“You’renotfine, Frankie.”
I stared out the windshield. The sky was a painful washed-out blue, cars drifting by, the world looking insultingly normal. “I don’t know what I am,” I admitted.
There was a rustle, like Rachel was grabbing her keys. “Text me your location.”
“No, Rach, you don’t have to?—”
“Too late. You sound like you’re about to drive off a bridge. I’ll meet you somewhere. Food, caffeine, damage control. You’re not doing this solo.”
A lump formed in my throat. “You really don’t have to.”
“I know,” she said simply. “That’s why I’m coming. Tell me where you are or drop a pin. I don’t care which. If you make me look for you…”
A wet laugh escaped me at the way her voice trailed off on that threat. While she didn’t tell me what she would do, I hadzero doubt that it would be suitably terrible. I was talking to Rachel after all.
When I hung up, I just sat there for another minute, staring at my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes were red-rimmed, and hair a mess. I looked like the ghost of someone whose life had just imploded.
I started the car anyway.
The air conditioning roared to life, cold and merciless. I tried to focus on driving, on stop signs and turns, but the wordbrotherkept sliding into my head like a knife between ribs. I thought about Archie’s face, how he’d looked at me, how I’d savored his determination when it came to telling me how he felt. When it came to protecting me… How he’d held me when we danced at the party where so many other things had gone wrong.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Rachel was right—I wasn’t fine. But at least with her, I didn’t have to pretend to be. For now, that would have to be enough.
An hour later,I pulled into the sprawling parking lot of Jax Mart, a gas station so massive it could have hosted a small music festival in the snack aisle. The sign out front was a monstrosity. It was a neon-armored platypus wearing a trucker hat and a badge that read"Welcome to the Jaxton Family!"He looked like he was ready to sell me a tactical flashlight, a twelve-pack of beef jerky, and a tiny air fryer all in one breath.
Even from outside, the place smelled like sugar, motor oil, and fried everything. My car was sandwiched between a lifted pickup and a minivan plastered in “I brake for possums” stickers. People streamed in and out of the building like it was a mall on Black Friday. Inside, it had everything: snacks, t-shirts,hot food, merch, a small army of bathrooms, and even a corner labeled “Grooming & Grace” with hairbrushes, perfume, and travel-size deodorant.
It was the kind of chaotic consumer temple that made you forget what planet you were on, let alone what problems had gutted your soul that morning.
I splashed water on my face in the bathroom, wiped away the last of the tear-stained trails on my cheeks, and took a deep breath. Three of them, actually. I even smoothed down my hair, tied it back like that would hold me together. A little war paint of lip balm. My armor.
Rachel texted:
Where are you? I’m in front of the peanut brittle wall. And yes, that’s a thing.
I found her exactly where she said, holding a giant cup of slushie and wearing black combat boots, ripped jeans, and a tank top that readGIRL GANG OR GO HOME.Her dark hair was in a top knot, sunglasses still on inside, and she had one eyebrow arched like she was about to punch a situation in the throat.
As soon as she spotted me, the slushie went into the cart, and she was moving toward me like a missile. Before I could brace for it, she wrapped me in a hug so fierce, it cracked something open in my chest.
And just like that—all the stupid work I’d done to put myself back together—gone.
My face crumpled against her shoulder. My throat clenched. “Shit,” I whispered, as my arms wrapped around her and the tears started all over again. “I thought I was done crying.”
“You’re allowed to cry, you lunatic,” Rachel said, voice rough with something she’d never call softness but couldn’t quite hide.“Your whole life just turned into a Jerry Springer episode, and I’m pretty sure there are laws against kissing someone you maybe share a bloodline with.”
I laughed. Or sob-laughed. Which somehow made it worse. I ended up hiccuping into her shoulder.
Rachel didn’t let go.
She just held on tighter, like she could physically keep me from shattering into a million pieces in the middle of the Platypus Kingdom.
“I’m so screwed,” I whispered.
“Nope,” she said. “They’re screwed. You’re just the poor kid who got stuck with this flaming dumpster of a backstory.”
I shook my head, still pressed against her shoulder. “I’ve imagined kissing him, Rach. Wanted to. Imagined doing so much more. After everything, when he made it crystal clear that he was interested in me, I let myself feel what it would be tolikehim. What if we had?—”
