There is no way in hell I can sit at home today knowing Frankie is just a hundred feet across the street from me. Just far enough way to not see her, but too damn close that it's driving me fucking mad.

I jump back in my Jeep and head down to the bar and grill to see what kind of progress is being made and bust some heads if I find anyone slacking off. I want this job done on time.

When I arrive, I hear the sounds of nail guns, drills, and saws as I push through the plywood makeshift doors. The sound of progress and the smell of sawdust hanging in the air hits me immediately—I like it. This old brick building was the perfect location for The Fault Line, the perfect name for my bar and grill.

The exposed brick walls fit with the industrial look I was going for. Large wrought iron lamps hang from the ceiling, and lanterns line the walls. Oversized booths will line the walls and tall pub tables will fill the center. Leather and wood accents on tables and chairs will really bring this place together.

"J.D.," I yell at the foreman standing with a stack of papers in his hand, scribbling away on the top sheet.

"What's up, my man?" He holds out his fist for me to bump.

"It's coming along," I comment as my eyes scan every surface, looking for something that isn't just perfect.

"It is. We're actually ahead of schedule, putting the finishing touches on the shelving in the kitchen today. Flooring goes in tomorrow, then clean up. Everything else will fall into place after that. Booths, the bar, and tables and chairs are scheduled to arrive in two weeks, along with all the kitchen equipment." He taps the stack of papers in his hand. "The electrician finished up this morning. What do you think?" He dips his head back and looks up to the oversized metal lights hanging from the ceiling.

"Looks fucking rad," I say, pleased at how the black wrought iron stands out against the red and white brick.

"It does. Good choices, man." He tosses the stack of papers onto a worktable.

"How are the restrooms coming along?"

"On track. Plumber comes after we finish up the tile work. I anticipate no problems."

"And the brick oven? Did the mason finish that up yet?"

He nods with a grin. "Yesterday. I want to be the first asshole to eat a pizza from that oven."

I chuckle. "You got it, man. I like everything you're telling me." I slap him on the back in appreciation. "Good work."

"So when do you think you'll actually open this place?"

I shrug. "As soon as possible. I've been working with a chef from Reno, who's helping me get the menu set up, and he knows industry people who are going to advise me on getting a logo, signage, coasters, and all that other shit that goes into marketing this place."

"Makes sense," he responds.

"My main concern is keeping the construction portion of this project on track. I'll worry about the other details, you just get the building done on time and on budget."

"You got it. On that note, I'm going to go check and see how the shelving is going." He walks off, leaving me standing in the middle of the large dining area.

"This place is fucking perfect," I tell myself with a proud smile, then I get to work, sweeping up dust and remnants of today's work before finally resigning to the fact that I'm going to eventually have to go home. I shoot Melinda, the nurse a quick text, checking in on Martha and asking her for some food recommendations. A few minutes later, I'm calling in a dinner order for Martha, the girls, and Melinda.

Gus has his cook preparing veggie potpies, mashed potatoes and gravy, and banana cream pudding for dessert. I'm also sending over a large salad for the girls, who will most likely balk at all the carbs and calories in the potpies and potatoes.

Gus finally comes waddling out of the kitchen, large paper bags hanging from his arms. "Everything is ready to go," he says, setting the bags on the long diner counter where I’m sitting on a stool, waiting.

Pulling sixty dollars from my wallet, I toss it on the counter. It’s enough to cover the food and still leave a decent tip. "Thanks, Gus." I reach for the bags and stand up, making my way toward the door.

"You seen her yet?" Gus asks quietly, stopping me dead in my tracks. My heart jumps in my chest when he asks.

I turn slowly, squeezing the handles of the bags in my hand as he wipes down the counter with a dishrag. He keeps his eyes down and doesn't look up at me. I know exactly who he's referring to when he says "her".

"No. Not in person," I answer him, my voice clipped.

"She's still hurting, Cole," he answers sharply. "You can see it in her eyes. I don't know what went down with you two, Martha never told me the whole story. I only heard the rumors." He looks down at the counter, a disappointed look on his face. "The town gossip, but she left for a reason and never returned until now. The one thing I do know is that her entire world revolved around you." He looks up and shoots a pointed look at me, tossing the kitchen rag on the counter behind him. Crossing his arms over his chest, he lets out a deep, resigned sigh and points to the bags dangling from my hands. "Go easy on her. Carter was here today and already upset her."

I swallow hard and simply nod in response.

