My face still stings from her slap. She got me good, and fuck, I deserved so much more than a slap across the face. Her entire body trembles under my embrace, but I refuse to let her go. She'll run and I'm so fucking tired of her running. I've been holding her for nearly an hour, and I'll hold her for twelve more if that's what it takes for her to stay and talk to me. I need her forgiveness…hell, I need her.

Her crying has finally subsided, and I press my lips to the top of her head, praying she can feel the kisses I'm pouring into her, feel the love for her I never let die. I believed I was doing the right thing in letting her go—letting her live a life she deserved outside of this shitty small town, and me.

To see the damage I've caused to her is unbearable. The pain on her face when I told her about my lie damn near destroyed me. The hurt she's been holding onto all this time is something I'll never forgive myself for.

Frankie finally wrestles herself out of my arms, and I gently guide her down to the couch. She eases herself onto one end and looks up at me. "Why, Cole? Why couldn't you talk to me?" Her voice trembles and I shake my head.

Because you deserved better than what I could give.

I swallow against the growing lump in my throat and sit down next to her. Her hands sit on her lap, and I want so badly to lace my fingers through hers, but I won’t try to touch her like that.

I simply answer her honestly. "Because I loved you too much to let you sacrifice your dreams for me." I choke back the tears I feel forming in my eyes. It's the most honest I've been with Frankie, and also myself.

She nods her head slowly and sniffles. "And I loved you so much that I would have sacrificed everything—for you." She turns her head and looks at me. "You were the only thing I ever wanted, Cole. I fell in love with you the first day I met you. I was eleven years old—" Her voice shakes with emotion, and I remember that day like it was yesterday, because that was the day I fell in love with her, too. "What's that saying? The truth shall set you free?" She takes a sharp breath. "Bullshit, sometimes the truth hurts worse than the fucking lie."

She pushes herself up from the couch and turns toward me. "So fuck you and fuck your truth, Cole." Her eyes hold the pain of the world and I hate myself for that. Tears pool in her pain filled eyes when she turns on her heel and walks away, grabbing her purse that's been sitting on top of my desk on her way out. As her footsteps lead her away from me, I hear the faint sound of her sobs begin again as she disappears down the hallway, the front door slamming behind her as she leaves.

---

"So, you told her everything?" Carter asks me again while pouring himself a cup of coffee. I don't have it in me to retell the entire conversation, or discuss the pain in her eyes or the disgusted look on her face…or the one that displayed pure hatred toward me.

I nod my head as it's about all I can muster up the strength to do right now.

"And from the looks of you, I assume it didn't go well?" He stands, his hip leaning against my kitchen counter.

I rake my hands up my face and through my hair, stopping to rub my eyes that burn from lack of sleep and frustration. "What the hell kind of question is that, Carter?" I bark at him as I push myself up from the kitchen table, the legs of my chair scraping against the hardwood floor. “Of course it didn’t fucking go well.” How the hell did he think that conversation would go? That I’d tell her the truth and she’d fall in my arms and forgive me?

"So what now?" he asks.

I sigh in frustration. "What the fuck do you think? We move on. She knows the truth now. It didn't change anything. She still hates me. End of story."

Carter furrows his brows at me and slams his mug of coffee on the kitchen counter. "So you're just gonna let her walk away again? Because, if you do, you're a bigger fucking idiot than I already thought you were."

My anger intensifies and I clench my fists. "What choice do I fucking have, Carter? I told her the truth. I cleared my conscience. She slapped me. I apologized. She left. Seems pretty fucking clear to me—"

I'm cut off by the loud bang of his empty ceramic mug being tossed into the stainless steel sink. "You're a bigger pussy now than you were ten years ago, you know that?" He moves across the kitchen and positions himself right in my face. He may be shorter and smaller, but Carter is the only person who's ever had the balls to stand up to me. Disappointment crawls across his face. "I watched you self-destruct for ten fucking years because of a lie you told Frankie. I watched what it did to both of my friends and the pain it caused. Now that you've confessed to Frankie, you're just going to let her go—"

I cut him off. "How many times are you going to have this conversation with me? She's engaged, Carter." I pound my pointer finger into his chest, causing him to take a step backward. "She's marrying another man. She told me she was happy." I feel my anger turn to sadness, and I pause, trying to swallow back my emotions.

My heart races and my stomach flips as I think about that diamond ring on her finger, and her saying the words 'I do' to someone else. It should be me she's saying those words to. It should be my ring on her finger. But I have to come to terms with the fact that I pushed her away and she's moved on. Rightfully so.

My voice lowers to just above a whisper. "She's happy," I repeat.

Carter stands there watching me with cautious eyes, allowing the words I can't say to speak for themselves. She's happy, and I'm not going to ruin that again. I need to let her go. Those words sting, which is why I can't say them—or maybe because I don't want to believe them.

Carter takes a deep breath and swallows hard, his cautious eyes turning dark. "She's as big a fucking liar as you are," he hisses at me, bumping his shoulder into mine as he passes me, nearly knocking me over on his way out.

