The Grifter
Chapter 28

Frankie sank into the couch cushions in Shawn’s living room, feeling happier than she probably had a right to. But it wasn’t her fault that his couch was insanely comfortable, or that the Christmas tree they’d decorated with Isla was throwing off all sorts of warm, sparkly light that topped off her good mood like a cherry on a decadent, delicious ice cream sundae. She also couldn’t be blamed for how much fun she’d had with Shawn and Isla at the holiday party tonight. She hadn’t realized it, because she’d been caught up in this case for so long, but she’d missed being around people, having a network of friends like Shawn did to make sure she was okay and have her back when she was feeling low. But the doctors and staff at Remington Memorial, all the first responders at Station Seventeen—God, everyone she’d met tonight—had been all too happy to make her feel part of the group.

And when Shawn had looked at her from across the common room, with that intense stare that always moved right through her? Frankie had felt like part of something even sweeter.

It should scare her, she knew. But she was too busy feeling fully blissed out to let it.

“Sorry about the wait,” Shawn said, making his way into the living room from the hallway and delivering her back to reality with a thump. “Isla fell asleep about ten seconds after her head hit the pillow, but it took three rounds of brushing to get that green food coloring off of her teeth. On a related note, Connor is now on my sh!t list.”

Frankie laughed. “Oh, come on. It was worth it. She had fun.”

“She did.” Shawn sat down beside her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Speaking of which…you looked like you had fun, too.”

“I did, actually. Thanks for taking me,” she murmured, leaning in to k!ss him. Need built in her belly all too quickly at the warmth of his body, so close to hers, and the feel of his lips on her skin. Shawn hooked his fingers in her hair, holding her steady as he k!ssed his way into her mouth, gliding his tongue over hers to tease and taste and take until Frankie was sure she’d fly out of her skin.

“Take me to bed, Shawn,” she whispered.

He pulled back to look at her, his dark blue eyes glittering in the soft glow of the Christmas lights. “Stay there with me.”

“What?” Frankie’s heart beat wilder in her chest. But, as always, Shawn stayed steady.

“Stay there with me. I don’t just want to have s3x with you. I want to be with you. Please, stay.”

She blinked, completely surprised. “Are you sure? What about Isla?”

“Of course I’m sure,” he said. “Isla is used to you being here, and in case you haven’t noticed, she’s pretty crazy about you.”

Okay, so Frankie hadn’t missed the way Isla had taken her hand tonight at the Christmas party, or how she would sometimes ask Frankie to read her bedtime story instead of Shawn. But that was a far cry from her staying. Staying was serious, and Frankie wasn’t cut out for that.

Was she?

“Look,” Shawn said, taking both of her hands in his. “I didn’t do this right last time, and I honestly can’t promise I won’t f**k it up now. But I’ve spent a really long time hiding what I feel, and I don’t want to do that anymore. I can’t do it anymore.”

Frankie couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move or even breathe. All she could do was listen in shock as Shawn said, “I’m in love with you. I know that’s a little terrifying. I mean, it’s also good, but”—he paused, re-setting himself with a shake of his head—“when I’m with you, I feel right. Like nothing can come our way that we can’t handle. Like I don’t ever want to be without you. So, yes, I realize that what I’m saying is big, and that there are a lot of things to figure out. But I want us to figure them out together. I want us. Me and you. Not casually, not for a little while. I want you to stay here in Remington with me and Isla. Please, stay.”

“Wait…” Frankie’s brain scrambled to catch up, trying to process what he was saying. “You want me to stay permanently? Like, move in with you?”

“I know it’s fast,” Shawn said, “and maybe a little impulsive. But I don’t want to waste any more time. I want us to be together, like this, all the time. Yes, I want you to move in with us.”

Frankie’s pulse pressed against her ears, filling them with a rapid tap-tap-tap of white noise. She’d known that what was happening between her and Shawn had moved out of casual status. She wasn’t an idiot. But staying in Remington? Forever? With him and Isla? God, it was huge.

