Collateral Damage- Chapter Five
ao3
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Pairing: Frankie x Reader
Chapter Summary: You adjust to life without your best friend.
wc: 4k
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an: A lot of angst in this chapter! As always, thank you so much for reading, liking, reblogging, and commenting!
Rating: Explicit, 18+ only
Chapter 5: Life without you
Life without Frankie feels strange.
And completely, utterly empty.
It’s been a few weeks and you haven’t heard from him. He doesn’t text you ‘Morning, Biscuit. ☀️☕️’ anymore. That’s what you miss the most, you think. Truthfully, you loved those morning texts so much you’d often think about them before falling asleep.
He doesn’t call anymore, nor does he come by.
You notice his absence in these sudden, jarring moments as you walk through your apartment sometimes- memories triggered by something innocent and innocuous. Like when you were vacuuming two days ago, moving the coffee table out of the way, and your thumb rested against the corner where the marble swirl pattern had a defect. Frankie always joked that it looked like a smiley face etched into the tabletop. And when you saw your thumb resting over that exact spot, the corner of the table slipped from your grip and you couldn’t breathe.
And sometimes those moments are a direct assault on your senses. Like when you did laundry a few days after he left and you grabbed the towels he had used, still hanging over the shower curtain, and smelled him. Cedarwood and vetiver, as well as something else that was uniquely Frankie. It was the scent that enveloped you in comfort in every embrace for seven years, but in that moment it made an ugly sob tear painfully from your throat.
He has been a staple in your life for all of these years and now he is suddenly…gone. No explanation, no reason. The grief comes in waves, but it lives in every corner of every room waiting.
You force yourself to live in survival mode because you don't know how to give more of yourself right now.
You hadn’t gone to the bar the past few weeks, but as another Friday approaches, dread and anxiety settle heavily into the pit of your stomach with a deep ache. You start to feel sick at the mere thought of going-in equal measure of seeing and not seeing Frankie in his usual spot.
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On Thursday night you sit propped up in bed, The Poetry of Pablo Neruda resting in your lap. Your hands rest on a page you have read at least a dozen times by now without seeing a single word, when your phone suddenly vibrates beside you.
You don’t get hopeful that it’s Frankie, not like you did those first few days apart. It’s never him anymore.
You look over at the glowing screen and see that it’s Santiago. You quickly answer.
“Hey, Santi,” you greet him casually, even though you feel anything but. “What’s up?”
“I just wanted to check on you, Starshine.” He sounds guarded. “None of us have heard from you in a few days…”
“I’m okay. I’ve just been busy with work.” It’s not a lie, technically; work has been busier than usual. But, truthfully, you haven't been in the right head space to talk to anyone.
“Good, that’s a relief, I’ve been worried,” he pauses, clearing his throat. “Will you be coming tomorrow night?”
“Will Frankie be there?” The words slip out of your mouth unintentionally, almost as if it’s a reflex that you can’t control.
Santiago is quiet for several seconds. You can hear the slight change in his voice immediately. Lower, almost cold. “Probably not.”
“Have you talked to him, Santi?” You can't stop yourself. You have to ask. You have to know.
“No.”
“No…?” You echo back, your brows knitting tightly together as you shut the book and place it carefully on the nightstand.
“No,” he repeats. His tone is clipped, offering absolutely no further commentary or explanation, and is completely devoid of his usual easy-going nature.
You know you should probably let it go. But you can’t. Because it’s Frankie. “Did something happen?” you ask gingerly, your fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of your comforter.
“Just Frankie being Frankie,” he says, a subtle shift in his voice that borders on sarcasm. You can hear a short, frustrated huff of breath through the receiver.
You continue your interrogation as a wave of fear nearly paralyzes you. “What about Ben? Has he talked to him recently? I know he had a fight last weekend…”
“No.”
“Santi…”
A heavy silence stretches between the two of you for an agonizingly long time before you finally break it.
“He stopped talking to me,” you admit, your voice trembling ever so slightly as you fight a losing battle to keep yourself together.