Fucking Carter saw her? Huh. Well, isn't that fucking convenient.

---

With three quick knocks, I wait for someone, anyone, to answer the door. Mixed emotions fill me. Excitement at possibly seeing Frankie, nervousness at what her response might be, but all of that evaporates when Faith answers the door. She looks over her shoulder quickly before stepping out onto the front porch to meet me, closing the door behind her.

"Cole," she says, her voice clipped.

"Faith," I respond to her, holding up the bags. "Wanted to drop off some dinner for all of you. It's not much, but it's one less thing you need to worry about tonight."

With an exaggerated sigh, she asks, "Why’re you doing this?"

I fight back a smile and rock back on my heels. "There's no ulterior motive here, Faith. Your mom was basically my mom. All those years she made sure I had everything I needed—" My voice breaks and I have to clear my throat. After a moment, I finish with, "I just want to do something nice for her…because I can."

She narrows her eyes at me, but reaches out for the bags. "Just leave Franny alone. Don't pull anything stupid. Please."

Franny. I hate that they call her that. She's Frankie. Always will be. I swallow hard and feel the muscles in my jaw tighten. "Enjoy your dinner. Please send my love to your mama." I clench my fists and turn around, jogging down the wooden front steps.

"Please, Cole." I hear Faith say from behind me.

With a shake of my head, I answer her over my shoulder. "You know me well enough to know that I don't make promises I can't keep, Faith."

---

With my feet propped up on the weathered porch railing, I twist a bottle of ice-cold beer around in my hand as I stare at the house across the street. Wanting, hoping for another glimpse of Frankie. I vow to sit here all damn night for one more look at her.

Stars fill the dark sky above so brightly that even the dull street lamp can't dim their brightness. Lights flicker on and off in various rooms at Martha's house, and as the hours pass so does my hope of seeing Frankie.

It's hard to miss the thunderous sounds of Carter's Harley as he makes his way down our quiet street. Killing the engine, he rolls to a stop in front of my house and hops off his newly refurbished bike.

Jogging up the center of the yard and right past me, he lets himself inside the front door. A minute later, he joins me on the front porch, a cold beer in his hand and another one for me. He sits in a chair opposite me, throwing his foot over his knee and taking a long pull of his beer.

"Beautiful night," he finally says, chancing a glance in my direction.

I nod in response, not saying anything.

"Saw your girl today," he says, shifting in his chair.

My girl. My stomach jumps when he says that. "So I heard." I twist the bottle cap off my beer and toss it onto the porch. Agitation rolls through me and my stomach twists with anxiety.

"Seems you two are on the exact same damn page." He blows a puff of air loudly through his nose. "Both of you seemingly wanting to leave the past in the past," he draws his fingers up and make air quotes, “but both of you are too damn stubborn to actually do it. You should’ve seen her eyes, Cole—"

I toss my beer bottle with an angry grunt, and it hits a post on the porch, shattering into a million little pieces. Standing up quickly, I turn and point a finger at my best friend. "You don't know shit," I hiss at him.

Quickly jumping to his feet, he drops his bottle of beer at my feet and grabs me by the t-shirt, yanking me to him. I'm about six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier, but he's not backing down. He never has when it comes to me—he's not afraid to put me in my place when needed, and that's what I appreciate about him. He pulls me even closer. The guy has some damn balls, that's for sure.

"Don't tell me I don't know shit," he spits at me. "I've watched you spiral down in a blur of trashy women and booze since you fucking drove Frankie out of town with your bullshit lies. I watched you lose the only family you ever really had because of those fucking lies. You lost the best damn thing that ever happened to you—for what, Cole? Explain it to me!" he yells in my face.

"I did it for her," I say, gritting my teeth. "I did it all for her."

His eyes narrow in disgust. "She left here thinking you knocked up Whitney Carson. She thinks you have a kid out there…that you cheated on her. Meanwhile, she was at college, busting her ass to make something of herself so you two could build a future together."

I shake my head…not sure who I'm more disgusted with—Carter for throwing the truth in my face or myself for all the fucking lies I've spun.

His voice hinges on desperation. "Just fucking tell her the truth, man. Then you can both move on—put this shit to rest." He releases his grip on my t-shirt and pushes me away from him. Then he jogs down the front porch and stops in the middle of the yard, turning around to say one more thing. "Before your dad died, he made you promise him you'd come clean and tell her the truth. If you're too big of a fucking dick to do it for yourself, or her—do it for him." He spins around on his boot and jumps on his Harley, disappearing down the long, dark street.

