"The target is moving," Carter says, jabbing me in the back with a pool cue.

I've been lost in my thoughts after Whitney told me about running into Frankie in the restroom and their subsequent exchange. I snap my head around to see Frankie fumbling with her purse and Faith laughing as they walk arm in arm toward the door. When Carter and I arrived at the bar tonight, we were both shocked as hell to find Frankie and Faith here. Carter took it upon himself to give me the play-by-play every time Frankie took a breath, and while I shouldn't care about what Frankie’s doing, I do. And Carter knows it. So much for leaving the past in the past.

"I'm out." I toss my pool cue onto the center of the pool table, abandoning my game and taking one last swallow of beer before slamming the bottle down on the table. By the time I get to the parking lot, Frankie and Faith are nowhere to be found. I instantly relax when I see Frankie's car parked out at the edge of the parking lot, glad that she didn't get behind the wheel after drinking as much as she did tonight. I scan the area in hopes of seeing them, but I come up empty handed.

With a booming thud, the door of the VFW slams shut behind Carter as he exits and meets me in the parking lot. His eyes find Frankie's car with her California license plates and he looks at me. "Only two ways they could’ve went. Toward home or toward Faith's." He points with each of his hands in opposite directions. "They're about equal distance. Let's divide and conquer. You head toward home and I'll head toward Faith's. One of us is bound to find them."

"And what exactly are we going to do when we find them?" I ask with a laugh and a shake of my head.

"I don't know, dumbass, maybe just make sure they get home okay? Unless you wanted to kidnap them and hold them hostage, and if that's where this is going I'm going to have to gracefully bow out." Carter rolls his eyes at me and twirls his keys in his hand.

"You've never been graceful about a damn thing." I punch his shoulder. "Go. You head toward Faith's. If you find them, make sure they get there and call me so I know they're okay."

"You got it." He nods before jumping into his old pickup truck.

I scan the area one last time before getting into my Jeep and heading toward home. It takes me all of two minutes to get there and not a sight of Frankie or Faith along the way. I don't know what the fuck I was thinking staying at the VFW when I saw them walk in. She's my addiction, always has been. I told Carter I wanted to leave her in the past, yet I'm drawn to her like a junkie looking to get his next fix. My mind says no, yet my body—my heart—says yes.

"Fuck," I mutter to myself, angry at how conflicted I am now that she's back.

Just as I get inside and kick my shoes off, my cell phone rings, Carter's name flashing on the screen. Before I even say hello, he's speaking, "I found them," he says and it sounds like he's out of breath.

"Where were they?"

"Couple of blocks from Faith's house. I got Faith home just in time for her to get sick, but, uh…Frankie…" He hesitates.

"What about her?"

"She's passed out cold…here in my truck. I left her in the truck when I got Faith in her house and when I came back out, she was passed out."

I groan and run my hand over my face. "Just bring her back here. I'll help get her in her house."

"We'll be there in two minutes," he says before hanging up.

I slide back into my shoes and wait for them out front. Carter's truck rolls up slowly and he parks in front of Frankie's house. I jog down the driveway to meet them when he steps down from the pickup truck, his eyebrows raised in amusement. I glance in the driver's door window and there lies Frankie on the bench seat, her knees pulled to her chest and her head lying on the seat.

"Go get the front door," I tell Carter as I walk around to the passenger door and pull it open.

I nudge Frankie gently to see if she'll move, but as Carter already assessed, she's passed out cold, nothing but dead weight. I wedge my arm under her legs and pull her gently across the seat toward me. With my other arm, I lift her into my arms, her head falling against my chest. Her dark hair falls in piles around her shoulders and her pink lips are parted slightly as she breathes softly. She smells like heaven, a combination of coconut and vodka. She stirs slightly in my arms as I carry her up the driveway and to her front porch.

I hear Carter mumbling before he turns around. "Door's locked," he states matter of factly, jiggling the doorknob again just to make sure.

I sigh in frustration. "They never lock the door. It must’ve been the night nurse. Where are her keys?"

"Keys?" He looks between Frankie in my arms and his car. "I left a purse with Faith, but Frankie has nothing with her."

"Nothing?" I ask, wondering if I heard him correctly. "She drove her car to the bar. She had to have keys with her."

He shrugs and I sigh again. We look at each other for a brief moment before I turn around.

"Where are you going?" he asks and jogs down the front porch steps after me.

"Home," I answer him.

"With Frankie?" He catches up to me and shoots me a curious look.