Santiago softens slightly at that. “Since when?” he asks gently.
“Since he left after staying and taking care of me when I was sick from…the plan B. I haven’t heard from him at all.”
“I see,” Santiago pauses for a moment, the faint static of the line filtering through the phone. “Well, he didn’t show up last Friday and none of us have heard from him.”
You sit up straighter, your grip on the phone tightening. “No one has heard from him…?”
“No. You know how he gets sometimes, though. All broody and shit.” He says it so calmly and nonchalantly, but your stomach suddenly feels sicker. Frankie not talking to you was one thing…but not talking to the men he has considered his brothers for nearly two decades was another matter entirely.
“I caused this,” you whisper in a fractured voice. “It’s my fault.”
“Your fault…?” he asks, concern and confusion lacing into his words. “What do you mean? What's your fault?”
“When he left my apartment, I tried telling him,” the confession starts pouring from you and you are utterly helpless to stop it. “I tried telling him I’m in love with him, Santi. I couldn't even get the words out before he stopped me. He told me that he'd be a shitty friend if he didn't take care of me, because I was practically his sister.”
“What…?” He suddenly shifts from concern to a stunned anger that radiates through the phone. “He said what?”
“He disappeared right after that. I ruined everything.” A few tears fall down your face and you quickly wipe them away with the back of your hand. “I was such an idiot for thinking he felt the same way.”
“I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.” Santiago murmurs. “But don’t you fucking dare say that about yourself. If he doesn’t feel the same way, then he is the idiot. His loss.”
“That’s sweet of you to say,” you say with a sad smile. “Thank you, Santi. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Good.” He hesitates for a moment. “Can’t wait to see you,” he adds quietly, almost as if he is afraid to say it.
“I can’t wait to see you, either. I’ve missed you guys.”
His voice comes through much quieter. “Yeah…” He lets out a small sigh. “We have missed you too. See you tomorrow. Text me if you need me.”
“Always.”
You quickly hang up and hold your phone with trembling hands. After a moment, you click on Frankie’s contact listing and your thumb hovers over the ‘call’ button. You debate on tapping it. But when you think of how no one has heard from him and he didn’t go to the bar last week, you have to make sure he is okay. If he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, fine. But you have to know if he is okay. You have to. You click to dial his number and bring the phone to your ear. The shaking in your hands becomes violent as you hear the line trilling through the speaker.
After several rings, the call goes to voicemail.
You hang up and immediately dial again.
This time, it goes to voicemail after only two rings.
He declined the call.
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Friday is off to a terrible start.
You wake up to a horrifying wave of nausea the moment your feet touch the floor, your stomach churning violently as a cold sweat breaks out across your forehead.
“Oh, God…” you groan, one hand flying up to cover your mouth as you run to the bathroom. You drop to your knees and throw the toilet lid up just in time to fully empty your stomach contents through waves of violent heaving and gagging that leave you gasping for air afterward. You flush the toilet and close the lid, resting your burning face on the cool porcelain surface. You have a terrible sense of déjà vu from a few weeks ago, except this time you’re alone.
You stand up on weak and shaky legs that can barely support your weight as you carefully walk back into your bedroom. You force yourself to get dressed for work, ignoring the date on the calendar.
Sarah texts you right as you arrive at the office.
Sarah💜: Want to have lunch together? Miss your face.
A genuine smile breaks out over your face as you text back.
Fuck yes. Noon okay?
Sarah💜: Yes! Thai work for you?
You scrunch your nose in disgust at the thought, excess saliva immediately filling your mouth.
Sounds good. Meet you there!
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The morning goes by at a torturously slow pace. Once it is a quarter to twelve, you head out to your car to drive to the Thai restaurant just down the road from the office. Once you pull into a parking spot and kill your car’s engine, waiting for Sarah, your phone buzzes loudly from its spot in the cup holder. You see it’s a text from Santiago.
Santi: Will called Fish last night and talked to him. Said he was fine and should be there tonight. Thought you’d want to know.
