“I can’t believe you guys recorded your EP and some of our first album in here.” Angel glanced around. “I love it.”
I felt myself smile. “It’s cute, right?”
“Adorable.”
Hayes leaned back. “Are you going to see her before we go?”
“Yeah,” May nodded. “It’s been a week since her mum’s funeral, you haven’t seen her since. I stopped by Mary Well’s yesterday just to look in through the windows . . . she was working as usual.”
“She has to stay busy,” I said. “That’s how she copes, she can’t just sit at home. It’d drive her crazy.”
May and Hayes nodded.
“Answer the question,” Angel pressed. “Are you going to go and see her?”
“Yes,” I answered. “We have to do one thing before I go and say goodbye to Frankie.”
“What?” the three of them said in unison.
“We need to lay the song.”
May sat up straight. “You finished writing it?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “I wrote it then rewrote it five times, but it’s done.”
“Why cut it now though?” May asked. “Why not after rehab?”
“While I’m in this headspace of feeling broken and angry and so fucking sorry for what I’ve done to hurt her, I need to get it out. I need this song to be the last one I write and sing that harbours pain about Frankie. I need this to be the end of that part of my life.”
“Okay,” Angel nodded. “Let’s cut the record.”
“Hell yeah.” May got to his feet. “What’s the title?”
I stood up, swallowed and shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans. I looked at my friends, my brothers, and I knew that there were no other men on this earth that I’d rather jam with and take the world by storm. I smiled, feeling my strength, both physical and mental, begin to return. I had a long road to walk, but I knew my friends would be at its end waiting for me . . . maybe even Frankie too.
“‘Never Enough’,” I said. “It’s called ‘Never Enough’.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
RISK
Mary Well’s diner.
If there was ever a place in Southwold that I’d be sure to find Frankie Fulton if she wasn’t on the pier, it was Mary Well’s. I sat in the car park in my new rental staring at Frankie through the windows of the diner. I didn’t take my eyes off her. I memorised everything. The way she smiled at customers, the way she nibbled on the end of her pen, the way she treated strangers with the utmost kindness. I wanted to remember everything about her in case this was the last time I ever saw her.
How is she real?
I remembered thinking of that often when we were teenagers. I would stare at her and think, how does this girl actually exist? It was more than her physical beauty, her inner beauty knocked me on my arse more times than I could count. She was a woman who loved with her entire being and life fucked her over in more ways than one. She lost her mum and her dad and through her involvement with me I believed she lost a piece of herself too.
Women like her belonged in books, in films, in plays.
Imperfectly perfect.
Selfish people like me didn’t deserve her. I knew that.
“I don’t wanna say goodbye to you, Cherry.”
It didn’t matter what I wanted, what mattered was Frankie. She deserved the best and what was best for her was me leaving her life. I wasn’t good for her, especially not now. I knew that, but having relapsed I found myself making excuses for my behaviour. Falling back into old patterns to get what I wanted. I told myself, during those selfish moments, that I would be fine if I could just have Frankie. I’d give up the drugs, the drink, I’d give up Blood Oath . . . if only it meant that I could have her. But I was lying.
Now that I had once again tasted the numbness using brought, I craved it just as much as I craved Frankie. All day every day. I wanted it. I wanted her. Life didn’t always give us what we wanted though and, in my case, that was a good thing. If Frankie overlooked my using, I would continue to snort and shoot up. That would break her . . . I was done breaking her.
I had to say goodbye.
I glanced around the darkened car park and when I was sure there were no vultures lurking in the shadows, I climbed out into the crisp March evening. I locked the car, jammed my hands into the pockets of my jeans and approached the diner. My eyes were still on her, but when a voice called my name, I looked to my left. It was Anna. She was standing outside smoking a cigarette.
“Hey, Anna.”
“Leave,” she sneered. “She is hanging on by a thread . . . just leave her alone.”
My gut twisted.
“I’m coming to say goodbye, not to cause any more trouble.”
Anna’s eyebrows rose. “You’re leaving?”
“Yup.” I shifted. “Going back to LA.”
“Humph.” Anna took a drag of her smoke. “Can’t say I’m sad to see you go.”
I smiled sadly. “No longer a Sinner?”
“I’ll always be a Sinner,” she said. “I’m just not a Risk Keller Sinner anymore. I know the rest of the fandom has made you out to be the saint in the Wembley situation and Frankie is the red-headed siren who broke Risk Keller’s heart, but you and I know that she is the sweetest woman in all of Southwold and you trampled all over heart when it only beat for you.”
This was the most
