Page 24 of Crazy In Love
“I’m sorry Alana left you. And I’m sorry for treating you like an enemy.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I look at you, Fox, and I see a threat. Someone Alana might choose over…”
“You?”
Warmth settles in his cheeks, a gentle blush I’m not sure even he knows he’s rocking. “Plainview. She might leave, which means I’ll have to hold my brother through his grief again. Or he’ll leave, too, and I’m honestly not sure who will hold me. Which, you’re probably thinking I deserve; a result of my shitty attitude.”
“I didn’t say that.” I dig my hands into my pockets and relax my shoulders. “Might’ve thought it here and there, but I wouldn’t say so out loud.”
He chuckles, exhaling a soft, mint-flavored breath that feathers against the hanging tendrils of my hair. “I was so focused onme, that I didn’t consider you’ve lived the same life. I had Alana’s childhood, and you had her twenties. We both know what it’s like for her to hit the freeway and leave us behind, and dammit, I was so determined not to feel that way again. I wanted to hate you and hope you’d walk away.”
“There’s no rule that says we have to compete. She made her choices, and even if I think this place is a dump, I want her to be wherever she’s happiest. That’s what love means.”
“Makes you a better person than me.”
“Yeah. But I already told you that.” My phone vibrates in my back pocket, buzzing against my butt and drawing my hand around to grab it. But I search Chris’ eyes first. I don’t dare pass up an opportunity for a truce. “She’s not coming back to New York unless Tommy and Franky agree to do the same. And believe it or not, but word on the street is that Tommy ain’t going anywhere without you. So you could probably chill on World War III. I’m only here to visit, and eventually, I have to leave again.” I spy my phone screen and Tommy’s text:
3cm! It’s taking foreverrrrrr!
Lowering it again, I shrug. “If this was a competition, it’s pretty safe to say you’ve already won.”
“I’m sorry I was a dick.”
“No, you’re not. You meant every word you said, and youdefinitelycan’t wait for me to leave. But you feel kinda bad about it now that you realize you won.” I bring my phone up again and show him the screen. “You wanna call Tommy and talk him down before he tears the walls off the hospital?”
He scans the words on my screen and smirks when he gets to the end. Concentration makes way for relief, and fear is replaced with contentment. Then he shakes his head and wanders to my fridge. “You call. Put him on speaker. We’ve got five minutes before Barbara makes a report to child services about Franky’s neglect.”
Snorting, I unlock the phone screen and swipe to my call log, but before hitting dial, I walk back to the door and onto the landing outside. And since I don’t actually give a single shit about the people in this town and their judgment of me, I cup my mouth and shout, “Franky!? You okay down there?”
Scandalized, Chris straightens at the fridge and spins in my peripherals. This, at least, is entirely predictable. I consider it exposure therapy. Which is exactly how I got Franky used to my shouting.
“Franklin?!”
“Don’t shout.” Chris rushes across to the door. “He’s never going to answer to?—”
“I’m okay!”
Smug, I turn back and stare up at a man whose mouth hangs open in shock.
“If you do something often enough, even those who struggle with regulation and public nervousness tend to adapt. The first time, we were in a department store in the city, so I played Marco Polo just for fun.”
“He would’ve hated that.”
Youwould hate that.
“He did. At first. But he got used to it. Now, he knows the sooner he responds, the sooner I stop.”
“Child abuse.”
I choke out a laugh and shimmy around the man who takes up most of the doorway. Slipping under his arm, I stroll back to the fridge he left open. “Oh, you got the fruity soda. Franky, for sure, told you this was my favorite.” I tap on Tommy’s name and tap again on the icon to set the call on speaker, then I toss the device to the counter and snag a soda.
One for me. One for Chris.
“Is everything okay?” Tommy answers in a panic. “Please tell me you haven’t lost Franky. Lana can’t handle that kind of stress right now.”
“You think so little of me.” I pull up a chair at the counter and crack open my drink. “Franky’s fine. I’m fine. Chris is a little out of sorts, so I figured he could do with hearing your voice.”
“Chris?” His tone hitches on the single word. “Where is he? What’d you do to him?”
“What didIdo? Jesus. What on earth have I done to earn this reputation? I’m a nice person!”
