Frog and Quinn: Chapter Twelve (Patreon)

Donnelly squats at the edge of the water, cellphone pressed to his ear. “Quinnie and Froggy are out here. You wouldn’t be a third wheel. Trust and whatnot, we all want you on this trip with us,” he says over the phone.

Beach stretches for miles, and the Gulf of Mexico becomes an endless sea out into the horizon. I look between the shoreline and back to Donnelly as he says, “The only thing I pity are all the uneaten hoagies that should be eaten in Philly. You think you’re a hoagie?”

I feel my slight smile. I wonder if his humor is reaching Xander or if it’s landing flat. God, I hope it’s working.

Donnelly already confessed he’s been trying to get a hold of Xander all day. But that confession wasn’t the serious conversation we were having before Luna came bounding over with the phone.

No, that conversation fucking sucked, and I’m not sure I want to return to it.

This is better. Focusing on Xander. He’s eighteen and sleeps a lot—it’s nothing new. But Donnelly being a thousand miles apart from him can’t be easy. Not when Xander’s fame eclipses most everyone in the Hale family. Stepping outside has the potential of attracting a three-ring circus, or as Frog calls it, the terrible trifecta: paparazzi, super fans, and stalkers.

Dealing with one—no issue. Dealing with two—a mild headache. Dealing with all three—a clusterfuck.

I learned almost instantly that to do this job well, you have to care about these families. The pay isn’t exactly worth the sleepless nights and the irregular fucking schedules. I do it because I care.

If I didn’t, I would’ve been gone my first week on-duty. But the bodyguards who have emotional vested interest with these families—it hits different. It’s closer to home.

Xander Hale isn’t just his client. He’s his girlfriend’s younger brother. Luna’s brother.

Donnelly remains in a squat, water lapping his toes. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m just saying…okay. Yeah, cross my heart and hope to never die…but there’s a lot to explore in New York if you don’t wanna come out here. Like the lamppost down the street—yeah, even the lamppost gets lonely. Go say hi.”

His lighthearted tone doesn’t sound pushy. He sounds like the typical “nothing bothers me” Paul Donnelly I know. But he keeps running a hand over his face, and I know Xander going into isolation must be getting to him a little bit.

When he drops his palm to his knee, he says, “There are other bodyguards—yeah, the Morettis.” Invoking the names of Thatcher and Banks Moretti must mean shit’s bad. They were Xander’s previous bodyguards during a time I heard Xander had been struggling hard with his depression.

I cross my arms over my chest. “He really doesn’t want to come to the beach?”

Rising to his feet, Donnelly says into the phone, “Quinnie wants you to come to the beach. Said so himself.”

“I did,” I say loudly, hoping he can hear on the other end.

Donnelly stares up at the clouds rolling over the sun. “Alright. I’ll drop it if you promise you’re not becoming a hermit because I’m not there. Because I don’t hate crabs, but I’ll start beef with the hermit variety if I have to.” Dude makes no sense, but I hear light laughter on the other end of the phone.

I ease, releasing a breath I’d been caging.

Xander and him obviously have a thing.

I think about my clients. My first one: Jane Cobalt. My second: Luna Hale. My third: Ripley Hale. And now I’m back on Luna’s detail. Yet, I don’t think I ever had a “thing” with any of them, especially not Ripley, a two-year-old, who is still in diapers and barely knows fifty words. There’s no quippy repertoire or late-night chats. Not all the greatest bodyguards in security are buddyguards. So I’m okay with ditching the close friendships in favor of creating professional boundaries.

I can still be one of the greats.

Though, I recognize this means I’m taking after my older brother more than I am Farrow or Donnelly, and that feels…fucking odd. Oscar can claim I chased him into pro-boxing and security, but I actively pushed against the comparisons.

Maybe I still do.

All I know is that I prefer the bond I have with bodyguards over clients. I love the brotherhood, which, yeah, includes Frog. I blink hard to avoid picturing her topless from earlier, but the image is seared in my brain.

Fuck me.

I really wish she weren't so fucking hot.

