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Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 22

Summary: Heading away on a work re-location, Frankie embarks on a flight, but unbeknownst to him, his life is about to change forever. For starters, he will need to fight for it - harder than he's ever fought for anything else before.

Marooned on an isolated island in the middle of the ocean, still recovering from an addiction, his chances of survival are bleak. But he’s not alone on the island, and soon he’s running towards a different kind of life - a life with fellow survivor, Jude, fighting right beside him every step of the way.

And if they can both survive the island together, they can survive anything, right?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Jude

Chapter Word Count: 7.6k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter Notes: Frankie and Jude get swept up in the publication of their story. Brief mentions of miscarriage.

Enjoy! 🖤

She's standing on the shore, the waves gently lapping over her bare toes, cool and soothing against the heat of the pebbly sand beneath her feet.

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow that blurs the horizon, making her squint as she stares out at the endless expanse of ocean. It feels familiar - too familiar, like an echo from a life long past.

She’s certain it’s a dream, a memory, something that doesn’t belong to this world. These invasive fragments slip into her mind with increasing regularity, so much so that the line between reality and memory has begun to dissolve. Sometimes, she wonders if there’s any real difference at all.

This memory, this dream, is relentless in its vividness. The sensation is so sharp, so achingly real, it takes her breath away.

But she can always feel it - the weight of his arms wrapping around her from behind, a tether bringing her back to shore. Strong and comforting, the way his embrace tightens just beneath her ribs, as though holding on a little too long, a little too hard. Crushing and binding until her breath struggles to reach her throat.

His lips brush against the back of her neck, where the sun has left her skin tender and scorched. The kiss is featherlight, but it sends a shiver up her spine, a sensation that lingers, blurring the edges of time. It’s as if time itself hesitates, breathing in.

They stand there together, a united front facing the horizon, a perfect line where the deep blue of the ocean meets the azure sky, merging in a quiet romance that feels timeless. It feels like home.

No - it is home. It has to be. She’s convinced of it, and in so many others like it, where the memory grips her so tightly it feels like it’s happening all over again.

There are nightmares that haunt us in our sleep - the kind that creep into the quiet moments between breaths and linger long after we wake, casting shadows over the day. But there are also those that follow us when we’re awake, the ones we can’t shake, the ones that settle into our bones and take root in the spaces between reality and the past.

The island feels like one of those. A memory, a dream - perhaps both. It’s hard to tell a lot of the time. A crack in her mind, widening like a hole in her skull, splitting reality apart with a slow, grinding ache, the way nightmares do when they take on a life of their own.

But this dream, this memory - whatever it is - it doesn’t feel nightmarish anymore. It’s peaceful here, on the island. A strange, heavy calm settles over everything, over her, like the weight of a long-forgotten fuzzy blanket from childhood. It’s as though the edges of the world have softened, blurred, leaving only the stillness, the waves, and the warmth of the sun.

Home.

Jude exhales slowly, leaning into the moment, leaning into him.

Frankie’s chin presses into her shoulder, the point of it nestling into her collarbone, and for a brief second, everything feels right. There’s a familiarity that fills her with something she can’t quite name. His presence anchors her, toes rooting into the minute fossils below, a quiet assurance in the midst of the swirling confusion of dreams and memories.

"Do you think this is really real?" she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper of the tide.

Her hair, damp and oily from the heat and salt of the sea air, sticks to her lip. She drags it away with her finger absentmindedly, noticing how the braid Frankie had carefully tied that morning in the shack is now losing strands, tendrils escaping as the days pass, as though time itself is beginning to unravel around her.

Jude feels his chest rise and fall against her spine, pressing into her with a heavy, slow breath, as if the weight of the question itself has settled into him with its pulverising weight.

"Sometimes," Frankie answers after a long pause, his voice low and thoughtful, vibrating against her. "You know that moment when you first wake up? Right before you open your eyes? That second where everything feels... different, like you're suspended between the dream world and the real one?"

"Yeah," she whispers.

She knows that feeling too well. The in-between place, where reality and dreams blur so seamlessly it's hard to tell which is which. A place where she never got on that plane and a place where she gets on it over and over again, as if stuck in a loop. Sometimes, it feels like a safe escape, and other times, it's disorienting - leaving her untethered.

Lately, she's found herself lingering in that space longer, strewn across the cushion bed fading in and out - afraid of what waits on the other side when her eyes finally open.

Frankie exhales again, his breath warm on the nape of her neck. "That’s what this is," he concludes quietly.

His words settle into her, soft but heavy. He doesn’t need to explain further; she feels it too. This - whatever they’re living through now, this island, this strange limbo - it feels like one long, drawn-out breath between waking and sleeping. A place suspended in time, neither fully real nor fully a dream.

The island may be a fragment of her mind, a place where nightmares and peace coexist, but with Frankie here, it doesn’t matter. It’s home. Even if it’s only for a fleeting moment, even if it slips away the next time she blinks awake - it feels real enough to hold on to. She loops her fingers inside his across her gut and squeezes tightly as he holds on.

And he’s holding onto her now, hands tight inside hers and pulling her back out of that in-between.

Frankie’s heartbeat thuds in his ears, a relentless pulse that only grows louder with the weight of Jude’s words.

I want to go back to the island.

“What do you mean, go back?” His voice is tight, barely concealing the rising tide of anxiety swelling inside him.

Jude gives a small, reassuring smile, her eyes softening as she squeezes his hands in hers, holding on a little tighter until his finger tingle numb. She can feel the tremor running through them, the faint, involuntary quakes that betray the calm front he's trying to maintain.

The trembling is subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but not to her. She's attuned to every nuance of him - the way his jaw tightens and ticks when he’s worried, the way his breath hitches when he's overwhelmed. The way he could slip off of this precarious edge at any moment.

"Hey, no. Not permanently," she reassures, her thumbs running gentle circles over his knuckles. "Just… the way we left, it was so fast.”

The droning sound of the speedboat reverberates in the back of her skull, a constant hum that rattles her thoughts. The speed still confuses her, disorienting and sudden. One moment, she was there - tethered to the island, rooted in its sand and silence - and then, with just a few giddy steps, that connection was severed. Gone. The boat had pulled her away so fast that it felt unreal, like the ground had been yanked out from beneath her feet.

The island shrank in the distance before she could even draw a proper breath, slipping from view with startling quickness. It became a dot on the horizon, dissolving into the endless stretch of sea, until it was as if it had never existed at all.

“I dunno. It sounds weird, but it’s like there's a part of me that’s still stuck there… And I need to bring her home." Jude’s voice cracks, eyes watery but she blinks them away before they have a chance to fall. Before she can say another word, he's quick - quicker than she expects.

Frankie pulls her into his arms, scooping her up and crushing her to his broad chest in a fierce, protective embrace. She feels his heartbeat, strong and steady, against her cheek, the solid rhythm grounding her in the moment.

He’s felt it too - that same unfinished business lingering, the gnawing sense that something vital has been left behind. A limb left in the bay where he fished. It haunts him, like wispy spectres lingering just out of sight, always tugging at the corners of his mind. It’s been there for so long that he’s almost grown used to it, but hearing her put it into words brings it all rushing back with a new intensity.

"I get it," he nods, his voice a little quieter now. "You should’ve said something sooner."

“I wasn’t sure what it was, you know? Not at first,” Jude admits, her voice taking on a reflective tone. “It’s only by having therapy that I’ve realised. It’s like all the reasons I can’t relax, can’t sleep, can’t seem to adjust... I haven’t been able to pick up my life again, not really - not since we left. And a part of me hasn’t wanted to, you know?"

“Yeah," he murmurs, the words heavy with recognition. "I do know.”

The dreams roll around the back of his head too, refusing to file themselves away. Each one drifts in and out of focus, a persistent echo of the past that he can’t quite shake. They tangle with his thoughts, surfacing unbidden, reminding him of moments that feel both vivid and elusive.

He remembers clutching onto her, the vibrations of the boat bouncing on the waves as it sped towards the naval ship, bruising his spine. The chaos of that moment, the urgent rush, and the shared fear between them remain etched in his memory. He couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t allow himself to fully accept it. It had all been wrenched away so quickly, the suddenness of their escape defying all reason.

They should have died on that sand, the aftermath of the tsunami leaving them with nothing but the slow, inevitable fading into oblivion. He felt cheated somehow, as though fate had snatched away what he’d expected and even welcomed. The randomness of their survival seemed almost cruel in its unpredictability. He'd imagined a different ending, one that was familiar and certain, and the abrupt divergence from that path left him grappling with a sense of loss and injustice.

“I think… maybe there’s a part of me still there, too.” Frankie squeezes her hands gently, grounding himself in the warmth of her touch.

The island wasn’t just a place they’d escaped from; it had become a part of them, woven into the very fabric of who they were now. It lingered in their minds like an imprint, a connection in their circulatory systems, flowing within them. Something they couldn’t shake, no matter how far they had come from it. Every memory of it, every moment spent on its briny shores, had seeped into their bones, shaping them in ways they hadn’t fully understood until now.

It wasn’t just the terror or the struggle of their time there - it was the quiet moments too, the isolation that stripped them down to their rawest selves. Primal, in a way. The island had demanded something from them, something they could never fully leave behind. It had become a ghost of its own, haunting them, not with fear, but with a strange sense of belonging, as if they’d left pieces of themselves scattered along its shores, buried in its sands.

To go back now wasn’t just about returning to a place; it was about confronting everything the island had taken from them - and everything it had given.

Finally, Frankie speaks again, his voice firmer this time. “When?”

Jude shrugs. “I dunno. Let’s get the book out of the way first.”

“And then we’ll go. I promise you.” Frankie concludes. “But we’re doing it right this time. We’ll have the means to leave safely. There’s no fuckin’ way we’re going without a boat on standby. We come back this time.”

Jude sniffs with relief, her shoulders sagging against him. "Thank you," she whispers, planting a kiss on his throat.

Frankie leans in, his forehead resting against hers. “I told you," he says quietly, a deep sincerity in his voice, "I’ll do anything for you, Jude. Anything.”

I suppose here is where I’ll insert a montage, a rapid shift through time that whirls around them both.

It’s not a gentle flow like grains of sand slipping through an hourglass, but rather a forceful, almost violent acceleration. Days and nights blend together, merging into a dizzying blur. The passage of time feels like a speeding train, racing forward with an intensity that leaves them disoriented, suspended in mid-air.

Remember when I mentioned early on when a plane crashes and passengers experience a moment of freefall or weightlessness as the plane slows down before the impact?

This phenomenon occurs due to the abrupt deceleration of the aircraft, causing a temporary state of suspension where the forces acting on the body are not aligned with the usual gravitational pull.

Yeah. That.

The ground beneath their feet seems almost non-existent these days, barely registering as they move through this relentless storm of brutal living. Each moment is a jarring leap from one to the next, a disorienting kaleidoscope where time’s usual rhythms are distorted. It’s as if their entire existence has been compressed into a single, frenetic pulse, where the familiar markers of time - the rising sun, the setting moon - are obscured by a relentless rush.

Frankie’s book, Adrift With You, feels heavy in his hands, its weight a tangible reminder of the past he’s been trying to navigate, both before and after the island. The real printed book, with its glossy cover and the scent of printed ink and recycled paper, is a stark contrast to the ethereal and shifting nature of their current reality.

As he holds it, the book feels like a bridge between their tumultuous present and the time they’ve spent entangled with the island’s secrets.

It’s one copy at first, a single, personal artefact that Frankie holds close - a solitary book representing a chapter of their shared journey in all its harrowingly beautiful detail. But soon, that one copy multiplies, spreading like ripples through water, microscopic cells that start to divide.

What started as a private memento, a way to wade through the salty waters of the unknown, grows into a phenomenon. Warehouses fill up with copies, and bookshop shelves are soon lined with the weight of them, their spines gleaming in the lights of the store windows.

Frankie and Jude wander past these bookshops, hand in hand, their fingers entwined. They see their story displayed prominently, copies of the book flaunting its cover, a testament to their experiences and struggles. The sight is surreal, almost dreamlike. It doesn’t quite feel real - this shift from a personal, intimate project to a widely recognized publication.

They pause to observe the scene with a mixture of awe and disbelief, as if they’re spectators in their own story.

And then the interviews come, as expected and as they were told they would. The media frenzy that follows the book’s release is relentless, a whirlwind of questions and scrutiny. Lila and her team do their best to shield them from the worst of it, providing a seat cushion of support and guidance, trying to manage the onslaught as much as possible.

But despite their valiant efforts, there comes a time when Frankie and Jude have to face it alone.

It's like ripping off a Band-Aid to reveal the weeping sore beneath - a painful, raw exposure that they can’t avoid. The reality of their situation is laid bare, unfiltered and unprotected. The interviews are invasive, probing into the parts of their lives they had hoped to keep private. They’re forced to confront the emotional wounds they’ve tried to heal, now thrust into the spotlight for all to pick at. But there’s no going back now.

It’s a stark and uncomfortable transition from their controlled, protected environment to the harsh light of public scrutiny, where they must navigate their own truths amidst the relentless attention.

But they face it all with their hands woven together so tightly it feels as though they’re melded together like melted wax, inseparable and unyielding.

“You’ve survived a plane crash, near starvation, a tsunami… You can survive this.” Jude tells herself in the bathroom mirrors when she slips away for a minute before the panic consumes her fully. “You can survive this.”

As they step into the spotlight together, their connection is palpable, a silent vow of solidarity amid the storm of public attention.

Audiences gasp and weep at their story, moved by the raw honesty that spills from their interviews. Cameras capture the quiet moments of vulnerability: Frankie’s furtive eyes peek out from beneath his worn and frayed cap, glancing at Jude for strength, seeking reassurance in the midst of the glare.

The cameras also catch Jude’s steadying breath, the way she holds it as if bracing herself for the emotional excavation, as though her very insides are being scooped out and laid bare for all to see.

Each night, they find themselves in different hotel beds, clinging to each other, seeking solace in the quiet moments before sleep. They question whether they’ve made the right choice, whether the exposure is worth the price. Their lives will never be the same again.

The money pours into their accounts, a flood of digits that seems to stretch on endlessly, more numbers than pi. Yet, despite the financial success, it doesn’t bring them the comfort they’ve hoped for. It’s a stark reminder that no amount of financial gain can replace the intimacy and understanding they share, nor can it ease the discomfort of having their innermost selves laid bare.

David fights tirelessly for them in court against the airline, their decision to sue feeling less like a personal choice and more like a heavy obligation, driven by the weight of public encouragement. It’s as though the choice is made for them, propelled by the pressure and support of those who believe they should seek justice.

The public's backing is a double-edged sword; it gives them strength but also amplifies the choppy, uneasy feeling swirling in Jude’s stomach, a constant reminder of the scrutiny and expectations they face.

Then, as if the legal battles and media frenzy weren’t enough, Sarah delivers news that adds another layer to their already complex situation. Michael has garnered significant interest from several Hollywood directors who want to adapt their book into a film. The idea of their deeply personal story being transformed into an actual, real movie stirs up a fresh wave of anxiety and excitement. It’s a thrilling opportunity, but also one that brings new challenges and invasions of privacy.

“We knew this might happen,” Frankie says, his voice steady but tinged with weariness, as he watches Jude. She stands by the large bay window of yet another hotel room, her gaze lost in the sprawling cityscape or perhaps just the void beyond.

Jude doesn’t turn to look at him; instead, she continues to stare out the window, the dim light from the setting sun casting a gentle glow on her face. “I know,” she whispers, her voice barely carrying over the hum of the city below. “They prepared us…”

Her words trail off, carrying the weight of unspoken exhaustion and the feeling of being perpetually adrift. Despite the preparations and the warnings, the reality of their situation has proven to be overwhelming. Each new hotel room, each new city, feels like another temporary anchor in a sea of relentless change. The promises of normalcy and rest seem distant and elusive, swallowed by the endless cycle of appearances, interviews, and legal battles.