“Shawn,” she whispered. A part of her wanted to say yes, she’d stay, just as a part of her had screamed to move in with him eight years ago. But so much had happened since then, things that had changed the fabric of who she was and what she was made for.

More importantly, what she wasn’t made for. “I care about you, too. A lot. But…”

“But,” he said, dropping her hands, and damn it, her heart dropped along with them.

“This is all really sudden. You have to understand, I’m an addict. I may be in recovery,” Frankie added in an effort to cut off the argument his expression said he was working up, “but I’m never not going to be an addict. My wellness is based on routines. My job, my support system, my routines…they’re all in Atlanta.”

“You’ve done okay since you’ve been here,” he said, his expression unreadable for the first time in ages, and frustration simmered under Frankie’s skin.

“That’s because it’s taken a sh!tload of effort. Don’t you think it’s hard for me to work a case like this? To see what a guy like Beck does to people? Val, Alfie…they could have been me, Shawn. Anything could happen to tip me over that edge.”

“Of course I know it’s been hard for you to work this case,” he said, taking a long inhale. “But you’d have a support system here, too. A job, an NA group. New routines to make sure you’re on the level. We’ll figure it out.”

Her throat tightened, her heart beating faster despite her efforts to calm it, and she stood, needing the room to move. “I can’t just figure it out. You’re talking about me uprooting my whole life.”

“I know. It’s a lot, I get that,” Shawn said quietly. He stood, too, his stare as serious as his voice. “But I can’t move to Atlanta. Isla’s been through so much, and she’s just getting used to being here with me. I want her to get used to being here with us. Can’t we just talk about this?”

“No,” Frankie said. For Chrissake, Shawn had a child. A daughter who would depend on him forever, and half the time, it was all Frankie had to keep her own sh!t together. How had she ever thought she could help him care for Isla, even a little bit?

Even though she’d wanted to.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t. You’re right. You do have Isla, and she deserves more than I could give her.”

“Oh, that’s just bullsh!t.”

The words hit Frankie directly in center mass, as sure and sharp as a bullet. “Excuse me?”

Shawn met her stare, his eyes glinting with so much intensity, it stole her breath. “That’s bullsh!t. You’re great with Isla. Yes, I know it’s a big deal, asking you to stay here with both of us. But that’s the whole point. The way I feel about you is a big deal, Frankie.”

“And what about what I feel?”

The words were all emotion, out before she could temper them, and Shawn stiffened. “You don’t feel the same way about me, then.”

“No, that isn’t what I meant,” Frankie said. Damn it, this whole conversation was spiraling out of control. “You need someone stable, someone far less messy than me to help you raise Isla. I’m not that person, Shawn. I’m never going to be mom material, no matter how much I want to be. I’m just…”

He took a step toward her, then another. He looked exactly as he had eight years ago when he’d asked her to move in with him, his face caught up in a combination of hurt and frustration and, God, so much hope, and a thread deep inside of Frankie’s chest snapped.

She couldn’t do this. Not again.

“I think I should go,” she said, scrambling to her feet and stuffing her arms into her jacket before Shawn could fully protest.

“Frankie,” he said, catching up with her by the door, and damn it, damn it, why couldn’t she replace her other boot?

“Shawn, please.” Aha, there it was! “I just need a little space right now.” She needed to think. To breathe. To figure out what to do with this feeling in her chest, and oh, God, she had to go.

“Can we talk about this? Just for a minute?” he asked, and for a split second, Frankie nearly said yes. But then, her shoulder squeezed out an all-too-familiar reminder of exactly who she was, and she slid past him to put her hand on the doorknob.

“I can’t stay. I’m sorry.”

She walked out the door before either his words or her own traitorous heart could stop her.

