Chapter Text
Frankie meets you at one of the low points of your life—a dinner party, of all places. Will’s fiancée Laura had insisted on doing it, and Fish would do anything for his brother. If anyone deserved a happy ending it was Ironhead.
He just…hadn’t really done the whole social thing since he’d gotten custody. At least not outside of the core group. Benny teased that his routine had finally caught up with his dad bod, which didn’t exactly help his anxiety.
By some miracle you end up directly across from him, the seat next to you empty. He can’t help but notice how lovely you are, the sheen of early summer glistening like dew on your skin.
There’s a telltale pop of champagne followed by glasses being fanned out among guests. You tap your flutes together and offer Frankie a half-smile that makes the back of his neck hot, makes him itch under the brim of his hat. He’s not proud of the way his gaze instinctively falls to your cleavage when you toss back your glass.
“Frankie, this is Laura’s best friend. She and her husband are coming up to the cabin with us for Labor Day.”
Husband. That’s embarrassing. That’s the sinking feeling in his gut, right? Embarrassment?
“It’s just going to be me, actually.” You reply, voice soft but sure.
Will raises an eyebrow. “Is John out of town? Did Benny screw up the dates?”
“Will.” Laura warns, head swiveling towards you in silent communication.
“They’re gonna find out eventually.” You shrug, letting out a resigned sigh before continuing. “We’re...getting divorced.”
The din of conversation fades, leaving you exposed like a frayed wire at its center. Frankie’s forgotten drink weeps condensation in his hand.
Will eventually breaks the silence, whistling low under his breath, “Well, shit. He’s a fuckin’ moron.”
Laura groans, but you laugh out loud. The sound washes over Frankie like warm amber, anchoring itself behind his sternum.
As night falls and the temperature outside with it, the party migrates to the backyard. He finds you on your own, leaning up against the side of the house and admiring the last splashes of dusk fade to charcoal on the horizon. He can just make out the redness around the edges of your eyes in the dim glow of garden lights.
“How are you doing?” He asks lamely.
“Not sure yet.” You admit.
He nods, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I, uh, I went through it a couple years back.”
“I’m so sorry, Frankie.”
“I’m not. It gets easier. You’re in the worst of it now.”
You turn to him, silhouette curling in on itself like smoke, searching his eyes for any sign that he’s being disingenuous. Deep, dark-brown pools stare back at you unflinchingly and—bang! The front door swings open on its hinges, followed by the sound of footsteps. Laura pulls you into a tight hug.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. I was going to tell him later, I just didn’t have a chance…”
“Hey, it’s not your fault.” You assure her, locking eyes with Frankie over her shoulder.
”Are you okay?”
“I…I think I will be.”