Frankie’s gaze softens as he watches her, understanding the depth of her weariness. He knows that even with all the preparation and support, the reality of living in a constant flux takes its toll. They’d anticipated the challenges, but the weight of living them day after day is a burden neither of them fully expected.

He retreats into the bathroom, seeking to drown himself under a hot jet, his footsteps heavy as he makes his way across the tiles. Once inside, he grips the edges of the sink, his knuckles whitening as he breathes out slowly.

His thoughts buzz in a febrile hum of tension and longing, a chaotic swirl that he struggles to calm. He swallows hard, trying to force down the surge of emotions that threatens to overwhelm him.

With a groan, he cracks his neck from side to side, trying to release some of the built-up stress. It’s a futile effort against the siren call of cloudy inertia that tugs at him, a seduction of stagnation and resignation. The temptation to give in to this numbness feels almost physical; it claws at him, leaving goose pimples across his skin as if the very air is charged with it. His hands tremble, a constant reminder of the weakness that clings on.

His reflection catches in the mirror, and he shakes his head vehemently, trying to clear the fog in his mind. Tossing his cap on the counter he runs the faucet, cool water splashing over his face. Just as the tension seems unbearable, his phone buzzes with a new message.

It’s from Carla, and attached is a video of his son.

Frankie’s eyes water as he watches the clip. His son giggles with unrestrained joy, making a delightful mess with his dinner, spaghetti sauce all over his cheeks and Carla gets him to wave for his daddy. The simple, pure happiness on his child’s face pulls at Frankie's heart, a sharp reminder of what’s truly important, salvation in gurgly pixels.

He smiles, feeling a tug on his weary soul as the longing to be with his son intensifies. Visits have been sparse, lost in the whirlwind of book tours and media chaos. A back and forth of anxious flights, distances bridged and limited time spent with stuffed dinosaurs, messy diapers and strolls to the park to feed ducklings.

Yet, watching his son’s unfiltered joy makes him yearn for an escape - a chance to find peace somewhere with Jude and his son, away from the relentless pressure and constant movement.

The sudden sensation of hands gently massaging his broad shoulders pulls him back to the present. He turns slightly to see Jude's face joining his weary reflection in the glass, her expression warm, yet plainly exhausted.

He holds up his phone to show her the clip of their son, and Jude’s eyes light up, a tender hum escaping her as she watches. The sight of his child’s joy is infectious, and for a moment, the weight of their current situation seems to lift.

“He’s so beautiful,” she reminds him.

"I want you to meet him," Frankie says as he swings the bathroom door shut, sealing them in.

He runs the shower as Jude takes off her clothes and she reaches for his belt.

Jude’s smile widens, her eyes shimmering with sincerity. "I’d really like that," she replies, her voice swallowed by his kiss.

Meeting Carla fills Jude with more anxiety than meeting his son.

She watches the ease between Carla and Frankie, noticing a softness there now that Frankie had once described as tinged with brittleness. It’s a familiarity that makes Jude uneasy, echoing how Frankie must have felt when Nate intruded on their space at the restaurant. She wants to dislike her, as most women do with their partners' exes.

Yet, unlike the tense encounter with Nate, Jude feels a surprising sense of relief as she observes Carla's genuine warmth and sincerity towards them both.

The kindness in Carla's demeanour eases some of her apprehension, offering a reassuring glimpse into the deeper connections in Frankie’s life. They both share something in common - they’ve both seen Frankie when he’s been weak.

While Frankie gives his son a bath upstairs, Carla hands Jude a mug of coffee. The moment for inevitable small talk seems poised to unfold, but instead, Carla opens up about her past with Frankie. She shares her own experiences, making it clear that her intentions are rooted in wanting what’s best for her son.

Carla takes a deep breath, her eyes reflecting a mixture of sadness and pride. “I thought he was dead. Even before the island,” she begins, her voice trembling slightly. “I watched him spiral so many times, making choices that nearly destroyed him. It was like… standing on the sidelines, helpless, while he unravelled.” Carla explains, her voice heavy with the weight of her memories.

She delves into the countless times she watched as Frankie struggled, his self-destructive tendencies leaving her feeling powerless until she had to walk away.

Jude listens intently, her heart aching at Carla’s words. She sips her coffee, trying to steady her own emotions. “It’s hard to see someone you care about go through that.”

“It really is.” Carla nods, her gaze unwavering. “He’s strong, though. I’m proud of him, despite everything. He’s come so far. But it hasn’t been easy.”

“He’s strong,” Jude agrees, her voice warm with admiration.

Carla’s gaze softens, and she adds, “So are you.”

Jude shrugs as she looks down into her mug. “Maybe,” she murmurs.

“Do you worry about it?” Carla asks.

Jude takes a deep breath, her gaze drifting to the window where the sunlight filters through. “Sometimes,” she admits, her voice tinged with concern. “I wonder if the pressure of being back here will get to him. That he’ll slip, you know?”

Carla nods. “It’ll always be there in the background.”

Jude’s eyes meet Carla’s, finding a sense of shared understanding in her gaze. “It’s not just about the surroundings, though. It’s the emotional weight of everything that’s happened. He carries a lot with him, and I worry that it might be too much sometimes.”

Carla’s gaze softens, and she reaches out to squeeze Jude’s hand reassuringly. “I know it’s a lot to carry. For both of you. There isn’t anybody on this planet that will understand what you both went through except one another. Girl, that’s heavy… but the both of you found each other. That’s gotta mean something.”

“It does.” Jude agrees.

“Frankie’s come so far. He’s not the person I once knew, loved…” Jude watches as her eyes water and she wipes at them, the bracelets on her wrist tinkling. “That person died out there. And I’m glad, because he needed to change. And he’s not alone in this. You’re there for him, and that makes a difference.” Carla reaches out, taking Jude’s hand. “I’m glad he has you,” she says earnestly. “You’ve both been through a lot, but you’re stronger together. He really loves you.”

“I really love him, too.” Jude says, her own eyes glistening with emotion.

“Give it time. You’ll both be alright in the end.”

Jude, moved by Carla’s words, reaches for her, almost spilling her coffee in the process. They embrace, Jude pressing her face into Carla’s hair. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice choked with emotion.

As Frankie pauses on the stairs, his son perched against his hip, watching the two women in his life come together in mutual respect, he can't help but smile.

The time away together feels like another dream, an ephemeral escape that slips through her fingers no matter how hard Jude tries to hold on.

It’s a fleeting sanctuary, a weekend secluded up the coast, where linen billows gently in the breeze and wildflowers sway. The tranquillity is so far removed from the relentless reality she’s been floundering in for so long that it seems almost too perfect to be real.

The beauty of their surroundings, the simplicity and peace of it all, feels like a distant memory, as if it’s something she might struggle to recall clearly once she’s back in the storm of her usual life.

The idyllic scene, so different from the chaos and tension of their everyday existence, begins to feel like a mirage, a beautiful illusion that she fears she might not be able to fully remember or hold onto.

There’s a moment at a local fair, where Frankie and his son are riding the teacups, their laughter mingling with the cheerful, whimsical music of the local carnival. The teacups spin in a joyous blur of colours, and Frankie’s face lights up with a rare, unguarded happiness as he playfully steers the cup, while his son giggles, clutching the sides with delight.

Unable to resist the charm of the scene, pulls out her phone. She captures the moment with a quick snap, freezing the joy and togetherness of the ride. The photograph, vibrant and full of life, seems to crystallise the fleeting happiness of the day. Yet, as she looks at the image, it evokes a questionable pang of longing.

As the days pass, the contrast between this peaceful interlude and the frenetic pace they’ve been living through starts to drown her in a sense of melancholy. The fear of losing this precious moment, of having it dissolve into just another wistful memory, presses heavily on her to the point that something’s threatening to snap.

It happens when she’s holding Frankie Junior inside of her arms - a name that still makes her chuckle because he’s everything like his father, curious and stoic all at the same time.

She can hear Frankie in the kitchen of their Air Bn'b somewhere, the gentle whir of a microwave and the scents of food making her stomach gurgle. And it’s this picture of domesticity that flatlines her.

The sleeping babe suddenly becomes a heavy weight in her hands she can’t quite manage. Before she fully realises what’s happening, Jude’s legs begin to give way.

Frankie’s voice cuts through the calm, his yelling piercing the air as he rushes to her side, catching her before she and his son hit the ground. The sound of their son’s cries mingles with Frankie’s urgent calls, a jarring contrast to the earlier serenity.

Jude feels herself slipping away, the room spinning as she loses her grip on reality and the ocean takes her into its depths once more.

“What happened?” Frankie’s voice cuts through the fog as Jude starts to regain her senses. It feels both like mere moments and swampy hours later.

His face, etched with concern, comes into focus, but there’s a heavy fuzz behind her eyelids that makes everything feel distant.

Jude’s first thought is of Frankie Junior. “Is he okay?” she asks, panic lacing her voice. In her sudden rush to sit up, she almost headbutts Frankie, her fear that she might have harmed his son in her fall overwhelming her.

Frankie, maintaining a calming presence, gently shushes her and pushes against her shoulders to keep her from moving too quickly. “He’s okay,” he reassures her, nodding towards the little figure across the room.

Frankie Junior is engrossed in building blocks, his tiny hands working diligently. His eyes, wide and innocent, are locked onto Jude, reflecting both his concern and curiosity.

“Shit…” Jude mutters, her breath coming in uneven gasps as she collapses back onto the sofa.

“Jude.” Frankie’s voice is soft but firm as he takes her hands, grounding her in the present. “Talk to me.”

She feels his hands, warm and steady, and it helps to anchor her.

“I don’t know, it was just… a moment.” Jude’s voice trembles as she tries to articulate the overwhelming sensation, but the words feel inadequate.

She fights against the pull of her memories, desperately trying not to relive them. It’s like a breath that won’t fully form, hanging heavy and unfulfilled in the back of her throat.

She tries not to go back there, to block it out but it barges its way in nonetheless. The images flood back, sharp and painful, slicing through her composure. She sees the crimson sand clumped at her feet. She remembers Frankie lifting her into the water, her sobs muffled against his shoulder, the anguish of that moment as raw as it was in reality. Her body had waged a painful rebellion, an unbearable force tearing at her insides as it purged the child she wasn’t meant to have.

“Hermosa…” Frankie presses his forehead to hers as she croaks out. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He soothes as he crushes her close to him.

“I’m sorry,” she gurgles through tears.

“Ssh, you've nothing to be sorry for. You’re okay.” He clutches the back of her skull as he rocks her gently. “You’re okay.”

“What if I can’t… what if we can never-” She glances at the toddler watching her starkly.

His tiny fingers clutching on a plastic block before he outstretches his hand as though offering it to her. The gesture, so pure and unburdened, stirs something deep within, something that itches and gnarls.

“Hey. Stop it.” Frankie’s gaze is resolute, cutting through her spiralling thoughts. “We’ll figure this out. Together. But right now, you need to rest, you’re fuckin’ exhausted.”

His words are both a command and a comfort, an acknowledgment of her fatigue and the immense weight she’s been carrying for so long that she hasn't noticed it creep up on her. Exhaustion is an understatement.

As he holds her, the tension in her shoulders begins to ease, and the overwhelming weight of her fears starts to lift, if only slightly.

She wonders if she’ll ever be truly free of them.

The break they had hoped would be a reprieve from the relentless pace of their lives doesn’t offer the calming effect Frankie had envisioned.

Instead, as soon as they return after dropping his son back with Carla, they find themselves thrust back into a relentless schedule of calls and meetings, immersed back in a world that seems intent on inserting itself between their very muscle and bones.

Yet, in the midst of this tumultuous whirlwind, there’s an underlying truth they must confront: life doesn’t pause or slow down for them. It has to move forward, with or without their consent.

And so life moves forward. A new chapter begins to unfold as a new home beckons - a modest abode practically sitting on top of the Floridian coastline, chosen with care and intention. The new space represents more than just a change of address; it’s a step towards a more stable and connected life together, one that brings them closer to Frankie’s son and offers a fresh start amidst the ongoing chaos.

The new home, with its expansive layout and additional space, presents an opportunity for a potential studio. Jude’s eyes light up as she imagines converting part of the house into a photography studio, a dream she’s held close but never fully explored. It’s a chance to revisit her passion, to create and capture moments that speak to her soul.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Frankie says, wrapping an arm around her as they walk through the space. “It’s important for you to keep doing what you love if that's what you want.” They stand together, envisioning the studio’s future, and the prospect of Jude’s photography taking shape once again.

Their new home also offers a magnificent view of the ocean, a view that neither of them can seem to relinquish fully now. The rhythmic sound of the waves and the shifting colours of the water provide a comforting, almost meditative quality, something Jude finds herself seeking more and more as she sits, knees drawn up on the sand as Frankie watches from the balcony with a mixture of affection and concern at her daily vigil.

It reminds him of all the times he found her sitting on the rocks back on the island, and her isolation itches at the back of his scalp.

As the waves retreat, his gaze lingers on her figure outlined against the soft, golden light of the setting sun. There’s a quiet intensity to her presence, a sense of introspection that he recognizes but can’t fully grasp. As the waves draw back, there’s a fleeting fear in Frankie’s mind - a concern that she might retreat along with them, withdrawing into a space he can’t reach.

As Frankie’s phone buzzes, he’s initially tempted to ignore it, to remain in the tranquil moment of watching Jude find solace by the ocean.

He swipes his thumb over the screen and the message that appears from Michael is significant: the go-ahead for the feature film adaptation of their book has been given, and production is set to start soon.

Instead of dwelling on the news, Frankie’s gaze follows Jude as she stands up from her spot on the sand, brushing off grains and beginning her walk back to the house. The sight of her, retreating from the calming embrace of the ocean, captures his attention more than the news on his phone.

“Hey,” Jude says softly as she steps up the wooden steps onto the balcony. The sound of the waves and the soft rustling of the ocean breeze accompany her arrival, blending with the warmth of the evening light.

Frankie turns to her, his face lighting up with a genuine smile. He reaches out, pulling her close with a tender embrace.

“Missed you,” he murmurs into her hair, his voice low and filled with affection.

Jude responds by wrapping her arms around him, nestling into the comforting strength of his embrace.

As she settles against him, Frankie can’t help but feel a deep sense of relief and contentment. The world outside seems to fade, leaving just the two of them and the serene backdrop of the ocean. If he closes his eyes and tunes it all out, he can swear they’re home.

“The film’s being made. Michael texted just now.” Frankie says, his voice tinged with a mix of excitement and disbelief as he shares the news with Jude.

“Oh,” Jude responds, her tone distant as she processes the information.

“Apparently they’ve already cast an actor to play me.”

“Who?” Jude looks up at him curiously.

“Dieter Bravo?” He shrugs.

Jude snickers softly. “Never heard of him.”

“Michael says we should go there, meet the director, crew…” Frankie trails off, gauging her reaction.

“Yeah,” Jude says, her voice carrying a note of contemplation.

“Only if you want to?”

“No, we should. I mean… it’s not every day you get a film made about your life, right?”

Frankie smirks. “No, guess not.”

Jude chuckles, shaking her head with a bemused smile. “That sounds so ridiculous.”

He laughs too. “Yeah. Fuckin’ crazy.”

LA is just like New York - loud, clanging.

The city hums with a relentless energy that feels familiar yet distinctly its own. The honking of horns, the chatter of people on the streets, and the constant whir of activity creates a cacophony that fills the air.

As Frankie and Jude navigate the bustling streets, they find that the noise is different, but not necessarily quieter. It’s a new kind of loud, marked by the clamour of Hollywood dreams, the buzz of entertainment, and the vibrant pulse of a city that never truly sleeps.

