Page 39 of Unwanted

He grabs the whiteboard, scribbles something on it, and shows it to Lennox. Lennox nods vehemently.

I look over my shoulder at Frankie and he just shrugs.

“Okay.” I turn back to the three of them and then point at Lennox and then back at myself. “I’m going to go.” I wave and then gesture to the door. He nods in understanding and I raise my hand and sign “I love you.”

He mirrors my action and I offer him a soft smile before leaving the hospital room.

I’m not surprised when Frankie eventually follows, but the realization that we’re once again alone has me wishing I knew what the hell came next.

We stand there, both of us with our hands shoved into our pockets, staring at each other.

The silence isn’t awkward, but it’s telling. We were these new versions of ourselves who had no idea how to include the other. I knew we were both reluctant to end the night this way, that much was obvious. But choosing to verbalize that want felt dangerous, teetering on the edge of something I wasn’t sure I was ready to venture into.

“Is it going to be like this every time?” Frankie asks.

I chew the inside of my cheek before answering him. “Like what?”

“Like we’re strangers.” He runs a hand over the back of his neck. “Like we don’t know each other.”

“We don’t,” I say a little too quickly. “Not anymore.”

His lips part and I expect to hear a protest, but whatever he was about to say gets lodged in his throat.

“What?” I press. “What were you going to say?”

“I wanted to say that it wasn’t true. That you still know me, but…” His eyes drift away from me, looking around the hospital, looking anywhere else but at me. “But you’re right. We don’t know each other anymore.” He extends his arm in my direction. “You’ve lived this whole life without me.”

“That was your choice.” The dig is quick, and I know it hits deep when I see the subtle wince in his expression. “Look, Frankie, I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t. You are not the one who needs to apologize here.”

There were a million things I needed to apologize for, but I knew what he meant. He wanted to wear all the guilt for leaving, and the truth was, I was more than happy to let him.

There was no world in which I would be ready to hear how I was the reason he left.

“Let’s not do this,” I say. “Let’s not rehash it all.”

He steps closer to me, his voice dropping, his eyes now never leaving mine. “What if I want to?”

“I can’t,” I manage to say, my voice nothing more than a whisper. “I can’t go back there with you.”

Shaking my head, I try to move back and put some distance between us, but Frankie’s hand takes a fistful of my shirt and keeps me in place.

I glance down at his hold on me and back up at him. His eyes are soft and glassy, but his jaw is tight and restrained. He’s always been so easy to read, and this is no different.

“Arlo, I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

His words are laced with palpable heartache and regret. Words I’ve always wanted to hear, expecting them to be the salve to my wounds. But instead they slice right through me, reopening old scabs, taking me right back to the moment where everything fell apart.

Facing off in the middle of the hospital, we are as opposite as day and night. While it physically pained me to talk about the past, not talking about it did the exact same thing to Frankie.

But all I have left is my self-preservation, and it turns out I need it intact way more than I need his apology.

“Frankie.” Holding his gaze, I cover his hand with mine and gently push it away, forcing him to release his grip on me. “I said I can’t go back there.”

13

FRANKIE

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