CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

She was in bed when Trick walked into the room hours later. She looked young in her sleep, he thought. Especially with her hand tucked under her chin and the lines of her face smoothed into an expression of pure peace.

For a minute he stood near the bed, just watching her. Watching the slight rise and fall of her chest. He wanted to go to her. Touch her, wake her, slip inside her. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he was calmer. Not until he’d washed off the blood and violence.

In the bathroom he shed his clothes and stepped into the shower stall. He tipped back his head and closed his eyes as the hot spray pounded down on him. Even though Drake was literally dead and buried, Trick felt no real satisfaction. Not now that he knew Drake had been just a puppet. Nothing short of Nash Morelli’s head on a pike would ease the lingering agitation that rode him.

His wolf wasn’t even close to calming. Not while a threat to his mate still existed. Not when she still hadn’t been fully avenged and—

There was a slight draft on his back as the shower door opened, and then soft hands slid around him. Trick let out a long breath. Fuck, he wanted her. Needed her. But he didn’t want her to have to deal with this side of him. “Baby—”

“Shh.” Frankie squirted some soap onto her hands and then lathered it into his shoulders. She didn’t rush. Didn’t talk. Just gave him the peace that she sensed he needed.

It hadn’t been the sound of the water running that woke her. It had been the feel of his agitation pulsing down their mating bond. She figured he’d probably prefer to be alone, but she could no more ignore the need to soothe him than she could ignore the need to eat.

She soaped down his shoulders and back, digging her fingers into his skin just enough for it to feel good and push away the tension. Little by little, his muscles lost their stiffness, and the frustration buzzing down their bond simmered down to a slight hum.

“Turn around for me,” she said. He did, and she washed his chest, abs, and arms. She’d meant to comfort him, not arouse him, but his cock was hard as steel and she could feel his need. It amplified her own, tightening her nipples and making her breasts ache. She ignored it as best she could—this here and now was about him.

Smoothing his hands down her back to palm her ass, Trick put his mouth to her ear. “I can smell how wet you are.” The sweet scent of her need filled the stall, making his head spin and his cock throb. Nuzzling her neck, he scraped his teeth over the claiming mark. “Mine.”

“Yours,” agreed Frankie. He brought his mouth down hard on hers. Gripping his shoulders, she moaned. The kiss was hot, wet, and hungry. He plundered and dominated and demanded her submission.

“Your throat,” he rumbled. “Give me your throat.”

Oh, now, that was asking for a lot more submission than she was comfortable giving. Frankie didn’t mind following his orders and letting him take the lead—it was often to her benefit, and she didn’t get a kick out of controlling others anyway. But offering him her throat? Yeah, that was asking a lot. “Trick—”

“Give me your throat.”

She lifted her chin. “No.”

His eyes narrowed. “All right.”

Unease pricked at her. Trick generally wasn’t the type to back down when he wanted something, especially during sex. His mouth took hers again, tongue sinking inside and exploring every crevice as he backed her against the tiled wall. He raised one of her arms, and she felt something wrap around her wrist. He did the same thing with the other, and then her foggy brain remembered . . . suction cup restraints.

Well, fuck. She’d noticed them before. He’d taunted her that he’d use them one day, when she was least expecting it. Well, she sure hadn’t seen it coming just now.

Trick hummed in satisfaction at the perfect picture she made right then. “Cuffed, helpless, and mine to play with.”

The “helpless” part both pricked at her pride and fueled her need. Frankie might have fought him, if only for the fun of it, but she sensed that he needed this. Needed to lose himself in what they had. Needed the control that he’d no doubt shed tonight while he did what he had to do. So rather than fighting him, she remained still. And that earned her a lazy, lopsided grin.

Trick trailed his fingers down her neck, between the valley of her breasts, down to her stomach. “You look so fucking hot right now, Frankie.” His cock was full and heavy, throbbing like a bitch. “My Frankie.”

He kept his touch featherlight as he grazed his fingers over the plump lips of her pussy. He slipped his finger between her folds just enough to skim over her clit. Her hips jerked toward him, and he smiled. His mate had the most sensitive clit he’d ever come across in his life, and he loved to tease her endlessly. Loved pushing her as far as she could go. Which was why he said, “I think I’ll come back to that later.”

