For the first time since I’d walked in the door, since my world had been dismantled piece by piece, I wasn’t completely alone in the wreckage.
Chapter
Eighteen
FRANKIE
Idug my fingers into the straps of my backpack like it was a lifeline. The apartment was silent now, empty but still… wrong. Every corner was stripped bare, every memory packed into boxes I couldn’t touch. Even the faint scent of the cats seemed to fade like a distant memory.
“Ready?” Archie asked, calm, too calm. I nodded, not trusting my voice. Not even sure what I was ready for, but I guess I had to be ready for something.
Jake didn’t move. His eyes were sharp, scanning the empty living room like he was cataloging what it had looked likebefore. What it had been before someone—mymother—dismantled this part of my life piece by piece. He didn’t ask if I was okay again. He didn’t even ask where we were going. He just… watched.
“Let’s go to my place,” Archie said, sliding past me and heading for the kitchen and the backdoor that I used far more than the front that opened to the courtyard. His voice was neutral, but the way Jake stiffened at the suggestion made my stomach churn.
“You’re serious?” Jake finally said, pacing in three sharp steps. Was he asking me or— “Hisplace? You can’t just—what ifthis was, like, an emergency situation? We don’t even know why she’s moving yet. Who approved this? Why Archie?”
Archie didn’t even look at him, much less answer. He dug his phone out and started typing, thumbs moving fast. “I’m texting Jeremy. See if he knows anything.”
Jake’s jaw tightened, every line rigid. “Texting Jeremy? You’re… what, trying to cover your ass or figure out if she’s okay? Because last I checked, she’s—” His voice broke mid-sentence, clipped off by a huff of frustration. “She’s being moved without her consent. And somehow, that’s fine?”
“She’s also standing right here,” I reminded him in a rough voice and Jake gave a little jerk.
“It’s fine,” Archie said flatly, still focused on the phone. “For now. We get you out of this apartment. I don’t know these movers, but I do know their company.”
Jake’s laugh was bitter, low, and hollow. “Fine? That’s your line?” He stepped closer, but not too close, just enough that the air between them felt sharp. “You’re treating this like it’s logistics and not—her life. Her stuff. Her cats. And you’re okay with that?”
Apparently, we were still going to discuss me even if I was right here. I wanted to tell them to stop, to not fight in front of me, but my throat was dry, and the words stuck. I squeezed my backpack straps instead.
Archie finally looked up from his phone, a line of tension visible across his face. “Jake,” he said carefully, “I’m doing the best I can with what I know. Let me handle this. Right now, I want to take Frankie home because it’s safe there. Jeremy is there. I’m there.”
Jake’s hand shot up, finger twitching as if he wanted to grab something but didn’t. “Safe? You think this is safe? She’s being—she’s being shipped off like a—like a package! And you’re telling me that’s okay? You don’t even care that she’s—” His voicecracked, and for the first time, I saw the weight behind it, not just anger but raw, protective frustration.
I stepped between them without thinking. “Stop,” I said, voice higher than I wanted. “Both of you. Please.” My words wavered, fragile. “I… I just… I can’t deal with this right now.”
“We know,” Archie said, his dark eyes softening. “That’s why I want to take you home with me. And not just because that’s where they were taking your things.”
That was a whole other Rubicon to cross. Just not right now. “I don’t know that I can deal with that either.”
“You don’t have to,” Archie said, gentling his voice more. “I’ll drive you. We’ll figure out where the cats are, Jeremy’s already checking.”
Relief sliced through me on those words. I just needed to know the cats were okay, I could deal with everything else. “I can’t just leave my car here…”
Jake’s gaze flicked to mine, hard and unyielding, then dropped to the floor. “Look,” he said finally, his voice quieter but still sharp, “I’ll drive your car over. So you have it where you want it.”
I blinked at him. “But what about your car?”
“We can figure that out later,” he said, voice clipped, like there wasn’t room for argument.
My phone buzzed. I blinked at it like it had just sprung to life. A message from Mathieu.
Mathieu:
Are you okay? Can we talk? I feel like… things went wrong.
My fingers trembled over the screen. I didn’t know if I should answer. Part of me wanted to hide, to curl up in some quiet corner and pretend the last hour hadn’t happened. Partof me… wanted to answer. Wanted to hear something normal, something familiar.
Archie noticed my pause and moved to read over my shoulder. Invasive. Bossy. “Text him back if you want,” he said softly, almost like permission. “I’ll drive. We’ll get there, and you can… talk to him if you need or want.” The last few words sounded like he had to grind them out, but he tried at least.