In this sea of noise and motion, they’re swept along by the current of people and sounds, yet there’s a sense of excitement and possibility among the palms.

When Frankie and Jude meet with the team behind the film, the experience is both surreal and grounding. The people they encounter - directors, producers, writers, and actors - are all driven by a shared vision to bring their story to life on the big screen. Despite the grandeur of the project and the buzz of Hollywood, the team feels surprisingly down-to-earth and relatable.

Except for Dieter Bravo. His air of nonchalance seems to elevate stoicism to a new level. When Frankie and Jude meet him, his demeanour is cool and detached, a stark contrast to the enthusiastic and approachable nature of the rest of the team. Dieter carries himself with an almost effortless composure, his relaxed posture and casual demeanour giving off an impression of disinterest, or perhaps an arrogance that’s hard to read.

He nods politely, engages in conversation with a clipped efficiency, and maintains a certain distance behind large sunglasses that makes it difficult for Frankie and Jude to gauge his true feelings about the project.

“Are you sure you don’t have a twin brother you haven’t told me about?” Jude quips to Frankie, her tone light but bemused. “He’s your exact double.”

“I know, it’s fuckin’ weird.” Frankie mutters just as bemused.

The resemblance between Frankie and Dieter Bravo is striking. Jude watches with fascination, noting how Dieter’s movements mirror Frankie’s almost too perfectly. It’s as if he’s a doppelgänger come to life, embodying Frankie’s physical quirks with eerie precision.

It’s uncanny to see them both in the same room - Dieter even shares some of Frankie’s mannerisms: the absent-minded scratching of his chin, the way he rubs his face when he’s deep in thought, and the restless darting of his eyes.

Jude takes the opportunity to Google Dieter Bravo, her curiosity piqued by the uncanny resemblance between him and Frankie. As she scrolls through the search results on her phone, she discovers more about Dieter’s background and rocky career. To her surprise, she learns that Dieter has struggled with his own battles, including a past with a narcotics addiction. Glancing up at the actor, his tired eyes finally revealed from behind his dramatic shades, she finds this connection both intriguing and unsettling. It adds a layer of depth to the casting choice, making her wonder how much of Dieter’s own experiences will influence his portrayal of Frankie.

The actress cast to play Jude is Natalie Skelton, a slip of a woman whose delicate frame and expressive features make a staggering impression. Despite her slender appearance, there's a compelling strength in the way she carries herself, a quality that hints at the depth and resilience of Jude’s own character.

She listens intently during the conversations with Frankie and Jude offering corrections or insight to the plot of the script, absorbing every detail to ensure she portrays Jude with authenticity and makes so many notes. Her demeanour is warm and earnest, contrasting with Dieter Bravo’s more frigid presence, and she quickly connects with both Frankie and Jude on a personal level, leaving them both a little relaxed about the casting choices.

“I really like her,” Jude says.

“Yeah, she’s kinda feisty, like you.” Frankie remarks.

Jude shares her findings with Frankie later over dinner, the casual setting of their meal providing a comfortable backdrop for the conversation. The air is filled with the scent of grease and the clinking of cutlery as they sit with their burgers.

She recounts what she discovered about Dieter Bravo’s struggles with addiction, noting the eerie parallels between his experiences and Frankie’s.

Frankie nods thoughtfully, chewing on a mouthful of greasy burger meat. “I mean, he seems like he would get it though,” he muses, shrugging as he swallows. His expression reflects a blend of curiosity and scepticism.

Jude looks at him with a concerned expression. “How are you doing? Really?”

Frankie meets her gaze with a warm smile. “I’m tired, but I’m good,” he replies. His tone is reassuring, but there’s a subtle vulnerability in his eyes that betrays the weight of the recent changes and challenges. “Just taking it one step at a time through this fuckin’ circus.”

Jude nods, her own smile softening as she reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. “We’re in this together,” she reminds him quietly, offering a moment of shared understanding.

Frankie’s smile widens, a genuine sense of comfort and gratitude shining through. “Yeah. We are. How are you doing, you good?”

“Yeah.” She smiles, picking up her burger and sighing in relief as she takes a huge bite. “Oh my God…” She moans.

Frankie chuckles, watching her with a mix of amusement and affection. “I take it you’re enjoying that?”

Jude nods vigorously, still savouring the taste. “It’s incredible. Tastes just like that first burger we had in South Africa.”

She holds it out to him and he takes an enthusiastic bite, ketchup dripping down his fuzzy chin.

Frankie grins around his mouthful, wiping his face with a napkin. “That’s a high compliment. That burger was fuckin' legendary.”

Jude laughs, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “I was craving something that felt a bit like home, you know?” She muses taking another big bite.

He looks at her, dark eyes softening at the edges. “Home?”

She nods as she swallows. “Yeah. Home.”

Home is the taste of the sea spray at the back of her throat. It’s the roar of the engines from the plane, the darkness of the cave they explored, and the crackle of the fire they shared. Home is the terrifying height of the waves hurtling towards them, the sight of dry land after a long journey. It’s the grip of his fingers around hers, the feel of him inside her, and the grease in the burger meat they’re savouring right now.

Home is in the smile blanching across Frankie’s features - a quiet, reassuring sign that despite everything, they’ve found something profoundly grounding and real. In each of these moments, home isn’t defined by a single place or experience but by the sensations, memories, and connections that stitch together their shared life, despite its cragged exterior.

He nods too, smiling.

“How do you say home in Spanish?” Jude asks as she picks up her drink and licks her lips.

“Hogar.” Frankie smiles at her. “Mi hogar está contigo.”

“My home is with you?” Jude asks, translating the words she’s picked up from countless times listening to his native tongue on the island.

He nods, smiling. “Yeah. My home is with you.”

To be continued...

SERIES MASTERLIST | CHAPTER 23

Thank you for taking the time to read my story; it really means so much to me. I'd love to know your thoughts, and I'd really appreciate a re-blog so others can enjoy this story too. Thank you so much 🖤

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

Tagging those that were tagged previously on this story, I may have missed some of you due to my old comments with tags in being removed when I deactivated, so apologies if I've missed you off. If you want to be removed that's cool too.

@suzdin @missladym1981 @millennial-teenybopper @msjarvis

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@rhoorl @disassociation-daydreams @quinnnfabrgay @chronically-ghosted @fuckyeahdindjarin

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iloveenya · 25 days

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Very Urgent case life on the line 🚨😭😭😭

My brother Ahmed 😭in the hospital now can't breathe in the intensive care because of war there is no medical care and medicines.

He needs an oxygen machine to be able to breathe

Unfortunately, in the hospital there is no treatment for my little bro, and I am very afraid for him. Please, save my little life by donating as much as you can and Reblog.

My campaign is verified by 90ghost and northgazaupdate

Please donate and Reblog my pin post to save his life 🙏

Illustration

https://www.gofundme.com/f/save-mohamed-and-his-elderly-parents-from-genocide

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iloveenya · 26 days

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BOYFRIEND!FRANKIE Sagittarius • ESTP • Originally from El Paso, has the cowboy boots to prove it • Has tons of helicopter schematic books with his notes scrawled inside them • Loves hiking and camping • Classic rock • Sandalwood and vetiver • Has a favourite mug and insists his coffee tastes better in it • Flossing his teeth grosses him out, he hates the feel of it and always gags dramatically when he does it • Always opens the door for you in his Pickup when getting in and out • Has a habit of tapping his foot when thinking or nervous • Prefers using old-school maps if he needs to rather than GPS, claiming his sense of direction is more reliable than "a fuckin' robot" • Is always up early in the mornings, a routine that stems from his army days, and is far too peppy about it • Has a secret snack drawer that he thinks you don't know about. He's wrong • Cries every time he watches Up • Can't resist fixing or tinkering with anything that's broken, even if it's not his • Affectionately calls you a "civilian" • Addicted to chilli fries • He can't stand silence, (it's a PTSD thing) so constantly has music or the TV on in the background, even when sleeping • Has a pet turtle named Tank • Leaves you a love note pinned on the fridge every morning • Blushes profusely whenever you call him "Captain Morales" • Only ever takes his baseball cap off to shower or to sleep, and even that's pushing it • Has an inexplicable fear of geese. He can handle being shot at, but not a bird running at him • Has a bizarre yet serious theory about how he can predict the weather by the way Tank behaves • Has an irrational grudge against one particular brand of peanut butter, and rants about it whenever he sees it in the grocery store. Swears he'll leave you if you ever buy it • Absolutely loves it when you take control • Is both the big and little spoon • Is highly skilled at eating pussy and spends hours doing it 🖤

BOYFRIEND VIBES MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

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iloveenya · 27 days

Text

Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 21

And if they can both survive the island together, they can survive anything, right?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Jude

Chapter Word Count: 9.3k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter Notes: Frankie and Jude have some life changing decisions to make. Smut contained in this chapter.

Enjoy! 🖤

Frankie sits at the small, scarred kitchen table, its surface worn from years of use.

The notebook lays open before him, its pages filled with the raw, jagged scrawl of someone driven by an unrelenting need to capture every thought before it slips away.

He’s hunched over, his broad shoulders curved inward, as if trying to shield the words from the rest of the world, to keep them safe within the confines of the notebook. His hand moves furiously, the pen scratching across the paper in an almost frantic rhythm, each word a desperate attempt to make sense of the chaos swirling in his mind.

The lines are uneven, some sentences trailing off into scribbles where his thoughts have outrun his ability to articulate them. It’s as if he’s afraid that if he pauses, even for a moment, the flood of memories and emotions will overwhelm him, leaving him adrift in the torrent.

The apartment around him is still, the only sounds are the faint whirr of the ceiling fan overhead and the occasional creak of the wooden floor beneath his feet. The fan’s steady rotation is a soft, mechanical heartbeat, a stark contrast to the erratic pulse of anxiety thumping in Frankie’s chest.

He barely notices Benny as he walks in, carrying a box of beers. Benny pauses in the doorway, watching Frankie with a curious look on his face. It isn’t often that he sees Frankie like this - so completely lost in something that the rest of the world seems to disappear completely. In fact, Benny hasn’t seen this look in Frankie’s eyes since their days serving together, when the mission consumed them both, leaving no room for anything else.

Benny leans against the doorframe, reaching into the box and popping the cap off one of the bottles, taking a swig.

“Hey, man,” Benny says, breaking the silence. “You planning to write the next Great American Novel or something?”

Frankie glances up, startled, then relaxes when he sees Benny standing there. He sits back in his chair, running a hand through his messy curls. “Nah,” he says with tired eyes, chuckling. “Just… trying to get all this fuckin’ stuff outta my head, you know?”

Benny moves closer, peering over Frankie’s shoulder at the notebook. “What stuff? You writing about the island?”

Frankie hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. Figured it might help me process it all. And maybe… I dunno, maybe it’s worth sharing. People keep asking us for interviews, but I can’t stand the idea of talking to some reporter who’s just looking for a sensational story, you know?”

"Yeah. Fuck 'em." Benny pulls out a chair and sits down across from him, pushing one of the beers across the table.

He watches Frankie with raised eyebrows, waiting for him to take it. But instead of reaching for the beer, Frankie pushes it back, the clink of glass against wood echoing between them like a small but significant gunshot. Benny’s brow furrows in surprise, maybe even concern.

“No?” Benny asks, his voice tinged with an edge of disbelief.

This isn’t like Frankie. A drink, especially shared between them, has always been a gesture of solidarity, a way to loosen the tight knots of tension that have become a constant in their lives.

But Frankie just shakes his head, his eyes steady and serious as they meet Benny’s. “Gotta stop it all,” he says, his voice quiet but firm.

There’s a finality in his words, a resolve that’s been slowly building within him, now finally surfacing. He nods, as if to emphasise the point. “All of it.”

Benny stares at him for a moment, trying to read between the lines, to understand the weight behind those words. It isn’t just about the beer - he knows that much. This is about something deeper, something that has been gnawing at Frankie for longer than either of them care to admit. It’s taken its toll, and now, Frankie’s drawing a line.

It’s more than just stopping the drinking, the drugs. It’s about stopping the spiral, the endless cycle of running from the past, drowning it and pretending the pain doesn’t exist. Frankie’s done with all that. He’s ready to face it, to face everything, even if it means giving up something that has always been there to dull the edges of his addiction.

He has things in his life now that are worth so much more than that.

Benny smiles as he takes the beer back. He notices the Craigslist ads circled in pen next to Frankie, each one advertising apartments scattered across Pensacola. Benny narrows his eyes, the realisation sinking in. "You moving out?"

Frankie nods, his expression a mixture of resolve and uncertainty. "Looking. Jude and I... we should probably get our own place. I’m cramping your bachelor style." He smirks.

Benny raises an eyebrow, the question hanging between them. "She gonna move down here?"

"I think so, I hope so…" Frankie replies, though his voice holds a note of hesitation. His mind drifts back to the conversation they’d had just a few days before, back in New York.

The memory is vivid, the kind that leaves a warm ache in the chest, wrapped in the comfort of her limbs as he planted slow, lingering kisses across her collarbone.

The afternoon had been a lazy haze of sun-dappled sheets and heady sex, the kind of moment where time seemed to stretch out, where the terrifying world outside their small cocoon faded into irrelevance.

But beneath the tenderness, the warmth, there had been something else - an undercurrent of unspoken fears, of truths that couldn’t be ignored. Their conversations, usually so easy and free-flowing, had taken a deeper turn since coming home, raw and honest in a way that left both of them vulnerable.

They’d talked about the future, about what it would mean for her to move here, to leave behind everything she knew so Frankie could be a devoted dad to his son. Jude had said she’d try, that she wanted to be with him no matter what, but Frankie could sense the weight of what she wasn’t saying - the things she was still wrestling with inside.

Frankie knew she was willing to make the effort, to take that leap with him, but he couldn’t ignore the reservation he’d heard in her voice. It wasn’t doubt, not exactly, but a deep awareness of the sacrifices involved. She was torn, just as he was, between the life she had and the life she wanted with him.

He didn’t have all the answers, but he knew one thing: they’d figure it out together.

He looks back at Benny, who’s watching him carefully, waiting for more. But there’s nothing else to say, not right now. Frankie gives a small shrug, as if to say, This is it, this is where we are. The uncertainty, the hope, the fear - they’re all part of the package of being human. But as long as they’re willing to face it together, he figures they have a fighting chance.

“So, what? You’re gonna write a book then?” Benny asks.

Frankie takes a deep breath, staring at the pages in front of him. “I dunno if it’s any good, but… it feels right. Like this is how I need to tell our story, you know?”

“What does Jude say?”

“She read it. She’s okay with it.”

Benny nods thoughtfully, then grins. “Well, if you’re serious about it, I might actually know someone who can help.”

Frankie raises an eyebrow, sceptical. “Yeah? Who the fuck do you know in publishing?”

Benny smirks and takes another swig of his beer. “Remember when I told you I met that girl at that wedding back in Charleston?”

Frankie chuckles. “Yeah, you wouldn’t shut up about her. What was her name? Lisa? Laura-something?”

“Lila,” Benny corrects with a grin. “She’s a literary agent based in New York now, I think. Moved out there with some slick asshole. But we’ve kept in touch. I mean, nothing serious, but we’ve texted here and there. Nudes…” He grins and Frankie rolls his eyes. “I bet she’d at least give your stuff a look.”

Frankie blinks, surprised. “You’re telling me you fuckin’ send dick pics to a literary agent, and didn’t think to mention it until now?”

Benny laughs. “Hey, man, it’s not like I was planning on writing a book. I ain’t got the smarts for that shit. But you? You’ve got something real to say.”

Real. Yeah. It was all too real. Not just in the way a nightmare might feel real as it wraps its cold fingers around your mind in the dead of night, but in a way that sears itself into the very core of your being. The kind of real that doesn’t just leave a mark; it engraves itself into your bones with the permanence of a tattoo etched in acid.

