Page 90 of Stolen Summer
I hadn’t thought anyone noticed. Had Sadie heard the rumors? If Frankie had, then there was a good chance most of the town had as well. I sighed. “Not anymore.”
“I know you hate getting personal, but if you ever want to talk or need a sympathetic ear to listen, I’m always here. You know I love you like a daughter, Arie.”
“I know. And thank you, Sadie. Really. I mean it. I don’t know what Dad and I would do without you.”
She patted my hand. “Do you want me to come in with you?”
“No, I’ll be fine. Her mom is there. I’ll text you later once she wakes up.” Because I refused to entertain any world in which Frankie didn’t open her eyes. She was a fighter. She would get through this.
I spent another two hours in the waiting room before the doctor came out and informed us Frankie was awake. A nurse showed Carrie and me to Frankie’s room where my best friend lay under a white sheet with tubes coming out of her arms. Her eyes were heavy, but she glanced our way as we entered the room.
Hanging back while her mom rushed to her side, I lingered at the end of the bed, not wanting to interrupt. Frankie held out her hand to me, the one not hooked up with shit. I swallowed a giant lump in my throat, fighting back tears as I stepped forward, and gently clasped my fingers over hers. “Hey.”
A weak smile teased her lips as if it took effort to get her facial muscles to work, but the attempt was there. “What a fucking day,” she joked, her voice huskier than usual.
I squeezed her hand, my smile bigger than hers. It was one thing for the doctor to tell you she would recover, but it was another to see her for myself. The cluster of worry and fear that had grown inside me like a suffocating weed finally died. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
“I can’t make any promises. You know how I like to live on the edge.” Only Frankie would wake up in a hospital bed after having surgery for multiple stab wounds ready to cause havoc on the world.
“Thank you for not dying,” I said, fighting back tears threatening to take my voice.
“Thank you for pressing on my wounds.”
A flubbed emotional chuckle left me. “How can you have a sense of humor right now?”
She put a hand over her wrapped stomach, wincing through the smile she couldn’t subdue. “Don’t make me laugh.”
I shook my head. No one else could have the spirit Frankie did after such a travesty. “That was all you.”
Whether it was the meds or Frankie’s strong will, she cracked a smile. “I know. I can’t help it. I’m just a funny bitch.”
She was going to be okay.
Me…not so much.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The doctor estimated Frankie would be in the hospital for at least five days. Knowing she would recover, I went home late that night, and considering the day I’d had, you would think I would be exhausted to the point where once my head hit the pillow I’d be out.
Not so much.
My mind wouldn’t shut down.
After doing everything I could think to do at midnight, including cleaning the house, I forced myself to get ready for bed and go to my room. Dad’s snores snuck through the cracks of his door and into the hallway. The sound used to comfort me, but now it sent a string of worry and fear ribboning within me.
What if the person who came for me on the street knew where I lived? Was it the same attacker who broke into Cole’s house? If he got into the Riley’s, breaking into mine would be child’s play. What if they came to finish the job they so badly blotched?
I didn’t want to be alone. Nor did I want to stay at my house. Being at home felt like a disaster waiting to happen. Someone wanted me dead, and I wouldn’t put my dad in danger.
One person I loved lay in the hospital. I couldn’t handle it if my dad was next because of me.
Sitting up in bed, I leaned on the windowsill, staring at the house next door, the safest place in Fallen Oaks as far as I was concerned. Cole could protect me. But on the flip side, I wouldn’t be running for my life if it wasn’t for him. This was his problem, and no amount of money was worth my life or the lives of those I loved.
Not a single light glowed in any of the windows next door, but I knew he was home. I’d seen his car in the driveway.
He’d shown up to the hospital today because he thought I’d been the one hurt. Why? Did he feel guilty? A sense of responsibility? Or was it something else? Did he care about me? If feelings were involved, the way he treated me, the way he kicked me out, didn’t sit right with me. I would never hurt someone I had feelings for like that.
What were Cole’s feelings toward me?