My head hung down in shame, I don’t even bother calling after her or try to stop her. We both need a minute, and honestly, I have nothing. No excuses, no defense, no sweet words to soften the blow. How much can we possibly put each other through before it’s enough? Not for me—there’s no limit for me—but for her. She’s cautious about a relationship with me, and she has every right to be. Picking up the phone in disgust, I pocket it and stride into my room just as Mav walks in.
“Yo, what the fuck? Why was the Princess crying? You better not be stressing her out, little brother. It’s not good for her and the baby, especially after Drew knocked her around and all that shit she went through.” His eyebrows are raised in warning.
Fuck! What else can I possibly fuck up today? “Is she downstairs?” I ask as I head that way to check on her.
“Nah, man. She left. Didn’t say a word to any of us, just walked out the front door crying.” His accusing glare isn’t lost on me, but that’s the least of my worries right now.
“Alone?” He better pray that he isn’t up here blowing me shit if Frankie just left the house by herself.
Maverick snorts out a mocking laugh, “Yeah, right! Like Reggie and Trent are going to give you a fucking chance to kill them. I’ve never seen two big fuckers move that quickly in my life. Reggie’s black ass vaulted over the coffee table and the back of the couch after her.” The thought of that almost gets a smile out of me. “Then Sonny said he was going to talk to her. So what’d you do now?” Sad that he’s sure it was my fault. Even more so that he’s fucking right.
“She overheard me talking to Carter about the Feds being at her place when Reg went to get her stuff.” I turn my back like that’s all there is to tell.
“What else? Frankie didn’t walk out of here crying because of that. ‘Fess up.” My brother knows me better than that, knows Frankie better too.
My phone starts ringing. Pulling it out of my pocket, I see that it’s Reggie and immediately answer it. “Is she okay?” I ask, worried that he’s calling.
“Calm down, D, she’s fine. She and Trent are in the gas station right now getting something to drink. I’m taking her to the studio; she said she wants to work on some stuff there. Indie is on her way, I think. I just wanted to give you a heads up. She didn’t want me to call you. Said you were probably busy with damage control.” I can hear the question in Reggie’s voice and it goes unanswered.
“Thanks, bro. We’ll be there in a little while,” I tell him before disconnecting the call.
Before I put it away, I open my texts to shoot Frankie a message and that’s when I see what she saw. “Dumb motherfucker,” I mutter under my breath.
“Yes, you are, but why this time?” Mav asks.
Flipping him my phone, I head into my closet to get dressed. I have to go talk with her. I hear Mav let out a low whistle, “Wow, you let them get a picture? You really fucked up with this one, huh? Is that Twitter? Do you know what it says?” Hitting me with rapid fire questions, he looks back down at it.
“Oh, yeah, I know. Frankie was kind enough to translate for me because of course it’s in a fucking language she speaks,” I call from the bathroom. I yank my hair back and secure it with a pink fucking hair band. “It says, ‘We fucked the champ,’ and yes, that’s the chick’s Twitter page,” I say bitterly. “Where the fuck were you when this was going down? You and Sonny are supposed to keep me from doing dumb shit like that. You know how drunk I was the whole time we were there.” He’s not to blame—I am—but that’s not gonna stop me from giving him hell. “I don’t even remember what fucking night that is or who they are, I was so hammered.”
“Where was I? I had PR shit to handle for ‘The Champ’!” he says using air quotes. “Sonny was in charge of your dumb ass. Where in the fuck was he?” Maverick demands.
“I don’t know, brother. I don’t know. Come on, let’s go to the gym so I can check on my girl and try to explain.”
“Explain what? Explain how? Dude, there are two chicks in bed with you. Naked. Taking selfies and posting them on social media.” He snorts. “I hate to break it to you, little bro, but you ain’t explaining shit.” Mav laughs sardonically as he pushes his shaggy air out of his eyes, settling the ball cap back over his head.
My chin hits my chest. “God, I fucking know. Why couldn’t that shit be in German? I don’t think she speaks German.”
“Nothing lost in translation there, my friend. Tits and ass are tits and ass in any language. When they belong to another woman or in your case, women, the only language you need to speak is the one with a whole fuck ton of I’m sorry’s and expensive jewelry.”
“Fuck me, I know that’s right.”
Stalking into the gym with Mav, I don't bother slowing for the people calling my name. My hand raised in greeting as I make my way through to the studio, I don't even see Sonny until he's right in my face, his finger in my chest. "Make this shit right, Deacon. Fix it now. She doesn't deserve this and if you were anyone else, I'd kick your ass."
I knock his hand away, snorting at him in disgust. "You could try, old man." I push past him, but before I can open the door, he puts a hand on it. Turning, ready to give him hell or start swinging, I’m brought up short by the grieved look on his face.
"Deacon, listen to me. That woman loves you so much that she'll walk away to keep you guys from destroying each other. She'll walk away with your baby and you'll be forced to just accept it. She doesn't need you, little brother—she wants you. There's a difference. Be the man she wants, Deac. She deserves that." He pauses looking past me into the studio where I can hear Frankie's music. "People are always saying stupid shit like, ‘There are other fish in the sea,’ ‘If you love someone let them go’ . . . all bullshit. When you find your person, that's it. End game, brother. No matter where you look or for how long, you're still not going to find what you have with her because it only exists once."
Swinging his gaze back to me, he cups the back of my neck. “I love you, little brother, and I know we've had this talk before, but for her, for you, make this the last time we do. I know who you are, Deacon, and so does she. Frankie loves you because of, not in spite of it. Be her man, because she's your woman. She's your woman, Deacon," he says emphatically, squeezing my neck affectionately before he walks away. I'm not sure what's up with my brother lately, and I don't have time to figure it out now, but Frankie being pregnant has stirred something up in him.