It’s the kind of real that burns, that strips away the layers of disbelief until all that’s left is exposed, sinewy truth, no matter how much you wish you could shield your eyes from it.

The images, the sounds, the smells - they’re vivid to the point of madness, etched into Frankie’s mind with the intensity of a cattle brand. No matter how much time passes, they remain, like scars that refuse to fade. And even if he could somehow translate the horror into words, weaving them into a cohesive string of sentences on a page, he knows it will never truly capture what it was like to live through it.

For others, his words might conjure up fleeting images, echoes of the experience that will drift away as soon as the book is closed or the conversation ends. But for him - and for Jude - it’s different. It’s something that digs deep into their flesh, into the fabric of their souls, where it will fester and grow, never letting them forget.

Words are tools, blunt and imperfect. They can paint a picture, sure, but they can’t convey the full weight of reality. They can’t capture the way it feels to have your very essence shaped and reshaped by an experience so intense that it leaves you fundamentally changed, altered forever.

No, words won’t do it justice - they never will. Some things are beyond the reach of language, too profound, too visceral to be contained by mere syllables. And this… this is one of those things.

“I can hit her up, see if she’s interested.” Benny suggests, breaking Frankie’s chain of odious thought.

Frankie stares at him for a moment, processing this unexpected development. “You’d really do that?”

“Of course, man,” Benny claps him on the shoulder. “We’ve been through worse together. If you wanna tell your story, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“You sure it ain't the nudes?” He remarks with a wry grin.

“I mean,” Benny shrugs “they’re fuckin’ excellent nudes.”

Frankie looks down at the notebook again, its pages filled with broken, sharp fragments of his past, the weight of the last year pressing heavily against his chest. The ink on the paper seems to blur as his mind swirls with doubt and uncertainty. With courage and fear.

The stories he’s poured out onto these pages - of survival, of love, of pain - are more than just words. They’re the most intimate pieces of him, pieces a small part of him isn’t sure is ready to share with the world. And another part of him, slightly louder than the rest, shouts fuck it.

“Alright,” Frankie sighs, nodding slowly. “Let’s give it a shot. Call her.”

A few days later, Frankie finds himself standing in front of a towering glass building, its sleek facade reflecting the chaos of New York City back at him.

He feels a little out of place among the fast-moving crowd that buzzes around him, the city's relentless energy a stark contrast to the quiet island life that still lingers in his tired bones.

As he stands on the bustling sidewalk, watching the endless stream of people and cars surging past, he feels that familiar unease creeping up on him. The city’s pulse is electric, intoxicating even, but it’s also overwhelming.

New York has always been too fast, too loud, a place that swallows you whole if you aren’t careful. He wonders how Jude has managed it here all her life. He’s never felt at ease here, even when commuting between here and Florida for work, too many distractions, temptations… the constant noise, the crowds, the relentless pace - it all leaves him feeling on edge, teetering on the brink of something he can’t quite control.

He can’t help but think of the quiet of the island, where the only sounds were the wind in the trees and the waves lapping against the shore. Here, in New York, it’s like every nerve in his body is being overstimulated, the noise and energy making it hard to think, hard to breathe. He squeezes his hands into fists, quelling the familiar tremble inside his fingers.

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He can’t afford to let the city get to him - not today. There’s too much riding on this. He adjusts the strap of his worn backpack, feeling the reassuring weight of the notebook inside, and he can’t shake the feeling that the city is watching him, waiting for him to slip up, to fall back into old habits he’s fought so hard to leave behind.

Steeling himself, Frankie pushes through the revolving doors into the lobby. The air is cool, a sharp contrast to the late, swampy summer heat outside, and the noise of the city seems to vanish behind him. His desert boots echo on the polished marble floors as he approaches the reception desk.

“I’m here to see Lila Harrington,” Frankie gruffs to the receptionist, trying to keep his voice steady.

It comes out rougher than he intends, betraying the nerves that have been building since he stepped into the towering building. He hasn’t felt this kind of tension gnawing at him since his first mission with Delta Force, the weight of the unknown pressing down on him with every second.

Frankie shifts on his feet, his heart thudding in his chest. He isn’t sure why he’s so on edge. He’s faced life-or-death situations without flinching, but the idea of sitting down in an office, handing over his story to a stranger, makes his palms sweat.

This is different. This is personal in a way that combat never has been.

The receptionist gives him a polite smile and nods. “Take the elevator to the 22nd floor.”

Frankie mutters a quick thanks and makes his way to the elevators, trying to ignore the knots tightening in his stomach. When the doors slide open, he steps inside and hits the button for the 22nd floor, feeling the subtle lurch as the elevator ascends.

He hates feeling this way - like he’s out of his element. Give him a life-or-death situation any day; at least that’s familiar. This, though? It’s terrifying. It brings back too many memories of helplessness. Too many memories where he was weak and succumbed.

When the doors open, he steps out into a sleek, modern office space. The receptionist behind the desk here smiles when she sees him.

“Mr Morales?” she asks, standing up. “I’m Lila’s assistant. She’s just finishing up a meeting, but she’ll be with you shortly. Would you like some coffee or water while you wait?”

“No, I’m good, thanks," Frankie replies, though his throat is coarsely dry.

He walks over to a seating area near the floor-to-ceiling windows and sinks into one of the plush chairs like a lead weight. The city is spread out below him in a sprawling maze of steel and concrete, a web of streets and skyscrapers bathed in the pale light of early afternoon. and for a moment, he loses himself in the view.

New York looks different from up here - distant and almost peaceful. The chaos of the streets seem to recede into a background hum, the incessant beeping of taxis and the blur of pedestrians reduced to mere patterns in a grand, urban mosaic.

“Francisco Morales?”

He looks up to see a tall, slender woman approaching him with a warm smile and an outstretched hand. Her dark hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and she wears a sharp, tailored suit. But there’s an ease to her movements, a casual confidence that makes her seem approachable despite the corporate attire.

“I’m Lila Harrington,” she smiles, shaking his hand. “Benny’s told me a lot about you. Come on back to my office, and we can talk.”

Frankie follows her down a short hallway into a spacious office lined with bookshelves. The windows here offer an even more expansive view of the city, and the desk is neat but not overly formal.

Lila gestures to a chair across from her desk, and Frankie sits down, feeling his heart rate quicken and trying to ignore the fact that Benny probably has her nudes in his phone gallery.

She takes a seat behind her desk and smiles again. “So, I hear you’ve been writing. Benny says it’s about your time on the island?”

Frankie nods, reaching into his backpack and pulling out the thick notebook. He places it on the desk between them, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the worn cover and frayed edges. This isn’t some polished manuscript typed out neatly - it’s raw, just like their experience had been.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice a little rough. “It’s about… everything. The crash, surviving on the island, the things we went through. I’m not a writer, but I needed to get it out, you know?”

Lila nods, her eyes softening as she looks at him. “You’d be surprised how many people start off thinking that. But the best stories often come from the people who’ve lived through something, not just those who can craft pretty sentences.”

She picks up the notebook, flipping through a few of the pages. Frankie watches her closely, trying to gauge her reaction, but her expression remains neutral.

After a moment, she looks up at him through dark lined eyes. “This isn’t about being perfect, Francisco-”

“Frankie, please." He interjects.

She smiles. “Frankie. This is about telling the truth, and from what I’ve heard, you’ve got one hell of a story to tell. I’ll take this and give it a read. If it’s as powerful as I think it is, we can start talking about what comes next - editing, publishing, the whole process.”

Frankie feels a mix of relief and anxiety flood through him in equal measure. “You really think there’s something here?”

Lila leans back in her chair, her eyes thoughtful. “I do. The public has been hungry for your story ever since the news broke, but it’s not just about the survival - it’s about what happens after. How do people come back from something like that? How do they find their way in the world again? That’s what readers will connect with. That's why your story will sell.”

Frankie exhales slowly, feeling some of the tension leave his body. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” he admits. “It’s not easy. Jude… she’s still struggling. And me, I’m trying to figure out how to be a dad now, on top of everything else.”

Lila smiles again, a touch of empathy in her eyes. “It’s a journey, for sure. But I think you’ve got something here that could help a lot of people understand that journey. Maybe even relate in their own way. I’ll be in touch soon after I’ve read through it. A few days. And don’t worry, we’ll make sure you’re comfortable with every step of the process if you choose to proceed.”

Frankie nods, a small weight lifting off his shoulders. He isn’t entirely sure what he’d expected from this meeting, but Lila’s calm, professional demeanour has certainly helped put him at ease.

Maybe this isn’t such a crazy idea after all. Maybe it can work and they’ll finally be able to heal.

“Thanks,” he says, standing up. “I appreciate you taking the time to have a look.”

“Of course,” Lila says, rising to shake his hand again. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Frankie. And don’t worry - Benny vouched for you. That goes a long way in this business.”

Frankie chuckles, shaking her hand. “Yeah, Benny’s good people.”

As he leaves the office and steps back into the busy New York streets, he feels something he hasn’t in a long time. Maybe this book could be more than just therapy. Maybe it could be a new beginning.

And for the first time since he’s left the island, that thought doesn’t scare Frankie.

The soft hum of the city filters in through the partially opened window as Frankie lays in bed beside Jude.

The sheets are tangled around their legs, and the dim glow of a street lamp outside casts a warm hue over the room. Frankie lays on his back, his arm draped over Jude as she rests her head on his clammy chest. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing seems to sync with the subtle cadence of her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin.

Jude’s touch is gentle, almost meditative, as her fingertips skim over the contours of Frankie’s chest, over the ridges of his scar on his hip, her movements slow and unhurried.

She’s silent, her eyes closed, lost in the tranquillity of their shared silence. Frankie, too, is absorbed in the calm of the moment, the soft hum of the city providing a rhythmic backdrop to the peace he feels lying beside her.

He glances down at Jude, his heart swelling with a mix of emotions - love, uncertainty, and a profound sense of connection. The challenges of their recent life feel distant in this quiet space, overshadowed by the comfort of their closeness. Even the stresses of his meeting this afternoon with Lila Harrington seem to fade into insignificance, replaced by the soothing presence of Jude and the warmth of the dim room.

Neither of them have spoken for a while, content to just be in each other's presence after gasping around kisses and grunts as their bodies writhed together. After everything they’ve been through - everything they’re still going through - these quiet moments feel sacred.

“You okay?” Frankie murmurs, breaking the silence as he gently brushes a strand of hair from Jude’s face. His voice is low, almost a whisper, as if he doesn’t want to disturb the fragile serenity of their moment.

Jude shifts slightly, her eyes fluttering open. She looks up at him, her gaze soft and contemplative. “Yeah,” she says quietly, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Just needed this. You.”

Jude nestles closer, her head resting more comfortably against his chest. The warmth of her body, the steady rhythm of her breathing, seems to dissolve the stress and uncertainty that has been clinging to him.

For a moment, everything else - the meeting, the manuscript, the looming decisions - fades into the background, leaving only the quietness they share.

He closes his eyes, savouring the calm that envelopes them. If he focuses, it’s like they’re laying on the seat cushion bed in the shack, back on the island. Frankie can almost feel the coarse texture of the cushions beneath them, inhales the faint scent of salt and sea air lingering in his memory.

He tightens his hold on her, feeling her warmth seep into him, and allows himself to drift. She’s there, his anchor, his way back if it should mutate.

“Lila. She’s gonna read the draft. Says there’s something there.” Frankie murmurs softly.

Jude’s silent for a moment, her eyes searching his face. “And how do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know,” Frankie admits. “Part of me feels… relieved, I guess. Like, maybe this could be something. But another part of me is fuckin’ scared as hell.”

Jude shifts again, resting her chin on the plate of chest so she can look directly into his eyes. “It’s a big deal, Frankie. What we went through… it’s not just a story to sell. It’s our lives. I understand why you want to tell it, but… do you think we’re really ready for that kind of exposure?”

Frankie meets her gaze, his hand still stroking through her hair. “Do you? I know you said you're okay with it, but tell me honestly - are we doing the right thing?”

She searches deep for something, anything to reassure him. “I don’t know.”

“I just… I’ve been carrying this around for so long. We both have. And when I started writing, it felt like I could finally breathe again. Like maybe, if I put it out there, I could make sense of it all. But I meant what I said, I don’t wanna do it if you’re really not okay with it.”

Jude’s eyes soften, and she presses a gentle kiss to his chest before lying her head back down. “Is this really just about me?”

He doesn’t answer but she knows. She always knows.

“I get it,” she whispers. “I feel the same way sometimes. Like… maybe if we can share it, it’ll hurt a little less. But I’m also scared too, Frankie. I’m scared of what people will say, what they’ll think. They don’t know what it was really like out there.”

Frankie pulls her closer. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” he says quietly. "I mean it."

Jude closes her eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. “I know, but I don’t want to hold you back either,” she says after a moment. “You’ve been through just as much as I have. And if telling this story helps you heal… then maybe it’s worth it.”

Frankie exhales slowly, feeling the weight of her words sink in.

“We’ll do this together,” he confirms, his voice firm but gentle. “Every step of the way. If it gets to be too much, we’ll stop. No matter what.”

Jude nods against his chest, comforted by the promise in his voice. She believes him. They’ve survived the unimaginable together, and they can get through this too.

“I trust you, Frankie,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “Just… promise me we won’t lose ourselves in it. Promise me we’ll still be us, no matter what.”

Frankie leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I promise,” he whispers back.

“Who would you want to play you?” Jude asks after a little while with a bit of whimsy to her voice.

Frankie looks down at her, a bit puzzled. “What?”

“Like, if they made it into a movie, who would you want to play you?” She repeats, her eyes sparkling with a playful glint.

Frankie chuckles. “I haven’t really thought about it, I don’t know who’d fit the bill. You?”

“Sandra Bullock.” She says without hesitation and then giggles.

Frankie bursts into a laugh, his earlier tension melting away in the face of her unexpected choice. “Sandra Bullock? Really?”

Jude giggles, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah, she’s got that blend of toughness and warmth. Plus, she’s pretty great at playing characters who go through some serious shit and come out on top.”

“Yeah, she's a badass. She’d be perfect for you.” He smirks.

For a long time, they lay there in silence, holding each other close. The city outside continues to hum and buzz, but in Jude’s small childhood bedroom, all that matters is them. They’re still figuring things out - how to navigate this new world, how to heal from the scars left behind. But they have each other, and that’s enough.

Eventually, Jude’s breathing slows, and Frankie feels her body relax completely as she drifts off to sleep. He stays awake a little longer, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts still turning over the possibilities ahead. The book is a chance at something new, but it also means reopening wounds that haven’t fully healed, and probably never will, book or no book.

But as he looks down at Jude, peacefully resting in his arms, he knows one thing for sure: whatever comes next, they’ll face it together.

And that gives him the strength to keep moving forward.

A week later and the elevator doors slide open with a quiet ding.

Frankie and Jude both step out into the sleek office hallway. The space is as polished and modern as Frankie remembers, but today, with Jude at his side, the atmosphere feels charged with a new kind of tension.

Frankie gives Jude’s hand a gentle squeeze as they walk toward Lila Harrington’s office, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. Jude’s grip is tight, betraying the calm facade she’s trying to maintain.

Despite the playful banter they’ve shared about their potential movie counterparts, the reality of the situation is far more daunting for her. Jude’s mind is a swirl of apprehensions. The thought of her story being turned into a spectacle, scrutinised by the public and possibly misrepresented, terrifies her in ways she finds difficult to articulate.

She’s always been the quiet observer, the one who prefers to stay behind the camera lens, away from the glaring spotlight. Yet here she is, at the precipice of something much bigger than she’s ever imagined. And it's fucking terrifying.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The enormity of what lays ahead is hard to ignore. Yet, for Frankie’s sake, she’s determined to face it head-on. She owes him that much, and she wants to support him, to be part of this journey, even if it means stepping far outside her comfort zone.

