Page 43 of Frankie and the Fed

“We need to talk.”

“No.” I walk away from him with quick steps. He won’t pull me in again. I came for Olive.

He wraps a hand around my arm again, then lets me go when he realizes we’re attracting unnecessary attention.

“Please. Let’s talk in private.”

“Why? So you can lure me into sleeping with you, then tell me on the phone that it’s over? No thanks.”

He runs his hand through his hair again, sighs, and walks away from me.

It’s hard for me to breathe. It would have been a lot easier if I didn’t love him still, but I won’t let him bring me down again.

I repeat in my head the mantra that gives me strength.

I am strong; I control my life; I deserve true love.

The number of guests thins out as the hours pass, and Claire yawns in front of me.

“I think you can go back to the hotel,” I say. “We have more than enough material for the article. Don’t you think?”

“What about you? Are you coming?”

“No, I came to support Olive. I’ll stay until the end. But you can go.” We hug, and she leaves.

I stand aside, trying not to attract attention. Some time has passed since the incident, and the interest of the media has faded and disappeared, but still, at any moment, a curious reporter could spot Ethan and me in the same room and turn it into an item.

I only relax when I see there are just a few guests left, and Ryan approaches me to say goodbye.

“Ayala.” He hugs me. “We didn’t get to talk. Will you be here tomorrow, too?”

“No. My flight leaves at noon tomorrow. Won’t you stay a little longer?”

“Maya is tired. She’s due soon. It’s a little difficult for her. I want her to rest.”

“Yes, of course.” I glance at his wife sitting at the table, her hands on her stomach. She looks exhausted. We hug again, and he and Maya leave.

Finally, everyone left seems to be filing out. Olive turns to start cleaning up the mess, and I go over to help.

Ethan is standing near the entrance. Next to him is an older couple, probably his parents. I never met them, but I remember the woman from the event where I served.

He looks angry or frustrated. I’m not sure, but I’m curious, so I get a little closer and try to hear the fragments of the conversation.

“I said I would come, so I will.” He raises his voice, making it easier for me to eavesdrop.

“Leave him alone, Laura,” I hear the man say. “You know what he’s like. Never willing to compromise, always in the shoes of the tormented.”

“Because you’re the only one suffering here, right? Only you lost her! It shouldn’t bother me at all?” Ethan looks furious. His eyes flash with anger.

I watch them out of the corner of my eye. He trusted me and told me what had happened to his sister. I know how much he’s suffered and still suffers because of it. They just don’t understand. I want to hug him. Support him and comfort him. Then I surprise myself and do exactly that.

“Hello.” I approach and introduce myself to them. “Ayala Beckett.”

They seem shocked. For a moment, they even forget to speak. I love those moments when people understand who I am, and they’re embarrassed and can’t find the words. It just shows me how far I’ve come and how strong I am now. I survived hell. No one will make me feel uncomfortable.

Their embarrassment is even worse than others because their son was involved. I wonder if he told them what happened and what exactly he did there, but from the conversation I just heard, I assume not.

Ethan glares at me. Like he would burn me if he could. But I completely ignore him.