Page 42 of Repluse

“Do you promise to look after my mum, even if you can’t get anything extra for me out of a divorce?”

“Promise,” they both say.

After a walk along the Portsea Pier to watch the sunset, we head back to the car. We drove here in Sam’s car, and as he climbs into the driver’s seat, Frankie opens the back passenger side door for me.

“Mils, you do know I’m sorry, right?”

I pause and look up at him on one side of the door, me on the other. “I do,” I admit. “But I’m still hurt.”

“I get that, but please don’t think you can’t trust me. My entire fucking life has been overshadowed by Scott Walsh in some fucking way. He’s never paid for what he tried to do to my mum, or for the way he’s always treated us. And now, knowing the truth about you, the life you’ve led with them, the way they’ve tried to set you up, the fact Scott put his hands on you, and your husband… your fuckinghusbandwho didn’t even attempt to defend you.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

I reach up and cover his hand resting on the top of the car door.

His eyes open and meet mine. “For you, my mum, for Ella, I’m gonna bring them down.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

He reaches out and brushes his thumb gently over the bruised side of my face. “Just so you know, I’ve got people watching Logan, so if you wanna stay with Sammie tonight, I’ll get notified if he leaves Yira, which is where he is now.”

Warmth moves through my belly at his words, and again, a tiny arrow of guilt hits it’s mark as I note how he excluded himself from the equation. I ignore all of that and ask, “You’re having him watched?”

“Yep, I made a call after I spoke to Kenny Bonner and put someone on him and Scott.”

“Why, what do you think they’re going to do?”

“Who fucking knows, but I didn’t want them turning up at your apartment while you’re here with us. I hate that I’ve got to send you back to him, but we’re going to need some time.”

“Again, I get it.”

“You’re very compliant this evening. I’m surprised given the fact you were considering all the ways you wanted to kill me earlier.”

“I’m tired. Today’s been a lot. I’m sick of drama—of conflict. I’m over being used as a pawn in your family’s games. Like you,I just want this to be over. I want to get away from Logan, his family. I’m just done.”

“So, when you say his family, does that include me?” He tilts his head, looking young, vulnerable, and so much unlike the only Frankie Walsh I’ve ever known.

“I don’t know, Frankie. Today has given me a lot to think about. Right now, all I want is a shower, some warm pyjamas, and a cup of girly tea.”

“Let’s get you home for all that, then.”

CHAPTER 12

Mila

The drive back to Sam’s is quiet. Even the music’s turned down so low I can barely hear it, and I spend the ten-minute journey trying to work out exactly what songs are playing as a way of avoiding all I have to think about.

Since my experience with Sam this morning, which I’m still not ready to deal with, sex has been the last thing on my mind, but as we approach the electric gates to Sam’s property, I’m wondering whether the boys are going to expect it tonight.

Do I want intimacy with Frankie after the way he’s made me feel?

Maybe getting fucked roughly is exactly what I need to get out of my own head. Perhaps I need to let them use and abuse me—tear me apart to the point of exhaustion so I can actually sleep tonight.

But then I remember the way I look right now. I know it didn’t deter Sam earlier, but I think we got caught up in some kind of moment—me, just grateful for the human contact, him, the release of adrenaline created by his anger at the state of my face—and now I’m thinking about Sam and me, and I don’t want to when I have so much else to consider.

I’m out of the car before it even comes to a stop. Once I reach the front door, though, I realise I don’t know the code to the PIN pad. Turning to look back towards the car, I watch on as the boys appear to be having a heated conversation, still in their seats. When they finally exit the car, Frankie calls out, “I’m gonna head home, Mils. We’ll speak tomorrow or as soon?—”

I make a split-second decision. “Why? Why are you going?”

Sam stops moving towards me. Frankie stops heading towards his car. I look at Sam, whose hands go his hips, but I don’t know him well enough to know whether I’ve pissed him off. The set of his face is giving me nothing.

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