#sharp stick

Brock was Franks best friend. Ever since being enlisted together, they were pretty inseparable. They then went on to work with each other, shady business that subsequently cost Brock his life.

Brock was on the run from police... corrupt police who would do anything for $20 and a donut. Brock had a hit out on him ever since fucking over an old acquaintance by insulting his wife.

As cops chased him down one night, he was cornered. Brock ended up shooting and killing the cop he hated but was subsequently shot and killed by another.

Some good did end up coming about Brock's passing though, as an investigation was launched into the dead officer and the bribe's he took. Which ended up revealing an international bribe ring of some sort that landed Brock's enemy in jail with a hefty sentence.

Frank wished he had been with him that night, wondering if Brock's life could have been spared in any way. But on the flip side, Frank knew that Brock would have died happy killing the officer he hated so much and recalled the many nights Brock had confessed his disdain against the lifestyle he landed himself in.

"At least he's with his wife now." Carm then adds, earning a nod from the others.

As the last of the guests enter the building, Frank decides it's probably time to follow suit.

As painful as it would be to see his best friend no longer living, they all had a few words to say in the session and there was no backing out now.

Though everyone was still finding their seats, when the three men had entered, they had all still managed to give them pitiful looks. Eyes reading 'Sorry for your loss'.

The three of them make their way to the front row of seats, joining the few others that had clearly arrived earlier.

"Hey," Their sister, Natalie, smiles up at them, scooching over on the pew as they take their seats next to her. They offer greeting smiles back. Frank gazes around the church, admiring the many eyes of religious figures that stare back at him. "Hey, did you see his daughter turned up?" Natalie adds in a quiet whisper, making the three of them shoot their heads around in the direction of her gaze.

There, in the front row beside them sat you. Brock's only child and daughter. Everyone kind of just knew of you and your existence, but never actually saw you.

Though Brock always bragged and boasted about you, how beautiful you were, how proud of you he was, the truth was that he rarely saw you. A few years after he had left you, he occasionally made the effort to at least see you on birthdays and Christmas. But his visits slowly died off.

The relationship was still there, you texted and he sent you letters and money, but you lived with your friend and her family for most of your teen years.

Richie nudged Carmen, wiggling his brows, whilst Frank just takes you in. The men can’t help but ogle at you. You were almost like a fable or myth, and seeing you now for the first time ever was strange.

"Poor kid." Natalie purses her lips, brows furrowed in concern.

Frank knew he had to speak to you. Maybe it was the fact that you were his life long best friend’s daughter. Or maybe it was the funny feeling in his stomach as his eyes scanned your figure.

-

You watch as people leave in their expensive cars down the gravel road, sighing in relief at the lack of attention you were now getting.

Your father was laid to rest in the cemetery beside the church, in a space next to your mother.

Though few people still linger around their cars parked on the other side of the church, you keep your head down and make your way back up the church steps, pushing your way through the big, wooden doors.

You were glad no one else was here. Your social battery was drained for the month after today and you didn’t think you could take another ‘I’m so sorry for your loss’, ‘Your dad was a great man’, ‘I’m sure he’s happy to be reunited with your mother’, 'I didn't know he had a daughter'.

You made your way to a random row and knelt on both knees, clasping your hands in front of you and bowing your head.

You weren't entirely religious, nor did you really know what you were praying for. All you knew was that if someone saw you, they would at least respect the gesture and leave you alone.

Wrong.

You hear the church doors open behind you and you close your eyes, quietly sighing. Whoever it is, they do not speak, but you can feel their eyes burning a hole through your back.

Out of curiosity, you lift up your head and turn to the back of the church.

Oh?

"Hi," The man greets sheepishly, "I'm sorry if I’m interrupting.” A small, reassuring smile on his face. You stay silent but shake your head softly, allowing him to continue. He takes a few steps closer, "I'm Frank."

You blink up at him a few times until you connect the dots on who this Frank person really was (and stop ogling at his god-like face) "Oh." You let out accidentally, before clearing your throat and correcting yourself, "Yeah, I’m familiar with the name." You choke out, standing from your kneeling position out of respect... though you wouldn't entirely mind staying down there- God, you mentally slap yourself and remind yourself that you're in a church. And on top of that, you knew of Frank to be your dad’s friend... his best friend. You never saw him or heard anything else about him other than him being your dad’s best friend, but it was nice to finally put a pretty face to the name, “I’m Y/N.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” He smiles warmly now, extending a hand out for you to shake which you do so quite timidly, "Listen, if you need anything… I know you've probably heard that a lot today, but I'm probably the only one who really means it." He jokes and you can't help but let out a small smile.

“Thank you.” You nod. He was right though. Out of all of them, Franks did seem the most genuine. "Thanks for taking the time to check up on me."

He nods in response before reaching into his back pocket, pulling out a wallet and from that wallet, a small card, "Here, take my number." You take the small business card from him, "If you really ever need anything, reach out… If I had knew your dad would pass so soon, I’m sure I would’ve promised him to look out for you.”

