"Edward, we need to talk," she said, her tone sharp, demanding. I hadn’t realized she was due back. Not like either of them ever read me into their schedules. At this point? I would rather stay out of it. No way this wasn’t planned. They avoided each other with almost surgical precision.
Edward’s response was muffled, inaudible. I could only imagine the storm that was about to break, the emotional shrapnel that would fly in every direction. In the middle of it all, Frankie, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing around her.
I needed to protect Frankie, to keep her safe from all of this. Whatever it took, I’d make sure she didn’t get hurt. Even if it meant continuing to keep secrets, even if it meant lying. She deserved better than this, better than them.
She probably deserved a hell of a lot better than me, but I was selfish. I refused to let go.
With a final glance down the stairs, I headed to my room, the weight of the evening settling heavily on my shoulders. As I closed the door behind me, I glanced down at the picture of her on my phone and made a promise.
No matter what happened, no matter how bad it got, I’d be there for Frankie. I’d be her rock, her safe harbor in the storm. And together, we’d weather whatever came our way.
With or without the others.
They were my friends, but she’d always been my forever.
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
BUBBA
It was still early enough that the garage wasn’t suffocatingly hot, but I had the outer door open to let in the semblance of “air.” I also had the big fan on to keep what air was in here moving. The engine on my motorcycle purred to life under my touch, a satisfying rumble that always brought a sense of accomplishment.
In addition to taking classes on motorcycle safety and how to ride over the summer, I’d spent time with a couple of my dad’s friends who worked on their own bikes. I’d learned enough to make sure I kept mine in good shape. It was a used bike, but in excellent condition. I wanted to know everything about the machine, from how it should sound to what maintenance it needed regularly.
It was less about the engineering than understanding the safety and making sure it was all doneright. Turning the engine off, I shifted to tighten the final bolt. Changing the air filter had proven straightforward enough. A scuff of a shoe on the concrete and the skipping of a pebble rattling over the drive to the grass had me glancing up
Sharon stood in the open garage entrance, her blond hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail that gave her face a severe look.If not for the light glow of her tanned skin, she’d look ill. Steeling myself with the familiar scents of oil and metal, I flicked a look over her then past her.
“Sharon,” I said, wiping my hands on a rag and keeping my expression neutral. “What brings you here?”
Her presence was like a dark cloud, sudden and unwelcome. She crossed her arms, her expression a mix of boredom and something else—annoyance, maybe? Or was it jealousy? It could be both or neither, the past few months she’d grown more and more mercurial and impossible to read.
“Just thought I'd stop by and see you.” She gave a casual shrug like it didn’t really matter to her. “You know, catch up.”
“Really?” It took physical effort to notsnortand no, I wasn’t buying this act for a second. “The last time we talked—correction, the last timeyoutalked to me, you made it pretty clear you weren’t interested in being friends.”
Which, at the time, had been a relief.
“Maybe I’ve changed my mind.” The corners of her pink-glossed lips curved upward into a sharp smile. All jagged edges and cutting as glass, it did little to diminish the sense of calculation. How I’d missed it when we were first dating? I had no idea. “Or maybe I just miss the good times."
“No, I’m not doing this.” I shook my head. “I’m busy and there’s a lot on my plate, right now, Sharon. So maybe…” I gestured for her to go.
Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, a flash of the bitchiness that lurked beneath the surface peeked out. "Oh, I see. You're too good for me now, is that it?"
“Can we not?” I raked a hand through my hair, and if I got a little grease in it, whatever. “I mean, seriously, can we not?”
“Aww, poor Bubba, are you feeling on the spot?” She drifted into the garage, the drag of her shoes making me flick a look down at her bare legs then back up. The shorts and tank top werea damn good look on her, they emphasized the muscles in her legs, and the toned shape of her arms.
Blowing out a breath, I took firm hold of my temper. One of the things I used to enjoy about Sharon was the biting wit she often wielded like a scalpel to slice through conversations with surgical precision. It always seemed to fall just onthisside of mean.
Most of the time.
"It's not that.” I dismissed her observation of me being on the spot even if shewascornering me in my garage. “I just... I've got other things to focus on. Important things."
She stepped even closer, her voice dropping to a low, sultry purr. "More important than me? Really?" The soft perfume she favored wreathed the air around me, penetrating the dust, grease, and fainter hints of exhaust from where I’d had the engine on. But that delicate balance of floral scents had an underlying cloying sweetness to it that irritated my throat.
Taking a step back, I put the motorcycle between us. “Yes, actually.” I gestured to the bike. “This is just the start of my day.”
