Chapter 40: No Progress Without Pain

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The biggest bonus to not having endless concerts lined up for tours was that Rachel had a mostly free schedule to play with. As a woman of varied interests, she kept herself a little too busy at times, and her schedule was beginning to fill up fast. It had gotten to the point where she might have to look into getting a personal secretary again, especially if she was going to be continuing to perform in small venues for herself without a manager.

Summer season for the Los Angeles Philharmonic was Rachel's favorite time of year. As soon as she could get her hands on VIP tickets to see John Williams conduct at the Hollywood Bowl, she snagged them without bothering to tell Frank. She was still upset with him over his reaction to her scheduling the concert in NYC, and Rachel's way of showing that she was upset was to do the same thing that had caused the fight to begin with.

Oddly enough, he didn't seem as ruffled about attending a concert in which Rachel would not be performing. Not to say he was thrilled at the idea, but he didn't put up a fight like she'd expected him to. In fact his stoic complacency had ruffled her instead, and she found herself highly distracted over the fact that she had lied to him about her feelings in their last therapy session. He let Oxana treat him like her own personal Ken doll the entire day leading up to the concert, and he didn't complain once about the outfit she'd forced him to wear.

Although Rachel had always had a soft spot for Frank's dated personal style, she had to admit that Oxana's revamp of his wardrobe had enhanced his delectability by one thousand percent. She wasn't quite sure if he was lusting after her in her burnt orange sundress, but she was certainly lusting after him in his patina green button down shirt and linen pants. At the instruction of Oxana, Rachel had worn several delicate pieces of turquoise jewelry to complement the color of his shirt. For the first time since she'd made her return to Hollywood, Rachel found herself secretly looking forward to seeing the photos that the paparazzi had snapped of them leaving their limo.

Rachel made her usual rounds in the VIP section, conversing with other celebrities who were in attendance that evening. She didn't have to introduce Frank much anymore, people just seemed to know who he was. She could sense that he was perturbed by it, but he kept aloof, and he barely said more than two words the entire night. She was thrown off by the laid-back luxury of his ensemble and his casual posture while watching the concert.

Either he was getting used to being in the public eye, or he had just given up fighting it. Anyone else would have been starstruck attending an event like this as Rachel Marron's guest, but he looked almost bored. It simultaneously angered her and deepened her lust for him. His eyes still flitted around in cool concentration as they always had, but he didn't look ready to jump up at any moment and attack the next person who looked at him the wrong way.

When she saw him glance at his watch halfway through the second movement, she had her first true moment of panic. In her mind, that tiny glance was a glaring microcosm for their relationship, and she wondered how much longer he would stick around. Perhaps the only reason he was still here was the fact that a small yet significant piece of him still existed peacefully within her uterus. She had to wonder, if she were not carrying his child, would he even still be with her?

The destructive thoughts plagued Rachel all throughout the concert to the point where she couldn't concentrate on the music at all. She wished she'd told the truth back at Dr. Evers' office. She wished she had the guts to tell Frank that she had lied out of spite, to try and appear stronger than him. She wished she could run back to the therapist right now and ask 'why' for a thousand things. Why did she still worry about something that happened to her ten years ago? Why did she still take her feelings out on Frank in such an unfair way? Why did she still feel like she was unworthy of anyone loving her for real? Why did she still find reasons in her head to excuse her sister's betrayal?

These weren't things she could ask in front of Frank. She wasn't ready for that yet. She hated to admit it to herself, especially because she was always getting on his case for never revealing his deepest darkest secrets to her. But that was how she felt, and there wasn't any use in masking it anymore.

Her face grew numb as she watched the breathtaking colors and flashing lights, and half-listened to the orchestral swell of iconic movie themes which drew 'ooh's and 'aah's from the crowd. Before she realized it, she was sitting there with the same void expression, staring at the empty stage after everyone had filed off for intermission.

