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And to top it off, I felt like an idiot, because I hadn’t even remembered Frankie had a twin, should’ve assumed that’s who it could have been at the house. But I’d been so consumed with grief, those raw feelings making any kind of rational, coherent, and logical thought leave my brain, so I only let emotion control me.
Maybe I should’ve been humiliated about my appearance and the situation leading up to right now, but after five years of being estranged from Frankie, I didn’t feel anything but this bone-deep need for him.
I’d never honestly thought this day would come. Although I always hoped, prayed, and asked for a miracle to be able to see him again, the life I led, the people who surrounded me, would’ve made it impossible.
I was clearly in his room, surrounded by his things, and I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. But even if that had been Wilder and his woman in the driveway, I still didn’t know the kind of life Frankie led. For all I knew, he was married, had children.
And that made my stomach cramp and my heart ache.
But then I thought about him calling me baby, that endearment meaning so much to me, more than maybe it should, and I felt more tears slide down my cheeks. It could’ve been habit, nothing more than a gesture, a single word spilled from his lips, but I wanted to think he still loved me.
God. Get your head on straight.
Love was the last thing I needed.
I sat up fully and hung my legs over the edge of the bed, letting the tips of my toes move along the hardwood floor. It was then I realized my shoes were off, my socks too. I looked at my legs, my jeans worn, and although clean, they had stains on them. I trailed my gaze up to my shirt, picked at the dark material. It was cheap and had come in a three-pack of equally plain cotton tees.
I lifted my head and looked at the dresser then at the mirror that hung above it, staring at my reflection, at the pathetic-looking woman who gazed back. I felt shame in that moment, embarrassment. No longer was I the girl Frankie had known and loved.
I was someone very different now, and not just in namesake and appearance.
I stared at my face, felt that depression wash through me that I changed so much. From my hair, to the fact that I’d lost weight. Then there was my sense of style, or lack thereof. I felt dirty and pathetic, and looking around his room, seeing everything meticulously in place, the cleanliness, the scent of him surrounding me, I wished I could go back in time.
But we can’t change the past.
I closed my eyes and exhaled.
No matter what, a part of me knew he’d help, even if he couldn’t be mine any longer. He cared for me at one time, and he was a good man, had a good heart. He’d give a beggar the shirt off his back if need be. He never thought he was good enough for anything, for anyone, but he’d been so wrong.
I opened my eyes and looked around the room once more, and a small picture on the nightstand behind me caught my attention. I turned on the bed and leaned forward, trying to get a better look. And then my heart stopped, and my throat tightened.
Standing and making my way over to the table on shaky legs, I leaned down and picked up the frame. It was small, fit in the palm of my hand.
It was a picture of Frankie and me, the only one we’d taken as a couple. I remembered that night so vividly, could even still smell the fresh lake air when the breeze had kicked up.
The picture was taken just a few weeks before my father moved us back to Russia. I wish I’d had this picture then, something physical of Frankie to hold on to, something to keep close to my heart during those nights I cried myself to sleep.
I blinked back the tears, not wanting to make this even more awkward than it was when he came back in the room.
But surely it meant something that he kept a picture of us by his bed?
I set it back down, the hushed voices still coming through the cracked doorway. I contemplated just opening the door and making it known that I was awake, just wanting to get this over with. I certainly wanted to. Instead, I walked toward the bathroom that was attached to the room. I closed the door and leaned against it for a moment just breathing out, trying to stabilize myself, trying to center my mind and body.
Focus.
I’d come here for help, help in the case Maximillian was actually looking for me. I hadn’t sensed anyone following me—not counting Frankie’s SUV, which reminded me I’d need to ask what he’d been doing there and why. But not sensing anyone didn’t mean I wasn’t being watched.
