Page 25 of Summer Breakdown (Training Seasons #2)

Frankie is trying to get back into Jasmine’s good graces, but she is coming up short. Jasmine doesn’t post anything online that Frankie can reply to. She doesn’t look her way when she brings the kids in for training. Last week, they went to the quiz, and Jasmine sat at the other end of the table.

There’s no way she isn’t fucking it up. Frankie knows that.

She has written essays on her phone about it.

Every time she sees her, Frankie’s stomach flips as if she just went over a hill in her shitty car.

Jasmine talks to her if she’s right in front of her, and it’s so easy, but the moments she’s gone Frankie can’t convince herself that Jasmine would want to hear from her.

That if she initiated anything, Jasmine wouldn’t sigh.

She has been waiting for a reason to talk to Jasmine beyond wanting to know every thought in her head.

So, now that the clock has ticked past six twenty, she’s almost hopping with anticipation.

There are lingering nerves, of course, as with Frankie’s entire life, but what’s more is that Jasmine isn’t here.

There will be a good reason Frankie is the only one still at the club with Lani and Marcel.

The issue is that Jasmine’s always here.

Usually, she ruins Frankie’s life from the bench.

Frankie will try and tell an uncoordinated child that they aren’t bad, they just need to switch their position, and then she’ll hear the delightful melody of Jasmine’s laugh.

Or she comes in to grab Mali for their lunchtime walk and Frankie waits with bated breath to see if Jasmine’s wearing shorts or a skirt.

She’s always around with a smile on her face until she looks at Frankie, and then her entire mood changes.

So, Frankie’s not mad that it’s now six twenty-two and she finally has a reason to call her. Jasmine picks up on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Frankie says. “Erm, it’s Frankie. From the rugby club.”

“I know what your voice sounds like.”

Frankie screws up her nose, thankful Jasmine can’t see it. It’s loud where she is.

“Are you on your way?” Frankie asks, blocking her ear with her finger. The line crackles, and Frankie pulls the phone from her ear in the hopes it’ll tell her what’s going on, but she called from the landline.

“Jasmine?”

“What … you say?”

Frankie frowns. “It’s after six. Training finished at six. Are you coming?”

“What…” The line drops, then comes back. “…call?”

“I can’t hear you. Your kids are here.” She tries to be pragmatic. Jasmine can only hear her partially. She just needs the basics.

“Fuck,” she mutters. “I’m on my way.”

Frankie puts the phone down, and the heavens open.

She jumps with the crack of thunder. It’s a little dramatic for the weather to join her mood.

Was Jasmine mad at her? Perhaps. Jasmine is always mad at her.

She keeps asking Frankie for something ridiculously simple, but Jasmine doesn’t know how insane Frankie is.

That the thought of talking to her when she’s disappointed with her is almost too much for her to function.

She goes back into the office in case the kids don’t like thunder.

“You alright, babe?” she asks, and Lani looks panicked. She wheels over.

“Thunder is creepy. ”

“It is. You’ll be home soon,” she replies, bending down. Frankie wonders if she wants to be picked up. Jasmine said it was okay, but she’s not here right now. Frankie only picks her up if she’s here. She keeps her hands in her pockets. “Then it won’t matter, right?”

Lani smiles. “Right.”

The door swings open, and Frankie frowns at how quickly Jasmine got here. Where was she? But when she stands, a man is looking at her. Ew.

“Hi, can I help you?”

He ignores her, holds his arms out wide, and Lani squeals.

“Daddy!” Oh. Daddy . Mike. The name that makes Jasmine’s eyebrows furrow every time she mentions him. He’s not good enough for Jasmine, and Frankie knows that based on his ugly jacket alone.

“Hey, pumpkin,” he says, picking Lani up.

He hugs her close, spinning her a few times, and then, when he puts her down, she’s standing.

Frankie knows Kehlani can stand. Jasmine told her she could walk if she needed to, but she’d prefer it if she didn’t when she wasn’t around.

She said someone can call her just to tell her Lani needs to walk.

That she wants to know what the terrain is like and how long she’d have to be walking for.

Frankie only sees Lani when Jasmine is here, but she’s still never seen her standing.

She looks unstable, and Frankie’s chest lurches, but she’s okay.

She holds on to her dad’s waist, and she’s okay.

“Hey, Marc,” Mike says. He’d look like Marcel, if she squinted. They both get their hair pattern from Mike, and maybe their ears, but both kids are pure Jasmine.

“Hi,” Marcel replies. He walks over, and they hug, but Frankie’s not sure she could call it a proper one.

