Page 45 of Famous Last Words (New York Thunder #1)
CHAPTER 45
ROBBIE
F ran walks to me, carrying two mugs of something hot. She pauses mid-step when she sets her eyes on me. At first, her expression is guarded, wary even, but then her lips twitch with the hint of a smile, and suddenly she’s giggling. Curled over, full belly-laugh, giggling. She’s forced to set the mugs down on the nightstand because she’s laughing so damn hard.
I guess I can’t blame her. I am wearing one of her sweatsuits, for Chrissake—a pale-yellow combo, the ankle cuffs stopping halfway up my calves, sleeves barely making it past my elbows. It’s stretched to capacity and at risk of bursting around my shoulders if I move too quickly, but it’s all she had, and if I’m honest, it feels kind of nice to be wrapped in something so soft and warm that smells like her.
“Keep laughing, Keller,” I deadpan. “Don’t forget I’m commando right now, and I will not hesitate to start lunging if I have to.”
She bites back her smile, arching one eyebrow. “I’ve had your balls in my mouth, Mason .” With a nonchalant shrug, she adds, “Lunge all you want.”
My lips lift into a smirk because, despite how shit my life is right now, this is what I love most about Fran Keller; without even trying, she makes everything feel a little less crappy.
The energy in the room shifts, and the lighthearted air makes way for the tension to return with a vengeance. Fran’s smile falls and she grabs the mugs, handing one to me as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed next to me.
I sniff the contents of the mug. Chocolate.
“It’s the protein hot chocolate you got me with those groceries.” Fran smiles into her cup. “I’m almost out.”
“I’ll get you some more.”
She places her hand on my thigh, squeezing gently, and when I meet her eyes, I see a knowing sadness in her gaze.
“Talk to me, Robbie,” she says softly. “What happened?”
Releasing a ragged breath, I place my hot chocolate back onto the nightstand, unable to stomach it. Hunching forward, I rest my elbows on my knees, head in my hands as I stare at the floor, trying to figure out where to begin as Fran rubs soothing yet tentative circles over my back.
“I don’t fucking know,” I huff, frustrated. Because I really don’t know.
“Just tell me the truth. Whatever it is,” she continues, “I’m on your side, remember?”
“What do you want me to say?” I scoff. “That I’m innocent? That I didn’t do it? That I don’t know where the drugs came from or how they got into my fucking system? Because I don’t… but it doesn’t seem to fucking matter. Because no one believes me.”
She doesn’t say anything, and I know exactly what that means. She can be on my side all she wants, but she doesn’t believe me either. And why should she? I had drugs in my pocket. And I tested fucking positive. I’m guilty regardless.
I sniff. “I’m off the team. Out of the league. Dallas and all the guys are pissed at me. I’ve ruined their season. Coa ch looked at me like I was a fucking crack addict. Even Andy… he—” I shake my head again at the memory of the look in Andy’s eyes when he walked into the police interview room, finding out that I tested positive to cocaine. Out of everyone in my life, I really thought Andy was a constant. But maybe I was wrong.
“I’ve got nothing left.”
Fran’s hand falls from my back, and I realize a few seconds too late that I just said the wrong thing. Snapping my head up, I look at her to see a small crease between her eyebrows as she stares down at the mug in her hand.
“I mean, except for you, obviously.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I hate that there’s a glimmer of hurt in them. Hurt I put there. Hurt she tries to conceal with a small, forced smile.
“I think I’m going to go back to Boston,” I continue with a resigned sigh. “Stay with Ma for a while.”
“Oh, okay,” is all she says in response, her shoulders falling.
“I just need to get away, Keller.”
She nods but says nothing.
I shift then, turning so my body is facing hers. Grabbing one of her hands, I hold it between both of mine, silently pleading her to look at me. Really look at me. To see me. The real me. But when she grants me her gaze, that’s when I see it.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
She hesitates, and that’s all the confirmation I need, but then she speaks. “I want to believe you, Robbie. I really do. But…” She trails off, shrugging a shoulder, her gaze dipping back down to the drink in her hands. “You were crazed. The look in your eyes… it was like you weren’t really there. I was scared . And then I saw that police officer take the bag of drugs out of your pocket. And, I mean, you tested positive.” She shakes her head, eyes finding mine again. “I am on your side, no matter what, Robbie. We can get through this together. I’ll help you in any way I can, but I really, really need you to be honest with me.”