Ignoring her harsh curse, he closed his hands around her breasts and squeezed. “I fucking love your tits.” He pushed them together as he licked from one nipple to the other. He sucked and licked and raked them with his teeth. With a choked moan, she arched into him as much as her restraints would allow. He thrust a finger into her hot little pussy and groaned. She was already wet, but . . . “I want you dripping for me.” He scooped out some of the slickness and spread it over her clit. “Is this what you want?”

“You know it is.” Frankie gasped as he caught her clit between two fingers and squeezed just a little. He slid his fingers forward and backward, rubbing both sides of her clit with each glide. Oh God. She hooked one leg over his hip to lock him in place as the tension built inside her. Every part of her ached for him. Responded to him. Craved him.

“Frankie, give me your throat.”

She hissed. “Why do you want it so bad?”

“I need to know you’ll give me anything. Everything.” He sank his finger back into her pussy, scooped out more lube, and smeared it all over her clit. “There’s only one thing I wouldn’t do for you, Frankie—and that’s let you go. I’ll never give you freedom. But anything else? It’s yours.” He circled, rubbed, and pinched her clit. “Give me what I want.”

Frankie squeezed her eyes shut. Even while she was out of her mind with need, her pride balked at his request. But the heart that he’d won and now totally owned wanted to give him whatever he needed. And the heart won out over her pride.

A growl rumbled out of Trick as she tipped her head back, giving him her throat. Like that, his control evaporated like mist. He tore open the Velcro cuffs to free her hands. “Hold on.” He lifted her high and roughly dropped her on his cock. Her breath seemed to gust out of her lungs, but her pussy rippled around him. And he knew neither of them would last long.

He braced his hands against the wall, keeping his arms straight. “Ride me.”

Frankie locked her legs around him as she gripped his shoulders and rode his cock like their survival depended on it. All the while, his mouth drove her insane—sucking on her neck, biting her earlobe, teasing her claiming bite, and whispering some seriously dirty fantasies down her ear.

“Come on, Frankie, fuck me.” He slipped one wet finger inside the bud of her ass, and her pace faltered. “I didn’t tell you to stop. Move.” She resumed rising and falling, so that she was fucking both his cock and his finger. “Harder, Frankie, make yourself come.”

And then it happened. White-hot pleasure blasted through Frankie like a hot wind, trapping a scream in her throat and making her pussy ripple around the cock that throbbed deep inside her. Just as it distantly occurred to her that he hadn’t come, he lifted her off his cock and pushed on her shoulder.

“Get on your knees, Frankie,” Trick growled. A little dazed, she did as she was told. “That’s it. Open your mouth.” The moment she parted those lips, he thrust inside. He wasn’t careful or gentle. He gripped her hair as he fucked her mouth, frantically punching his hips. Then his release barreled into him and he exploded, blowing his load right down her throat.

He closed his eyes as it all drained out of him—the anger, the frustration, the thirst for vengeance. Slipping his hands under her arms, Trick pulled her to her feet. He held her to him, burying his face in her neck, rocking her loose body from side to side. “You always do that.”

“What?” she slurred, weakly stroking his back.

“Bring me peace.” He pressed a lingering kiss to her hair. “Missed you.” Those few hours without her had felt a hell of a lot longer. Maybe because, for a while, he hadn’t been himself.

“It was no fun going to bed without you. Let’s not do that often.”

He smiled. “Agreed.” He breathed her in. His heart stuttered. “Our scents have mixed.”

Frankie’s nostrils flared, and she grinned. “That means the bond is strengthening, right?”

“Right. And now everyone will now you’re mine just by your scent.”

“I’d roll my eyes if I didn’t get the same satisfaction from that idea.” After they’d both washed their hair and rinsed away the suds, they stepped out of the shower and dried off. It wasn’t until they were in bed—him on his back, her nestled against his side—that she spoke again. “I don’t want to put a downer on the mood, and I know you’d rather not talk about it, but I’d like to know whether Drake—”

“He can never hurt you again.”

Meaning he was dead, she thought. “Then what’s troubling you?” She’d have expected him to feel better now that he’d had his vengeance. “You feel bad for killing him?”

“Fuck no.” Sighing, Trick skimmed his fingers up and down her back. “He said that Morelli sent him to kidnap you.” He relayed everything Drake had told him.

