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“Furniture. I see,” Noon said. “So you’ll be the guy who made him turn his back on his family’s legacy to what, build coffee tables? How long before he resents you? They’ll label you as his downfall. And once you two step back into the real world, who will you become in the face of the force that is Franklin Kincaid, one of the wealthiest men in the world? Leland the bartender?” It wasn’t said with cruel intentions, but I flinched away from it anyway.
“Look,” he said, taking pity on me. “I’m not saying he doesn’t want to leave her. I can list a million reasons why you’re the better option without even knowing her, but reality will kick in, and he’ll see that he has too much to lose. He’ll see this fantasy you’ve both been living for what it is, and he won’t choose you. They rarely ever do.”
“Franky and I are different,” I said, my voice pitched low.
“The exception to the rule?” he asked. “I sure hope so, Leland. For your sake, I really do.”
“You’ve always had your shit together, Noon. Even when we were busting our asses to make rent, hopping from one dead-end job to another. You knew our way of life was only temporary for you. I don’t understand how it feels to be sure of myself, and you don’t get how it feels to be unsure of anything. Franky and I are different because we are the same.” It was that simple, and I’d never felt more certain of something than I did that singular fact. While Noon was shooting forward, Franky and I were scrambling to get our feet under us.
Movement over my shoulder pulled my attention away, and I was on my feet and short of breath in one second flat. “Franky.” I sighed, gripping the back of my seat for support.
From the shadows of the living room, Franky approached the patio wearing an all-black suit, his dress shoes clicking ominously against the floor.
Noon stood as well, nodding at Franky’s hard stare. “Franklin,” Noon said, addressing Franky by his given name.
“Good to see you again, Noon,” Franky replied, accepting Noon’s extended hand. He managed to sound like he meant it.
“Just thought I’d stop by and keep Leland company. Can’t feel good being left alone in this big house,” Noon said, being irritatingly antagonizing.
“How nice of you,” Franky said, stepping into my side and kissing me passionately. He settled a possessive hand on my lower back. “But I’m here now.”
“I’ll walk you out, Noon,” I said, before the pissing contest flooded the place.
We took the shortcut through the house, and I caught him by the arm when we got to his truck. “Hey, sorry we didn’t get to catch up. When are you leaving?”
“In a couple days,” he said. “I wanted to see you sooner—”
“I’m sure you’ve been busy with packing and stuff,” I said, giving him an out. To be fair, I’d been so caught up in Franky that I hadn’t noticed Noon’s absence.
“Yeah, I have been,” he said, giving me a grateful smile. He dropped his voice to a near whisper. “If he wants you, he’ll find a way to choose you no matter what. Remember that. Okay?”
Words failed me, so I nodded.
“I’ll be calling you next week,” he said, climbing into the cab of his truck and starting up the engine. “Pick up the phone, or I’ll fly back and tell your boyfriend how youreallylike it.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me and peeled off before I could slug him through the open window. I watched his taillights fade around the bend before heading back inside.
“New habit?” Franky asked, holding up my Marlboro pack.
“Old one. I just had a couple.”
He turned the pack upside down to demonstrate that it was empty. “Looks like you eviscerated it.” He kissed me again when I got within range. “Tastes like it too.”
“How much time do we have?” I asked, sliding his jacket off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground.
“A few hours. Maybe more.”
“Are we really going to spend a moment of it discussing nicotine?”
“I’d rather not,” he said, brushing my hair back. “You look tired.”
“I’m worried more than anything,” I admitted.
“Come, let me take care of you.”
Franky ran a hot bath while I patiently waited. “Arms up,” he said, removing my shirt. He angled my head up and over to get a good look at the saucer-sized hickey above my collarbone, and then checked the one on my bicep. That one looked closer to a bite than a bruise.
He pinched the waistband of my jeans and underwear, tugging them low on my hip. The fingerprints there were subtle, not like the matching set on my wrists.
He slipped his hand around to my back, feeling for the teeth indentation below my shoulders, smoothing his fingers over it apologetically and shutting his eyes. We’d torn into each other pretty badly the night before he left.