You stare blankly at the text for what feels like hours, the words blurring together as your thoughts race as wildly as your thudding heart.
Last night. Will talked to him last night. For a moment you feel a profound rush of relief knowing Frankie is okay before it twists into an ugly knot of anger deep in your chest. He purposefully ignored your call and sent you to voicemail, yet he happily talked to Will on the phone?
What the fuck is his problem?
The sudden honking of a horn shatters you from your spiraling thoughts and you jump in your seat. You look over to see Sarah parked next to you, waving with a puzzled expression on her face.
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“So you looked more than a little upset when I pulled in,” Sarah observes a few minutes later, sliding into the vinyl booth by the front window inside the restaurant.
“I was,” you sigh, sitting across from her and slumping forward on the table.
“You still haven’t heard from that dickhead?” Her dark blue eyes narrow sharply and she purses her lips in restrained anger.
You shake your head. “Not even once. I actually tried calling him last night…he declined it. But apparently he talked to Will.”
The waitress comes by and drops off two laminated menus with a smile. You give her a stiff, acknowledging nod in return.
“What the actual fuck??” Sarah responds furiously, her light blonde hair spilling from behind her shoulders and falling around her face as she leans in closer to you. “I can’t believe the way he’s acting! Who does that to their best friend?”
Before you can formulate a response, the waitress walks in quick strides past your table carrying a tray with Tom Yum Goong. The heavy, fragrant scent of lemongrass and seafood is so overwhelming that you immediately cover your mouth as your stomach starts to churn.
“Hey, are you okay…? You look really pale…” she stops mid-rant, leaning further back in the booth as she studies you with a look of concern.
“Yeah. Sorry,” you say measuredly, taking short, shallow breaths through your nose. “Just…the stress of all of this, I guess. You know how sick I get when I’m stressed.”
Sarah nods in understanding. “I don’t need to tell you I have the obvious urge to kick Frankie’s ass for all of this.” She pauses as the waitress comes by and you both order- you hope the Pad Thai and Cha Yen will settle well on your sensitive stomach-and Sarah orders a Café Yen and Khao Pad.
Once the waitress leaves, Sarah leans back in. “None of this makes any sense. You’re going to confess your feelings, he panics, and hits you with the sister line?”
“I think the obvious conclusion is he doesn’t feel the same way.”
“That’s absolute bullshit,” she insists. “I told you before how obvious it is that he is in love with you, too. There’s gotta be more to this.”
You sit in quiet contemplation for a few moments, your fingers tracing over the grain of the wooden table. “Santiago and I have been closer lately,” you mention casually, neglecting to explain exactly why that is.
She raises an eyebrow at you. “Aren’t they really close...? Maybe Frankie is jealous, thinks you’re into Santiago?”
“They are, but I doubt Frankie would think that, or even care. Not when I’m basically his sister, apparently.”
“I don’t know, it’s a very real possibility…” She watches as the waitress sets your drinks on the table. Once you’re alone again, she smirks. “And what’s the deal with Santiago, anyway?”
“He is just a friend,” you answer as you drop the straw into your glass and take a sip of tea.
“A friend like me, or a friend like Frankie…?”
“Sarah, come on,” you groan, leaning back into the booth and shaking your head.
“It’s a valid question! I mean, I’ve seen him before. He’s nice, respectful, and he is hot as fuck. If Frankie is going to act like an immature asshole and ignore you, maybe you should just move on.”
“You aren’t really suggesting I date Santiago, are you…? The man Frankie considers his brother?”
“Why not? Since you’re his sister,” she says sarcastically, using air quotes, “he should be perfectly normal about it.”
You look down at the table, rolling the paper wrapper from your straw into a tight ball between your fingers. The sudden, awkward memory of waking up in Santiago’s bed flashes in your mind, as well as the image of him standing naked in front of you. You feel your face grow hot and you clear your throat.
“Santiago is a friend…and I mean a friend,” you state firmly, refusing to meet her gaze as you look at your glass of tea. “But enough about all of my drama. How are things with you?”