Because that’s the power of love, right? Compromise, sacrifice? Togetherness?

“You good?” he asks her softly.

Jude nods, though her eyes tell a different story. “Yeah,” she whimpers.

Frankie kisses her temple. A moment later, Lila greets them with her usual warm smile. “Frankie, Jude. Great to see you. Come on in, let’s talk.”

As they step inside her office, Frankie’s breath catches slightly. Lila’s office is as sleek and polished as before, but this time, three other people are sitting around a small conference table by the window. They're impeccably dressed, their expressions professional but welcoming.

Lila leads them to the table and gestures for them to sit. “I want to introduce you to a few people who are really excited about your story,” she says as she takes a seat at the head of the table. “This is Sarah Williams, a public relations expert who specialises in book launches. Michael Feldman, a producer with some connections in Hollywood. And this is David Trenchman from Trenchman Legal.”

“A lawyer?” Frankie queries and David simply nods.

“I thought it best to invite David so he can advise on the legal side of things.” Lila explains. “Nothing to be worried about.”

Sarah, a poised woman with short, stylish hair and sharp eyes, leans forward with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’ve been following your story since the news broke about the crash, and I have to say, it’s one of the most compelling survival stories I’ve ever come across.”

Jude swallows tightly as she surveys all of them carefully.

Michael, a slightly older man with silver hair and a relaxed demeanour, nods in agreement. “There’s a lot of interest in what you went through. Once this book gets out there, people are going to want to hear from you - interviews, talk shows, possibly even film adaptations.”

Jude’s grip on Frankie’s hand tightens. He can feel her pulse quickening, but he gives her a reassuring glance before turning back to the others.

“We appreciate the interest,” Frankie says carefully. “But we’re not sure how much of that we’re ready for. We’ve been through a lot, and this isn’t just a story to us. It’s our lives.”

Lila smiles, her voice gentle but firm. “I completely understand, Frankie. And that’s why we’re all here - to make sure this process, should you want to go through with it, is handled with care. But you should know, once this book is published, your lives will absolutely change. The media will want more from you. It won’t just be about what happened on the island; people will want to know how you’re doing now, what your lives look like post-rescue.”

Sarah nods. “You’ll need to be prepared for interviews, appearances, possibly even a book tour. It’s a lot, but we’ll be here to help manage everything, to guide you through it. My experience is with authors who publish real life accounts, traumas… you’ll be in good hands.”

Jude shifts uncomfortably in her chair, her eyes darting between Frankie and the others. “I’m not sure I can handle that kind of attention,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lila leans toward Jude, her tone empathetic. “Jude, it’s perfectly natural to feel that way. What you went through was incredibly traumatic, and I imagine the idea of reliving it in front of cameras is daunting. But I want you to know that you’re in control here. We’ll only do what you’re both comfortable with. If you need time, we’ll take it slow.”

Michael chimes in, his voice calm and reassuring. “Hollywood can be overwhelming, I know. But the beauty of this process is that you get to tell your story on your terms. If you’re not comfortable with something, we won’t push it. But I will say this - your story has the potential to reach a lot of people, to inspire them. That’s why there’s so much interest.”

Frankie glances at Jude, seeing the anxiety etched in her face. He can tell she’s already on the verge of pulling back, of shutting down. He squeezes her hand again, then speaks up.

“Look, we’re not in this for any kind of fame. We didn’t survive a plane crash and over a year on a deserted island to become celebrities. We just wanna share our experience in a way that feels right for us. In a way that can heal us.”

Sarah smiles gently. “And that’s exactly what we want too. This isn’t about turning you into something you’re not. It’s about helping you share your story in a way that’s authentic to who you are. We can tailor everything to fit your comfort level.”

Jude swallows hard, her eyes drifting to the windows as she tries to steady herself. She inherently misses the island now more than ever - its simplicity, its isolation. It had been brutal, but it’d also been an escape from the chaos of the world.

Now, here she is, facing the possibility of being exposed to millions of people, all scrutinising her every move.

Frankie, sensing her turmoil, speaks again. “We don’t have to decide anything today?”

“Of course not.” Lila says. “Today is about giving you the facts. What you can expect if you decide to publish. You’re the ones in control of this. We’re just here to support you, however you need us to.”

Jude takes a deep breath, trying to let their words sink in. She isn’t sure if she can handle what could come of this, but she trusts Frankie. And as long as they’re in this together, she knows she can at least try.

“Alright,” Jude says finally, her voice stronger this time. “Let’s take it slow.”

“You sure?” Frankie says, his thumb running over her knuckles soothingly.

“Yeah. Let’s hear it, what will happen if we decide to do it?”

“Okay. Let’s talk about the financial side of things,” Lila begins. “Once the book is published, and depending on how it performs, you could be looking at a substantial income. There will be royalties, of course, and possibly a large advance if the initial interest is strong enough.”

Sarah, the publicist, nods in agreement. “We’re already seeing significant buzz in the media, which has increased since you came home, which could translate to strong sales if you decide to publish. That, combined with potential film rights, could mean a very lucrative deal for both of you.”

Money. Of course, it’s important - they’ve been scraping by for so long, and neither of them have fully returned to their old lives yet in terms of income and work. But the idea of profiting from their trauma feels strange to Jude. She glances at Frankie, who’s listening intently, jaw tight and eyes focused.

David, the lawyer, clears his throat. “In addition to the book and potential film deals, there’s another matter we should discuss - legal recourse against the airline.”

Jude’s eyes widen, and Frankie’s brow furrows in confusion. “Legal recourse?” Frankie asks.

David nods. “Yes. Given the circumstances of the crash, and the fact that you both endured such extreme hardship as a result, there may be grounds for a lawsuit against the airline or the manufacturers of the aircraft involved. It’s something worth considering, as it could result in significant compensation beyond what you’d earn from the book sales.”

Frankie and Jude exchange glances. Jude looks almost overwhelmed, while Frankie’s expression turns thoughtful. “We haven’t really thought about that,” Frankie admits. “We’ve been focused on just… getting back to normal. What would that even look like?”

David leans back in his chair, his tone calm and measured. “A lawsuit could take time, but in my experience it could be worth it in the long run. You’d need to work with a legal team that specialises in aviation accidents. They would investigate the causes of the crash, whether negligence was involved, and what kind of impact it had on your lives. You both have a compelling case, given what you endured. It would be in the airline's best interest to settle out of court and they probably would to avoid reputational damage, so there's a very strong likelihood that you wouldn’t need to go through a full courtroom process as such. It can just tick away in the background.”

Jude shifts again, feeling uneasy. “But… a lawsuit? Against the airline? Wouldn’t that drag everything out even more? Keep us tied to what happened?”

David nods sympathetically. “It’s a valid concern, Jude. Legal battles can be emotionally draining, and they can take years. But if the airline or manufacturers were at fault, you’re entitled to compensation for what you went through. It’s not just about the money - it’s about holding them accountable and to ensure this doesn’t happen again.”

Frankie’s expression turns serious. “We’re not after revenge, David. We just want to move on with our lives. Would a lawsuit even let us do that?”

David considers his words carefully. “It’s not about revenge, Frankie. It’s about ensuring that you’re taken care of in the long term. The trauma you’ve both endured doesn’t just go away because you’re home now, and there may be ongoing medical or psychological costs. Compensation could help with that. But ultimately, it’s your decision. I’m just advising you of your options and my team is willing to represent you.”

Sarah speaks, her tone compassionate. “And you don’t have to do everything yourself either in terms of the book. You’d have a full team behind you to help manage the media, keep things low-key if that’s what you need. The most important thing is that you both feel comfortable throughout any process you decide to embark on. You’ve been through a lot, we know that. You’d be surprised at how shielded you can be, if you want to.”

Jude takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She appreciates their reassurances, but the weight of everything still presses down on her. She glances at Frankie, who looks calm and focused, but she can see the concern in his eyes too. This is all happening so fast.

“I need time to think. We both do.” Jude says and Frankie looks at her, nodding.

“Yeah. Can we take some time to weigh it all up?”

Lila nods, her expression understanding. “Of course. Just know that if you decide to pursue legal action, the option is there. And if you decide against it, that’s fine too. This is about what’s best for you both.”

After some more conversation, Lila Harrington and her team lay out the various options in full detail. The meeting stretches on, filled with jargon and possibilities that seem to swirl around Frankie and Jude like a dense fog.

Each option presented comes with its own set of complexities and implications - media interviews, promotional tours, legal consultations, and the tantalising but daunting possibility of a film adaptation. All of this before the book has even been printed and distributed.

All before they've even said the singular, yet heavy word, yes.

Frankie and Jude sit patiently through it all, their faces reflecting a mix of confusion and fatigue. The glossy brochures, legal documents, and marketing plans spread out before them only seem to add to the weight of the decision-making process.

Lila leans forward, her expression professional but sympathetic. “I understand this is a lot to process. We’ve covered quite a few avenues for you to consider - each with its own potential benefits and challenges. But the rest is up to you now, we can only move forward if you want to.”

After some more conversation and options explained in full detail, both Frankie and Jude feel like they’re wading through a sludge of choice - too much choice. They leave with a promise to mull it over and Frankie assure he'll be in touch, no matter the decision.

Outside the smoggy air of New York doesn’t go down so easily. Scouting out a place to eat after hours of sitting in the office, Frankie and Jude wander inside an air conditioned burger restaurant, needing sustenance to fuel them through the decision making process.

It’s a lot. But nothing that a mound of chill fries can’t ease for a while anyway.

“So, what do you think after all that?” Frankie queries delicately as he tucks into the platter of minced meat, chilli sauce and zingy jalapeños all sloppily thrown onto a bed of crispy french fries.

It's far too much for someone adjusting to normal food portions again, but he's determined to savour as much of it as his stomach will allow. Jude takes a more measured approach, but she, too, relishes the simple pleasure of some good food after the stress of the meeting.

Jude chews thoughtfully, her eyes fixed on the fries. After a moment, she swallows and looks up, her expression a mix of contemplation and weariness.

“Honestly, it’s all a bit overwhelming. The options are so… vast. I didn’t expect it to feel like this.”

Frankie nods, his own expression reflecting the strain of the day. “Yeah, it’s a lot to take in.”

Jude sighs, picking up a fry and dipping it into the chilli. “I keep thinking about the impact all this will have on us, on our lives. It’s not just about the book anymore. It’s about how everything changes with these choices.”

Frankie takes a sip of his cola, considering her words. “It’s true. We want to share our story, but now it could become this whole… production. It’s hard to know what’s the right move.”

The conversation is punctuated by the clinking of cutlery and the occasional hum of background chatter from other patrons.

"God, these are so fuckin' good," Frankie moans as he shoves more into his mouth.

Jude smiles at Frankie, her eyes softening. “I think we need to focus on what feels right for us, not just what’s the most lucrative or the most glamorous. We need to remember why we've started this in the first place.”

“It’s never been about that.” He says, after swallowing

“I know,” Jude replies.

“But you can’t deny the money would help us… a lot.”

Jude nods. “Yeah. It really would.”

"Do you wanna go back to photography?"

"I haven't thought about it really. I miss it, I guess." She shrugs. "I need a new camera. Get all my contacts again."

"You could do it."

"What about you, you wanna fix helicopter parts still?"

"Maybe. I dunno. The book, the potential lawsuit… it could set us up for the future. We wouldn't have to work if we don't want to."

"Imagine that..." Jude smiles thinly.

Frankie wipes his fingers on a napkin. "Not just for us, but for my son, too. I could give him a good life, you know? One that's fuckin' better than mine."

Jude reaches across the table and takes his hand and squeezes his fingers gently.

"Maybe it means some exposure, but that doesn’t mean we’re selling out, right? Not if it's on our terms. We’re just trying to make something good come out of all this, right?" He concludes.

Jude nods. "Yeah."

They both fall silent for a moment, lost in their own thoughts as they continue to eat. The restaurant's ambient noise and the occasional clatter of dishes are the only sounds breaking the quiet. That is, until a voice cuts through their thoughtful haze.

“Jude!”

Jude’s eyes widen as she looks up, her face paling slightly. “Oh shit…” she grits under her breath, her gaze falling on Nate’s unmistakable figure.

“Is that who I think it is?” Frankie mutters through gritted teeth, not even turning around.

“Yeah.” Jude admits, shooting him a weary glance as Nate is brazenly making his way over to them.

“Great.” Frankie sighs.

Jude forces a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nate. What are you doing here?”

"Why?" Jude queries, confused.

Nate shrugs nonchalantly, as if their previous history is just a minor footnote. And to him, it probably genuinely is.

“Just grabbing a bite. Saw you from across the counter and thought I’d say hi.”

Frankie’s grip on his fork tightens, his knuckles turning white. He watches Nate with a steely gaze, his irritation barely masked under the snap of his cap.

“Looks like you’re interrupting our dinner,” he says, his tone edged with coolness.

“Yeah, but she ain't an old friend though, is she? She’s the woman you fuckin’ cheated on, you piece of shit.”

Nate’s eyes flick briefly to Frankie, a hint of surprise crossing his face before he masks it with a forced friendly demeanour.

“Didn’t mean to intrude, buddy. Just wanted to catch up with an old friend here.”

Nate’s smile falters instantly. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words seem to catch in his throat. Before he can react, Jude’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and reproachful.

“Frankie!” Jude scolds.

Nate’s expression hardens, his facade of casual charm slipping for a moment. He takes a step back as Frankie rises out of his seat and Nate realises he has some height on him.

“Look, amigo-"

"Amigo?" Frankie baulks, looking incredulously at Jude who winces. "¿Este cabrón cree que somos amigos?" He mutters. (This bastard thinks we're friends?)

"-I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, man,” Nate says, his tone now defensive. “I just wanted to say hello-”

“Hello. Now fuck off.” Frankie warns sinisterly, his hand curling into a tight fist.

Jude takes a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly as she speaks to Nate. “Just go, Nate. I told you. I don’t wanna see you again.”

Nate gives a curt nod, his gaze lingering on Jude for a moment before he turns and walks away, completely out of the restaurant. The tension in the air seems to dissipate as he disappears from view.

Frankie sits down and picks up his fork again and looks at Jude who's eyeing him. “I’m not sorry. That guy is a fuckin'… pendejo.” (Asshole)

Frankie can’t help but smirk as he stabs at his fries with a bit more force than necessary. The anger has melted into something softer, his focus shifting back to the comfort of their shared moment.

Jude smiles. “I know.” She chuckles. "He literally shit himself when you stood up."

"I saw."

"It was kinda hot."

“You know I love you so much, right?” Jude smiles. She reaches out, intertwining her fingers with his, the simple touch grounding them both.

Frankie raises an eyebrow playfully, his smirk widening. “No,” he quips. “I think you need to explain it to me all over again.”

Jude’s grin broadens as she leans in, her eyes never leaving his. “Finish your fries and I’ll show you instead."

Before Frankie can reply, Jude leans closer and presses a gentle kiss to his fuzzy lips over the plate, the contact warm and sweet.

Frankie’s breath hitches slightly, his eyes closing as he loses himself in the hypnotism of her kiss.

“Fuck the damn fries,” he murmurs against her lips, his voice a low, and hungry.

He deepens the kiss, holding her face in his large hands, feeling the world around them fade away.

His hands roam with a reverent touch, each movement calculated to elicit the maximum response.

Frankie trails his fingers down her body, his touch growing more urgent. Jude’s breath hitches as explores the landscape of her with a delicate, probing intensity.

He listens to the soft whimpers that escape her lips, the way her body responds to his touch. He slides his fingers into her mouth with her guiding him, the sensation of her warm, soft lips against his skin sends a shiver through him, tongue lapping in between.

