Page 11 of Survivor
Chapter Seven
Frank
Summer 2015
“Hey, Frankie, grab me and Justine another beer, would ya?” Caleb called out from their table on the patio. Frank nodded and gave the man a dismissive wave as he headed inside. Sunday nights were Karaoke at his favorite local haunt, Woody’s Dallas. It was fun to hang out, drink beer, and listen to people that thought they could sing—from afar—which is why they chose a table outside when they arrived.
The bartender had the three Coronas ready by the time Frank made it over, lime wedges sitting on the lip of each bottle. “Thanks, Gary, put it on my tab, would ya?”
The handsome, young Latino preened when Frank winked at him. “You know it, doll.” Gary winked back, pursing his lips seductively.
“Not happening,” he muttered under his breath. One-night stands were difficult to consider when you were a cop, what with the upholding of a proper image required as an officer of the law. He’d learned the hard way when he was still a rookie that quick fucks in bathroom stalls, blowjobs in dark hallways, or hand jobs in allies were no longer an option for him when he’d had to arrest one of his tricks for a DUI. Sober after several days in lock-up, the offender recognized Frank from their tryst in a local bar the second he walked into the courtroom and spilled every sordid, dirty detail to the judge. Charges were dropped and Frank was put on administrative leave for almost a month while Internal Affairs investigated. Of course, he’d been cleared in the end but there was a shadow over him that had taken a while to dissipate.
“Oh, thank God.” Caleb took the offered beer from Frank and pushed the lime into the bottle before turning it up and taking a long pull. “Ahhh, magically delicious.”
“I think that’s Lucky Charms, asshat,” Frank quipped, handing one of the remaining two beers to Justine.
Caleb made the bitter beer face and waved his hand in the air. “Please, stop. No talking about asses with you. Gross!”
“If you two start, I promise you, the next time we come to Karaoke, I’ll get us a tableinsidethe bar.” Justine pointed her finger at Frank then her husband to make her point. The gleam in her eyes was part pissed and part playful, as it usually was when she had to deal with Frank, her husband, and copious amounts of alcohol. Justine might be petite and pretty, but she was no pushover. More like a firecracker.
Caleb gasped dramatically, one hand over his chest, eyes wide in mock horror. “You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, but I would,” she stated flatly.
“But babe,” Caleb whined, “he started it.”
Justine rolled her eyes at her husband before draining the last of her beer. “I’m gonna hit the ladies’ room. When I get back I expect smiles and fresh beer.” She narrowed her eyes, gaze moving from Caleb to Frank before pushing her chair back, standing, and walking inside the bar.
“Ow! Jackass!” Frank barked out when Caleb kicked his shin under the table.
“You deserve that for getting me in trouble with the missus.”
Rolling his eyes, Frank jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Next round’s on you, asssssssssshole,” Frank elongated the word, adding extra emphasis to thes. Caleb stood and headed toward the bar for more beers, bitching and moaning every step of the way.
Frank nursed the last little bit of beer in his bottle, watching as the horizon grew darker and the sun started to set. Try as hard as he might, Frank couldn’t keep his mind from wandering, thoughts of what Taylor might be doing right then invading his senses. Was he sitting at the small bistro-style table in his apartment studying, his dark, wavy hair falling into hazel eyes that held as much wisdom as they did pain? Perhaps he was working out at the college gym with his friends. His toned, tanned arms flexing with each curl, a thin layer of sweat dotting his brow from the exertion.
His attraction to Taylor had come as somewhat of a shock to Frank. He was disgusted with himself the first time he realized he was looking at Taylor as anything other than friend or family. But still, the attraction was there, and no matter how many guys Frank hooked up with over the years or how many different ways he tried to convince himself he could not, would not go there with Taylor…his body and soul ignored his brain. Frank struggled with the realization that he was drawn to Taylor, kept reminding himself that there were several years between them. Hitting a growth spurt somewhere around sixteen, Taylor now stood at six foot three and likely weighed close to two hundred pounds, not one ounce of it fat. Between baseball, running, and working out, Taylor stayed fit and his body showed it. Muscles and abs that Frank caught himself staring at when they were at the beach, gorgeous hazel eyes that penetrated Frank’s defenses. And that fucking smile, lord, it could stop trafficandFrank’s heart.
Frank jerked back when a hand landed on his shoulder. “You okay Frank? You look like you’re angry at the world.” Justine asked, sliding into the chair beside him. “You’re thinking about Taylor and the case, aren’t you?” Frank nodded, sucking in a deep breath then slowly exhaling, praying Justine didn’t see the truth that was likely evident in his features. Eyes darting in her direction briefly, he saw only sadness and concern.
Thank goodness,he thought. He hadn’t even begun to try and make sense of his emotions, the draw to Taylor that crossed the lines between loyalty and lust. How the hell would he explain his state of mind to Justine?
“He’ll be home for good soon. This time next month he will probably be sitting here with us, listening to terrible singing, eating mediocre food, and knocking back a beer or two.” Frank stared down at the empty bottle in his hand, speaking softly. From one minute to the next, his thoughts went back to that night as if a rewind button had been pressed in his brain. “It pisses me off, Justine, what Taylor has had to endure over the years—his parents taken away from him without anyone’s consent. They were all cheated: Emily, Sean, and most of all, Taylor. And the fact that it’s an unsolved, cold case infuriates me.” Gone were the visions of a sweaty Taylor pumping iron, replaced with visuals of a scared, shaken thirteen-year-old that occasionally still haunted Frank’s dreams.
Justine smiled at him and took Frank’s hand in hers. “I know, Frankie, I know.” She looked beyond Frank briefly before her blue-eyed gaze was back on him. “It’s more than that, though. Isn’t it?”
Fucking hell. So much for hiding my feelings and keeping it to myself.Frank considered lying to her, telling Justine she was turning nothing into something. Opening his mouth, he couldn’t find the words. Their eyes met and held for a few, intense seconds and the bitter loathing he felt certain he’d see written all over her face wasn’t there. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t lie to her. “Yeah,” he whispered, face down, unable to hold her gaze.
“Hey, Frank,lookat me.” Lifting his gaze, he was surprised to see understanding in her eyes. “Have you told Taylor how you feel?” Frank shook his head. “Don’t you think you should?”
Say what now?Frank blinked in surprise.
Before he could answer the million-dollar question, Caleb danced over to the table with three more beers and three shots of Patrón, sounding like a cat in pain as he sang along with the rock anthem, “Sweet Home Alabama,” currently blaring through the speakers. “Who sings this song again?” Frank asked, his foul mood lifting as he watched his best friend lean over to give his wife a quick kiss.
Caleb took the seat across from him and gave Frank a confused look. “Lynyrd Skynyrd?” His response was more question than statement.
“Right.” Frank snapped his fingers. “Then why don’t you let them sing it?” Caleb flipped him off and Justine howled a loud, boisterous laugh. Thankful for the reprieve, Frank pushed all thoughts of Taylor to the back of his mind and decided to enjoy the rest of the night with his friends.
