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Chapter Twelve
Clive
“I knew,” Frankie said, an undeniable ache in her voice as she tried to move away. “I knew about the baby, and I didn’t tell you because I couldn’t. You have to understand that.”
“I do,” I said quietly.
Water sloshed in the tub as I grabbed her arm and pulled her closer, repositioning her in my lap with her head leaning against my chest. The long strands of curly hair drifted in the water, floating like seaweed in the current with every tiny movement we made.
“You don’t have to apologize for respecting Marcie’s privacy,” I said, trying to reassure her, even as I attempted to wrap my brain around everything that had happened tonight—another fucking blind-side I hadn’t seen coming, and had reacted poorly to. “I screwed up, not you.”
She looked up at me, her beautiful eyes free of any judgement. “Tell me what happened.”
“I—” I started, then frowned, hating myself for losing it once again over a situation I hadn’t been able to control. So much for fucking therapy. “They laid it out for me, and I was just so freaked out and angry about the secrecy and feeling cut off from my daughter’s life that I…just left.” It didn’t matter that I was mainly responsible for that chasm I’d created between us. At the time, my rationale had been non-existent.
“Is that what really bothers you?” she asked, meeting my gaze. “The secrecy? Not the age or any of that other stuff?”
I tightened my arms around her and dropped a kiss on her head. “Yeah, I think so. The age thing hits a little different because Marcie is my daughter, but…I saw the way Denton looked at her. The way he held her hand like she was made of glass, like he would do anything to protect her from…”
A knot of pain tightened in my throat, and I swallowed hard to clear it.
“Protect her from my anger,” I finished shakily. “And then he came back here—"
“Hold up.” Frankie twisted to straddle me, so that we were face to face. “Denton came back here to your room at the hotel?”
Sliding my arms around her waist, I nodded. “Yeah. Just him—Marcie wasn’t there. It was okay. I deserved everything he dished out.”
“What did you say?”
I shook my head. “Not much. I just let him talk. And when he was done calling me out for being such an asshole, he said that they still wanted me in their lives. That it was important to Marcie that her baby knew their grandfather and had a relationship with them.”
My voice grew hoarse at that last part. I might have envisioned something different for Marcie, a more traditional relationship with a man her age and where marriage came before a baby, but I had to accept that this was the life she chose to live. Despite the age difference, Denton was a good man, and he clearly loved Marcie. Who was I to say what their relationship should or shouldn’t be, especially since I was in the same predicament with Frankie.
Frankie settled her head into the curve of my neck, and I tightened my arms around her and savored the closeness.
“You should go see them,” she said a short while later, her voice muffled against my skin. “Apologize. Bring something for the baby.”
I rubbed my cheek against one of her damp curls, fearful that this might be a blunder Marcie wouldn’t so easily forgive. Not that I’d blame her. “Do you think?”
Frankie pulled back and looked at me, head cocked as her bright, honest gaze bored into me. Right into my soul.
“I do think,” she said. “Denton told you that they want you in their lives, and I know that Marcie has been miserable all these weeks without you to talk to and share things with. Like the pregnancy. So, go and apologize. Mean it. Bring a gift for your grandchild and let Marcie know that you care, and that you love her, no matter what her decisions are.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek as I considered her suggestion. “It won’t fix all the damage I’ve done.”
I looked down at that direct stare, luminous in the pearly lights of the bathroom. Water glistened on Frankie’s skin, and she looked so beautiful in my arms that my heart ached, like it would crack and rupture with the love I felt for her.
“No, it won’t fix it,” she finally said. “But it’s a good start.”
* * *
“I liked the one in Queen Anne Hill,” Frankie said. Her hand tightened in mine and she scooched closer to me on the park bench, where we sat cuddled together as we enjoyed the cool, sunny Seattle day. “It’s a good neighborhood and it’s close to Denton and Marcie.”
At the mention of their names, I tightened, waiting for the rush of anxiety and guilt to coagulate in my chest, but nothing happened.
I just felt…relieved. Relief suffused with a little bit of hope and happiness, even.
“Yeah,” I replied. I pulled our joined hands up to my mouth and pressed a kiss to Frankie’s knuckles, admiring her impeccably painted nails—bright red this time—as I always did. “And close to my grandchild.”
