Hey all! I'm so sorry for the long delay in this chapter. I suck! But I promise, I am getting back on track and will be updating more regularly. Thanks for reading and all of your comments. I hope you still enjoy this fic. Let me know!
Chapter 3
Eventually, it's almost back to how it was before. It's Annalise and Bonnie and him. Annalise somehow gets her job back at Middleton. The Keating Four is reestablished, new students each year, and none of what happened with the Keating Five. And the only thing that's really different now is that he and Bonnie are sleeping together, living together, and trying to force something together.
They ignore that last part for more than two years before they realize that it's not working, that it's only continued as long as it has because they don't want to be alone. While they love each other deeply, they are never going to be in love, no matter how hard they try to make it happen.
Bonnie is the one that finally moves to end it. She sits him down one night, tells him she met someone, and he makes her feel more than she does with Frank.
"I finally understand what you have with Laurel," she tells him softly, and that's all Frank needs to hear. She knows. She knows as well as he does that he's been holding out hope that Laurel would come back to him one day.
He doesn't stand in her way, couldn't even if he wanted to. He understands; he knows what it's like to love someone so completely, and if Bonnie has a chance for that, he wants her to take it. She deserves that and so much more.
So they end up back at best friends, and that turns out to be an easy transition because they're no longer forcing anything, no longer trying to make it more than it ever should have been. Bonnie marries the guy, finally gets a happy ending, even has a kid, and Frank becomes Uncle Frank and a godfather to her son. It's a role he wears proudly.
And him? He goes back to how it was before. He starts flirting with the students, taking them to bed, ignoring the fact that they aren't Laurel, even though they always have dark brown hair and blue eyes.
He's with the current stand-in when he finally sees her again.
It's the middle of the morning and, for some reason, the girl is still there and wearing his shirt. He's not a complete ass; he's not going to kick her out, and she's good enough company but he can see it starting to happen. He can tell that she thinks she's going to be able to "change" him, to get past his playboy exterior and find a way to get him to open up. He doesn't want that, is very clear with the girls from the start that it's only ever going to be something casual. He's not looking for anything more, and if they are, then it's not going to happen at all.
He's getting out of the shower, wearing a pair of jeans and heading toward the kitchen when he realizes the girl has answered his door and that on the other side of it, staring back at him with a look he can no longer place is standing the best thing that's ever happened to him.
He doesn't say anything at first. He can't. He's frozen in place, just taking her in. She's more beautiful than ever. And yes, he's dreamt about this moment but he never thought he'd be lucky enough that it would actually happen. He doesn't deserve it.
But here she is, staring back at him still and studiously avoiding the woman who answered the door. She looks like she wants to run, and he doesn't blame her. He would too if the situation was reversed.
His brain is backfiring as he tries to form any words, like a skipping record unable to move forward.
"Who are you?" Meghan asks impatiently, apparently annoyed that Laurel is intruding on their morning. He bites his tongue to stop from pointing out to Meghan that she is in intruding on his morning and maybe she has no right to act like she belongs here.
Laurel seems to sense that and doesn't spare Meghan a glance before addressing him.
"Can I come in?"
The words are familiar, not that they are unusual. He's sure they are spoken millions of times every day. But, for him, they transport him back to the last conversation they ever had. He thinks about it often, wonders over and over again what he could have said that night to keep her from leaving.
"Can I come in?"
"What are you doing here, Frank?" Laurel asks, eyes as cold as he has ever seen them.
"I wanna talk this out," he implores, almost desperately. Well, not almost. He is desperate. This is his world in front of him, and he doesn't know what to do if he loses her.
She just shakes her head. "Well, I don't. Just go."
"No," he says, blocking her from closing the door on him with his foot. She sighs, frustrated, but he can see it. He can see her softening just slightly, almost imperceptible. Anyone else would have missed it. But not him because he knows her. He always has. It's as close to a chance as he's going to get. "Please…"
"Frank."