You weren’t annoyed by Frank’s social interaction, unlike everybody else who talked to you today. Everyone else just seemed so full of shit. And Frank at least knew who you were.

-

You watch as another car passes by before sighing. The heat was starting to get to you a little and as the sun began to set, it landed opposite you, blinding your eyes.

After the funeral, you made the decision to walk to the closest bus stop and make your way back home that way. Though you caught an Uber to the church, you couldn’t bare any more questions or painfully awkward small talk about your day. So you opted for the bus.

The area was nice in any case, a small neighbourhood 20 minutes from Manhattan where you used to live as a child.

It was nice to experience the silence as well. You were so used to the loud of the city that you’d almost forgotten what it was like to just sit with nothing but the birds, the bugs and the leaves. And to actually see the sun without being blocked by some high rise building.

As you zoned out, staring at the ground, you hear the bus finally arrive. Only, you thought it was the bus. You look up and you’re met with a black pick up truck coming to a stop right in front of you and now your heart races.

The window rolls down and a familiar face slightly judges you, "You seriously taking the bus?"

You stand from your seat, small kitten heels clanking against the concrete as you step closer to Franks truck.

You're kind of loss for words. You had made sure to linger in the church for a while and only left when you believed everyone else to have already left. Frank must have stalled in the cemetery or something?

“I..." You start, "I thought it would be relaxing.” You explain vaguely, shrugging your shoulders. Frank quirks a brow and you sigh in defeat, “I didn’t feel like talking to nosy Uber drivers.”

Frank cracks a smile, shaking his head and reaches over to the passenger door, unlocking it for you, "Get in."

You're unsure what it is that makes you give in to getting into his car. Perhaps that Frank was probably the closest thing to your father that you were ever going to get in your life and you automatically felt safe with him. Whatever it was, it felt right.

Jumping into his car, you get comfortable, admiring the interior of it. You couldn’t help but notice, however, the faint smell of either cigar or weed lingering in the car, mixed with the efforts of the Black Ice air freshener dangling from his rear view.

Not only this, but you see his packet of cigarettes in his cup holder.

You’d been dying for a cigarette ever since the funeral started, but couldn’t bring yourself to whip one out as you walked to the bus stop- more concerned about your heels and feet surviving the journey rather than your urge for nicotine. And you refrained from doing so at the bus stop in case it pulled up any second.

“May I?” You ask after rummaging through your purse and holding up the small box of sticks.

“Go ahead.” Frank shrugs with a soft smile, “Where do you live?”

You blow out your plume of smoke out the previously opened window, offering it to him, “West 84th.”

“Upper West side.” He notes with an impressed nod, taking your cigarette from you gratefully.

You raise your brows a little, you could not believe it either that you lived there now, "Inheritance came in handy."

The drive to the city with Frank was nice. It wasn’t awkward and you were able to keep a steady conversation. You could definitely see why Frank was a life long friend.

"Which one is it?" Frank asks, cutting your thoughts short as he pulls into your street.

"This white one here." You point and Frank's lucky that there's a vacant spot out front. He seems impressed by your house as he leans over his wheel to get a look at it while he parks.

To be truthfully honest, you were a little bummed once you had come to a stop.

"Do you wanna come in?" You don't even realise what you're asking until it's already out and Frank's looking at you dumbly. Fuck. “I-I just got so much of his stuff, m-maybe you can help me figure out what to do with it?” You try to cover up.

You internally cringe however as you wait for his answer. Why the hell did you just invite this man into your home without hesitation?

You really didn't expect the words to come out of your mouth. But what was even more surprising was Frank's answer, "Sure."

You take Frank up the small stairs to your house, unlocking the door, “Sorry, it’s a bit messy.” You apologise as he walks in after you. You watch as he takes in your apartment and feel a little insecure for some reason. God, what did it matter what this man thought of your brand new apartment?

“No, it's nice.” He nods and you feel yourself relax. He makes his way into your living room and stares at the piles of boxes and plastic covered furniture. The last of your furniture had arrived yesterday and you had no time, or energy (or frankly manpower for that matter) to sort it out.

"It's a work in progress." You sigh, "I always imagined this to be something my dad would have helped me with." You admit and again, cringe at yourself for being so depressing.

"I can always lend a hand?" Frank offers.

You open and close your mouth like a fish. You didn't mean for Frank to get to that conclusion but at the same time, Frank seemed like he was already going to offer. But you were too humble to say yes, even if you were too cheap to get movers (even though you now had money, old habits never die) and you were convinced you could do it on your own.

But now that Franks offering, you’d be stupid to decline.

The one thing that needed to be put together was your bed, but aside from that your furniture was old, vintage pieces. They were also light so it’s not like it would be entirely arduous labour for Frank, but it would just mean a lot less chain smoking and broken nails for you.

You ended up ordering pizza for the both of you and fuelled Frank with beer as he got to work on setting up your furniture. You helped him out with the light work, but you mostly just smoked and chatted away.

Frank had no issue with it though.

Frank told you many stories about your dad. You realised Franks memories with him definitely outnumbered your own, which was humbling to say the least.

