Page 46 of Frankie and the Fed

“I’m sorry, Ethan. I can’t. I just can’t.” Her gaze is fixed on mine, and her blue eyes glisten with tears. “I love you. I don’t think I could ever stop loving you. But when I needed you most, you weren’t there for me.”

And just like that, she disappears, leaving me alone again.

Sadness, shock, rage and shame. All the emotions are mixed in my head right now. But at least I’m finally feeling something again. I feel alive. She brought me back to life.

And now I know what I have to do.

I have to win her back.

CHAPTER20

Ayala

“...Itold him I couldn’t trust him anymore,” I say as I lay on my psychologist’s couch. “I know I did what I had to do to take care of myself. So why does it feel so bad?”

“Because you still have feelings for him. And that’s natural. But you did what was best for your recovery.”

“I don’t feel like I’m making progress. I wanted to stay with him.”

“But you didn’t act on those feelings. You acted on your decision. This is progress. That’s what we want. Progress.”

I’m still not so convinced. My heart is heavy, but at least since I returned to San Francisco, the nightmares have gotten better. Ethan no longer dies every time in front of my eyes. I still have nightmares, but Ethan doesn’t appear in them anymore. That’s a colossal relief.

“I think you should start spending time with some girlfriends,” the doctor tells me. “You’re young. I want you to spend time with girls your age. Have fun.”

I shake my head. “No. I’m not ready, and besides, I have no friends here.”

“That’s part of the problem. You’ve shut yourself off. You don’t open up to new friends. You told me when you were in New York, you would go out together to parties and have a good time.”

“That was a different time. Michael—”

“Michael is dead. He won’t chase you anymore. Let me give you a task. Before our next meeting, you’re to go out with a friend. Agreed?”

I nod.

Go out in the evening and hang out with a friend. That’s something I haven’t done in such a long time. I don’t have that many friends here, not true friends, and I can understand why. It’s hard to connect with someone whose past is so complicated and scary. Who needs such a history on their head?

I send Claire a message. We didn’t become friends during that trip, exactly, but we had a nice evening in New York. Maybe she would agree.

There’s a party on Friday at the Fantasy Club. Would you like to join me?

She takes a while to answer. I stare at the phone when I see the three dots that show she’s typing a reply and almost crash into a poll. Oops.

Claire

Yes, sure. Can I bring another friend?

She’s probably afraid to be alone with me. That’s okay. It will be less embarrassing for me that way too.

Yes, of course.

Mission accomplished. I’m going out with a friend on Friday, and it wasn’t even as hard as I thought. I arrive home, happy with my quick success, and look for the keys in my bag. Where did they go?

“Ayala Beckett?”

The voice behind me surprises me, and I drop my handbag on the sidewalk in a panic. My heart pounds in my chest. “Yes?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. You’ve been served.” The guy with the helmet hands me a big envelope, gets on the motorcycle, and disappears.