“Well, I do have great news,” Sarah takes a swig of her coffee and rests her arms on the table. “Aaron and I are about to start IVF!”
“Are you serious?!” Your eyes widen in excitement. “Oh, my God! That is incredible!”
“I know it’ll probably be a long and difficult road, but I have faith!”
“Sarah!” You reach out and hold her hand. “I am so happy for you. And I’ll be there for you every step of the way; anything you need. You will be such an amazing mother, and no one deserves this as much as you do.”
“Stop. You’re going to make me cry,” she laughs, her eyes tearing up as she squeezes your hand. “And for the record, you will be an amazing aunt.”
“It would be an absolute honor,” you say with a slight hitch in your voice as you try to hold your own tears back. “I need constant updates. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I’m going to tell you everything!” she grins. The waitress stops by the table to drop your food off and you pull your hand back as she sets the bowls down.
Once she leaves, you let out a laugh. “I promise that I will teach him or her how to ride a bike since you never learned. I don’t want my future niece or nephew crashing into a mailbox, after all.”
Sarah laughs even harder. “You won’t ever let that go, will you?” She grabs her fork and takes a bite.
“Never,” you respond with a solemn nod before laughing again, secretly hoping you can keep your food down.
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By the time Friday evening rolls around, you get ready to leave for the bar. Normally you feel excited to catch up with the guys and...of course...to see Frankie, but tonight you have a storm of emotions at war with each other, the turmoil nearly unbearable as it weighs down every muscle in your body.
You’re nervous. You’re hurt. You’re confused. And, most of all…you’re angry. He abandoned you after you were finally brave enough to tell him how you feel, to take that emotional leap after seven years. And in your most vulnerable moment, he completely crushed you and seemingly ended your friendship without a single conversation. He refused to answer your call when you were worried about him. But he answered Will’s call.
You take a deep breath, swallowing down a wave of nervous nausea, as you head out.
The bar is the same as always; raucous, stuffy, and filled with the smell of cheap beer and cigarettes. The booming bass from the jukebox vibrates the scuffed floor underneath your feet as you weave your way to the same booth in the back you always sit at.
You immediately spot Will, Ben, and Tom, already halfway through their first round of drinks and laughing. Santiago is on the outer edge of the seat across from them, silently sipping his drink.
Frankie’s spot in the middle is empty.
“Hey, look who’s here!” Will calls out to you as you approach them, causing Ben and Tom to turn around and Santiago to look up. “We were starting to think you abandoned us,” he chuckles light-heartedly.
“No, never,” you manage a small smile as Santiago scoots over and you sit down. “Things have just been crazy busy. It’s so good to see you guys, I’ve missed this.”
“It’s not been the same without you,” Tom says as he takes another swig of beer and slides one your way. “You keep these assholes in line.”
“Definitely not the same,” Ben agrees, his blue eyes sparkling even under the dim neon lights. “Missed you, beautiful.”
You smile before your gaze falls on Frankie’s empty seat. Your chest immediately aches, and you’re angry at yourself for it.
Santiago is watching you carefully, his demeanor completely different after your confession last night. He shifts his weight, his arm resting heavily on the back of the booth behind your shoulder.
“It’s okay, Starshine,” he murmurs, looking down at you with a reassuring smile. You nod, leaning your head over on his shoulder as you take a deep breath in and let yourself relax.
"You got here just in time," Tom chuckles, gesturing over at Ben. "Benny here is telling us about the absolute freakshow at his gym today."
“I swear to God, you can’t make this shit up,” Ben grins, leaning forward over the scuffed wood of the table, fully engrossing himself into the picture he weaves. “Coach brings in this new dude for me to spar with. The guy is built like a fuckin’ tank, right? Has this thick ass neck but a tiny little goatee.”
Will lets out a snort in his beer as he shakes his head. “How quick did you get knocked out?”
“That’s the thing!” Ben laughs animatedly. “He wanted to get a few rounds in with the heavy bag. He hypes himself up, goes for a roundhouse kick, but hits too low. He slips and falls face first on the gym floor. Out cold.”