You found the both of you now seated on the hardwood floor of your home, taking a break as you take the time to really talk and eat.

"Can I ask..." Frank starts carefully, and you're mindless to what he's about to ask, "Did you resent your dad?" His question makes you put down your drink, " It's just- you seem to be taking his passing quite well and you were actually at the funeral... Most people I know in a situation like yours wouldn't do such a thing."

You dart your eyes around the room, running the question through your head. You, too, had realised that your own fathers passing hadn't made you a hysterical wreck, like it would have made most people. You also questioned why.

When you got the news that your dad died, you cried but only sparingly and never again after that day. But you went to class the next day, drinks with the girls the next. What the hell was wrong with you?

"I know the shady shit he did killed my Mom." You tell Frank, "I did actually resent him for a while for leaving, then I accused him of killing her and didn't talk to him for a few years." You admit shamefully, "But as I got older, I understood him leaving was keeping me safe and I couldn't argue with that... As for the day he died..." You begin, but take a second to find the words, "I don't know... I guess... it's like he's not really gone." You say, but watch as Frank tilts his head a little in confusion, "Well, he is gone... but it's felt like that for a long time now... Maybe I'm used to it." You feel as though you've just solved the mystery. You feel hot all of a sudden, looking up at Frank and seeing his eyes staring right back at yours. You clear your throat, "Um- What about you? H-How did you handle it?"

"Oh, man." He starts, shaking his head, "It was one of the worst days of my life... I was a wreck." He admits. This might be unfair to say, but you didn't expect a man like Frank to be so open about his emotions, "But your father was all about seeing the good and I just thought, he would kick my ass if he saw me like this instead of celebrating the life we had together and the man he was."

It was silent after that, but you must note that it was a comfortable silence. You let each other sit with the feelings from the conversation had and it felt nice.

Frank is the first to break the silence, by nudging your foot with his, “But what's up with you, girl? Are you in college?”

You smile at him and his effort to lighten the mood a little, “I graduated last year in journalism.” You sigh. It wasn’t anything groundbreaking, certainly not for New York. But it was the only thing that really interested you- having spent most of your formative years journaling your each and every thought, experience and emotion. Writing just came natural to you, “What about you? Are you married?”

Fuck, was that too forward?

“I am not married, no.” Frank answers anyway, with a laugh even.

You would be lying if you said you didn't search for a ring when he first introduced himself to you. What could you say, he was a gentlemen. And plus, you wanted to ask in case you just so happened to be keeping him from her by having pizza and beer at your house while he helps you build your furniture.

Yep, that's the only reason.

Frank only stayed for about an hour longer after that. It had gotten pretty late anyway and you were both tired from the day you had.

You walked Frank to the door, giving him a new case of beer as a means of thanks. Seriously, with Frank's help, all you really have left to do is unpack your boxes and decorate the house.

“Thanks for all your help, Frank.” You say, unable to even recall how many times you've expressed your thanks today.

“And I mean it when I said to call me if you need anything.” He reminds, pointing at you and you roll your eyes.

If you were dying or in jail, maybe. But you didn't have many plans to bother Frank. You wish you could-

“Where do you live?” You ask, simply out of curiosity... or desire to be in his presence longer.

“New Rochelle.”

You widen your eyes, but then furrow your brows, “You drove me all the way here even though you lived like 5 minutes away from the church?” You ask in disbelief. He just laughs as an answer, meanwhile you're rummaging to the side through your foyer drawers and handing him a bunch of crumpled President Jacksons, “Here.”

He laughs down at the money, pushing it back to you, “Sweetheart, I’m not taking your money.”

You look at the money shoved into your chest in defeat. But you know he's not going home without something, “Fine.” You mutter before digging through your purse on the same table.

You pull out your metal cigarette case and hand him a pre-roll that you planned to smoke after the funeral.

Frank looks at it longingly, averting his gaze back and forth before slowly bringing a hand up to take it, “Fan of the Blazy Susan’s I see.” He notes, eyeing the pink paper and you roll your eyes.

“Oh, is it too girly for you?” You mock, leaning against your door, contempt now that you've paid your dues.

He tucks the joint behind his ear in response, “Whoever you're buying from, tell 'em you've found someone new."

You're not surprised Frank grows and sells, but you scoff at his persistent concern about you, "I'm sure my weed isn't laced." You assure him.

He shrugs, "Maybe not, but at least mines free."

He had you there. Weed was an expensive habit and you'd considered stopping for a while now, but could never bring yourself to do it. And now that is free and most definitely safe, you wonder if you'll ever stop.

You bid Frank a final farewell and safe drive as he takes the steps down to his car. You wait and watch as he drives down the road and only retreat back inside once he's around the corner.

You can't help but miss his company now that the house is quiet, but lingers his smell.

And as Frank drives through the quiet streets of the city, he can't help but wonder... as do you as you flop into bed...

'Why do I feel this way?' Shortly accompanied with, 'Would it really be that bad?'

.・。.・゜.☘︎ ݁˖ ・.・𝄞・゜・。.

MANY PARTS TO COME

i hope ive hooked you in, im excited for this series