Chapter 184

Days pass.

And honestly, I don’t remember most of them.

I spend most of my time staring out the passenger-side window contemplating my life, my choices, my relationship. Wondering how fast Christian is going to catch up to us, what he will do to Frankie and I when he does.

The thoughts are so horrible sometimes that I just curl up in a ball and cry. At those times, Frankie usually reaches out, putting a strong hand on my back and simply being there for me while I work through my complicated thoughts, my emotions. But otherwise, he mostly just leaves me alone – which is precisely how I want it.

Because honestly, I don’t really want to talk to Frankie about how incredibly much I miss Christian. How much I miss seeing him, hearing him laugh. How much I miss his steady hands, the warmth of his body next to me. The warm assurance that I got from his presence by my side.

My husband, my friend. My Christian.

God, I can’t believe I left him. I can’t believe…I walked away from that.

Sometimes I doubt my choice so much that I’m moments away from begging Frankie to stop the car, to pull over, to turn around so that I can run back into Christian’s arms. Because how – how can I leave Christian behind, the man I’ve loved my entire life?

But in these moments I drag forward the other memories, the worse ones. The sight of so many men dead at his hands, of Elio’s blood spilling all over me. Of Giana collapsed in tears as her own life fell apart, missing her husband, the father of her three children that my own husband took away.

These memories – they steel me, a little bit.

Because even if Christian is the right man…the world in which he lives? It’s all wrong, every bit of it.

And I have to remind myself that he chose that world over me too. That I asked him to leave – more than once. And that he constantly said no – he constantly chose that life, and power, and revenge over running away with me.

A choice Frankie made in…an instant.

But every time I try to justify my choices to myself, to pretend that I’m a good person who did the right thing…I know it’s a lie. That I’m still a coward who left my husband without telling him, who just ran in the night.

And also, that he tried to protect me from this – that I insisted upon being let into his world. And then the moment he showed me its realities, I cried and ran. That I’ve treated Christian poorly too – perhaps even more poorly than he’s treated me.

But…is that true? I mean, he brought a girlfriend home – a very serious one – just to keep himself away from the temptation of dating me. A girlfriend who he was actively fucking in the other room while thinking about me two rooms away – a girlfriend he was very willing to cheat on the moment he got me alone in that beach house.

And then, our marriage…

God, is it even…legal? I mean, I know it happened in a church but…on paper, in the courts, am I even his wife? He didn’t even…he didn’t ask me to marry him, not really. He just took me to a church in a sweatshirt and jelly sandals and lead me to the altar.

And I was so…fucking in love with him that I let him do it. That I thought it was…romantic.

These are the thoughts that run through my head, over and over on a loop, for days as Frankie and I drive. And it’s fucking torture, the entire time, because there is no simple answer. Christian and I…we’re a horrible mess of complications.

But god, did I love him. God, crap, but I still do.

Frankie stays mostly quiet during my long reveries, letting me have my space. Sometimes he turns on the radio for a little noise, but mostly not. We switch cars twice more after that, always selling the car at a loss at some tiny shop, our stash of money dwindling with each transaction, but Frankie assures me that the anonymity is worth the loss.

He mostly drives during the day and then, at night, when he starts to flag, I take over. When I run out of steam, we find a place to park and stretch out across the seats, catching a few hours of sleep – him in the front, me in the back.

They’re long, lonely days, even though neither of us are ever alone. We’re just very quiet, very dull, very worried.

But we are together, a team by circumstances, by mututal choice, and I know that we’re both very dedicated to each other, even if we never talk about it. And even if we never say it, I think we both take a great deal of heart from that.

On the fourth night, Frankie grabs us two cheap cheeseburgers and some fries from a drive-through and pulls our car – blue now, and very noisy, like it’s on its last leg and ready to give up at any time – beneath an overpass of a big black bridge. It’s actually not a terrible spot – it has good views of the horizon, as well as the seedy little strip of shops built along the roadside down below us. It’s not a nice town – the sort of thing that crops up to service the needs of guys long on the road – fast food, cheap motels, gas station, a dirty book store. That sort of thing.

We roll down the windows and move to the back seat, his long legs stretched out across the back, his feet resting comfortably in my lap as we both quietly eat our burgers.

“Where are we?” I ask suddenly, looking around.

“Florida,” Frankie says, nodding to me. Then he smirks. “Is it everything you dreamed?”

I laugh a little, looking around at the iron beams of the bridge above us. “I mean, I expected more white sand beaches and neon bikinis but…this is nice too.”

He laughs as well, finishing his last bite of burger and reaching for the fries that we’re sharing.

“What’s next?” I ask quietly, knowing that the question is more poignant today than it’s been before. After Florida there’s…not much road left, is there? At least if we keep heading south.

“I’m afraid this is the end of the road, my friend,” Frankie says, sighing even as he gives me a smile. “We are…very nearly broke.”

“Are we?” I ask, sitting up a bit straighter.

“Our money’s mostly gone,” he says, giving a little shrug and popping some fries in his mouth. “Spent on gas, food, tolls, and new cars. I’m pretty satisfied that we’ve lost any tail that’s on us and that no one knows where we are but…” he sighs, looking at me evenly. “We are a bit stuck here. We can sell the car for a last influx of cash but that’s it.”

“Oh,” I say, tilting my head to the side a little and thinking it through. I guess…our little road trip is over.

“I think you need to start making some decisions, Bambi,” Frankie says quietly, even stern. When I look at him, I’m interested to see a curious look in his eyes. “I let you have some space but you seem…a little better now. And we need to have a very real talk about what your life looks like going forward. What you want.”

“My life?” I ask, going a little rigid, my eyes going wide as I stare at him.

“Yes,” he says, frowning at me a little, not getting it. “Your life, your choices now, Bambs. You have to start over basically from scratch with a new identity and stuff but…you are free. You can do…whatever you want.”

“No, Frankie,” I say, staring at him and leaning forward, getting more frightened as each moment passes. “My life? Not…not our life?”

A slow, tremulous smile graces his lips.