Handing her the box of tissues, I join her in blowing noses and wiping eyes. Our eyes puffy from tears, we both seem lighter, steadier, and between us feels like clarity to the air after an earth-shaking storm. I reach for my bag and pull out my laptop.
“What are you doing?” Ziggy asks quietly.
I smile as I flip up the screen and power it on. “You and I are getting on my favorite sites for sensory doodads and comfy clothes. My kind of shopping—straight from the couch. Sound good?”
Her face brightens. Carefully, she scoots across the couch until she’s nestled close. When Ziggy glances at me, her bright green eyes glitter with something I haven’t seen in them before. Something small and fragile, but unquestionably there.
Hope.
23
Frankie
Playlist: “Close To You,” Rihanna
“Love nugget?”
Ren’s voice reverberates through the house, echoing in his bathroom, where I’m soaking in a tub that was clearly made for a giant. A gentle, ginger giant who I’ve missed unreasonably much all evening.
His parents got back to their house first but said Ren was on his way to have a quick visit with Ziggy, so I bolted, picked up Pazza from my place, and drew myself a bubble bath.
“In here, stud muffin,” I call.
His laugh is low and quiet, but it still carries through the house. Long, solid strides grow louder, until the bathroom door creaks open and dress shoes clack on the room’s polished tiles.
“Stud muffin,” he says, a hand over his eyes. “I can get down with that.”
Shifting in the water, I make sure the essential bits are covered in bubbles. I’m suddenly, bizarrely self-conscious. Maybe it’s because I feel shaky, a little unsure. Maybe Ren will be glad about what I did with Ziggy and his parents.
And maybe not.
“My virtue is preserved,” I tell him. “You may uncover your eyes.”
Dropping his hand, Ren smiles at me, sending air rushing from my lungs.
I haven’t seen this smile before. It’s deeper. More complex. That’s the only way I can think to describe it. He drops gently onto the edge of the tub and plays with a strand of my hair that came loose from the messy bun piled on my head.
“Hi.” I glance up at him, fighting the nervous urge to hold my breath and vanish underwater.
He’s just so beautiful to me. And yes, in part, that’s because Ren is objectively handsome, but there’s much more to it. There’s the kindness in his eyes, the readiness of his smile, yet the feeling that some smiles of his are special, some are just for me.
His dress shirt’s a crisp white, which somehow works against his fair skin and the faintest whisper of freckles along his chest and neck. His wavy hair’s disheveled from a quick post-game shower, his beard quickly combed but in need of a real trim, which it won’t get, of course, until after playoffs.
I feel an odd tightening in my stomach, a need to throw myself into his arms, as he smiles over at me in his suit and loosened tie, with nothing between him and my nakedness but a tub of water and rapidly dissolving bubbles.
“Only two goals tonight, Mr. Bergman.” I tsk in mock disapproval. “I expected better.”
“Apologies,” he says drily. “Frankie.” Releasing my hair, Ren slips his hand behind my neck, massaging gently. “Thank you for what you did tonight.”
“Oh… Um. Sure.”
I blush in embarrassment. I want to dissolve. Let the lukewarm water take me.
I’ve never handled thanks well. It makes me feel put on the spot, topped off with a splash of imposter syndrome. Wouldn’t anyone do what I did when the opportunity presented itself? Being thanked for doing the decent thing feels weird.
As if he’s read my mind, Ren shakes his head slowly. Leaning in, he kisses me with absolute tenderness, as his thumb slides maddeningly along my neck.
When he pulls away, his eyes are on my mouth. He leans in and steals one more kiss before straightening. “I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that you’re to come to Ziggy’s family birthday party, and if I don’t bring you, I’m not welcome.”
A genuine laugh jumps out of me. “She’s a good one, Ren.”
He nods, his face sobering. His hand moves down my neck to my shoulder, his fingers tracing droplets of water slipping down my skin. “Yeah, she is.”
“She’ll be okay. We talked about a lot tonight. I just don’t think your parents—no offense to them—or the counselor are coming at it the best way. They’re still approaching her therapy from her breaking point. But the root of Ziggy’s breakdown wasn’t depression or anxiety. Those were her symptoms. She got depressed and anxious because she was burned out. Now what needs to happen is being proactive, not reactive.”
Ren tips his head. “Go on.”
“Basically, she needs help learning her sensory thresholds, her needs for comfort, routine, social environments. She needs an eating schedule—I shit you not, I had one for a while in high school because I forgot so often—and she needs to be homeschooled if she wants, just to get a break from people until her battery is recharged.
“Oh, and we ordered her some clothes that will fit her, too.” I raise my eyebrows. “Honestly, she’s six feet tall, with this long, pretty body, and she was wearing boy clothes. I mean, I asked her what she wanted to wear—didn’t want to make any assumptions—and she said the reason she wore her brothers’ hand-me-downs was because they were the only comfortable clothing she could find, but she wants to dress differently. She just didn’t think she could feel comfy and look how she wanted. I reassured her that both were possible, as I am evidence.”
Ren laughs, and his eyes dance. “You always look beautiful, Frankie.”
“Thank you. So, we ordered some size small, extra-long leggings from this place that makes them so soft, with no itchy seams. A bunch of tag-less long- and short-sleeved, one hundred percent cotton tops. Soft hoodies, a fidget necklace like mine, and she also wanted to try some stim—mmph!”
His lips are on me again, but this time his hands are clasping my face, his tongue sweeping against mine, his mouth hungry.
“I cannot express how grateful I am to you,” he whispers against my lips. “And I want to hear a lot more tomorrow. But I don’t want to talk about my baby sister anymore, not tonight. You’re naked, in my tub, and if I don’t touch you now, I’m going to lose my mind.”
Heat rushes through me. My breasts tighten, and a fierce ache builds between my legs. “Then touch me.”
Ren keeps kissing me, but his hands are busy, furiously working the sleeves of his dress shirt open, then cuffed up his arms, before his hand dives in the water and finds my clit like a homing beacon.
“Jesus, Ren.” I lift a hand from the water to brace myself on the tub’s ledge as he kisses me, his mouth patient but urging.
Open. More. Harder.
I scrape his lip between my teeth, flick my tongue teasingly and earn his quiet growl. His fingers slide over me steadily, whispering touch that works me to a frenzied, desperate need. Drifting his mouth down my jaw, to the delicate space behind my ear, he swipes his tongue across my skin and blows cool air.