Several of her acquaintances from her old studio had come by to chat with her, and with great effort Rachel mustered up the energy to appear excited even while she was screaming inside. The people around her continued a pleasant conversation while her eyes wandered over to Frank, whose churlish demeanor seemed to have become his new default look while they were in public. It was one of the few times she'd seen him completely unarmed, which should have been a downgrade to his sex appeal, but for some reason she found it to be the opposite. Maybe it was the implication that he didn't need the gun to feel safe; that rather his confidence in the skill of his bare hands to make a kill was enough to give him peace of mind.

She was slack-jawed as she watched him lean back in his seat, drumming his fingers idly along the wooden paneling of their box, scanning the crowd. His eyebrows seemed to have stationed themselves in a firm press above his torturously blue eyes, except for the ever-so-subtle rise of his left brow which never managed to settle completely. She was pulled in by his general lack of enthusiasm, the noble lines of his profile, the tempting triangle of bare chest visible beneath his open collar, the mere amount of space taken up by his body. His beautiful, hard, strong body…

"Come by the studio one of these days, and maybe we'll get you some new projects," one producer suggested warmly, taking her by surprise. She smiled with a noncommittal nod of her head as she saw them off before the next half of the concert began.

Rachel did not miss the flicker of panic in Frank's eyes as he overheard the words. She was not inclined in the slightest to take the producers up on their offer. But wanting to make Frank sweat a little, she kept it to herself.

With a confident upward tilt of her chin, Rachel settled back into her seat to watch the orchestra reclaim their places on stage. She was so keenly aware of it. The warm, welcome pressure of his gaze on her face. She used to feel it just like this when he was her bodyguard. No matter where he was, it latched onto her like a laser, cutting through her until she felt she could hide nothing from him.

Having Frank Farmer stare at her was like getting her blood pressure taken. It was like when the cuff keeps getting tighter and tighter, and the body believes there's just no way it will keep getting tighter than it already is. But it does get tighter, and harder to handle, and it's almost impossible to withstand... until suddenly, it releases – only when he looks away.

Hell, this was exactly like when he was her bodyguard.

She at last dared to look at him, and she suffered through one seismic second where his eyes impaled her soul, then he tossed his head to the side at an acrimonious angle, his eyes instead fixed on the bright crescent moon hanging low on the horizon. A swift breeze caused his hair to loosen around the edges of his face, and she longed to tuck it back with her fingers. She caught his scent in the sweetness of the air, and it weakened her so much that she helplessly reached out her hand and laid it on top of his.

He directed his attention back to the stage, breathing slightly increased as the low, burning strings of the cello filled the amphitheater. She marveled at how different their hands were—her dark slender fingers delicately resting over the appealingly squared ridge of his warm white knuckles. She patiently caressed the back of his hand until he turned it over, palm receiving hers with a begrudging kind of earnestness.

One of her greatest weaknesses was when he had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. She helplessly traced the confident blue lines of his veins, as if they were streams on a map, gathering at the delta tucked in the underside of his wrist. She thought perhaps that her touch would be enough to bring him back to life, at least for the rest of the evening. To her dismay, he still did not make eye contact with her.

As they were leaving the amphitheater, it happened: the first derogatory remark on their status as an interracial couple. It came from someone Rachel would've never suspected—one of her peers in the music industry—a fellow woman of color, no less. Rachel was so stunned by the insult that she stopped dead in her tracks, mere feet away from the limo. Frank had clearly heard the woman's words, but at least in appearance they hadn't seemed to rattle him. He ducked into the back seat as soon as Scott opened the door, and reached out to touch Rachel's fingers in warning before she could fire back.

But his effort was in vain.

With all the raging gusto of a zealous pastor at the pulpit, Rachel screamed back at the woman over the crowd, "Hey, Alisha, your auto-tune is showing!"

Scott basically punched her in the back to get her inside the car.

"You need to learn to keep your mouth shut in those situations, Rachel."

She expected those words from Scott, but not from Frank.

"Excuse me?" she trilled. "This coming from a man who whips his gun out whenever someone insults him!"

Frank's jaw tightened in defense. "That only happened once, and I haven't done it since. Did you notice I didn't bring the gun tonight?"