Quietly, I enter the studio and pause. Frankie has her eyes closed as she dances to the song streaming from every corner, blanketing us both. The words are hauntingly appropriate for the turmoil that is us at the moment. Sliding down the wall, I sit on the hardwood floor. She's beautiful. Everything about her. Every movement, every inch of her is just . . . beautiful. It takes my breath away. She fucking takes my breath away. I've never understood what the fuck people meant when they said that, but sitting here and watching my girl with one hand curled possessively around her stomach while she sways and dips to the words, “If We Don't Move Together, Just Come Closer” . . . watching her dance with my baby, I know what they mean.
She may be a ballroom dancer, but when she dances like this, it brings out the ballerina in her. She's all elegant lines, extended arms, and passion. So much passion. The song ends, and I watch with a heavy heart as she wipes tears from her cheeks. "Don't cry, Princess," I say to her softly, startling her in the now quiet room. I push up from the floor. "Please don't, it kills me."
She dashes away more of her tears and turns from me. "What are you doing here?"
"Where else would I be? We need to talk. I told you, no more running. Either of us."
"I wasn't running, Deacon. I needed time away from you to think." Frankie flits around the room picking things up and putting them back down, her agitation obvious in her movements. Finally, she turns to me. "What are we doing, Deac? I don't want to feel like this. It hurts, you hurt. I just want to love you and I feel like you won't let me." My heart aches looking at her, tears streaming down her face. "I want to be enough for you. But I won't compete with anyone. Ever."
"You got it all wrong, Princess. You're not in competition with anyone. They’re all in competition with you. Won't matter though. Nobody can even come close, baby." My mouth kicks up in a small, reassuring smile. "And you're more than enough. You're more than I deserve, and I know that. I told you that I'd always be faithful, I meant it. Brazil was a mistake that won't happen again because we'll never be apart again." Moving closer to her I stop just short of touching. "I want to deserve you. Teach me, Frankie. There's never been anyone who had the power to hurt me but you. You hurt me and I do stupid shit. Fall back on my old ways. I don't want to do that. I don't want to be that guy. So, stop. Stop hurting me," I suggest like that's the answer. It's as simple as that, isn't it?
She blinks slowly. "Are you kidding me? Are you honestly blaming me for acting out? For you sleeping with other women?" She's pissed and when she says it out loud like that, I can't blame her.
"No—"
She lifts a hand to stop me from speaking. “That's exactly what you're doing, Deacon. It doesn't work that way, dammit!" Her voice is raised in anger. "Sometimes you get hurt. Sometimes you get mad. That's what being in a relationship is, Deac. You don't get to do whatever the hell you want when you’re pissed or your feelings are hurt though." She huffs out an exasperated breath and pushes against my chest, trying to make me step back. I don't. “You don't ‘fall back on your old ways.’ We fight. We fight with each other if we have to, but we always fight for each other. I thought that's what you wanted." She looks up at me, her blue eyes shimmering with fresh tears. "Do you even know what you want?"
I take a step forward, closing the last little bit of distance between us and take her hand, brushing my thumb over the ring I put on her finger. The first, but not the last. I raise her hand to my mouth and lay a kiss to my spot. "I know what I want," I tell her softly, firmly. "I want you. I want this baby. You, my baby, and the strap. That’s all I need.”
“Then show me. Be the man we both know you are. I can forgive hiding the letters and pictures from me, because you’re right, I was doing the same thing. It all stops here though. We need to protect each other together by talking things out. No more secrets, big or small.” With her hand over my heart, she takes a deep breath. “What do the Brazilians want?”
The muscle in my jaw takes off at a rapid beat as I clench my teeth together. She isn’t going to drop this, but I don’t want to fucking talk about it. “Money.”
“Or what? For what?” The exasperation and trepidation in her voice give me pause.
I lift my shoulders, I have no clue what they’re hoping to accomplish. Carter handles this shit, not me. “I’m not sure exactly. Carter spoke to them and he said they want cash, a hundred grand and they’ll take the picture down.”
Frankie paces away from me, swearing under her breath in Italian. When she makes her way back to me, her eyes are blazing with anger. “Can any of them claim that they’re pregnant?”
I know what she’s asking without actually having to say the words. These aren’t things you want to talk to your girlfriend about. I answer instantly. “No.” I don’t bother telling her that I don’t remember the night in question, but I do remember waking up still wearing a rubber. Some shit you just keep to yourself.
Frankie nods but won’t meet my gaze. “You don’t give them a dime. Not a single penny. You have never paid off any of your other skanks; this time won’t be any different,” she says bitterly. “The damage is already done anyway. They posted the picture, it’s over. I won’t have this discussion with you again though. Not about them or anyone else. This ‘we weren’t together’ bullshit . . . I don’t care anymore. There are only so many times that I can be hurt by you until I just go numb toward you. I don’t want that. I want to feel, Deac. I want to feel what it’s like to love you and for you to love me. Don’t ruin that. Please. And I promise you the same.”
Her words resonate throughout my entire being. I know she means them. I know that what Sonny said was right. Frankie doesn’t need me, but she wants me, and she is it for me. No one else will ever hold a candle to her. No one else ever has.
With a gentle tug, I pull her into my arms and cup her face in my calloused hands. “Only us, Princess. From now ‘til forever. Only you.” Placing a kiss on her red tinted lips, I whisper against them, “Me and you, we’re the real deal. It’s our time, baby.”
With a soft smile playing over her lips, she leans into me, “Stick and move, right?”
On a relieved laugh, I counter, “Stick and motherfucking move.”