---

"Hello?" I answer my cell phone from a number I don't recognize with a Los Angeles area code. A familiar sounding voice fills the line, but I'm having a hard time placing who it is.

"Is this Cole Ryan?"

"Speaking."

"This is Jack Vanderbilt. A good friend gave me your information, said you're the best of the best when it comes to auto restoration."

I'm momentarily taken aback by the fact that Jack fucking Vanderbilt is calling me. He's a television morning show co-host, he has his own production company, and he’s also a radio host. He's one of America's most popular celebrities and has his hand in every aspect of the entertainment industry.

"I appreciate the referral," I respond, grabbing a notebook from my desk.

For the next several minutes, he rattles off the details of the car he has and would like me to refurbish from bumper to bumper. He doesn't blink an eye when I tell him it'll cost upward of two hundred thousand dollars, and that's a blind estimate. It could go higher once I get my eyes on the car and see its condition and what I'm going to be working with.

As I do with all my clients before I accept a vehicle, I do a thorough inspection. But Mr. Vanderbilt also doesn't blink an eye about flying me to Los Angeles to do the inspection, or the cost I've asked to do it. He takes my information and tells me his assistant will be in contact within the hour to schedule travel arrangements. Hell, I'm surprised his assistant wasn't the one who called me. He wants this done as soon as possible and is willing to pay a premium to get it done.

For the last eight years, I've had non-stop restoration business and it's helped me invest back into Crescent Ridge. I'm not only thankful for the income it has brought in but for the distraction that I know I'm going to need now more than ever.

I prop my feet up on the corner of my desk and lean back in my desk chair. My head drops back as I rub my temples where they've been pounding since Frankie left. Last night’s beerfest, the lack of sleep, and all my emotions simmering at the surface are all taking its toll on me. Maybe a short getaway will do me some good and allow me to clear my head.

---

I push myself upright, glancing out the window and across the street. I must’ve sat in this chair for nine thousand nights looking out this window, waiting to see if Frankie would come home, and here she is fifty yards away, only it still feels like seven hundred miles. Headlights catch my attention and I recognize Faith's car rolling to a stop outside just as Frankie bounds down the front porch, dragging a suitcase behind her. Faith meets her in the driveway where they both embrace.

Faith holds Frankie's head and kisses her forehead before they both wipe tears from their cheeks. My heart sinks when I realize she's leaving me—again.

Faith helps Frankie load her suitcase into the trunk of the Mercedes and my heart beats wildly, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I push myself up from the desk and hurry to the front door. My gut says to let her go, but my heart won't let me.

It takes me less than five seconds to cross my front lawn where I pause at the edge of the street. The pain on Frankie's face takes my breath away as she cries into Faith's shoulder. Faith rubs circles on Frankie's back, comforting her as she looks over Frankie's shoulder and sees me approach. A quick shake of her head warns me to stay where I'm at, but everything inside me is calling me across that street.

"Frankie," I call to her, her head snapping up.

"Don't," Faith warns me as my feet carry me across the broken asphalt. I ignore her warning but proceed cautiously.

"Frankie, please—"

"Please what, Cole?" she barks, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Her pale face is splotchy and red from crying.

"Please, don't go."

She lets out a low guttural laugh and slowly puts one foot in front of the other, descending down her driveway toward me, stopping just out of my reach.

"What right do you think you have asking me to stay?" she asks, her chest heaving as if she's just run a marathon. Her wavy hair is piled on top of her head and her lips are pursed. Her bloodshot eyes highlight just how beautiful the blue irises are, and her dark lashes are coated in tears as she licks her lips and waits for me to answer.

"I don't want you to go," I tell her, reaching out my hand as if she'll reach out in return and take it. Instead she takes a step backward as if I’m dangerous. My heart plummets as she retreats.

"You ruined everything!" she screams at me, stumbling backward. Faith jogs down and wraps her arm around Frankie's shoulder and guides her back up the driveway. "You ruined my life," she cries and buries her face into her hands.

"Stop it," Faith says, hushing her and whispering into her ear before turning back to me, disappointment in her eyes. "Leave, Cole."

I ignore Faith's request. "I didn't ruin your life, Frankie—"

"Stop!" Faith yells over her shoulder at me and if looks could kill I'd be a dead man. "Leave."

I raise my hands in surrender and walk backward across the street, my eyes never leaving Frankie.

Only my gut tells me this is it. This is the last time I'm going to see her. "I'm sorry, Frankie. I'm so goddamn sorry. Please listen to me." My voice breaks and I let it. She's hurting and it's literally eating me alive.

The taillights on her Mercedes blink as the driver's door opens and she slides into the front seat. Déjà vu hits me as the car roars to life and she puts the car in reverse, backing out of her driveway. There's something more real about her leaving this time, something so final. Just like before, she drives away leaving me here in Crescent Ridge, and there's not a damn thing I can do but let her go.