Rachel turned away to stare out the window, arms crossed. "Well, one of us has to stand up for ourselves out there."

"What did you want me to do, Rachel?"

She mumbled her reply. "Run over there and rip her weave out."

"We were in public. You really want that splashed all over the headlines tomorrow?"

Because he had a point, she was silent for a time. After a few minutes, she asked him quietly, "Didn't it bother you?"

His eyes met hers. "Her comment?"

"Yeah."

He shook his head. "Not really."

She was strangely comforted by his unaffectedness on the matter.

One less reason for him to want to leave.

}0{

"Do you ever worry about what people think of us?" Rachel's voice was small in the dark bedroom.

Frank responded from the other side of the bed, facing away from her. "In what way?"

She stared up at the ceiling with a sigh. "You know… that you were my bodyguard, and now you show up after ten years of radio silence and suddenly you're my boyfriend?"

He was quiet for a moment before he replied, "I don't like that people have to know our story."

"I don't always like it either," she admitted.

He turned onto his back to look up at the ceiling too, speaking slowly. "I hate all the speculation about us. I hate that every time we go out in public, everyone stares. I hate that… our child will likely have the same attention and never be entitled to their privacy."

Rachel turned her head to see the silhouette of his profile against the moonlit window. She pressed her hand to the underside of her belly as she tried to reassure him. "Up until now, Fletcher was always able to keep his privacy, even at the height of my fame."

"Fletcher's father wasn't in the headlines," Frank said softly.

A chill ran up her spine. "He was for a different reason."

Frank turned to face her fully then, his piercing eyes fixed on hers. "You never talk about him."

"You never asked about him."

"I didn't think I was allowed to," he whispered.

She swallowed hard. "I wish I could bring myself to talk about it. I just … can't."

"Maybe you should go see Dr. Evers again," he proposed in the gentlest voice imaginable. "Alone."

There was a long silence between them where Rachel couldn't meet Frank's eyes. She stared sadly down at her hand on the pillow between them, fingering the delicate embroidery on the pillowcase to distract herself. She knew he was right.

"You looked beautiful tonight," he suddenly said.

She was shocked that he noticed.

"All I could do was stare at you all night," she replied sweetly, finally turning her eyes up to meet his. The heaviness of his gaze was made more intense in the dark.

He worked her up until she was weeping that night, twisting the bed sheets in her hands, thrashing about beneath his body. After an unspeakable length of time, he was finally poised between her legs, hips fully loaded, prepared for his assault. But still he teased her with just the tip, retreating and advancing, watching her writhe in agony beneath him before she caught the smug half-smile on his face in the darkness.

"Fuck you, Farmer," were her final words before he ended her misery. Afterwards she was breathless, hoarse, and downright exhausted as if she'd just swam a mile underwater against the current.

Then he took both her hands in his. Her thin, dark hands in his broad, white hands. And he did not let go until she fell asleep.

}0{

"I do not snore!" Rachel cried in defense as she slapped Frank with one of the pillows.

"Well, you were snoring last night," Frank laughed amiably.

"You're full of shit."

He smirked back at her. "I'm gonna bring a tape recorder into bed tonight."

"Oh, that's kind of a hot idea, actually."

He glared at her.

"I did not snore last night," she repeated pointedly, the threat of a traitorous smile tugging on her lips.

"Yes, you did! You woke me up. I had to push you over on your side to get you to stop!"

"I didn't feel anything!"

"You were out like a rock."

"Farmer, I'm a singer. Singers don't snore. How would I be able to sing if I was snoring every night? My voice would be all weird and raspy like that guy from The Godfather."

Her impression made him laugh so hard she thought he might burst a blood vessel.

"If I did snore," she said warily, "it was because I'm pregnant."

"You can't blame everything on the fact that you're pregnant." He shook his head, still laughing.

"What else have I blamed on the pregnancy?"

"Oh, let's see… your ravenous appetite, your short fuse, how horny you've been…"

She blushed at the way he was looking at her. "Well, that's all true, too," she said sweetly.