“You ready? Can you grab Lani’s chair?” he asks Marcel, then turns to Lani. “You can walk today, right?”

Lani nods.

“Bye, Frankenstein,” Lani says to Frankie, with a wave.

Frankie smiles. “See you next week. ”

Lani smiles back, holding onto Mike’s hand, and Marcel waves, pushing her chair, but he doesn’t look happy.

He seemed down—upset about something—for most of the session too.

Frankie wondered if it was something she should tell Jasmine, but now she won’t have a chance because Mike turned up.

Ugh. Though, to be fair, if Jasmine were here, she might struggle with it.

Frankie stares at the door for a moment. Now, she won’t see them for a whole week. Well, five days. That’s basically an eternity.

She might get to see Jasmine from behind the blinds of her office, like a loser.

She catches sight of Lani’s camera out the corner of her eye and pops it in her office. Frankie sighs and grabs the papers from her desk. She may as well take them home and cry about what to do with them there. At least her sofa won’t make her back ache.

When she clicks her office light off, the door springs open again. Maybe Mike is back to grab it, but it’s not him. It’s Jasmine. A panting, soaking-wet, dressed in some outrageous black dress that clings to her body Jasmine.

Oh, fuck.

She blinks the water out of her face. “Hey. Sorry I’m late. I was—where are the kids?”

Frankie swallows thickly. “Mike picked them up.”

Jasmine frowns. “What? When?”

“Like, five minutes ago,” Frankie replies. Jasmine pulls her phone out of her bag, and she’s looking for something Frankie didn’t have the decency to give her.

She frowns. “You didn’t call?”

“I’m sorry,” Frankie says. “I—it just slipped my mind.”

Jasmine works her jaw. “Did you look at the register?”

“Pardon?”

“Did you look at who was supposed to be picking them up before you called me, or did you just jump at the opportunity to be rude to me? ”

Rude to her? Frankie isn’t rude to her. Is she? She spends all her time trying to figure out how to talk to her; why would she waste the time she could being rude?

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” Frankie replies. She panics. There’s a reason she overthinks every conversation she has in her head before she dares speak a word. It’s exhausting, but Jasmine is worth anything.

“Sure,” Jasmine replies, then turns to leave.

The pressure hits Frankie’s chest, and she should run. She wants to run, but getting anything worthwhile never came easy. But the text from Ezra this morning looms in her mind. Do it terrified.

“I miss you,” Frankie says quickly. Jasmine halts by the door, but Frankie’s not sure if it’s because Frankie is talking, or because the rain somehow gets heavier. It’s useful, though. Easier to talk to her when she can’t see her face.

“I miss you,” she repeats. Her palms are sweaty, and she can feel the heat crawl up her neck. “I miss you, and you’re not talking to me, and I know—I know it’s my fault, but I don’t… I miss you. I miss you, and I’ll fix it. Okay? I’ll fix it.”

Jasmine runs her hand through her hair. It’s half up and half down, and it’s curly.

Frankie wants to know if it’s because of the rain or if she did it on purpose.

Frankie’s gaze drops down her body. The curve of her hips, the swell of her arse.

Frankie swallows and averts her gaze quickly when Jasmine turns around.

She’s wearing more jewellery than usual, and she’s got eyeliner on.

Fuck. Frankie might have ruined a date. She’s not entirely sure she’s mad about it, but she hates the jealousy roaring in her chest. Jasmine isn’t hers. She never was; she never will be. Frankie hates it all the same.

“I miss you,” she repeats, and Jasmine finally looks at her. “Please.”

“You don’t,” Jasmine replies.

“I do,” Frankie replies, as she watches a raindrop roll down Jasmine’s neck. “Come with me.” She spins and walks to her office before Jasmine can tell her to fuck off. Jasmine follows her, but she hovers in the doorway.

“Here,” Frankie says, handing her some dry clothes. It’s just shorts and a sweatshirt, but she’s nervous Jasmine’s about to catch her death or something.

Jasmine avoids her gaze. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You’re dripping onto my carpet.”

“It’ll dry,” she replies, and she’s right—it will—but Frankie needs to do something.

“Please,” she begs, moving closer until the clothes are basically pushed against her. “Just take them.”

She watches as Jasmine tries to figure out if she wants to entertain her or not. Frankie wishes they were back on the first night they met each other. The day she thinks her life changed. But they aren’t. Jasmine barely looks at her. Still, she tries.

“I’ll tell you something,” Frankie bargains.

Jasmine’s gaze flicks to her. “Something good?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“How good?”

Frankie rolls her eyes and pulls Jasmine into her office. She closes the door, even though no one is likely to come in, and hands her the clothes.