Page 87 of Unwanted

Frankie rests his hand on my heart and hooks his leg over my hip. It was his favorite way to fall asleep. “Maybe. But you also don’t know that he would’ve told you, nor can you guarantee this still wouldn’t have happened.”

I knew logically he was right, but it didn’t change how responsible I felt in my mind.

“I’m sorry.” He raises an eyebrow in confusion. “The things you said in the elevator.”

“I shouldn’t have said that stuff, it wasn’t the right time.”

“Are you kidding?” I argue. “It was the perfect time.” I roll onto my back and look up at the ceiling. “I finally get it. I was looking at Rhys, putting myself in your shoes, staring at me in that hospital bed. Waiting for me to wake up. And you did that all alone.”

“How are you supposed to not feel all those things?”

Frankie nuzzles his head into the space between my neck and shoulder. “I meant what I said in the elevator,” he says softly. “I don’t want to do any of this—life—without you.”

“I have no plans of being anywhere but right here.”

I see the relief on his face, and my chest clenches at the idea of him having to live forever in fear.

I wanted to promise him that I would never relapse. I wanted to promise him that there was a cure for addiction. I wanted to promise him the whole fucking world. But we both knew not to make promises we couldn’t keep.

However, there was one thing I could promise.

“Some days I don’t feel like using,” I tell him. “And other days I do.”

“That’s a constant I can’t change.”

Quickly, I maneuver myself over his body, my forearms on either side of his head. “But I can promise if those days morph into a craving that feels like I’m on the edge of something dangerous? You will be the first to know.”

It was something small, and to anyone else maybe even inconsequential, but it was my word and he knew my word is all I have.

He tips his head up and kisses my lips. “I love you, Arlo Bishop.”

I kiss him again. “Always have, always will.”

30

FRANKIE

SIX WEEKS LATER

“The furniture is here,” Arlo calls out.

I drop the clothes in my arms on our bed and head out to help him accept the delivery.

When Arlo had suggested moving into our own place, I honestly thought it was a spur-of-the-moment suggestion and chose not to bring it up after the whole incident with Rhys.

We were all raw and I didn’t want to rock the boat. So imagine my surprise when Arlo came home from work one day throwing down a manila folder full of listings onto the table and glared at me. “Aren’t you the one who gets paid to do this shit?” he’d said.

I had scanned each listing and glanced up at him. “Not bad for your first try. Want me to ask Jordan to give you a job?”

He’d pulled a chair out from under the dining table and slumped into it. “Do you not want to move out together? I thought we were on the same page.”

It was horrible how endearing I’d found his insecurity.

“Of course I want to move out together, I was just being cautious,” I assured him. “I didn’t want to rush you while you were processing and healing after Rhys.”

“I told you a million times I’m okay.”

And he had.

---