"Well, I can't very well leave her outside on the porch all night, can I?"

My feet carry us across the street and up the middle of my front yard to the porch. "Get the door for me, will ya?"

Carter scrambles up the steps in front of me to open the front door, only he pauses first. "Cole, maybe she should stay with—"

"Not a fucking chance," I snap at him. "Open the door."

And he does, stepping aside to let us in. "Maybe I should stay—" he begins before I cut him off again.

"Nope, we're all good here. Just shut the door behind you."

"She's going to be pissed, you know." He looks at me with Frankie wrapped in my arms. "But I'd pay a thousand dollars to be here in the morning when she wakes up in your house." He chuckles.

"Get out of here, Carter," I yell at him.

"Two thousand!" He steps over the threshold and back out onto the front porch.

"Goodnight," I say through gritted teeth.

"Fine. But call me tomorrow. I can't wait to hear about this."

With his parting comments, the front door slams shut. I shuffle carefully down the dark hallway to my room. It's the only room in the house where there's a bed. Frankie can stay here, and I'll take the couch. My knees hit the edge of the bed and I carefully lay her down. I flip on the bedside lamp so that I can see enough to get her shoes and jacket off.

She's dead weight as I shift her from side to side, pulling her jacket off her thin arms. I brush the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Memories flash before my eyes of all the times I touched her hair. I pause, taking in her beauty. She's exactly the Frankie I remember. Her small nose is sprinkled with light freckles, so light that you wouldn't notice unless you were looking for them. Her pink lips are full, and a small dark mole sits right on the edge of her lower lip. Again, you wouldn't know it was there—but I've studied, memorized every millimeter of Frankie's body. I know every mole, every mark, every curve, and the feel of her soft skin.

She suddenly moves, curling into a ball in the middle of my bed. She pulls her hands up, resting them on the pillow next to her face. It's there; the large diamond ring hangs from her left ring finger, slapping me back to reality—a reality where Frankie isn't mine and never will be.

My heart aches at how I've hurt her—how I changed the course of our lives with one simple lie. She's happy, I tell myself, as I've done every night since she left. Trying to convince myself again that what I did was the right decision. That what I did was best for her—for us. But I know I’m full of shit as I swallow back my disgust and choke on my own lies. This was what I wanted, wasn't it?

If it was, then why does it still hurt so fucking bad?

I sit on the edge of the bed for hours, watching her, studying each steady breath, and every movement she makes. She hums lightly every so often and exhales loudly when she tosses and turns, her sleep unsettled. Only when the sun begins to rise do I leave her. I close the bedroom door and head to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

Hours pass and exhaustion rips through me, but I refuse to close my eyes before Frankie wakes up. I stand at my front window, eyes glued to the house across the street as they were for years after she left. Years of regret I've kept buried deep inside me begins to rise, gnawing at me. When Frankie walks out of my door this morning, it may be the last time I ever speak with her.

What do you say to the one person who owned you—every little fucked up piece of you...that you tossed away so she could live her dreams? What do you say when you have fifteen seconds to explain that it was the biggest mistake of your life?

‘I'm sorry’ seems so weak. ‘I fucked up’ sounds so insincere. I struggle to find the words buried deep inside me as I squeeze my coffee mug in one hand and run my other hand across my face.

I pinch my eyes closed and breathe deeply when I suddenly hear the soft sounds of shuffling behind me. I turn, frozen in place by bright blue eyes that I'd never forget in a million years. She looks away quickly and nervously twists her jacket in both hands.

Stepping toward the door, she pauses. "I'm not sure how I ended up here—" she starts then stops, pulling her lips between her teeth.

My heart thrums wildly in my chest and my stomach drops as the words I was previously looking for are nowhere to be found. "Frankie." Her name rolls off my tongue, barely a whisper.

Her entire body stills, clearly affected by me. Her eyes remain turned down on her feet.

"Carter found you and Faith walking last night," I start, breaking the unbearable tension filling the space between us.

She nods and takes a step toward the front door. I mimic her movement and step carefully in front of her, blocking her, trying to pause her escape. She stops and finally lifts her head. Her blue eyes meet mine and she pulls a deep breath into her lungs.

"I don't remember—" she starts before I cut her off.

"You had a good time last night." I smirk. "The drinks," I add just to make sure she knows what I'm talking about. "You deserve it."

She sighs and nods her head slightly. "I need to go," she says softly, shuffling from foot to foot, waiting for me to move out of her way. Only I can't. Something inside me keeps me rooted in place, prolonging this moment.