Laurel's sharp voice pulls him out of the memory as Laurel continues to ignore Meghan, stepping around her and into the apartment. "I need to talk to you. Please, it can't wait."
"Excuse me!" the other brunette exclaims but Laurel has his attention and all Frank can do is throw her a disinterested glance.
"You need to go," he tells Meghan before looking back at Laurel.
"What?!" She's offended, and he gets why—really, he does—but he doesn't care.
"Get dressed and leave," he dismisses.
Gesturing to the couch for Laurel to sit, he follows her around as Meghan stomps off to the bedroom. It's a tense, awkward silence as they wait. He doesn't miss the bag of clothes Meghan is carrying with her either. He knew that she was trying to leave clothes there, thinking he wouldn't notice, trying to worm her way into a relationship he didn't want. He doesn't care because it was never serious, never anything at all. Meghan knew that.
All he sees is the woman sitting next to him. She's all he cares about.
After Meghan storms out, Frank excuses himself to put on a shirt. He hears Laurel's voice following him as he leaves the room.
"I went to Bonnie's first," she remarks, feigning casual conversation though there is a hint of something underneath. "I thought her son might be yours when I saw him."
He genuinely smiles at the mention of the little boy. "Mikey?" he asks as he returns to the living room, pulling a t-shirt over his head. "My godson," he puffs up, "but no, not mine." He laughs lightly, before adding with a self-deprecation he's perfected the past five or so years, "Could you ever imagine me having a kid?"
He's imagined it for himself multiple times but he remembers vividly how Laurel didn't want him near her child, remembers thinking how maybe she had a point, what she must have thought of him that she didn't think he'd ever be good enough to be a father.
"Yeah," she starts, and the word rattles him as he looks over at her, takes a seat in the chair across from her. "I actually think about it every day."
Well, he wasn't expecting that.
"What do you mean?" he asks, watching the far-off look that crosses her face. She's not quite looking at him but over his shoulder as if she can't bear to make eye contact.
"I wonder if I would have been wrong about you," she admits. "If my anger and grief clouded my judgment or if I was right."
He doesn't understand where she's going with this, doesn't understand what she's telling him though he recognizes that it's something.
His tone is soft when he speaks, weary. She's just shown up out of the blue after all these years, and now she's rehashing that last fight. He doesn't get it. "Laurel, what are you—"
"You do have a kid," she blurts out—almost as if she can't keep the words in—but her eyes widen as she hears what she's said, shocked that she let them out.
He is, too. Shocked. Confused. He doesn't quite understand; his brain is still skipping, unable to make the connection.
"Actually, a daughter," she says quietly, more sure of herself.
He feels like an idiot. "Laurel, I don't—"
"I wasn't pregnant with Wes's baby," she says, frustrated that he's not picking up what she's saying fast enough. "She's yours."
The silence that follows is deafening; the thoughts in his head are loud and overlapping and unintelligible: He has a daughter. Laurel's child is his daughter. He's missed five years with his daughter. Laurel didn't trust him with his own daughter.
They are endless and persistent and heartbreaking.
Because he wanted so badly to be there for Laurel. He wanted to take care of her and be there for a child he thought belonged to another man. She wouldn't let him but she knew. She had to know because they hadn't been together since that summer when he met up with her in Mexico. She was further along than anyone knew. She had to know. And yet, she left him anyway.
"Frank." Her voice is softly begging for his attention, and she gets it. The look on her face should be enough to give him pause—it's clear there's more to it—but his eyes narrow, and his emotions begin to take over.
"She's mine?" he asks, his voice low and angry as the ramifications start seeping into his brain. "You knew that and you just left?"
She's silent for a moment but he's not going to let her avoid the question. He deserves answers. He waits, watches as her thoughts and emotions play out on her face until she finally settles on a response.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
He lets out an incredulous breath. "You're sorry?" he asks, standing from the chair in frustration. He starts pacing in front of her, unable to sit still. "You took my daughter from me, lied to me all this time," he mutters, "but sure, as long as you're sorry."