Frankie traced the lines and dips of his abs as she spoke. “He could be telling the truth. I mean, extremists have tried to provoke our kind into starting a war, but we formed The Movement instead. If they want the war bad enough, they need to try something else. And it would be smart to try to recruit a shifter they can work with. Not that I believe they wouldn’t actually kill Morelli. He might not even believe that they’d let him live. They might simply be content on using each other.”

“If he was telling the truth, Morelli planned to serve us to the extremists on a silver fucking platter.” His wolf peeled back his upper lip.

“I’d say it’s time for Trey to have a talk with him.”

“Tried that. Morelli’s number is no longer in use.” That could mean a lot of things—none of which he wanted to explore right then. “Let’s not talk anymore about that fucker.” Trick caught her hand and kissed her palm. “How did the rest of your night go?”

“Good.”

“No males were hanging around, trying to steal you from me?”

She chuckled. “No.”

“No one gave you any problems?”

“No.”

The slight hesitation before she spoke made him frown, especially since agitation briefly spiked down their bond. “What happened?”

She sighed. “I was going to tell you tomorrow. You have enough shit on your mind tonight.”

“I want to know.” He pulled her on top of him so he could better look her in the eye. “Tell me now.”

She bit her lip, resting her chin on his chest. “Rio was a little . . . unfriendly.”

Fucker. “Define unfriendly.”

“He basically indicated that, as I don’t have a dick, he believed I wasn’t what you needed. He thinks you’re gay—or at least mostly gay. And if what Marcus said is right, he’s bitter that pursuing you never worked out for him.”

Trick swore, pissed with both the motherfucker and himself. “I shouldn’t have left you.” He should have stayed at her side, protected her.

“I’m a big girl, you know.”

“Tell me Marcus dealt with the bastard.”

“He, Derren, and Zander took said bastard outside for a ‘conversation.’”

“Good.”

“Of course, that was after I stabbed his hand with my claws.”

Trick blinked. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve proven over and over that behind your cuteness lies a mean little she-wolf.” She just shrugged. “Tell me that you know Rio was chatting utter bullshit.”

“I know,” she assured him. “You want me, whatever package I come in.”

“But the things he said hurt you.”

“They stung a little, I’ll admit that. No one likes to hear their mate’s ex brag about how they know what he likes and what he tastes like. Not that I hadn’t already figured out that you liked it rough and were a fan of anal. According to Rio, you’ll stick around for a while if I give your dick access to my ass.”

Trick cupped her face. “Hear me, Frankie. I will fuck your ass. I’ll fill every inch of it and claim it as mine. Not because I like anal, but because it’s you. Whatever we do, it’s always about you.”

Frankie lifted a brow. “Look, I don’t mind you using a finger now and then.” She’d grown to like that. “But your cock? No. That won’t happen. Don’t give me that indulgent smile, like I’m delusional or something.”

“Oh, baby, I don’t think you’re delusional. I just think you’re full of shit.” He slid a hand down her back to cup one globe. “I will have this ass. I will fuck it and claim it and come deep inside it. And you know what? You’ll love every moment of it.” He narrowed his eyes. “You can wipe that indulgent smile right off your face.”

“Annoying, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it damn well is.”

She snickered. “We can argue about it tomorrow. I’m wiped.” She rested her cheek on his chest and closed her eyes. She waited until she was on the verge of sleep before she said, “By the way, I love you too.”

Trick went rigid. “You can’t tell someone you love them and then just go to sleep.”

“Watch me,” she slurred. And then she drifted off.

The next day, Trick frowned as he stared at Ryan. “Say that again.”

Standing in the center of Trey’s office, the enforcer repeated, “Morelli is gone. The buildings on his land, including the pack house, were all burned to the ground. It was no forest fire or accident. Accelerant was used. Someone deliberately destroyed them. There wasn’t a soul in sight.”

Trey’s chair creaked as he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his desk. “Any bodies?”

“Not that I could see,” replied Ryan. “But I can’t be sure that no one died in the fire.”

“So either someone tried to kill the pack, or Morelli did the damage himself and then scampered.” Trey tapped his chin. “Maybe he knew we had Drake. But how?”

Perched on the edge of the desk, Dominic said, “He could have someone watching our territory from a distance, or he could even have tagged Drake’s body the way he tagged our SUVs.”

“Both those scenarios are possible,” agreed Trick. “Morelli might have worried that Drake would talk—or he wasn’t prepared to take chances—so he did a runner. He could have burned down the buildings just so that no one else could claim them. He’s spiteful that way.”