I let go of her hand a nd stand up, anger spiking as I pace the length of her studio apartment in less than a few long strides. I’m not angry at her. I’m pissed at the situation because how many times do I need to fucking say it?
“I’m not on drugs!” I shout, pushing my damp hair back from my face. Tears burn my eyes, but I don’t care. “My dad was an addict. I saw what that shit did to him. I saw what he did to my mom when he was on them. What he did to me !”
I pause, looking at Fran, clamping down hard on my bottom lip as I contemplate my words. Before I can talk myself out of it, I decide to let her have it, because what’s the point in holding back now?
“When I was five, he strangled me.”
Her eyes widen at my confession.
I nod. “Ma was working late. He was passed out on the couch and the TV was so loud, it woke me up. I went downstairs to turn it off. But the minute I reached for the remote, he woke up. His eyes were huge. Huge and empty. He looked… deranged . He grabbed me, threw me onto the floor, and he wrapped his hand around my neck. I wasn’t even able to tell him I couldn’t breathe, his hold on me was so tight.”
Fran covers her mouth with her hand.
“I don’t know if he stopped or if I blacked out or what.” I shrug. “Ma doesn’t even know about that. But I remember it. I was five years old, and I remember it like it was fucking yesterday.”
“Robbie,” Fran whispers.
“And when I was seven, he stubbed his cigarette out, right here—” I lift the hem of Fran’s sweatshirt I’m wearing, pointing to the scar on my stomach that is now covered by ink but still noticeable if you look hard enough. “He was in the kitchen, and I walked past him, dressed in a pair of swimming trunks. Danny Stewart had a slip n’ slide set up in his front yard and all the kids in the neighborhood were going over to take a turn. It was a really hot day. Dad was pissed about something. Money, probably. He turned and stubbed his lit cigarette right into me. ” I scoff, trying to laugh despite the hot tears hitting my cheeks. “Ma found out about that a few days later because the burn became infected, and I had to go to the ER and be put on an IV.”
Fran stands, but she doesn’t come to me. She just lingers there, staring at me, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“I know what drugs can do to a person,” I say through gritted teeth. “And because of that, I have never and will never touch the shit.” I sniff, swiping at my tears.
Fran stares at me for a long moment, one eye slightly narrowed as she studies me. “You’re telling the truth…” It isn’t a question, more a whispered statement. A realization, maybe.
I swallow the emotion in the back of my throat, nodding once.
She looks across the room, tugging on her bottom lip, brows drawing together in serious contemplation. “So then… how?”
I throw my hands up in the air. “I didn’t do anything last night. I was playing video games at Dallas’ place. Then I got your messages and drove straight downtown to the bar. I didn’t stop anywhere. I didn’t talk to anyone. I—” I’m cut short when Fran’s head snaps up at that, her eyes wide when they meet mine.
“What?” I ask carefully.
“Robbie, why did Tadd come up to you in the bar last night?” Her question is quick and direct, her words almost breathless.
I rack my brain. A lot of last night is a blur, especially what happened in the bar.
“I was serving the older men at the front, and I saw him,” Fran continues. “He got up from his friends and he came over to you. Why?”
I shake my head at a loss. “I mean… it was nothing, really, I don’t think. He was just asking me about hockey.” I shrug. “I was confused because he wasn’t being a total dickhead. It was weird.”
“Oh my God,” Fran mutters, clutching at her stomach like she’s in pain.
I close the distance between us, placing my hands on her shoulders to steady her because her face is suddenly pale as a ghost. “Are you okay?”
Her gaze lifts, boring into mine. “The fight.” She shakes her head at herself, her voice less than a whisper as she says, “It was all a set up…”
My eyes flit between hers and realization slowly starts to dawn on me, my knees suddenly weak like Jell-O. No .
“Robbie,” Fran implores me. “It was Tadd.”
Fuck .