One Wild Night (Hollywood Chronicles #1)(63)

"Jesus," I mutter into my mug.

"Patience, Frances." She squeezes my hand. "You're going to need patience. She's trying so hard, and when she gets frustrated, you have to be there to calm her down. I see this with every stroke patient I've worked with. They want to return to everything they were doing before, only their body and their brain won't allow that."

I nod as I listen carefully.

Judy glances up at the small round clock on the kitchen wall. "She usually wakes up about eight, so you have an hour before she'll be up. At nine, Melinda, the day nurse, will be arriving. I'll be back this evening, but I wanted to be here with you to help you get settled in with her."

"How many nurses does she have?" I ask, wondering how many people have been helping mom.

“There are two of us. We normally don't work overnight as once she's in bed she really doesn't need us, but for the next few weeks one of us will be here. And eventually, she'll probably only need us here for a short time during the days as she becomes more independent."

I look over Judy's shoulder and into the living room. My eyes find the large framed picture of Faith and I that was taken when I was eleven and Faith was fifteen. My sad smile stares back at me, and I find myself momentarily lost in time, remembering that picture being taken not long after Mom moved us into this house.

I stand up and clutch the mug of hot coffee in my hands. "Will you excuse me, Judy? I'm going to step outside and catch some fresh air before cleaning up."

She seems a bit taken aback by my abrupt departure. "Of course. Take all the time you need. Your mom doesn't even know you're here. We didn't want to tell her in the event you couldn't make it."

I pause in my tracks and furrow my brows in confusion.

"I mean, Mr. Ryan said you're very busy," Judy adds quickly, as if it'll make me feel better.

"It's fine, Judy. I am busy, but never too busy for my mom." I smile tightly at her as guilt fills me. Everyone knows I haven't been around for the better part of ten years, and sadly, they weren't even sure I was going to come back now that my mom needs me. The front door opens with a loud creak as I step out onto the old wooden porch. Barefoot, I walk carefully as to not get any splinters. Taking a seat on the top step, as I did for so many years, I set my coffee mug next to me and wrap my arms around my knees, pulling them close to me.

Everything has changed so much with age, yet very little has changed at all. I turn my face to the sky and close my eyes, breathing in the morning air, pulling it deep into my lungs. Tears prick the back of my eyes as all my emotions bubble at the surface…my mom, the trial, Crescent Ridge, Cole Ryan, and everything I left behind.

I don't know if I'm strong enough to handle this—but right now, I don't have a choice.





Chapter 3





Cole





I rub my eyes, sure that they're deceiving me…but they're not. My throat tightens as I look through the large picture window and across the street at beautiful Frankie sitting on those front porch steps. It's a sight I've seen a million times, yet this time is different—she's different.

She's older and more mature. Her body is the same, yet she's a woman now and not the girl I remember. I knew every inch of her back then, and my body trembles in remembrance as I watch her, longing for her like I did all those years ago. The longing never really went away; I just buried it behind my job, the bottle, and endless women who could never hold a candle to Frankie.

I lean against the wall and study her—taking her in. Her hair is longer now… she's ten years older, but she looks exactly like I envisioned her. She rocks back and forth slowly, her arms wrapped around her knees with her face tilted to the sky, just as she's always done, and my stomach twists at the sight. How I've longed to reach out to her over the years—to apologize to her, to explain to her, but some things are better left in the past, including us.

The sound of her voice on the phone when I called was enough to send me on a bender. I spent the night at the garage, drowning my misery and regret in a fifth of Jim Beam, and even that didn't drown out the pain of my lies and how they hurt her—hurt me, and destroyed us.

She sits on those damn lop-sided steps that I've been meaning to fix for months, but never did. I couldn't. Those were the steps that Frankie had built her dreams on, planned her life—a life I was supposed to be a part of, a life that I let go of—for her.

I swallow hard against the lump in my throat as I remember her running her fingers through my hair as she'd tell me stories on those steps. There was nothing in the world I loved more than listening to her and having her run her fingers through my hair. To this day, no one is allowed to do that to me—touch me like that, that was Frankie's thing. It'll only ever be hers.

I close my eyes and push back the memories to the little place that's too painful to visit. I made a decision all those years ago and while I've regretted it every day since then, I still know it was for the best.

I push off the wall and walk down the hall to the bathroom, flipping on the shower and turning the water all the way to hot. I yank open the medicine cabinet and pull a bottle of ibuprofen off the shelf, shaking two pills into the palm of my hand. Tossing them in my mouth, I fight to swallow them against the back of my dry throat. I'm hoping the pills and hot water will lessen my headache and bring some relief to my aching body before I have to face Frankie.