Leaning against the wall, Marcus scratched at his stubbly jaw. “I didn’t figure Morelli for someone to run.”

“He’s not a guy who’s ruled by pride,” Dante pointed out. “He’s realistic enough to know that we have far more powerful alliances than he could dream of having. As we’ve said before, he has a plan.”

Ryan grunted in agreement. “His mind is centered on that. If hiding means preserving that plan, he’ll do it. But I think he’ll adapt it to include us being wiped out—probably at his hand.”

Trick turned to Trey. “You’re my Alpha, I respect you, but if you wanted me to flee with you and hide somewhere, I’d expect there to be a damn good reason. Otherwise you’d lose a great deal of my respect. That makes me wonder if Morelli’s pack is hiding with him. If they are, what reason would he give them?”

Dominic tossed a paperweight from one hand to the other. “I think we’re right that Morelli burned down the buildings, but I don’t think his pack knows it was him. I think he blamed it on someone else. Possibly us. His pack would leave with him and agree to hide if he gave them some spiel about lying low while they plotted revenge or some shit like that.”

“It’s probable,” said Ryan. “Whatever the case, I think he’ll launch an attack at some point. Not just because we messed up his plan, but because he truly wants our territory. His style is to take out the strongest members and try to recruit the others.” He looked at Trey and Dante. “That means you two will be his main targets. But you’ll need to watch out too, Trick. You and your mate both thwarted him. And in doing so, you made it impossible for his plan to work. Trey didn’t come to him for help like Morelli wanted. You also ensured that Drake was hunted down, which lost Morelli one of his wolves. In other words, you’ll be on his shit list.”

The knock at the door made Trey frown. Still, he called out, “Come in.”

Lydia took shy steps inside, teeth nibbling her lower lip. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Everything okay?” asked Dante.

She sighed. “Well, not really.”

Trick narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I was talking to Frankie at her studio. I just wanted to see her work and stuff. While I was there, she got a phone call. And then her face just went all weird. I asked what was wrong, but she blew me off and went back to work.”

Trick checked her through their bond. She seemed calm enough, but he knew that she could throw herself so deeply into a project that her emotions took a back seat. His wolf urged Trick to find her, check on her.

“Go see your mate,” Trey told him. “Make sure she’s okay.”

With a curt nod, Trick left the office and stalked out of the caves and through the woods. As he neared the studio, he heard rock music blasting out of her speakers. Honestly, he didn’t know how the noise could possibly help her concentrate, but whatever worked.

In the studio she was bent over a huge, shapeless clump of clay. Slowly and cautiously he crossed to her and said, “Hey, baby. What’s that going to be?”

“No idea.” She flicked him a sideways glance. “Lydia went to see you, huh?” she guessed.

Taking her by the shoulders, Trick gently turned her to face him, taking in her pinched expression and pained stare. “Who called you, and what did they say to upset you?”

“It was my grandparents’ housekeeper, Edna.” She swallowed. “Geoffrey was admitted into the hospital this morning. He was shot in the shoulder outside the court building.”

“Shot?” he echoed.

“He’s okay. The shooter either had a shit aim or hadn’t wanted to kill him.” Frankie took in a shaky breath. “At first I was just shocked. I couldn’t feel anything. I didn’t know what to feel. It has to make me a shitty person that I went right back to my project like—”

“You’re not a shitty person. You went back to your project the way someone else would have reached for a bottle of whiskey or a Valium. What you do here calms you and gives you an outlet. So now that the shock is subsiding, how do you feel?”

“Worried, even though he’s okay. And . . . well, pissed.” The moment she admitted to the emotion, her anger truly hit her. She hissed through her teeth. “They didn’t even call to tell me about it, Trick. It’s one thing to disapprove of me and need to make their point by giving me the cold shoulder. It’s a whole other thing to not even call me when my grandfather is hurt.”

Trick drew her against him and held her close, stroking her hair. “Breathe with me, Frankie. Nice and slow. That’s it.” When she seemed to have found her calm, he pulled back to meet her gaze. “Come on. We’ll lock this place up and go back to our room so you can get changed.”

“Changed for what?”

“I doubt you want to go to the hospital looking like that.”

“I won’t be welcome,” she said, her voice low. “They’ll just send me away. Going up there would make me a glutton for punishment.”