His expression was wildly gorgeous, equal parts contained joy and sarcasm, his eyes twinkling fondly up at her. He was practically begging her to fuck him again without any words at all. And she would have done it too, had it not been for the untimely interruption of her phone ringing.

Before she could reach for it, he had leaned all the way over her body and grabbed the phone off her nightstand first.

"Are you serious?" she yelped.

"If it's an unknown caller, I have to answer it," he reminded her.

She rolled her eyes and sank back into the pillow.

"Hello?" he answered curtly.

She listened as a muffled male voice greeted him on the other line.

Frank looked thoroughly confused as he handed the phone over to Rachel. "It's Tina's fiancé."

"Devon," Rachel sat up in surprise as she answered the phone, "uh . . . good morning."

"Sorry, I know this is probably unexpected," Devon sounded nervous. "I got your number off of Tina's phone."

"She doesn't know you're calling me?"

"No," he lowered his voice furtively. "I wanted to call you off the record about something."

"Oh… okay?"

"See, Tina's been looking for a new job lately, and she hasn't been having much luck," he explained. "I was wondering if you could help."

"How do you want me to help?"

"Well, I was wondering if you had any connections, anyone out in L.A. that might be hiring."

Rachel paused. "Tina wants to come back to L.A.?"

"I actually grew up out there," he said casually. "We've been talking about moving back for a while. When you invited us out to visit, it made me realize how much I missed it, and we really started to get serious about it."

Rachel looked over at Frank, somehow thinking he was able to hear the conversation in full even though he was a fair distance from the phone. "Wow, that's. . . that's a big move for you guys. What about the wedding?"

"Well, the wedding is booked for Key West anyway, so all the planning is being done remotely," he reminded her. "So, really we figure we're better off to move sooner rather than closer to the wedding."

Rachel felt a tiny burst of excitement at the idea of her best friend potentially coming to live closer to her. "Well, now that you mention it, I've been thinking about getting a part time secretary for myself, maybe to manage my calendar and book my travel for events and concerts—"

"I think Tina would love that," Devon interjected. "She'd be perfect for a job like that. She keeps my life organized. God knows, I'd be a mess without that woman!"

Rachel smiled. "That's how you know you belong together. You complement each other."

He laughed warmly. "Man, it's so cool talking to you. I've been a fan of yours for a long time. I never knew how close you and Tina were until I got to come out there and meet you."

"Well, we go way back."

"I hope you can make this happen for her," he said earnestly. "You're all she talks about."

Rachel turned away from Frank's prying gaze. "I'll tell you what, we're gonna be in NYC for my concert next month. There's a Sheraton in New York, and I know Tina likes to pull her employee discount. If you can get her up there for my concert, I'll get free box tickets for the both of you, and we can discuss it all then."

He promised, "I'll make it happen."

Once the call was disconnected, Frank began his interrogation. "What was that about?"

"He's just looking out for his girl," Rachel defended.

Frank looked doubtful. "You're gonna hire Tina as your personal assistant?"

"I've been talking about hiring someone for a couple weeks now haven't I?" Rachel said. "Who better than someone who already knows our situation? We need someone we can trust, don't we?"

"I don't know, it seems weird."

"You worry too much, Farmer."

Rachel tossed her cell phone back onto the bed and walked into the bathroom to brush her teeth. After a few minutes at the sink, he appeared behind her in the mirror.

"So, are you going to go back to see Dr. Evers?" he questioned her.

She stared at him unwaveringly in the mirror. "Yes."

"Alone this time?" he asked, an encouraging edge to his voice.

She nodded slowly.

"Okay." The word was so soft she barely heard it before he turned and left the room.

}0{

"He used to hit me, call me names. He'd steal money from me and promise me he was gonna pay me back, but he never did. It was a living hell being with him. I tried getting out a few times, but ultimately I stayed with him because … well, I guess because I didn't feel like I deserved anyone better."

Dr. Evers adjusted his glasses. "What was his name?"

Rachel shuddered involuntarily. "Marcus Hatch."

"You met him when you were quite young, then?"

"It was the year my daddy died," she whispered. "I was nineteen. He was thirty."

