Hold Me Close & Don't Let Me Fall ✓

Chapter 13

"Hello Georgia. It's been a while," he says softly.

"Cut the act. There's no one around to hear it."

He sighs deeply. "Your mother misses you... And so do I."

"If that were true, you wouldn't have cut me out when I started a relationship with Frank and you would've addressed me by my married name, not the last name you gave me." He goes to respond but I cut him off. "Why are you here? Do you actually hate me that much that you would help that woman rip a child away from the only life she has ever known? Which, if you ask me, is pretty fucking ironic."

He refuses to say anything. "If you truly missed me, you wouldn't be here, trying to break apart the life, the family, that I built for myself. I've thought long and hard about what I would say if I ever ran into either of you again and honestly, I got nothing. So, I'm going to leave. And if you know what's good for you, you won't follow me."

...

I'm already tipsy by the time Frank gets to the bar. "Oh thank God you're here. She's a fucking mess. I've never seen her like this." I hear Stacey tell Frank.

"Hi sweetheart." I say, slightly slurred. He smiles at me.

"How much has she had?" he asks Stacey, who nods her head in the direction of the shot glasses next to me.

"Ooo! Frank! Ferg broke out the karaoke machine! Let's sing!"

"Yeah, no thanks."

"Fine party pooper. I'll do it myself," I say as I stand up and sway a little.

"Ok Cindy Lauper. I'm taking you home."

"But what about singing?" I say as Stacey passes him a water for me. He hands it over and has me drink half of it before we leave the bar.

We sit on the deck steps outside as we wait for me to sober up a bit.

"What happened?" Frank asks.

"I called him out on his audacity for showing up here now, with your mother of all people and then he had to bring up my mother, and how much they miss me, and I told him off for that too. Honestly, I can't wait for this to be over and for them to go back to being far away from here." I said, sobering up more from the conversation than the water or the night air. "I'm sorry. You know I never let myself get like this, and now that we're under more scrutiny than ever, I'm sitting outside the place I work, trying to sober up enough to walk in a straight line to our car."

"Oh sweetheart, it's ok. You can't even walk in a straight line when you're sober. How could you possibly do it while intoxicated?"

"There's that humor that almost always gets you smacked."

"Can you even see straight enough to make contact?" He asks, laughing.

"You're gonna get it when we get home." I say, standing up.

"Promise?" He says, smirking and raising his one eyebrow, making me go weak at the knees.

"I guess you'll have to get me home and find out." I say and he scoops me up, bridal style and carries me to the truck, opening my door so I can get in. We're halfway home before I fall asleep, a mixture of emotional exhaustion and the alcohol still in my system.

...

I wake up the next morning to the smell of bacon frying, groaning at the headache that's drilling my brain and the sunlight that's sneaking in from underneath our closed blinds. I blink, adjusting to the light as I take in the bottle of water and two aspirins that are laying on my bedside table. "I love you!" I shout out to him before wincing and grabbing the meds and water and downing them both.