“But if something went wrong and he didn’t recover, you wouldn’t forgive yourself for not at least trying to see him.” That was the only reason Trick gave a damn about her going there. “You have every right to be at the hospital, Frankie. But if you really don’t want to go, we won’t go. It’s that simple. I just don’t want you to do something you might later regret.”

“They’ll chase me out of there.”

“They might try.” Trick wouldn’t let them. “I’m coming with you. I know they won’t like it, but I won’t hang back. Not just because I don’t trust them with you, but because they need to get used to the simple fact that I’m part of your life now.”

Frankie gave a slow nod. “Okay.”

“And if they behave like assholes, you can trust that I’ll fuck your anger out of you later.”

Her brow slowly lifted as amusement trickled through her. “How magnanimous of you.”

An hour or so later, they walked through an automatic sliding door right into a hospital waiting room, where rows of plastic chairs lined the plain white walls. The only real color came from artificial plants, posters, and magazines. Her wolf’s nose wrinkled at the scents of antiseptic, hand sanitizer, bleach, and coffee.

Marcia and Brad sat opposite each other, their postures stooped, looking lost in their own thoughts. Walking toward them, Frankie cleared her throat to be heard over the sounds of people muttering and the squeak of shoes as staff walked the halls in color-coded scrubs.

Marcia straightened in her seat, surprised. “Francesca.” Emotion briefly glittered in her eyes, but it was gone too quickly for Frankie to identify it. “How did you find out?”

Tone dry, Frankie said, “I’m well, thanks, how are you?”

Brad raked a hand through his hair. “Frankie, I—”

“We’ll pretend that you didn’t meet with Trick to bribe him to leave my life and that you have no idea who he is,” said Frankie, her voice even. This wasn’t the time to let loose her anger. “Brad, Marcia—this is Trick, my mate. Trick, that’s my uncle, Brad, and my grandmother, Marcia.” Neither of them did more than cast Trick a brief look, but at least they hadn’t scowled or attempted to send him away. “How is Geoffrey?”

Brad took a shaky breath. “The doctors said he’ll be fine. The bullet went straight through and didn’t hit any vital organs, but he lost a fair bit of blood. He’s had a transfusion and . . .” Brad swallowed. “It was hard to see him like that. Pale. Weak.”

“And the shooter?”

“She was arrested.” He shifted in his seat. “I’d say, ‘Sit down,’ but these chairs will make your ass numb.”

His attempt at humor didn’t break the tension, but she appreciated the effort. She didn’t sit—not simply because she didn’t feel welcome, but also because too much tension rode her body. “Do the police know why the woman shot him?”

“It was someone from an old case,” said Brad. “A custody battle.”

Frankie’s brow knitted. “Custody?”

“A couple wanted custody of their grandchildren. Their daughter joined one of those New Age cults after her husband died, and they didn’t think it was a suitable environment for the children. Their daughter didn’t want her parents to have visitation rights with the children, said her father used to . . . sexually abuse her. She said the cult was her sanctuary and that the children would be safe there. The battle was long and ugly.”

“Geoffrey granted the grandparents custody,” Frankie guessed.

“Yes.” He looked down at his hands, seeming lost. “Recently, one of the children—she was thirteen—killed herself. She wrote a letter, claiming her grandfather abused her and she couldn’t take it anymore.”

And then Frankie understood. “The mother shot Geoffrey.”

“She shot her father too,” said Brad. “He’s dead.”

If they couldn’t see the correlation to their own situation, they were blind. It was obvious that Geoffrey had seen Caroline and Francesca when he looked at that woman and her children. He’d seen the pack and Christopher when he looked at the cult. And he’d seen himself and Marcia when he looked at the grandparents. Which was why he should never have presided over that case, but there was little point in voicing what was so abundantly clear.

“He’s speaking with the police at the moment,” said Marcia, twirling her wedding band around her finger. “You can talk to him afterward, if you’d like.”

Frankie nodded. “I’ll wait.”

Trick put his mouth to her ear. “Want coffee?”

“No, thanks. It’ll either be weak or sludge.” She rubbed her temple. The fluorescent lighting was giving her a headache.

No one spoke another word as they waited for the police to exit Geoffrey’s hospital room. Once they finally did, Marcia jumped to her feet and pounded them with questions.

“He’s in room 4A,” Brad told Frankie.

