder to the door where they sit on the other side.

“I’ll tell him later. Maybe after his dad leaves. I want him to have a perfect Christmas. And it’s not like I’ll leave him hanging. I bet Coach will still let me travel with the team. I’d make a great team manager. It’s not like I play anyway.”

We both chuckle at the hard truth.

“I’m not sure I can let you just do this,” I stammer.

He puts my plate down on a nearby counter, then takes the ones balanced in my hands and sets them down as well. Without pause, Anthony pulls me into the tightest hug I’ve ever gotten from him. His embrace is warm and drowns all my fears with a sudden, odd dose of comfort.

“You don’t have a choice, Frankie. I call seniority on this one, okay?”

I suck in my lips and hold in my cry. Damn him for using our sibling rank to his advantage. It’s how he always got the front seat or the bigger slice of pizza. I suppose it’s only fair that he gets some of the hard stuff, too.

“Okay,” I utter into his neck.

And for the first time in days, I think everything really will be.

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