chapter 5

“She’s at the hospital,” he said. “They said she is stable now, but I want you to come and check her again.”

For a moment, I didn’t respond.

I closed my eyes and drew in a slow, heavy breath, the kind that never really reaches your lungs. Of course he would call me. He always calls when things fall apart when something breaks, when something bleeds, when something can’t be fixed by anyone else.

“I will come,” I finally said, my voice quieter than I expected. “I’ll come check her.”

The line went dead soon after.

I kept the phone pressed to my ear longer than necessary, staring at nothing, as if the silence on the other end might change its mind and take everything back. Slowly, I lowered it, my fingers tightening around it.

I wished God, how I wished I could just turn it off. Pretend I didn’t hear him. Pretend none of this was happening. Pretend I wasn’t already being pulled back into something I had tried so hard to walk away from.

But I knew myself better than that.

Frank was watching me.

Not casually. Not in that lazy, indifferent way he pretended to have mastered. No his eyes were fixed on me, sharp and observant, like he was reading every flicker of emotion I failed to hide.

“Hospital?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. “My brother’s wife?”

I nodded.

He gave a small shrug, the kind meant to say it didn’t matter. But I saw it the tightening of his jaw, the subtle shift in his shoulders, the tension that betrayed him.

“Go if you want,” he said.

Simple. Dismissive. But it wasn’t.

I stood up slowly, brushing invisible dust from my clothes, more to give myself something to do than anything else. My body already felt heavy, like it knew what was waiting for me before I even took the first step.

“I have to go,” I said, though it came out more like a reminder to myself than an explanation to him.

Frank didn’t move.

He didn’t even blink.

He just stared at me.

And I knew there was something he wanted to say. Something sitting right there on the edge of his tongue. But for whatever reason, he held it back.

“I want you to know something,” I said suddenly.

His gaze lifted slightly, sharpening.

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully, knowing they mattered more than I was ready to admit.

“No matter what happens,” I continued, my voice steadier now, “I trust you to be a good person.”

The silence between us shifted.

“I won’t tell anyone,” I added. “About your scar… or about us.”

The moment the words left my mouth, something in him changed.

It was subtle but undeniable.

The teasing edge that usually lingered in his expression vanished, replaced by something deeper. Something darker. Something almost… settled. Like a storm deciding to stay instead of passing.

“And what exactly do you know?” he asked, his voice low, controlled but sharp enough to cut.

I didn’t answer immediately.

The air between us grew heavier, stretching, tightening, pressing against my chest.

He didn’t push. Didn’t repeat the question. He just waited.

Watching.

Measuring.

“Instincts,” I said at last. “I trust my instincts.”

For a second, nothing happened.

Then he let out a short, sharp laugh.

Loud but empty.

It didn’t carry amusement. If anything, it sounded closer to disbelief… or maybe something darker.

I couldn’t tell if he was praising me or mocking me.

His gaze settled back on me, steady now. Serious. Too serious.

“You shouldn’t go,” he said.

I frowned, caught off guard. “What?”

“Nothing good is going to come from it,” he continued, his voice quieter now, but heavier. “I know David. I know Eve. This won’t end well.”

There it was again.

That look in his eyes.

Not jealousy.

Not anger.

A warning.

The kind that doesn’t come from guessing but from knowing.

“I can’t ignore it,” I said, even though a part of me desperately wanted to. “Even if I want to.”

Frank looked away, his gaze shifting to the fire. The light flickered against his face, casting shadows that made him look harder, more distant.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Suit yourself.”

His shoulders stiffened, like he had already shut the door on the conversation.

He didn’t stand.

He didn’t look at me again.

It was like I was already gone.

I waited.

A few seconds.

Maybe a minute.

The silence grew unbearable, thick enough to choke on.

“Can you carry me down this mountain?” I asked finally, my voice softer than before.

No answer.

Not even a glance.

Just silence.

Cold. Intentional silence.

I swallowed, my chest tightening.

“Fine,” I said after a moment, forcing the words out. “I’ll walk.”