Tom bursts into a booming laugh, nearly spilling his beer. Will howls, leaning over and slapping his hand on the table.
“You’re kidding?!” You ask with a snort, the mental image Ben just painted giving you a welcome distraction as you hold the beer without drinking it. Santiago chuckles lightly as he scoots closer in to you.
The bar door suddenly swings open, and when you look up all of the oxygen leaves your lungs in an instant.
Frankie.
He walks in, scanning the room, before his gaze falls at the table.
And then on you.
He stares at you with a burning intensity as you continue leaning on Santiago, the hard clenching of his jaw apparent even from a distance. He walks over, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his khaki pants. The residual laughter at the table suddenly dies in the surrounding air as everyone stops and stares up at him.
Frankie looks completely, utterly wrecked. His face is pale, completely devoid of its usual color. His signature cap is pulled down low but does nothing to hide the dark, bruising purple under his eyes, a clear indicator of his lack of sleep. His patchy beard is uncharacteristically unkempt, and his entire body goes rigid as his gaze drops to Santiago’s arm around you.
Up close, you see a look on his face you have never seen before. The easy-going smile he usually wears around you is gone, along with the soft look in his dark eyes when he calls you Biscuit. This is a raw and visceral anger, one masking a pain so deep it sharpens his features into something harsh and unrecognizable.
Will, Ben, and Tom scoot down and Frankie sits on the opposite side of the booth, on the very edge as if he isn’t committed to staying long.
“Sorry I’m late,” he sneers as he glares at Santiago. “But I see everyone is already comfortably settled in.”
You feel Santiago tense underneath you and you move your head off his shoulder, sitting upright in a poor attempt to diffuse the situation.
“Um…all good, man,” Will says, his gaze shifting back and forth between them. “You okay..?”
“I’m great, thanks for asking,” Frankie leans back, his eyes still locked on Santiago.
The heavy silence and tension in the air is suffocating, and you start to shake as a rush of adrenaline floods your veins.
“I’ve got you, Starshine,” Santiago whispers under his breath, leaning closer in to your ear. Frankie watches, his hand on the table balling into a tight fist.
“What’s the big secret?” He asks sarcastically. “Why don’t you share with the rest of us, Pope?”
“Shut up, Fish,” Santiago warns. “You need to relax.”
“Relax? Nah, I’m good. I was curious, though, when you were going to tell the rest of us about the two of you.”
Your eyes widen fractionally and you look over at Santiago. Will, Ben, and Tom exchange uneasy glances as they look at all three of you.
“What, that we are friends? Sorry you haven’t figured that out in the last seven years,” Santiago laughs derisively, and Frankie quickly stands up.
“Oh, no, this isn’t friendship…is it Pope? It goes beyond that,” Frankie’s voice becomes louder and more aggressive and you shrink down in the booth, paralyzed.
“Why the fuck would you care if it was?! She is just your sister after all, right?!” Santiago shouts back, slamming his hands on the table. The chaotic noise of the bar seems to fade as the outburst at the table catches the attention of everyone nearby.
Frankie stills, his eyes wide, as he looks directly at you with too many emotions to name.
“You told him that…?” He whispers, his voice cracking.
For a split second you soften..before your anger comes back and you can't hold it back anymore.
“Yeah, I did! You fucking abandoned me! I even called you last night because I was so worried when I found out no one had heard from you…I thought you were fucking hurt, or even dead! But you ignored my call. You declined my call!” You don’t even recognize your voice as every emotion you have felt and held back since the moment he walked off your porch comes out at once. "Seven years of friendship didn't mean a fucking thing to you if you could throw it away so easily!"
Frankie just stares at you, a look of raw agony in his dark brown eyes, and you see tears fill the waterline of his eyes. Without another word, completely depleted of all of the anger he held just moments ago, he walks out of the bar.
Santiago doesn’t move, while Will, Tom, and Ben are rendered speechless.
You watch Frankie leave as your own tears burn at the back of your eyes, wishing you could go after him...but you have nothing left to give.