“Mírate, estás tan hermosa así, toda extendida para mí…” (Look at you, you're so beautiful like this, all spread out for me.) He murmurs low and husky.

She smiles around his fingers before he pulls them out, shiny in the dim light and stringed with her saliva. He reaches down and slides them inside her pussy that’s ready for him, wet and so fucking tight.

“Frankie,” she whines almost immediately as he pumps them inside her, brushing against the spot that makes her see stars amongst the clouds.

Jude runs her hand down his chest, her fingers tracing the taut muscles beneath his skin and rubbing gently against the soft paunch of his stomach. As she whimpers and bucks beneath him, Frankie’s fingers move with a dizzying rhythm.

His lengthy digits continue their intimate exploration, pushing her boundaries even as she’s already on the verge of being spent. The stressful day capped off with them both spent tangled up in each other. He's lost count of the amount of times they've both come.

He draws more and more of her out, each movement designed to deepen her pleasure and expose her to him, hollow her out for him to fill the space again.

Her eyes, fill with a mixture of awe and surrender, locked onto him. In them, Frankie sees the raw truth of her emotions, laid bare and unguarded. Her gaze is a silent plea and a confession, a mirror reflecting the profound connection they share. She’s always been his way home, his way out of the drowning. Cracking through his defences, revealing the depth of his own vulnerability, his awe - his love.

She’s not afraid to be lost with him, not when they’re alone together, cocooned away from the rest of the world. In their own private sanctuary, they create an island of their own, a place where they can simply exist without the constraints of outside expectations, like gravity holding him steady.

Frankie’s lips brush against Jude’s neck with a tender yet fervent touch. He traces a slow, deliberate path along her skin, his tongue flicking out to taste the salty warmth of her flesh. His breath hot against her neck, each exhale creating a shudder that travels down her spine.

As he licks the salt from her skin, his teeth nip playfully at the delicate curve of her neck, the gentle pressure causing her to gasp softly. His nose is buried into the softness of her skin, pressing deeply as he inhales the heady mix of her natural scent and the lingering trace of the island.

The scent is intoxicating, a unique blend that makes his senses reel with desire. With each inhale, he lets out a wanton groan that vibrates against her skin, his body responding instinctively to the closeness. His fingers, warm and trembling slightly, graze across the sensitive peaks of her nipples, fingertips skimming over the taut, pebbled flesh with deliberate slowness.

“I need you inside me,” Jude gasps, five little words that are his complete annihilation.

Frankie shifts, drawing her close with a fervent urgency as he aligns himself with her. As he pushes his cock into her soaked folds, the contact is electric, a visceral wave of pleasure coursing through both of them. Each inch that slides into her is met with a pelt of shared ecstasy, the tightness and heat sucking him deeper.

Frankie’s hips becomes urgent, his fingers pressing down gently into marrow. He continues to explore her neck, his lips and tongue creating a trail of fire that burns her up. Sucking and biting on her nipples as she squeals and pants.

The space between them shrinks into a tight bubble of unbreathable heat, their bodies aligning perfectly as if guided by an unspoken rhythm.

“Frankie,” she murmurs, her voice trembling.

“Mm,” he rumbles against her neck, his lips grazing her skin as he speaks. "Tell me, hermosa."

Jude gasps softly, her fingers gripping his shoulders. “Please… don’t stop.”

“Not planning to,” Frankie’s voice is a low, heavy whisper, his tongue growing more insistent as it flicks and teases. “Not until you come. Are you gonna for me?”

"Yeah, fuck!"

It smashes into her like waves, lifting her off her feet and tumbling into the water. It fills her every sense, his skin against hers, the gentle nip of his teeth, the caress of his fingers, the grind of his hips as he brushes deep inside her, creating a whirlwind that blurs the lines between desire and reality.

Her legs are tightening around his torso and he can feel the clenching around his cock nestled deeply in her saturated cunt. He’s making her lose her shit again and he can’t hold on anymore himself. It's pointless to fight it, she owns every part of him.

Giving into crazed fury, Frankie kisses her, scraping his teeth against her bottom lip. She hiccups against his mouth like she’s drunk - punch drunk on all of him. She's an addict, too.

Jude’s body tenses, then relaxes in a calm oasis of pleasure, her moans mingling with Frankie’s deep, satisfied groans as she clenches around him, tongues socketing in each other's mouths. Crushed against him in the safe haven in his strong arms, biting into his shoulder as he grunts.

His body is a corona - burning bright as the sun and the heat is just as engulfing as the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, down his back. She’s squeezing deliberately tight around him to make him push through that bit harder; to make it last that bit longer for him, both desperate to hang onto this moment, forever.

"Fuck, Jude," he groans, his voice rough and waning. "You’re driving me insane. I can’t hold back... I’m coming, shit.”

He pumps out inside of her, feeling her buck against him in that moment where her body milks him for all he has.

“I love you,” Jude whispers to him gently, kissing over his pink face with adoration.

She’s embedded in his every thought, surging through his veins and behind his closed eyelids at night. She’s his constant, the tide that drowns out everything else and pulls him under with its force.

“Mm, I love you,” Frankie murmurs, his voice heavy with exhaustion and satisfaction as he collapses on top of her, their bodies entangled in a warm, sated embrace. He stays that way, shrinking inside her, pooling and warm.

They lay there together, breaths steadying and limbs entwined, lost in a moment where time seems to stand still. He feels her scritch around his damp curls stuck to his nape and thinks about nothing else except that tingly feeling, until her voice rouses him back to shore.

“Frankie?”

“Mm,” he murmurs, his voice dreamy and distant, still half-lost in the afterglow, a place filled with bonfires, galaxies and furry little monkeys.

"Let's publish."

He turns his head up to find her eyes in the dim light. “You’re sure?”

The decision to publish the book feels like a significant step forward, a necessary one in some ways; it can offer security, even closure to some degree, but she knows there’s more to address. “But, there’s something else.”

Jude’s eyes are steady, unwavering. She nods slowly, the warmth of her conviction evident in the gentle firmness of her expression.

“I’m sure,” she confirms gently.

Jude takes a steadying breath, feeling the weight of her next words pressing on her. Like they have been for a while, slowly growing in weight and size. She's tried ignoring it, tried to extinguish it, but it's been fruitless. There's only one way to silence the tide completely.

Frankie, still lying beside her, sits upright with a look of curiosity and concern. He props himself up on his elbow, the other hand resting protectively on her stomach, his touch warm and reassuring.

“Tell me,” he urges, his voice soft yet filled with a hint of anticipation.

She reaches up, her fingers gently brushing the stray curls that have fallen into Frankie’s face, tucking them away behind his ears with a tender care.

Her voice is steady but laced with a quiet intensity. “We can publish, but on one condition.”

Frankie’s brow furrows slightly, his interest piqued. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, a mixture of curiosity and reassurance.

“Name it,” he says, eager to understand what’s on her mind. "You know I'll do anything for you, hermosa."

Jude takes another deep breath, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

“I want to go back to the island.”

To be continued...

SERIES MASTERLIST | CHAPTER 22

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

@suzdin @missladym1981 @millennial-teenybopper @msjarvis

@burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi @sin-djarin @jessthebaker

@rhoorl @disassociation-daydreams @quinnnfabrgay @chronically-ghosted @fuckyeahdindjarin

@chiriwritesstuff @copperhalfcent @bluestar22x @5oh5 @gobaaby-blog-blog

@myloveistoolittle @pastawench @maggiemayhemnj @secretelephanttattoo @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@thethirstwivesclub @seratuyo @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @toomanytookas @survivingandenduring

@lizzie-cakes @sawymredfox @iloveenya @elegantduckturtle @covetyou

@undercoverpena @connectioneverywhere @trulybetty @nerdieforpedro @thisneozonerecs

@sir-thisisadndserver @anavatazes @doughmonkey @lilmizmoz @sukitruqui

@76bookworm76 @weho2kcmo @tanzthompson

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iloveenya · 28 days

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⚠️ WARNING ⚠️

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iloveenya · 1 month

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Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 20

And if they can both survive the island together, they can survive anything, right?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Jude

Chapter Word Count: 8.2k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter Notes: Frankie and Jude deal with the aftermath of Frankie's revelation. Mentions of previous miscarriage and descriptions of drugs & addiciton.

Enjoy! 🖤

A week later...

“Tell me how it felt when you finally got back to the US.” The woman nudges softly.

Jane her name is, or is it Jen? She has a gentle face either way, offering sincere reassurance and an air of non-judgment that seems almost a prerequisite for therapists, Jude supposes.

Jude shifts in her seat, a large, plush couch that threatens to swallow her whole, her eyes tracing the patterns on the pale blue walls. Everything is blue here: the soft, duck egg paint, the carpet underfoot a slightly darker cerulean hue. The colour is meant to be calming, but it reminds her too much of the endless ocean, the same one that trapped her for so long.

She flinches, suddenly noticing a ripple in the shag. For a split second, it looks like a wave. Her heart skips a beat, and she instinctively lifts her foot up onto the couch, as if the water might reach out and pull her back under.

She takes a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the present, on the safety of this room.

It’s an odd thought, how a singular room in a nondescript brick building across the bustle of the busy city can be considered “safe.” In a metropolis where chaos is the norm and anonymity is a given, this room stands out as an unlikely sanctuary.

The city, separated by a large pane of glass, is a whirlwind of activity, with its streets teeming with people, the constant blare of horns, the rumble of subway trains, and the flicker of neon signs. New York City is a place of relentless energy, where the pace is fast, and the noise is ringing and ceaseless against your eardrum.

Yet here, in this small, unassuming room, there’s an eerie stillness. The kind of stillness that feels almost unnatural in the heart of a bustling city like the Big Apple.

Her mother was right; she probably did need therapy of some kind. Her mother had seen the signs - the constant haunted look in Jude’s eyes, the way she flinched at sudden noises, the exhaustion that seemed to weigh her down continuously. You need to talk to someone, baby, her mother had said relentlessly, her voice filled with concern. You’ve been through so much. It’s okay to need help.

At first, Jude resisted that help. She didn’t want to admit that she was struggling, that the island had left deeper scars than she cared to acknowledge.

But the nightmares were insufferable, haunting her every attempt at rest. Each night, she was plunged back into the terrifying memories of the island - the isolation, the fight for survival, the constant fear. In her dreams, the line between past and present blurred, leaving her disoriented and breathless when she woke, the sheets tangled around her like the vines she and Frankie had braided together on the beach.

Routines, once so easy and natural, had become almost insurmountable obstacles. The simplest tasks felt like monumental challenges. Grocery shopping overwhelmed her with its bright lights and endless choices, the noise and activity a stark contrast to the simplicity of fishing in the peaceful bay. Public transportation, with its crowds and tight, confined spaces, triggered endless waves of anxiety, her heart racing and palms sweating as she fought to keep her composure.

Even basic social interactions, which she once navigated with confident ease, now felt like navigating a minefield; every conversation a potential source of stress and confusion.

Jude glances around the room, taking in the framed certificates on the wall, the potted plants that add a touch of artificial greenery, the abstract painting that dominates the space above the other couch in front of her where the therapist sits.

Everything is carefully chosen to create an atmosphere of calm, to provide a sanctuary where she can confront her fears and begin to heal. Yet the stillness, the very calmness of the room, is a jarring reminder of how far she feels from that peace.

She takes another deep breath and tries to gather her thoughts. “I don’t know.”

Jude pauses. She can almost hear the engine's hum, a steady, mechanical growl that grows louder with each passing second. She feels the salt on her skin, the sting of the spray as it hits her face, mingling with the sweat and grime of countless months spent fighting for survival.

The memory is vividly cruel, pulling her back to that moment with startling clarity, as if she were standing on the shore again, watching salvation approach and pinching at her sun-beaten skin to convince her it’s real.

But how did she feel?

It's like there's a void - a dissonance where feeling ought to be. She can recall the physical sensations with precision, but the emotions are elusive, shrouded in a hazy fog as she thinks about it. She remembers turning back to the island, her eyes scanning the familiar landscape that had been both prison and sanctuary as it grew smaller in the distance.

Come back, Jude.

She had thought she'd feel relief, joy even, at the sight of the boat. Yet, there was an unexpected heaviness in her chest. The beach, with its jagged rocks and grasses, had been her world for so long. Each corner held memories of survival, of struggles and small victories, of moments of connection and isolation.

The thought of leaving it all behind was disorienting, like stepping off a precipice into the dark unknown.

“I was...” The word feels like a lump in her throat, a constriction expanding against her airways, “scared.”

The therapist's gentle face remains composed, encouraging her to delve deeper. "Scared? Can you tell me more about that?"

Jude swallows hard, her fingers clenching in her lap. “It was supposed to be a rescue, the end of our nightmare, right? But when I saw that boat, I just... panicked.”

Her gaze shifts to the floor, her fingers still gripping her lap as though they might anchor her to the present moment.

“On the island,” Jude continues, her voice distant, “every day was about survival. We were stripped down to the basics - food, water, shelter. We had nothing. We relied on each other completely. There was this… this open rawness to everything. It was terrifying, but it was also simple, in a way. Our world was tiny, but it was ours.”

She can see Frankie's bronzed face, smiling up at her, eyes crinkling in the glare of the sun from under his worn baseball cap. His laughter echoes in her ears, a sound that had become a rare comfort in the harshness of their existence. His soft curls billowed in the wind as he tossed a fish at her with that crooked grin as they splashed about in the bay.

The simplicity of their life on the island was stark. Each day brought the same challenges: finding food, securing fresh water, maintaining their shelter. A never-ending Groundhog Day of brutality. Yet within that simplicity was a profound sense of purpose. Every action had meaning, every small victory a testament to their endurance.

They had learned to read the signs of nature, to anticipate the weather, to make the most of what little they had. The routine of survival, though gruelling, was also grounding in its harshness. It anchored them in the present, leaving little room for the complexities and anxieties that had once dominated their lives.

Jude can feel the warmth from the fire warming her toes as Frankie holds her in his arms on the beach front. The memory is so tangible, she can hear the crackling of the flames, see the flickering light dancing across his face in the shadows.

They would sit there for hours, wrapped in a blanket of shared, companionable silence. The sky, unobstructed by city lights, stretched endlessly above them, a canvas of glittering constellations. Each star seemed brighter, closer, as if the universe itself was keeping them company.

Frankie’s presence was her anchor. His strength, his unyielding dexterity for navigating the rugged terrain, were lifelines she clung to. The way he looked at her, with a mix of determination and tenderness, made her believe they could conquer anything. Together, they had faced the elements, battled hunger and fatigue, and forged a bond that felt unbreakable.

In his arms, she found a solace that went beyond words, a connection that was pure and unfiltered.

“It sounds like the boat represented both hope and fear for you. It was the end of one ordeal but also the beginning of another unknown.” The therapist’s expression softens further, her voice soothing. “It's understandable, Jude. Trauma doesn’t end when the immediate danger is over. It lingers, affecting how we see the world, how we relate to others.”

Jude’s fingers play with a loose thread on her sleeve as she gathers her thoughts. “I guess.”

The therapist leans in slightly, her eyes kind and attentive. “How have you and Frankie maintained your relationship since being back?”

“I…” Jude sighs. “I stupidly thought that being apart from one another for a little while would give us some time to adjust. To sort our lives out.”

“Why do you think that’s stupid?”

Because I’m losing him.

“He’s different,” she winces, her voice barely a whisper. “Or maybe I’m different. Maybe we both are, I dunno.”

She looks up, meeting the therapist’s eyes. “I see him, and I see the person who held me through the worst time of my life. But I also see someone who’s slipping away from me.”

“Why do you think he’s slipping away?”

Her breath catches in her throat, a hesitation, a slip. A painful reminder of his eyes as he told her.

Jude, I…I have a son.