After seven hours of lying in bed and staring at his ceiling, Shawn kicked the covers from his legs and headed for the shower. He’d been through a roller coaster of emotions since Frankie had walked out the door, starting with hurt and—yeah, he’d admit it—anger that she’d been so quick to dismiss the chance for them to be together. For f**k’s sake, he loved her. She was incredible with Isla, despite her claims that she wasn’t. They’d waited so damned long to be together, and now they finally had a shot, and she’d said she needed space?

But then, as the night had worn on and his pride (stubborn son of a bitch) had started to recover from the sting, tiny strands of realization had started to sink past his frustration. While he didn’t regret telling Frankie how he felt, he hadn’t exactly been graceful with his delivery. He’d gotten so caught up in the possibility for them to be together, to be really happy, that he hadn’t fully thought of the logistics. Yes, Sinclair would back her for whatever position she wanted in the RPD after all the stellar work she’d done with the Intelligence Unit, and yes again, she would have an army of friends, not to mention Shawn himself, who would support her in whatever way she needed. But no matter how much he cared about her, uprooting was a bigger deal for her than for most people. He should’ve realized that asking so impulsively would blindside her and put her on the defensive, just like it had when he’d asked her to move in with him eight years ago.

He just had to hope she’d be willing to at least talk about it now that she’d had a little space to think, and that he hadn’t crushed everything. Again.

Blowing out a breath, Shawn finished the rest of his morning routine. Frankie hadn’t called or texted—not that he’d expected her to—and he shoved his cell phone in the back pocket of his jeans as he made his way across the hall to Isla’s room.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he said. “It’s time to get ready to go to Annette’s.”

Isla slow-blinked herself awake, looking around the room with concern. “Where’s Mr. Prickles?”

Shawn scanned the bed, then the floor around it, coming up empty. “Stuck under the covers, maybe?” he asked. But after a more thorough search, they still hadn’t found the stuffed animal. “I don’t know, kid. Do you remember the last place you had him?”

“We took him to the party,” she said. Shawn did a mental backtrack from the party to Frankie’s car to home, and sh!t.

“Did you leave him in Frankie’s car?” Isla had been half-asleep from the ride home, and he’d been preoccupied enough to forget to check.

Isla nodded, and Shawn rolled through his options. “I can get Mr. Prickles from her when I go to work today, and bring him when I pick you up from Annette’s tonight. What do you think?”

Isla’s bottom l*p trembled. “But how will I take a nap without him?”

“You slept without him last night,” Shawn tried, but the tremble grew, and okay, yeah, time for Plan B. “Tell you what. Why don’t I get him from Frankie and come back to bring him to you at Annette’s this morning? Will that work?”

It would make his morning hell to backtrack halfway across the city, but he didn’t want to make things hard on Annette, who would have to handle the naptime fuss that Isla would likely put up if she didn’t have the one comfort item she’d latched on to.

Isla considered it for a long beat, then said, “Okay.”

They went through the rest of their morning routine, with him throwing back a record amount of coffee and her going the Cheerios and banana route. They made it all the way to Annette’s before he realized he should probably make absolutely sure Mr. Prickles had, in fact, been left in Frankie’s car, and his thumb hovered over the call button next to Frankie’s smiling face in his contacts.

His gut gave up a hard pang. Not wanting to make a sh!t situation worse, Shawn opted for a text.

Hey. Sorry to bother you, but did Isla leave Mr. Prickles in your car last night?

A few seconds later, a trio of dots appeared on his screen, followed by, It looks like she did. Do you need me to bring him by?

God, Shawn hated texts. Frankie’s tone was impossible to read. Thanks, but no. I’ll grab him from the precinct and come back out to drop him off.

More dots. Then, That will take you forever. I pass by Annette’s on my way to the precinct, and I’m getting in my car now. I can just drop him off.

There were so many things Shawn wanted to say. But since he was standing in the middle of the sidewalk in front of Annette’s townhouse, freezing his butt off and absolutely unsure of whether she was being a decent person or calling a truce, he typed, Okay. Thank you.

He’d see her in less than an hour at the precinct. Until then, everything else would have to wait.