"Fuck," I grumble to myself, running both of my hands over my face and through my hair. I grab another beer and head to the only place that I've ever really been able to think…the place where I'm the most connected to Frankie. The fault line.

It's pitch black out here with only the bright moon to guide my way. It's been almost ten years since I've visited the fault line—but I know the way like the back of my hand. The trees are taller and the trail Frankie and I forged so many years ago is overgrown, but I'd never forget my way here.

Rocks that we used to think were huge but are merely boulders still sit in position, marking the way to the cliff. I'm a few beers in and second guessing whether this is a good idea because the drop off the cliff would kill a person. It's more than a hundred feet of solid rock and straight down.

Just beyond the last tree, I come to the clearing I remember so well. I pause, allowing memories of this place to flash through my mind like a slide show. My chest constricts as my emotions bubble to the surface, and I let my feet carry me to the edge of the cliff. I sit down on the edge as I've done a million or more times before and let my feet dangle off the side. I sip my beer, barely able to swallow against the growing lump in my throat. The brain is a fickle little bitch, shoving memories to the forefront, the ones I’ve tried so hard to forget. I shake my head and close my eyes as I remember the very first time I showed Frankie this place.

---

"Where are you taking me?" she yells from behind me as I jog along the rocky trail. "Just come on! We're almost there," I yell back at her. I'm proud of how she keeps up. Being a couple of years younger and a girl, I didn't expect for her to even be interested in seeing this.

Rounding the last boulder and passing the last pine tree, the clearing comes into sight. I come to a sudden stop and she damn near runs right into the back of me.

"What is this place?" she says in awe, stepping in front of me. She walks right over to the edge of the cliff and looks down. Not a fear in the world.

"Stay away from there!" I tell her. "That's the fault line and hundreds of people have fallen to their death right there. They never go after the bodies because it's too steep and dangerous. People are left to rot down there." I make my way right up next to her. What I said is actually a lie passed on down to me by my father, who didn't want me playing back here for fear I would fall down the cliff, and he promised to leave me there if I did. I don't want her to get hurt, so I retell the old wives' tale just as it was recited to me.

She sits down on the edge of the cliff and dangles her feet over the edge, tipping her head back to look at me. "You going to sit down or what?" she asks and I take a seat next to her.

"I thought you'd be afraid to see the edge," I tell her, dangling my feet next to hers.

"Why would I be afraid?" she asks, tipping her face to the sky.

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, watching her squint into the sun. Her long dark hair almost touches the ground behind her.

"Because you're a girl, and girls are always afraid of everything."

"Well, that's a dumb thing to say." She pushes herself up and looks over at me. "Girls can do anything boys can do," she snaps at me.

"No they can't," I argue with her.

"Wanna bet?" Her eyes challenge me.

"They can't get a hard on." I laugh as her face turns a bright shade of red.

"Gross," she says. "Are all thirteen-year-old boys as disgusting as you, or are you special?" She scowls at me and narrows her eyes.

"Oh, Frankie, I was just kidding." I nudge her with my shoulder.

She harrumphs and crosses her arms over her tiny breasts. Breasts that are just starting to fill out. Breasts I think about every night as I lay in bed thinking about her. "Why do you call me Frankie? My name is Franny."

"No, it's not," I correct her. "Your name is Frances and Franny doesn't fit you. Frankie does."

"Frankie is a boy’s name," she says, pulling her legs up from the cliff and crossing them Indian style.

"Well, you'll always be Frankie to me. I'm not calling you Franny or Frances." I pick up a rock and toss it into the canyon below. "Frankie, that right there is the center of the fault line." I point to the canyon below. "An earthquake split the land right down the center and created this."

Her eyes widen as I tell her the old wives' tale of how the canyon was created. She listens intently, her bright blue eyes studying me closely.

"You can't tell anyone about this place, Frankie. This is our little secret," I whisper to her. "You're the only person I've ever told about the fault line, okay?"

She nods her head, agreeing to my deal. This was my place, now it's mine and Frankie's.

---

I've been sitting here for hours when the sound of branches snapping in the distance pulls me out of my trip down memory lane. I sit up quickly, trying to assess what animal is lurking in the distance. The sun is barely making its way to the sky so it's nearly impossible to see what's coming, but the fact that whatever is in the bushes is disrupting me from my thoughts is pissing me off. But it's the figure that suddenly appears that damn near stops my heart.