Page 75 of Unwanted

“Fuck you,” he whispers, answering my question. “The last thing you said to me was ‘fuck you.’”

A sob lodges in my throat. “Who would stay around for that?”

“No,” Frankie breathes out, his hands framing my face. “No. No. No.”

He pushes me onto my back and climbs over me.

A tear falls down my cheek, and Frankie kisses it away, only for more tears to follow. “The worst part was that I expected you to stay, I expected you to stick around. When I found out you’d left, I felt wronged and broken, and they’re such selfish things to feel.”

His salty lips finally land on mine, my tears now falling between us.

He kisses me hard and soft, moving along my jawline and up and down my neck.

And every time his mouth touches mine, a new confession falls off my tongue.

“Sometimes,” I choke out. “I still feel that way.”

Frankie raises his head, his emotion-filled eyes looking down at me.

“So broken,” I tell him. “So, so broken.”

“I love your broken.” He rubs his thumb over my lips and kisses me gently. “I love your wronged.” He kisses me again, this time a little firmer. “And I love your selfish.”

With nothing but love in his eyes, he pushes some wayward hairs out of my face and smiles at me softly. “I love you, Arlo. Every part of you. The things you love about yourself and especially the things you hate. I love them all.”

Cradling his face, I try to stop the tears from streaming down the side of my face and fail. “I don’t know how you can love me.”

He wipes the corners of my eyes. “You don’t need to know how. You just need to know that I do. And the only thing that matters is… Do you love me back?”

25

FRANKIE

Iknew he loved me. I knew he loved me then and I know he loves me now, but after four years, I wanted to hear it.

Just like every other confession that spilled between us tonight, I wanted to hear the words and have them wrap themselves around my heart, where they would keep me hopeful and I would keep them safe.

His cheeks glisten in the moonlight, his eyelashes wet from all the tears. His hair splayed around him on the bed, like a halo. He was exquisite, and for the first time in a long time, I knew, wholeheartedly, that he was finally mine.

Arlo tugs at the neck of my t-shirt, bringing me down to him, our breaths mingling, the tips of our noses touching.

“You taught me how to love,” he exclaims. “Before you, I didn’t know what it was like to be loved, let alone to love someone in return. I love you, Frankie York. I always have and I always will.”

My eyes fill with more tears at his declaration. It felt like we had both cried a river. Good tears and painful tears. We had been to hell and back, separately and together, but I would do it all over again if it meant we would always end up right here.

“I have never stopped loving you,” he declares. “And I don’t think there’s a world in which I ever will.”

Sitting back on my haunches, I keep my eyes trained on his and find the hem of his shirt. Arlo grips my hips and sits up as I pull his shirt over his head and then do the same to myself.

Smiling, I press my lips to his and push at his chest. “I love you,” I murmur, loving the freedom to feel and the freedom to fall. “I love you so much.”

After Arlo sliced himself open and bled for me, I wanted to worship every inch of the man.

I wanted to show him just how worthy I thought he was.

Of life.

Of love.

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