Page 31 of A Slice of Love

“Where ya off to?” my dad asks, respecting my boundaries even though I know they’re both dying to pepper with me questions about my recovery.

“Do you guys remember Frankie Callahan?”

“Pastor Callahan’s daughter?”

I nod. “Yep.”

My mom smiles fondly. “Oh yes. How could I forget the way she’d stare at you on Sundays?” She laughs. “She was so smitten with you.”

“She was not,” I argue.

“She was probably just surprised to see his heathen ass in church,” my dad says.

“That.” I point toward him. “It’s that right there. I’m just a heathen.”

Mom tips her cup toward me. “Can’t argue with that. Are you just meeting with Frankie or other friends too?”

She tries to tamp down her eagerness, but I can see through her supposedly innocuous question.

“Julian Schenn will be there too.”

My mom’s excitement falters when I say this.

As much as I like Julian, I also wish it were just going to be me and Frankie. I’ve missed her, and I’d really like to have a little alone time with her.

But I know that’s not going to be possible any time soon.

Hence our buffer, Julian—the brilliant man behind this setup.

When he followed me out into the hallway, we were all smiles and pleasantry until we were out of earshot from Frankie. Then I shoved his big ass into the wall and demanded to know what the hell was up.

After I ended things with Frankie, I was a wreck, especially because it was the last thing I wanted to do, but it was necessary at the time…at least I thought it was.

Shit was dark for a while. My life was school, drink, school, drink. Repeat, repeat, repeat. I have no idea how I graduated on time because my grades were absolute trash during my freshman year of college.

About six months into the school year, I ran into Schenn’s familiar face at a party put on by the frat I was rushing.

Drunk off my ass, I told him everything that’d happened with Frankie and how I was so fucking close to throwing everything away and chasing after her…wherever she was.

Somehow, he talked me off the ledge, and I didn’t do anything hasty.

But the prick didn’t bother to mention he was friends with Frankie and knew exactly where it was she’d run off to.

Last night he asked if I still thought about her, and I didn’t have to think about the answer.

I did.

Ido.

At least once a week, I look for her on social media, hoping and praying she got a wild hair up her ass and made an account.

It’s been that way for four years.

I regret nothing more than walking away from her, because nothing and nobody has ever made me feel the way she does.

Seen.

I suppose my answer was enough for Julian, because he offered to help me make things right and then proposed supervised drinks tonight to help get Frankie and me in the same room.

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