"Can we talk?" My plea sounds desperate. Hell, I am desperate. Everything I wanted to leave in the past is standing in front of me, and this is my chance to right my wrongs, speak the truth…apologize.

She shakes her head from side to side. "Not today," she says quietly, yet I can hear her voice waver…the emotion in her voice is clear.

"Please," I beg. "Just five minutes."

"Why?" she asks, squaring her shoulders, trying to come across as confident—only I know her better. She's crumbling…just like I am at the thought of losing this opportunity.

"Because I need to tell you some things." I take a small step toward her and she immediately takes a step back, retreating from me.

Running.

Fleeing.

The once strong Frankie, who would always stand up to me, always fight me, stands defeated in front of me…This is my doing and I need to rectify it.

"God, I'm sorry," I say, barely above a whisper, and she instantly begins to shake.

"I can't," she says, holding out her hand to stop me. "I can't do this right now." Tears fill her sea blue eyes.

"Frankie." I reach out my hand to steady her as she shakes her head, stopping me from touching her. Her dismissal stings, but isn't unexpected.

"Don't," she says firmly, clearing her throat.

I hold up both of my hands in a show of surrender. "When you're ready." I step aside so she's free to leave.

She takes a deep breath and bolts for the front door. I watch every movement as she fumbles with the doorknob, suddenly pausing. Turning around slowly her eyes find mine and my heart skips a beat.

"I don't think I'll ever be ready, Cole." Her voice shakes and I see her bite the inside of her cheek before she turns back around quickly and disappears through the front door, taking with her every ounce of hope I had in speaking with her ever again.

---

I tip my beer back, downing the last swallow before tossing the bottle onto the pile of empty ones that have collected since I started drinking three hours ago. I couldn't stand to sit on the porch and look at Frankie's house across the street, couldn't bear a chance at seeing her again after she fled this morning. So I sit in the backyard, under the pergola drowning my misery in shitty beer.

I study the Aspen trees that have begun to sway out along the fence line, not sure if they're swaying from the alcohol in my system or from the light breeze that's moved in. I hear the door from my house open then close, and I recognize Carter's heavy footsteps approaching from behind me. From the corner of my eye, I see a black purse fall to the ground next to me as I balance myself on a patio chair, my feet perched on the table in front of me.

"What's that?" I ask, not chancing a look at the purse. I know damn well what it is.

"That is your ticket at one more shot with Frankie." He smiles as he slides into the seat opposite of me. Carter called early this morning and I filled him in with the Cliff Notes version of what happened. He pulls a beer from the bucket on the center of the table and twists off the cap, flicking it onto my brick patio. Asshole.

I huff loudly and close my eyes, my face tilted to the sky. I can almost feel the edge of fall beginning to creep in as the afternoons are just starting to deliver the slightest hint of cooler weather.

Beneath my eyelids I see Frankie trembling, a vision that haunts me. Just like the vision of her driving away ten years ago and never coming back. I shake my head, trying to forget, except when you hurt the one person who means the world to you, there is no forgetting. I fucking hate myself for the pain and destruction I've caused.

"There are no more tickets and no more chances," I tell Carter, my voice hard.

"It's like I don't even know who the fuck you are anymore," he barks at me as the legs of his chair grate against the brick patio.

I lean forward quickly, my chair dropping onto all four legs as I glare at him. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I watched you destroy everything, Cole. I watched you sacrifice the one thing that meant everything to you. And now it’s pretty fucking hard to miss the trail of destruction that sacrifice left behind. I was there after every fucking bender you went on and every whore you fucked as you tried to forget about Frankie. I was also there when you finally got your shit together and started building something pretty fucking amazing in this town." His eyes soften when they meet mine. "This is about Frankie. You have one last opportunity to talk to her and I just handed it to you on a silver fucking platter. You owe this to yourself." He walks to the middle of the yard where a large fountain sits. "Actually, you owe this to Frankie," he says without turning around. "She deserves the truth."

My blood simmers, my temper flaring. "You don't think I already know that!" I push myself up from my chair and rest my hands on the patio table.

"Do whatever you want, man," he sighs and walks back toward me. "When she leaves this time, I'm not going to be the one to pick up all your shitty pieces." His shoulder bumps mine hard, knocking me off balance as he moves past me.

"Take the fucking purse with you when you leave," I snap at him.

"Fuck you, Cole," he says as the patio door slams shut behind him, leaving Frankie's black purse sitting at my feet.

"And fuck you, too," I mumble, as if he can hear me.