The words had hung in the air, heavy and inescapable, shattering the fragile peace they had been trying to rebuild. Jude closes her eyes, the scene replaying in her mind with painful clarity.

Frankie had waited as he urged her to say something, to talk to him. For her to tell him what was going through her mind at his sudden and stark admission. But there were no words she could offer him, even as his eyes glazed over with water. He said they could work this out, that it didn't change anything between them.

But it changed everything.

She could still see the desperation in his eyes, the way he leaned forward, his large, terrified hands reaching out to hers, seeking reassurance that she didn’t know how to give. The silence between them was thick, almost suffocating. It was as if the very air around them had turned to lead, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

Frankie’s voice, usually so steady and comforting, had a tremor to it, a pleading edge that tore at her heart.

“Hermosa, we can work this out,” he'd said, his voice cracking. “This doesn’t change anything between us. We’ve been through so much together, Jude. We can handle this too.”

Jude could feel the shift, the seismic rift that had now opened up between them. Her silence spoke volumes, each moment that passed deepening the chasm between them.

Frankie’s hands, still outstretched, trembled before he pulled them back, his fingers curling into fists.

But Jude’s mind was a whirlwind, a chaotic storm of emotions that she couldn’t untangle. She wanted to scream, to cry, to lash out at the unfairness of it all. How could they go from the simplicity of survival on the island to the complexity of this new revelation? How could she reconcile the Frankie she knew with this new reality?

Instead, he was forced to watch as she simply got dressed, not saying anything to him, and left the room. That was nearly a week ago, and he’d tried to call, but what could she say?

What could he say to make it all okay? Perhaps she was being irrational, unfair. It wasn’t his fault; he couldn’t have known he had a son. Could he?

Punishing him with her silence felt unjust. She knew she should talk to him, should assure him that of course she’d be supportive and there to help him navigate the throes of new fatherhood. But there was something else there, something else scratching at her belly skin with thick talons and leaving the wounds to weep and scab.

"We... lost a baby on the island. I-I had a miscarriage," Jude explains to the therapist, her voice trembling.

The therapist’s face remains calm and composed. "That must have been incredibly difficult, Jude. I can’t imagine the pain you went through."

She pauses, gathering her thoughts, the memories flooding back with a painful clarity. "We didn’t even know I was pregnant until it happened. We weren't trying or anything. We were just... reckless, I guess?”

"Not reckless. You were in love."

"Yeah." Jude croaks.

The therapist leans forward slightly, her eyes filled with empathy. "And now, learning about Frankie’s son must have brought all those feelings back."

Jude nods, sniffing and wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “I know I need to talk to him, but I honestly don’t know what to say. I want to be happy for him, support him. I just... I don’t want to burden him with my pain anymore."

"You’re not a burden," the therapist reassures her. "You’re his partner, and he loves you. Sharing your feelings is a way of strengthening your connection, not weakening it." She pushes a box of tissues towards Jude. “Do you think that Frankie recognises that? That maybe, perhaps the reason he didn’t tell you right away about his son, is because he didn’t want to cause the both of you any more pain?”

“That’s what he said.” Jude nods.

“So, why don’t you believe him?”

Jude’s gaze drops to the floor, her fingers gripping the tissue tightly. The question seems simple, but the answer is entangled in layers of fear and uncertainty.

“I want to believe him,” she says softly. “But it’s hard. If he was trying to protect me, why didn’t he trust me with the truth from the beginning? Why hide something so significant?” Jude sniffs hard. “It makes me feel that if he can keep that from me, what else could he…?”

The therapist nods understandingly. “It’s natural to feel betrayed when someone you love keeps something important from you. Trust is a foundational part of any relationship, and when it’s compromised, it’s normal to feel hurt and confused. Frankie’s intention might have been to protect you, but the impact of his actions still needs to be acknowledged and addressed.”

“I hate it, I hate how it sounds.”

“Do you really believe his intention was to hurt you by not telling you right away? From what you’ve told me about him, it seems Frankie cares very much about your feelings.”

“He does. I just... Sometimes, I wish…” Jude trails off, unsure if she should finish that sentence or not.

“What do you wish, Jude?” The therapist asks her, gently.

She closes her eyes and is transported back to the island, walking up the beach to see Frankie crouched over the fire cooking fish on the flat stone and smiling over at her as she checks the solar stills.

She can feel the sand between her toes again; Egon’s claws on her shoulder and the coarse hair of Frankie’s beard as he kisses the inside of her thighs on the bed of seat cushions.

Life was simpler on the island. No stress, no anxiety about work and earning money. No-one hounding her to take her picture and get her comments about being back home. There’s no bumping into Nate and seeing that he hasn’t changed at all. Frankie doesn't have a son.

There's no confusion, no interference - no outside noise bleeding in.

There’s just her and Frankie on their island; their sweet sanctuary together and cut off from the world, which as it turns out, is immensely suffocating, vicious and draining. It's only now that Jude realises that the island wasn’t hell at all, in fact it was a paradise.

Hell is being back here.

“I wish that we were never rescued.” Jude gasps, the tears falling hard down her face.

Frankie checks his phone again, even though barely more than a few minutes have passed since the last time.

A jittery itch crawls at the back of his mind, a strange, throbbing compression that seems to expand inside his skull the longer time stretches between them.

He should’ve told her as soon as he found out himself, should’ve picked up the fuckin’ phone and called her immediately. The seconds feel like hours, a relentless passage of time that only serves to deepen his anxiety.

He can’t believe he just let her walk out of that room, didn’t even attempt to pull her back or insist she stay. He just did… nothing.

No hiciste nada, hijo de puta. Simplemente no hiciste… nada. (You did nothing, you son of a bitch. You just did… nothing.)

Frankie paces in front of the community centre, the Floridian sun blazing overhead and searing into the back of his reddening neck. The heat is oppressive, a constant reminder of his discomfort and mounting stress.

Every step feels heavy, weighed down by the dread of what might come next. A car pulls up, and the familiar sight of his sponsor Eddie emerges. Eddie bounds up to him with a wide grin, his jaunty presence a jarring contrast to Frankie’s internal turmoil.

He already wants to punch him.

“Frank!” Eddie calls out, his voice boisterous and warm. He envelops Frankie in a hug that carries the faint, stagnant odour of sweat - a smell that seems to seep through the fabric of Eddie’s clothes, mingling with the salty heat of the day. “I’m glad you changed your mind,” Eddie continues, clapping Frankie on the back with a hearty slap. “It’s good to see ya here again.”

Frankie forces a smile, trying to mask the tension that knots in his stomach. He nods and follows Eddie into the building reluctantly, their footsteps echoing off the walls.

As they enter the community centre, the familiar surroundings offer a bittersweet sense of comfort. Frankie knows he needs to face returning to group therapy sooner or later. It’s a necessary step, a way to regain some semblance of control over his life and manage his stressors.

And he promised Carla he’d sort his shit out for his son. He wants to do things right, to reassure her that he’s committed to being a father. But the weight of his own mistakes with Jude and the guilt of not coming clean sooner are a constant burden, making it hard to fully engage in the group session as he zones out continuously whilst the others speak.

He knows he can’t afford to falter again, not with a small version of himself now relying on him to get his shit together. The responsibility of fatherhood looms large, adding another layer of pressure to his already strained psyche.

After the session, Frankie lingers at the table spread with coffee and an array of sad, wilted snacks. The chips sit alongside a bowl of dip that’s begun to separate and congeal. The scene is as uninspiring as his mood.

Eddie’s voice cuts through the gloom, warm and teasing. “You ain’t gonna drink that shit, are ya?” he cajoles, gesturing toward the scratched coffee pot and the stale offerings. “Come on, let’s get some decent coffee, huh?”

Frankie looks up, catching Eddie’s eye and forcing a tired smile. Eddie’s presence is a welcome distraction, a familiar anchor in the turbulent sea of his thoughts, despite his initial hesitation to come back here.

He nods, feeling a small surge of gratitude that Eddie won’t let him off so easily. He always was a stubborn asshole and Frankie kinda likes that about him.

“Yeah, guía el camino, hermano,” Frankie replies, pushing away from the table and following Eddie out of the community centre. (Lead the way, brother.)

A short drive later, they pull up to a shabby-chic café they used to frequent after sessions - a place that holds a comforting nostalgia. The café is bathed in the soft glow of warm lights, its exterior unchanged by the passage of time.

Frankie remembers how this spot had been a haven of sorts, a place where he could unwind and purge his thoughts with Eddie’s patient ear.

They squeeze into their old booth, the same one they used to settle into after sessions as a ritual of kinds. The worn upholstery feels oddly comforting beneath Frankie’s tired frame. He looks around, taking in the familiar surroundings - the quirky decor on the walls, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and the gentle hum of Latino conversation from other patrons. It feels like a piece of normalcy amidst the chaos of his life.

“Better than that shit they serve at the centre, eh?” Eddie remarks as Frankie takes a gulp from his mug. The rich, inviting aroma of the coffee fills Frankie’s senses, a stark contrast to the burnt smell of the communal crap.

“Definitely better,” he agrees, the taste rich and smooth, a small but significant comfort.

“So, how’s it going, man?” Eddie’s expression is a mixture of concern and camaraderie.

“You really wanna ask me that?” Frankie remarks, mug held poised above his lips, his elbow pressed into the table.

“You’re back from the dead. Time for a do over, right?” His gap toothed grin is wide, almost too bright despite the decay from his teeth, as if the very act of asking the question might somehow dispel the gloom hanging over Frankie.

Frankie scoffs, his frustration palpable. He sets his coffee mug down with a thud, the rich aroma of the drink no longer enough to comfort him. Instead, he finds himself lost in the dark depths of the liquid, the swirling steam rising in wisps that blend with the fog of his thoughts.

“Seriously, how are you doing, really?” Eddie presses, his voice softening, revealing the depth of his concern.

“You know, you're the first person to really ask me that since I got back.” Frankie’s shoulders slump slightly as he takes a deep breath, the weight of his own failures pressing down on him.

He looks up at Eddie, his eyes reflecting a deep-seated frustration and self-reproach. “I’m fuckin’ it up,” he admits, the words escaping his lips with a mixture of defeat and resignation. There’s no pretence in his voice, no attempt to gloss over the harsh reality of his situation.

Eddie leans forward, his tone steady and supportive. “It’s okay to feel like you’re messing up, man. That’s part of the healing process.” Eddie offers a reassuring smile, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of Frankie’s emotions. “One step at a time, Frank. It’s not about seeing the whole path right now. It’s about taking the next step, however small it might be.”

“You’re full of shit, you know that?” Frankie looks up from his coffee, the warmth of the mug barely registering as Eddie's words cut through the fog of his thoughts. A small smirk slips from his fuzzy lips.

“Can I ask you something?” Eddie’s tone is serious, carrying a weight that makes Frankie sit up a little straighter. “You been tempted, since you’ve been back?”

Frankie’s initial reaction is to shake his head, a reflexive denial that feels almost automatic.

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together, a mixture of scepticism and concern in his gaze. “Not at all?”

Frankie hesitates, the honesty weighing heavily on him. “I know if I want it, I could find it,” he admits, his voice low. “S'not that hard.”

He’s lying, of course. There was a moment he was tempted. A terrifying moment just days ago, that gnawed at the edges of Frankie’s resolve.

He had actively sought it out, the temptation that lurked in the shadows of his mind, a siren call that had grown increasingly difficult to ignore. When he finally tracked it down, he found he was right - it was disturbingly easy. The old haunts, the grimy corners and dimly lit alleyways, were all still there, unabashedly offering the same dangerous solace.

A rush of adrenaline surged through him as he made the quick exchange - crumpled, damp cash for a small baggie. The transaction felt almost mechanical, yet it was charged with an unsettling familiarity. There it was, on the coffee table before him in Benny’s apartment, the cocaine, a stark white reminder of his past battles. It sat there, taunting him with its presence, a silent challenge to his hard-fought sobriety.

The room seemed to shrink around him, the air thick with a palpable tension. Blissful inertia, mere inches away, was a smirking adversary, its allure both undeniable and horrifying. Frankie could almost feel the crystalline powder’s sharp bite, its seductive promise of escape.

The process was laid out in his mind with painful clarity - open the bag, tip out a line, prepare, and snort. Four simple movements, a sequence he had executed countless times before, and he would be back in that heady state of euphoria, momentarily free from the grinding weight of his current reality.

His heart pounded against his ribs, a relentless drumbeat of anxiety and desire. Sweat began to bead at the back of his neck, trickling down in small rivulets as his breathing grew uneven.

He stared at the cocaine hard, his mind racing through the scenarios. How Benny could come home at any second and find him grappling with his resolve. Or perhaps he’d find him passed out on the couch with the bag empty on the floor by his feet. He could feel the temptation clawing at him, each thought more insistent than the last.

The notion of tossing it all aside and succumbing to the high was almost palpable. The thought was too seductive - a way out of the hell he felt trapped in, a shortcut to a sweet oblivion where all his troubles could dissolve into nothingness.

In that charged moment, the battle was visceral. His fingers twitched, a reflexive response to the call of the drug, yearning to grasp it, to rip open the baggie and drown his current misery in its numbing embrace. The conflict inside him was almost physical, a push and pull between his desire for immediate escape and his determination to stay clean.

The reality of what he was risking loomed large. The progress he had made, the stability he had fought for - it all seemed to hang in the balance, precarious and fragile. Could he really throw it all away for a few moments of fleeting euphoria? His mind screamed at him, weighing the potential high against the devastating fallout of a relapse.

The image of Jude flashed in his mind, her face a mixture of hope and concern, her unwavering belief in him. His son, too, was a poignant reminder of what was at stake. He could lose everything again in a simple snort.

With a surge of determination, Frankie reached for the baggie, his movements deliberate and resolute. The decision was made. He walked swiftly to the bathroom, his heart pounding in his chest, each step so fucking heavy.

He turned on the faucet, the sound of running water a soothing counterpoint to the chaos in his mind. Without hesitation, he tore it open, the cocaine spilling out in a cascade of white. With a resolute breath, he let the powder wash down the sink, watching as it was swallowed away by the torrent of water.

And then Frankie sank to his knees on the dulled tiled floor, sobbing and wailing until he couldn’t breathe.

Eddie nods slowly, his understanding evident. “No, it’s not that hard,” he agrees, his voice steady.

Frankie looks down at his coffee, the swirling liquid reflecting his turmoil. “I dunno, man. It kinda feels different, you know?”

Eddie’s gaze softens, the empathy in his eyes palpable. “No. I don’t know,” he says, his voice taking on a more contemplative tone. “I have no fucking idea what this past year has been like for you, Frank. What you went through on that island. And if you had cravings... well, shit, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t turn back to the drugs when things got tough in my own recovery. I relapsed twice.”

Frankie’s eyes widen slightly, the admission surprising him. “You did?”

Eddie gives a small, rueful smile. “Yeah. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s part of my story. Recovery isn’t a straight line.”

Frankie’s curiosity is piqued, a flicker of hope in the midst of his confusion. “What changed this time?”

Eddie’s expression turns serious again, the weight of his words evident. “Nothing. Not really. I’m a recovering addict, I always will be. So will you. It’s not if, it’s when. It’s always about the when. But you can break those triggers, you can identify and manage them, then the when gets further and further away, you know?”

“You’re going hard with the pro-therapy there.”

Eddie smirks, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I’ve always been pro-therapy, motherfucker,” he replies with a casual shrug. “Talking… it's hard, but it’s good shit. You gotta participate.”

Frankie’s jaw clenches, and he grinds his teeth together. “That don’t work for me.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “That’s ‘cause it’s been ingrained, soldier boy. Me man, feelings bad.” He punches his own chest for emphasis.

“Puta,” (bitch) Frankie tuts and hesitates, his gaze dropping to the coffee cup in his hands. “I’ve been writing… in a journal. Started it on the island, but then… started it up again when I got back.”