"I thought I was doing the right thing!" she tells him, almost angry herself. There's a part of him that feels bad about his reaction but, really, he doesn't know what she expected. He doesn't know how he can react any differently. He's missed so much, lost out on so much. He didn't have a choice in that. She took it away from him.
He stops moving and turns toward her, eyes narrowed. "The right thing?" he asks softly, and as angry as he is, it breaks his heart more. It kills him that she really thought he would hurt her or their child, that she didn't believe him when he told her that he loved her. It kills him knowing that he was solely responsible for her fracturing her trust in him. "I would have been there for you, for her," he tells her, so sure in his statement. He would have done anything to make it right. "I loved you."
"I know…" she admits, and he sees the tears in her eyes. "I made a mistake."
They look at each other for several moments but he doesn't know what to say. He still doesn't understand.
"Why are you here? Why now?" he asks, frustration still clear in his tone.
"Frank…"
He shakes his head. "No! What's really changed, Laurel? You didn't trust me before. You know nothing about me now, so why?"
Laurel takes a deep breath and walks around the coffee table separating them.
"Frank, I know you're upset—" she says as she steps closer to him.
"Please go," he cuts her off with a step back, realizing as she says the words that he can't hear her explain right now. It doesn't matter what she says; he doesn't trust that his reaction won't be purely emotional, that he won't say something he may come to regret later.
"Frank," she starts.
"No. Laurel, you made sure she wouldn't be in my life. You purposefully kept her from me and made me think she was Wes's child. And now you just show up, after years, and expect me to just be okay with this and ready to talk about it? I can't do this right now, Laurel. I can't—I need to process this."
He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, trying to keep his emotions in check. He wants to see his daughter; that thought is clear as day. But how? How can he come into her life after so long? How would he explain his absence to her? Tell her that her mom kept him from her, and it wasn't his choice? No, he could never do that. He'd never want to put blame on Laurel. But that means what? His daughter will spend her life thinking he didn't care enough for the first five years? He doesn't know how to do this.
Laurel presses forward, not willing to leave him to his thoughts. "Frank, I get that you're hurt right now and upset but please just listen—"
"I would have been there for you," he repeats, his tone is low and serious but his anger has momentarily yielded to his pain, "I don't know what more I could have said to you that night. I put it all out there, Laurel. You were everything, and I told you that I wanted to be there for you. I wanted a chance to fix things, to make it right, and be there for you and your child even though I didn't think she was mine. I would have done anything for you, but it wasn't enough. You left anyway. And now you're telling me that you've known all along that she was mine and you just took her from me? You kept her from me when all I wanted was to be there for you."
She's openly crying now. His words have struck a chord, and he can see how guilty she feels. But he can also see she's unwilling to give him the space he needs right now.
"She's sick," Laurel blurts out. "She's sick and I've done everything I can do. I'm her mom, and I'm supposed to be able to protect her but I can't protect her from this because I'm not a match, and I didn't want to come here," she admits to him as she wipes at her eyes.
She takes a deep breath before pushing forward. "I didn't know how to do this. How to come here and admit what I've done. But she's sick, and you are her father, and I need you because you might be a match and I can't lose her. She doesn't… She doesn't deserve this. Please, Frank," she pleads, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I never told you. I was trying to do what I thought was best for her and I may have been wrong and you can hate me all you want but, please, don't take it out on her."
Another silence falls over him as her words play on repeat. She's sick. He has a daughter and she's sick and that's why Laurel is here. She's still crying, pleading with her eyes for him to let the rest of it go right now. She doesn't know what he's thinking. He's not even sure he knows. But really, there nothing to think about. And his response is innate, comes from deep in his bones. It's the only thing he could ever think in this moment. He's standing in front of the woman he hasn't seen in almost six years, and he's ready to do whatever she is asking. Of course he is. He'd do anything for her. For her and, now, for their daughter.
"What do I need to do?"