Trick stayed close behind her as they walked down the hallway. Pushing open the door, Frankie saw Geoffrey propped up on pillows, watching the wall-mounted TV. She was surprised to see him hooked up to so many different machines that monitored his vitals, since he wasn’t ill. She wasn’t sure whether it was pain, blood loss, shock, or a combination of all three, but he looked pale even against the bright white linens.

As the door closed behind her and Trick, the noises of the waiting room were replaced by the soft drip of the saline, the reassuring steady beat of the heart monitor, and the low sounds coming from the TV.

He double-blinked at the sight of her. “Francesca.” She half expected his heartbeat to pick up, but it remained steady. “I didn’t think you would come.”

She might feel pissed and let down, but . . . “I’m not heartless.”

“No, but we’ve given that heart of yours a pounding lately.”

The admission surprised her. “You remember Trick.”

“I do.” His head slightly moved in what could have been a weak, hesitant nod of greeting, but Frankie couldn’t be sure.

She didn’t take the plastic chair next to the bed. Instead, careful not to bump the IV stand, she went to his side and rested her hand on the metal side rail of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. I don’t need to stay here overnight and have all these extra tests done.” He cast a glare at the admittance bracelet on his wrist. “Your grandmother insisted on it.”

“She’s feeling helpless. Using her pull is her way of doing something.”

“Well, I’d be far more grateful if she brought me food that wasn’t dry or tough.” He sniffed at the table at the foot of the bed, on which rested a tray with a half-eaten meatloaf. “The way she’s acting, you’d think I’d had a heart attack or was suffering from a mystery illness.”

“At least you have a private room.”

“The pain medication isn’t up to much in this place.”

“You’re just complaining because you want to go home.” She wanted to ask about the shooting, but she figured it was the last thing he’d want to talk about—especially when he’d no doubt just done that with the police.

He exhaled heavily, looking weary. “Believe it or not, Francesca, your grandmother and I have always wanted the best for you. Maybe we didn’t always do what was best for you because of our own bias and guilt.”

“Guilt?” she echoed, her brows furrowing.

“No one should have to bury their own child. Christopher might have killed her, but I let her down. If I hadn’t agreed to set aside my reservations about her mating, if I had pressured her to leave him, she would be alive today. That’s why I’ve been so immovable on this. I couldn’t bear it if you were hurt when I could have prevented it. I didn’t want to make that same mistake with you that I did with Caroline, but it would seem that I’ve made other mistakes.”

“Your guilt is pointless,” she told him. “She couldn’t have left him. Mating bonds are metaphysical constructs that connect two people to the extent that they can’t live without each other. You couldn’t have convinced her to leave him—even if you had, she’d have died anyway because they needed each other.”

He looked from her to Trick. “And you have that bond now?”

“I do. I’m sorry that you’ll never be able to support that. But if your parents hadn’t approved of Marcia, would it have made any difference to you?”

He averted his gaze. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t have.” He patted her hand, but he still didn’t meet her eyes. “I was wrong to have said that you should get a real job. I hope you can forgive that, if nothing else.”

Tears crept up on her, making her throat feel thick. Seeing that he was tiring, she said, “We have to go now. You take care.” With that, she left the room.

Trick linked their fingers. “Let’s go.” At her nod, he led her down the hallway and through to the waiting room. Brad and Marcia looked up, but their expressions were unreadable. Trick guided her past them, straight to the door.

“Francesca,” Marcia softly called out. As Frankie turned, the woman’s eyes landed on the mark on Frankie’s neck and then dulled. She knew it was a claiming bite. “I’ll have Edna keep you updated.”

In Trick’s opinion, that wasn’t fucking good enough, but it was better than nothing. He could see that Marcia desperately wanted to say something different, to extend an olive branch, but she just couldn’t yet do it. He squeezed Frankie’s hand. “Come on, baby.”

It wasn’t until they were in the SUV, buckling their seat belts, that Frankie spoke. “I didn’t expect him to talk to me, let alone say those things. I didn’t expect Marcia not to throw me out.”

“She wants to reach out to you, but she doesn’t know how. One thing you can say for her is that she didn’t lash out with her pain. Just like you didn’t lash out with yours when you were reunited with Lydia.” Frankie and her grandmother were similar in some ways—cool, protective. It was a shame that an ocean of unsaid things lay between them.

Maybe Clara was right and the Newmans would one day soften, just as they had with Caroline. But Trick had a feeling that it would take a while for that to happen, if it ever did.