Dr. Evers raised one careful brow. "That's a pretty big age gap. Do you think he was taking advantage of you?"

"Hell yeah, he was," she said grimly. "He even had another son ten years prior which he'd never told me about. I found out from one of his ex's."

"Does Fletcher know about that?"

Rachel felt a thimble's worth of guilt. "Nope. I'm never opening that can of worms with him."

Dr. Evers studied her face for a long moment before switching back to the subject of Fletcher's father. "How did Marcus react to your pregnancy?"

"I didn't tell him until I was almost four months along, when I couldn't hide it anymore. He wanted me to abort."

"How did you resolve that?"

"We didn't," she said darkly. "He ended up in prison shortly after that, and Fletcher was born the following spring."

"What did he go to prison for?"

"Conspiracy to murder. He was charged along with two other guys."

The clock ticked six times between their voices.

"That's a heavy charge."

She nodded tensely, feeling her throat begin to close up.

"You want to stop talking about it?" Dr. Evers asked, sensing her hesitation.

She shrugged. "I have to talk about it to someone. I never told Fletcher the details. I just… I just want my baby to have his peace."

"You've never told Frank any of this either?" he asked.

Rachel suppressed a shiver. "No."

"Not the right timing? Not comfortable sharing?"

"I guess I just never felt like it was relevant."

Dr. Evers sighed. "Well, it's not anyone's business what your previous relationships entailed. But when it comes to abuse, Rachel, it's probably wise to disclose that to your current partner. Sometimes the way we were treated in a past relationship can leave such an impact on us that it affects our behavior in ways we don't always recognize as unhealthy."

It was exactly what she'd been dreading he would say. She knew he was right, which made it even harder to hear.

"Frank may not know about my relationship with Marcus, but he knows a lot of personal things about me," she said, as if trying to justify their intimacy. "I've opened up to him a lot. And he's opened up to me. He's still the only person who knows about my sister hiring a hitman to murder me."

The words had slipped out so uncontrollably, it was only the look of bewildered horror on the face of her therapist that made Rachel pause. She could tell he was trying to keep a professional demeanor, but he was still only human. "Rachel, that's . . . You . . . You mean, your sister who got shot?"

"Yeah, Nicki."

"She tried to have you killed?"

The clock ticked four times.

"It's complicated."

"We don't have to talk about it all today."

Rachel nodded absently, her mind trailing back several sentences in the conversation when she realized the one errant detail that her therapist should not have known.

"How did you know Nicki was shot?"

Her heart pounded in her chest as she awaited his answer.

"Frank has talked about Nicki before," Dr. Evers revealed with apparent reluctance. "He never mentioned that she, well . . . He never told me anything else about her. Just that she was your sister, and she was shot at his father's cabin while trying to protect you."

Rachel was stunned. How could Frank have painted Nicki in such a noble light, even to complete strangers? There was only one clear reason in Rachel's mind: that he had gone to the absolute furthest possible lengths to preserve her sister's memory, even to those whom it would have held no significance whatsoever to contain.

"Rachel?"

"I . . ."

"If you're not comfortable going on, we can end our session here."

She broke down.

"I lied!"

"You lied . . . about what?"

"In our last session! I lied that I never worry about being targeted again," she sobbed into her hands. "I worry about it all the time! Just like Frank does . . ."

For a fraction of a second she wished she'd brought Frank with her. She hadn't gone through such a moment of extreme distress without him by her side in a very long time. It felt awful not having him there to reach out and hold her and tell her it was going to be alright.

Instead it was the voice of Dr. Evers attempting to comfort her. "It's alright, Rachel. It's alright. I'm glad you told me now."

He gave her several minutes to calm down before he said gently, "I would encourage you to talk openly with Frank about these things, but if you're not ready to do that yet, we can discuss it next time."

Rachel exhaled deeply and nodded at him through watery eyes. She watched as he rose from his chair and placed one hand on her shoulder. "I know this is painful. But oftentimes, pain means progress."

She clung onto his words for the rest of the day, desperate for some kind of encouragement.