Eddie’s interest piques, and he nods encouragingly. “Does it help?”

“It’s uh, harshly fuckin' confronting. But yeah.” Frankie takes a deep breath. “I found out I got a kid,” he says.

Eddie’s eyes widen in surprise, and a grin spreads across his face. “Well shit, you dog,” he exclaims, his tone playful yet genuine. “You crash on the love island or something?”

Frankie smirks, a small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Nah. It ain’t like that,” he replies, shaking his head. “I found out when I got back. My ex. I had no fuckin' idea. Todo se ha ido al carajo.” (It’s all gone to shit.)

Eddie leans back, studying Frankie with an understanding gaze. “And you’ve stayed clean?”

Frankie nods once firmly.

Eddie’s grin fades, replaced by a look of deep respect. “Pshoo. That’s some serious strength, man.”

Frankie glances out the window. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“So, what are you gonna do, Frank?” Eddie asks poignantly. “You gonna sit and wallow in your shit, or you gonna make something out of it?”

Two days later...

Frankie stands on the step, his hands fidgeting nervously as he scratches the back of his head, trying to calm the tumult of emotions swirling inside him.

His breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts, the anticipation almost unbearable as he waits. Each passing second feels like an eternity, his mind racing with a mix of hope, regret, and fear about how this encounter might unfold.

He just hopes she won’t slam the door in his face.

The door creaks open slowly, and he catches a glimpse of Jude’s face through the narrow crack. His heart skips a beat as he watches her expression shift from shock to something more profound.

The surprise that initially contorts her features gradually melts away, giving way to a softer, more vulnerable relief. Her eyes, wide and searching, lock onto his and he forgets to breathe. He's there again, drowning in the ocean, the water filling his lungs.

Before he can fully process the change in her expression, Jude takes a decisive step forward. The space between them closes in an instant. There’s no hesitation in her movements; she simply reaches out and wraps her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace that speaks volumes, more than words ever could.

Frankie responds instinctively, his arms encircling her with a desperate need for connection. He cradles her tightly against his chest, holding her close as if afraid she might disappear.

“Hey,” he murmurs into her crown.

She looks up at him, chin pressed into chest, and smiles. “Hey, yourself.”

He kisses her, lips mashing in a desperate need. Frankie’s hands grip her face, his fingers splayed across her cheeks as if to pull her closer, to anchor her against him. His breath comes in quick, shallow bursts, mingling with hers as their mouths move together and tongues seek out one another.

Frankie clings to Jude with a sense of desperate need, his arms wrap around her with a fierce, almost primal intensity, grounding himself amidst the emotional storm swirling around him. The crush of their bodies, the warmth and softness of her pressed up against him, provides a sense of security and belonging that he’s been missing for so long being away from her.

He decides right there and then he never wants to be away from her again. Not even for an agonising second, even if it seems selfish.

“I’m a fuckin’ mess without you, hermosa.” He whimpers, his voice cracking.

“Me too,” she admits, watery-eyed.

“I’m so sorry-”

“No, I’m sorry, Frankie. I should’ve stayed, talked to you.” Her voice is almost wistful as she looks at him, the weight of her words evident in her tone. She glances around noticing the absence of any bags. “Are you staying somewhere?”

“No. Just got the urge to get on a plane to come see you, and well… here I am.” He shrugs sheepishly. "I got nothing. Don't need it. I just need you."

She chuckles, and he grins as he kisses her again.

“Come on,” she takes his hand and pulls him inside the house.

She fixes him a cool drink as he sits on the velvety couch. His gaze follows her as she moves back to him, a soft smile tugging at his lips and reaches for her, pulling her into his arms.

Frankie glances around the room, his gaze settling on Jude as he asks, "are your parents home?"

She giggles.

“What?” He baulks.

“Makes it sound like we’re fifteen and sneaking around.” Jude’s eyes sparkle with mirth as she responds to his grin. “They won’t be back for a while, so we can… talk.”

Frankie nods in acknowledgment, his expression settling into one of contented relief. He sets his glass down on the coffee table with a soft clink.

There's a silence that hovers between them, neither one knowing where to start exactly and it makes Jude giggle again. A sound he'll never tire of. But it soon stops when she notices the serious look taking over Frankie’s features.

“I never meant to keep it from you,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. “I just… I-I freaked out. I didn’t know what the fuck to do. Still don't, not really.”

“I know.” She nods and he can tell immediately that she does. “What’s he like?” She asks after a few moments.

Frankie smiles crookedly. “He’s… gorgeous.”

“Like his dad then.” Jude smiles. Her fingers wind around a curl tucked behind Frankie’s ear under his trademark cap as he blushes. He presses a kiss into the centre of her palm.

“Carla, she's not gonna make things weird or difficult, she knows things are over between us. She just wants me to be there for him. And I want to.”

“I was never worried about that.” Jude admits.

“What is it you're worried about then?” Frankie asks.

“It’s more... what this means for us. Feels like everything’s shifting. Tectonic plates, you know?”

He senses it in the way her eyes linger a little longer on him, in the subtle wobble of her tone when she speaks. There’s a new fragility there, a delicate balance they both seem aware of, as if one wrong move could send everything crashing down.

Yet, within this fragility, Frankie knows there’s also a burgeoning strength laying in wait - a resilience born from the very tremors that have always threatened to tear them apart in some way or another.

A resilience they've forged together since that very first day on the island. It brings about a mixture of fear and hope, a recognition that while change is always inevitable, it can also lead to something stronger, more enduring.

“Nothing’s gonna change between us, Jude.” Frankie takes her hand and holds it against his chest, and she feels the steady thrum of his heartbeat ebb under her fingertips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, but don’t you feel it?”

He nods, smiling. “Tectonic plates. Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s fuckin’ terrifying. But, we’ll figure it out,” he says firmly. “We’ve been through tough shit before. We can handle this too.”

Jude nods despondently. “Yeah, I guess.”

“We can." He cements it with a kiss on her fingers. "I wanna show you something,” Frankie shifts on the couch reaching behind him and pulls something out of his back pocket. It’s a notebook folded in half.

“What’s this?” Jude asks as he hands it to her.

“It’s something I’ve been working on, since we were on the island.” He says tentatively.

“The notebook?” Jude enquires, counting the number of times in her head she’d see him squiggling away in it, keeping record of the days, until the tsunami washed it away forever.

“Yeah, I remember most of the things I was writing in it, I remember everything. Every time I close my eyes, it’s all there.” He taps the side of his temple. “I want you to read it and let me know what you think.” Frankie says to her with those deep eyes regarding her carefully.

Jude opens the first page and runs her fingers over three words he’s scrawled in the centre of the page in smudged biro.

“Adrift With You,” she murmurs with a small smile.

“I wrote our story.” Frankie explains. “All of it, even the things I couldn’t articulate at the time. I ain't no writer, but it’s all there. It’s helping… process things, or begin to, anyway.”

“Frankie, I’ve started having therapy.” Jude says, closing the notebook, the soft sound of the pages coming together echoing in the quiet room.

Frankie looks up, his eyes searching Jude’s face for clues. He can see the determination in her own, the mixture of vulnerability and strength that's always defined her, cowering somewhat in the corner.

“Therapy?” he repeats, as if testing the word on his tongue, trying to understand its implications.

“Yeah,” she replies, her voice steady but soft. “I realized I needed help to navigate everything that’s happened. To make sense of it all.” She pauses, glancing down at the notebook she’s just closed, its pages filled with their shared history, raw and unfiltered. "It's been... hard, being back. Harder than I've probably let on."

“Yeah. it has." He agrees.

Jude nods, her eyes lingering on the notebook, as if seeking comfort in its pages. “I’ve tried to keep going, to act like I’m okay, but… I’m not always. There are days when it just feels overwhelming. I'm going twice a week. Had two sessions already."

"Well, that’s great,” Frankie reaches out, placing his hand gently over hers.

The warmth of his touch comforting, grounding her and soothing like the ocean waves coating her toes, and she feels like she can breathe again.

"I've been back to, uh... group therapy too."

"That's good." She nods resolutely.

He nods wincing a little. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Frankie asks.

"Probably the same reason you didn't tell me about your son right away..." she replies, her voice gentle, but firm.

Frankie’s expression shifts, a flicker of guilt and understanding crossing his face. He opens his mouth to respond but finds himself momentarily at a loss for words. The mention of his son brings back memories of the secrets he's kept, the inane reasons he had for keeping them hidden.

Jude continues, her tone steady. “I was scared, Frankie. Scared of adding more to your plate. I didn’t want to burden you with my issues when I knew you were dealing with your own.”

Frankie sighs, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand. “I get it,” he says finally. “I didn’t tell you about my son because I didn’t wanna scare you off, didn’t wanna complicate things between us. And yeah, I didn't wanna hurt you, not after what you went through on the island-"

"What we went through. It affected you, too." Jude says, squeezing his hand.

"Yeah," he agrees, his voice thick with emotion. "But more than that, it killed me that I couldn't make it better for you."

Jude’s grip tightens, her eyes softening with understanding. "You did everything you could, Frankie. We both did. It wasn’t about fixing things; it was about surviving. And we did that together. But keeping secrets… it just makes things harder in the long run.”

Frankie’s gaze drifts downward, the memories of their time on the island swirling in his mind. The fear, the desperation, the moments of fleeting hope. “I know,” he murmurs. "No more secrets. and in the spirt of complete fuckin' honesty, I had... I had a moment where I almost..." He physically recoils at the memory, his fingers throbbing and aching as he squeezes them into a fist.

Jude watches him, her expression a mix of concern and understanding. She can see the pain etched in his face, the weight of the admission pressing heavily on him.

“But I didn't. I couldn’t,” he continues, his voice steadying with resolve.

Jude’s eyes soften with compassion as she reaches out, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she says gently. “You faced that moment and came through it. That’s what matters. I'm proud of you.”

"I don't fuckin' deserve you, hermosa." He presses his forehead to hers.

"I love you, Frankie." She murmurs into the heat of his face. "Fresh start?" Her small smile begins to bloom, a hopeful light in her eyes.

He meets her gaze, seeing the sincerity and warmth in her eyes. “A fresh start,” he repeats. Frankie thinks for a few moments, his brow furrowing in concentration. “I think I wanna tell our story,” he finally says, his voice steady but soft.

She raises an eyebrow, curiosity and apprehension mingling in her expression. “You mean to the press?”

“No. Fuck them. I just... I dunno, I wanna publish it, maybe like a book?”

She sits upright, the weight of his words settling over her. Her posture becomes tense as she processes the implications of what he’s suggesting.

“But only if you want to. The story is as much yours as it is mine, and there are things that we went through that-”

“I know.” Jude’s mind races, trying to reconcile the idea of their story being laid bare for the world to see. She considers the raw moments, the nerves and sinew they had exposed, and the impact such a revelation might have on both of them. “It’s a big step,” she finally says, her voice thoughtful and cautious.

“Just read it and let me know,” he continues, his eyes earnest and pleading. “If you say no, then I won’t. I don’t want to hurt you or-”

“Frankie, just kiss me.” Jude interrupts, her voice soft but resolute. Without another word, she closes the distance between them, pressing her lips gently, but firmly, against his.

He stays. The house is quiet even when her parents return later, cloaked in the deep stillness of the oncoming night. They lock themselves away in the privacy of Jude's childhood bedroom, a sanctuary filled with echoes of her past.

The room is small and intimate, its walls adorned with remnants of her youth - old band posters, photographs she’s taken - both professional and fun - and mementos that tell stories of who she once was.

In the dim light, they find solace in each other. Skin on heated skin, murmurs and groans, they seek comfort and connection, their bodies moving in a rhythm that’s both familiar and new. Each touch, each whisper, each shared breath begins to cement over the chasm that has grown between them, carefully and deliberately filling the void with their renewed closeness.

As the night deepens, Frankie drifts into a peaceful slumber, his gentle snores a soothing background to the swamping silence. He sleeps beside her, his presence a warm, reassuring weight that she realises she can't settle without anymore.

But Jude remains awake, her mind too restless to follow him into stunted sleep. She stares into the dark crevices and shadows of the room, her thoughts swirling in the dim light.

Her nose grazes against his shoulder, the gentle touch sending a shiver down her spine. She inhales deeply, drawing in the scent of him - the faint smell of the island still lingers, deep in the layers. Salt water, carrying memories of waves crashing against the shore, mingles with the earthy aroma of ash from the fire, a reminder of nights spent under the stars.

Sweat, infused with the heat and intensity of their time together, adds a raw, intimate note. It’s all a comfort as she breathes out, a blend of past and present that wraps around her like a warm embrace.

He came all this way to save it - to save them. The weight of that realization settles in Jude's chest, both heavy and liberating. He travelled not just miles, but emotional landscapes, bridging the gaps before they've had a chance to grow and fester between them.

It isn’t just about physical distance; it's about reaching across the chasm of misunderstandings and hurt feelings that have threatened to pull them apart. To prove to her that he wants her, that he can’t do it without her. That he's floundering just as much as she is.

They are both adrift, searching for a way to navigate the stormy seas of their emotions and just being. Yet, in this shared wound of bleeding vulnerability, there's strength. They're not alone in their confusion and pain; they're partners, co-pilots steering through the chaos.

Jude's eyes drift towards the notebook resting on the table. Her fingers reach for it, the one Frankie had given her earlier to read, the one that holds his words.

Under the soft, undisturbed glow of a lamp she flicks on, she begins to read. The light casts a gentle halo around her, illuminating the pages without stirring Frankie.

She reads his words slowly, carefully, each sentence a revelation. His scrawled handwriting is familiar, yet the emotions conveyed are raw and unfiltered. He’s poured his heart onto these pages, sharing their story with an honesty that cuts deeper than jagged glass.

There are moments of joy, snapshots of laughter and love amongst the plot of their fateful flight, but also the darker times - the searing pain of loss, of near starvation and the struggles they faced together.

As Jude reads, her eyes mist over, filled with tears that threaten to spill as she relives the harrowing journey, but through Frankie’s eyes:

“... They say time is a healer. Who “they” are exactly, I don’t know, but they‘re not right about that at all. Time isn’t a damn healer; it’s just a mere factor in the healing process. Something I've learnt the hard way, again and again. Something that Eddie says all the time and I never really got it until now.

"Time is needed to come to terms with any sort of change or tragedy in your life, sure. Any transition or upheaval. Time is needed heal a gaping, deep flesh wound on the back of your calf from jumping out of a sinking plane until it's nothing more than a thin, white line that blends in with your beautiful skin that I stroke delicately with my index finger, feeling the knobbly bumps of your healed skin as I kiss up your legs.

“But time itself isn’t a measurement that applies to all. We’re all unique in what we need to heal, time included, I guess. I once spoke to a veteran, when I was back in training for Delta, who fought in World War Two. That man was a fuckin’ hero. In every sense of the word. And I’ll never forget what he said to me. He said that the war for him was over seventy years ago, and also yesterday. And that’s stayed with me. Every single day.

"You can spend your whole life healing in some way and never fully recovering; never allowing your skin to scar over. Never free from temptation. Just keeping a yellowing scab over that gaping wound, occasionally picking at it to let it bleed again for a while. And it's hard not to let it bleed sometimes. Sometimes, you need to let it pour.

"Only a small amount of time has passed in the grand scheme of things since Jude and I were rescued from the island, but yet that small stream of time has brought about the beginning of our healing process for that experience. But a place like the island will never leave us, even if we really want it to or not. It’s a part of us now; that salty ocean smell that I used to hate so fuckin' much will always be on our skin, in her hair. The thought of never smelling it again terrifies me.

"In some ways, it’ll always be our home, that island... But Jude. She’ll always be my home.”

To be continued...

SERIES MASTERLIST | CHAPTER 21