Chapter 4

His phone is pressed to his chest, and when I try to wiggle it out of his hand and lay it on the table so he won’t drop it on the floor, he opens his eyes.

Frankie swallows several times before he speaks. “You’re home.”

I nod, my throat suddenly closing up and making it impossible for me to produce a sound.

His hands twitch, as though he wants to touch me. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

I nod again.

“You haveto believe me. I’m so, so sorry.” He chokes on the words.

I force my mouth to cooperate. “I believe you.”

His gaze meets mine, penetrates my very soul as he searches for answers. “But you’re angry.”

I avert my gaze. Am I angry? Heartbroken, devastated, yes. Is my trust betrayed? Yes. But angry? I don’t know. In the end, I settle for a shrug.

“Will you talk to me? Or at least listen when I talk?”

I scrub my palm over my face and hang my head. “I’m tired, Frankie.”

“Please, please, please.”

I straighten. “Not tonight. I have tomorrow off. We’ll talk tomorrow.”