Freddie Gibson Icarly Novels & Stories

Freddie batted his innocent eyes, twisting the truth with ease. Rebecca chimed in, supporting him. "Yes, I really did fall for Freddie at first sight! So what? I'm a person, not some item belonging to Tyler! I have my own rights and independence!" These statements were exaggerated and posted online again, and at the same time, Christina shared a photo of herself with Freddie on her private social media. In the photo, they were hugging each other, their faces pressed close together. The caption read, [Freddie, it's all my fault you're suffering. From now on, you're my only son!]

she scoffs. I open the note: Recordings deleted. No matter what. Keep calm. Z. That’s how I know his name. Zackary is Freddie’s friend. The friend who had been giving Freddie all the vital information about Clayton. I stared at Lacie and covered the microphone on my shirt. “Zackary is an ally. He’s trying to help.” I said, showing her his note.

"Impossible!" Freddie let out a shriek like he had seen a ghost, eyes bulging out of their sockets. "Nothing's impossible. You've got tunnel vision. Just face it. You're old." Gideon's face twisted into a mocking grin. Being called old hit Freddie like a sledgehammer. It hurt more than any physical blow. It was a direct hit to the ego. "Ugh!" Freddie spat out a mouthful of blood. Gideon unclenched his fist and grabbed the Beast Supreme Bone Spur, ripping it away by force.

" I'm really sorry I didn't tell you. I really didn't like the fuckin kid. He has always been a dick including his whore mother." You know the funny part. I didn't notice Freddie's last name is Carter. I mean I know it's Carter but how am I supposed to know he's Gray's younger step brother. He said he screwed him up , that should explain the cut above Freddie's eyebrows and jaw. " This is crazy." " Yeah. It is." I look up at his eyes and they're not leaving mine. " This is complicating. Why does it have to be so ? Did you mom ever cheated on your dad ? I mean dated someone before or maybe after your father died."

Last year, I came down with acute appendicitis. On my way to the hospital, I had sent him an almost identical message. The only difference was that mine was a question. [Honey, can you come home?] My phone had remained silent the entire day. Later, I saw him in one of Natalie Sullivan’s vlogs. He looked tense. The camera slowly pulled back, and I saw him spreading frosting over a cake with great care. He was writing on the cake. [Happy birthday, Natalie. Wishing you health and happiness.]

“The day after they went, I found out the cops caught them, they tried running, and were shot on the spot.” Their images were etched on the back of my mind, too. Freddie’s dark hair, long and barely neat, covered half of his face anytime he let it down, so he tied it up with a band he picked off the floor. His hazel eyes were always sparkling with curiosity about how something was built, and most times, he would talk about how he would live when he finally became a CEO—how he loved suits. Funny Freddie was what I called him. “FF. That’s what I will call my company. Thank you, Aleron.” His boyish voice resounded in my head.

“We really haven't.” “We should remedy that,” Freddie said, nudging my arm with a grin. I raised a brow. “What, like right now?” “No time like the present.” He leaned back against the railing like this had been his spot all night. “Cassie Monroe. The girl who broadcasts like a pro and takes cherry slushie showers like a champ.” I narrowed my eyes. “You mean the slushie you schemed?” He held up both hands, mock-innocent. “Allegedly.”