That One Day (That One #1.5) (30 page)

“Dad, what are you talking about? Let’s sit down and have a beer. Why don’t you give me Archer so Frankie can take care of him?” I keep my voice even, choosing my words carefully.

His answer, however, is like a bullet straight to my chest. “So he can ruin you? Make your life unbearable? Make everything about him? No. I won’t let that happen. I should have stopped it with you.”

I can't be hearing right. He doesn't mean it. He can’t. But when he continues, there's no doubt left that he meant what he said. The pain searing through me is like shrapnel spreading through my body, bleeding me out from the inside.

“You were crying all the time. So she stopped sleeping next to me. Instead, she slept next to you, saying you were little and needed your mother. She always put you first. I hated you. I don’t want you to go through the same thing.”

I'm trying to breathe through the pain, my head a jumbled mess, trying to make sense of what’s happening, but he just keeps going.

“You know, I tried it. It would have been just a few more seconds and you’d be gone. It was so easy. You didn’t even see it coming when I pressed the pillow to your face, smiling up at me.”

The words, the brutality of them are like a kick to my gut, forcing me to step back. It's not…it can't be. He can't be saying that he tried to kill me. My eyes focus on Archer and the hold my dad has on him. I need to stay focused; I need to keep Archer safe.

“If your mother wouldn’t have come in, we’d still be happy. You’d be gone and I’d have my wife back. But she totally flipped out, running away, calling the cops. They put me in with the crazy. I’m not crazy. She was. We had everything. We were happy until you came along.”

I can’t recall the last time I prayed, but right now I need all the help I can get. In my head I pray for God to keep Archer safe. This isn't about me, this is about my son. His safety. His well-being. His life.

I notice Frankie take miniscule steps forward, and I do the same, hoping my dad is too caught up in his crazy thoughts to pay attention.

“I’ll just kill him and then you can be happy again.”

It's feels like everything is happening in slow motion as I watch my own father clasp his other hand around Archer's neck. The expression on his face is a crazed look which shows he's about to hurt my son.

Then, as if someone hit the play button again, everything moves fast. Frankie wails, and I lunge toward my dad as a loud bang rings out. Just as my father starts to fall forward, I grab Archer and jolt back, falling on my ass. Blood is soaking through my and Archer’s clothes. I look him over, making sure he’s not hurt. He’s screaming, and I don’t know how to calm him down, don’t know what to say to make this better.

I hold him close, breathing in and out while I try to blink away the tears. But when my eyes fall on my father's limp body on the floor, blood pooling underneath him, the gravity of the situation hits me full force. I look around, confused about what happened until I spot the police officer who is moving toward us, his gun still in hand.

Nuzzling into my son's neck, I let the tears fall. I rock him back and forth, whispering to him, though I'm not sure who I try to soothe—Archer or myself.

Everything feels surreal. I'm here, but at the same time I’m miles away. Somewhere where my father is not completely fucking insane. I feel numb, not much around me registering anymore. Only when Frankie clings to me and Archer am I brought back to the present.

It’s in this moment I realize nothing will ever be the same. The man lying in front of us has destroyed what we had. A man
I
brought into our lives. Frankie's arms squeeze hard. I notice, but can't react. All I know is I don't want to let go of Archer, not even when the EMTs try to take him from me.

***

Unwilling to leave Archer’s side, we ride in the back of the ambulance, trying to soothe him while the EMTs check his vitals.

My arm is around Frankie, holding her close, trying to soothe the despair I know she has to be feeling. Her hand rests on my thigh, occasionally squeezing lightly, keeping me in the here and now.

I've turned all my emotions off, my only focus on the two people I love the most. I have to be strong for them, get them through this—especially since I failed them today. The least I can do is to be there for them. Forcing myself to be numb to the fucking hurricane brewing inside of me, I watch the EMTs, waiting for their verdict. If Archer has been injured, I'll fucking kill the son of a bitch.

"His vitals are good. There are no visible injuries, but the doctors will have to run more tests," the female EMT says. "Now let's check you two."

She steps close to us, but Frankie shakes her head. "I'm fine," she croaks. I suppose it might be true when it comes to her physical well-being; her emotional state is a whole different thing.

“What about you?” the EMT says, stepping up to me. “There’s a lot of blood on your clothes.”

I frown and grind my teeth, swatting her hand away when she tries to check my pulse. I don’t want her to fuss over me.

“It’s not his,” Frankie says, her voice defeated.

I run my free hand through my hair, trying to stop the anger boiling just under the surface.

“Please, just make sure my son is okay.” I’m way past saving.

***

Our time at the hospital is hell—the wait to learn if Archer really is okay is pure torture. Every time I glance at Frankie, it’s like looking at a zombie. Her usually vibrant and shining eyes are blank, devoid of any expression.

It’s the same look I saw when I looked into the mirror while cleaning up and changing into the scrubs a friendly nurse has provided. I suppose they were worried it might scare patients to see us covered in blood.

Walking back with Frankie to the room Archer is in, I see Dean and Mrs. Walsh in the hall. Their eyes are rimmed red and Dean gives me a sympathetic smile. I just nod in response, too numb for anything more.

Taking Frankie’s hand, I listen to the doctor explain that my son is okay and there shouldn’t be any permanent emotional damage.

I hold Frankie close as we walk outside to Dean’s car and help her buckle Archer into his seat. Sitting on one side I hold Archer’s little hand while Frankie holds the other.

All the way back home, one thought spins around my head.
This is all my fault.

***

Walking into the house is only possible because I force myself not to feel.

Frankie walks ahead of me and heads up the stairs while I let the others hug me, staring at the few square feet that were the scene of our lives fucking unraveling.

I want to run, get away, forget, and keep Archer and Frankie safe from me. At the same time, I want to lock myself away with them, protect them forever. Protect them from my father—a madman. I don’t deserve to be around them. They would have been happy and safe if I never would have come back.

Alex is the last one to hug me, his words low and measured. “You’ll get through this. You will. It’s not your fault.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t tell him how wrong he is.

Walking up the stairs and reaching our room, I stand in the doorway, unsure if I should be here.

Frankie is curled up on the bed, lying on her side. She’s still wearing the scrubs. Archer is beside her, already asleep, stretched out on his back and oblivious to the turmoil around him. Frankie watches his every move, every breath, but then she turns her head, looking straight at me.

“Come lie down with us.”

I can’t look at her, don’t want to see the truth in her eyes when I ask, “Do you even want me here?”

She doesn’t hesitate, her voice croaky and trembling, but full of determination. “Of course. Please, I need you.”

What she needs is to be safe from me, from my family.

But I relent, unable to deny her pleading look and my own need to be close to them.

Moving slowly toward the bed, I kick off my boots and pull the scrub top over my head, dropping it on the floor as I go.

The light is low, but I see the exhaustion written all over Frankie’s face, the worry lines that weren’t there before tonight.

I lower myself to the bed, making sure I don’t disturb Archer. Watching him takes my breath away. He could have been taken from us so easily. A wave of pain and rage hits me, and I close my eyes, trying to rein it in, to go numb again. If I open the floodgates, we’ll all drown. Numbness is the only way I can still function.

I expect Frankie to hate me, to push me away for bringing my father into their lives. But that’s not who she is. She’s too loving for her own good.

She takes my hand and kisses it over and over, knuckle after knuckle. Her lips are soft and gentle. It’s a small gesture, but to me it’s big. Fucking huge.

It’s as if she doesn’t blame me, like she isn’t worried about me ending up like him.

It takes me a moment to comprehend why my cheeks feel wet; I’m crying.

“I’m sorry, Frankie. So sorry.”

“Ben, it’s not your fault. Do you understand me? It’s not your fault.” I see the conviction in her eyes, but I know she’s lying. She has to be. It is my fault. I was fucking stupid to believe my father.

I watch Frankie watch Archer, forcing my mind to stay in the moment. If I let it wander, the storm I’m keeping inside will break loose.

Suddenly, Frankie’s eyes go wide and she’s gasping for air, sweat forming on her forehead.

“Babe, you okay?” Even as I ask the question, I know how stupid it is. Of course she isn’t okay. How could she be?

She rolls out of the bed and runs for the bathroom. Seconds later, the sounds of her retching break the silence in the room.

The ache I feel takes my breath away, but I need to move. She needs me. Archer can’t stay by himself while I go take care of her. So I lift him gently into my arms and hold him close. He doesn’t even stir as I carry him down the hallway, knocking on Dean and Alex’s door.

Dean opens with his own eyes bloodshot.

“Can you watch Archer? Frankie…she…” My voice breaks.

“Go. Take care of her. He’s safe with us.” Dean takes of Archer, snuggling him close. I realize he needs this; he needs to be close to Archer too, to reassure himself he’s okay.

I rush back to Frankie. The sight in front of me is the second worst thing I witnessed in my life.

My strong, ferocious girl is slumped on the floor, her body shaking with heart-wrenching sobs. The noises she makes are not like anything I’ve heard before. Her cry sounds like an injured animal, her voice raw and broken.

No matter how much it hurts to witness this, I have to be here for her. I owe her that much.

Kneeling down, I pull her to me and hold her close only for her to start struggling against me, trying to push me away while she calls Archer’s name.

“Shhh, he’s with Dean and Alex right now. They’re taking care of him,” I whisper, holding her tighter, trying to soothe her.

I feel so much hate for my father. Hate him for what he’s done, for what he’s taken from us.

I turn on the shower and adjust the temperature. She’s so out of it. Shock finally sets in, making her shiver.

In the shower, she clings to me like I’m her fucking savior, although I’m the reason for the destruction. I don’t understand how she even wants to be close to me, much less how she can still love me. But she does. She fucking does.

“I love you, Ben. I’m sorry this happened to you, to us. I’m so sorry he did this,” she murmurs so quietly I barely hear her over the rush of the water.

There isn’t much I can say, so I tell her the one thing that I know without a doubt. I tell her I love her—over and over again.

***

Once we’re in bed with Archer sleeping in his crib and Frankie drifting off in my arms, sleep still evades me. While she writhes and wriggles, I just lie there, holding her close, willing my thoughts to stay quiet.

I don’t know how we’re supposed to pick up the pieces, to go on with life after this. How do people move on? How do they find solace? Because right now it feels like a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

My thoughts start to turn darker. What if I had not seen the text, gotten home too late? What would be left for me to come home to?

What ifs run rampant in my head, when I’m suddenly jolted out of my thoughts by Frankie climbing on my lap.

“Babe?”

When my eyes meet hers I see love, concern, and need.

This is exactly what I need right now. I need her body to erase my thoughts and feelings. I don’t hesitate. I attack her—my lips crashing against hers in a mix of need, desire, and despair. She’s my only salvation. Her need for me, her acceptance, the only things keeping me grounded.

I need her to help me forget, need to wrap myself up in her, be inside of her. I tear at her clothes, urgent and frantic, and she doesn’t hesitate to join. We don’t make a sound, but even in the silence there is no holding back. Our movements are demanding, her fingers pulling my head closer while my fingers dig into her back, holding her tightly. And when she sinks down onto me, my cock filling her, for a brief moment the world feels all right again.