I scrape a rougher hand through my hair, forcing myself not to glance back at her. Anyway…bodyguards with close client relationships tend to be involved in the most drama. Which Frog would find entertaining. Something to break up the mundane parts of this “standing and staring” job. But seeing Donnelly unable to escape it makes me want to avoid it.

He ends the call after a couple more positive words and a goodbye.

I squint in the sun at him. “That bad?”

Donnelly tosses his phone in the pit of his hand. “He hasn’t left his apartment since he moved in. Could be worse, I guess.”

I nod slowly in realization. “That was five days ago.” Xander moved into the same apartment complex we all did. He’s starting Manhattan Valley University with his sister in the fall. Though they’ll be different years. Different majors. 

“I know.” Donnelly tugs down the hem of his wet boxer-briefs that ride up his thighs. “He says he’s not ready to explore campus yet. But he hasn’t even gone to the lobby or the gym. Hell, he hasn’t stepped foot outside his door.”

Christ. “This means he’s probably not holing up in his room because you’re not around to protect him. He would’ve gone out before you came on this trip, right?”

Donnelly nods. “He’s got anxiety about being spotted in the apartment and ruining interactions with other residents he’ll be running into. It’s new for him. Told him not to care what anyone thinks, but anxiety is a big ugly baby.”

“You’re not a baby person, I take it.”

“I like you,” Donnelly smirks.

I flash him a middle finger. He laughs, and I find myself smiling, forgetting that I did want to get deeper with Donnelly. He lives for each moment so much that asking about his future makes me feel more like a therapist I don’t want to fucking be.

Does he want marriage? Kids? If he’s told someone, it’s not me, and if I press him on a serious topic for too long, he will flip it around somehow. Which is great for right now because I don’t want to return to our talk from earlier.

He lifts his elastic waistband higher on his hips. “Luna thinks Easton will help Xander,” he mentions offhandedly.

Easton Mulligan is Xander’s best friend and also roommate. “You don’t think that?”

“I do, but…I dunno.” He casts a quick glance at Luna, then to me. “I want to be there for him, but I want to be here with her. Fucking clone me, man.” 

I kick the sand. “Not smart enough for that. You should ask the Yale grads.”

“Stamp,” he says the slang as a way of agreeing with me. “Oliveira would probably hit me with the morality of it though. Throw a book in my face on ethics.”

Yeah—sounds like my brother.

“Farrow?” I ask.

“He’d do anything for me.”

That gets me for a second. I want that. A friend…a brother who would do anything for me. Instead of one that cautions me. But it hurts to have the sudden urge to replace Oscar with someone else. I don’t want anyone else. Maybe I just wish he were a little different. 

Is that a bad thought?

Guilt nestles in me in a shitty way, and I ask Donnelly, “Xander really doesn’t want to come out here?”

“Nah. He doesn’t like the beach.”

Public beaches usually equal lots of people, and Xander hates crowds, but we lucked out today. Our spot has been sparse except for the couple walking near the water. I’m not deluding myself into thinking it’ll be this empty every day. We just hit it at dinnertime when everyone’s most likely grabbing a bite and watching the sunset on a porch with a ceiling fan and a mixed drink.

“Speaking of beaches,” Donnelly starts. “We’re on one, and we were just talking about—”

“We can drop it.”

“Or we can revisit it. Take a U-turn.”

I let out a shocked sound. My brows practically spring up into my hairline. “You want to take a U-turn?”

“Yeah, why not?” He shrugs.

“Because you don’t like talking about past shit. At all. If you owned a car, it wouldn’t know how to go in reverse.”

“Pretty sure you don’t need to shift gears to make a U-y.”

I groan. “Donnelly.” I curse under my breath in Portuguese before saying loudly, “When I told you Scooter texted Frog, I didn’t think you’d bring up me and my ex.”

“Seemed like a good segue.”

I make a face. “What? No.” I hold out my hands. “They are two very different things. Separate. Apart.”

“You and Frog both chose to end your relationships in Vegas, man. Together. Seems like this.” He laces his hands together.

Yeah, usually his relaxed demeanor makes me relaxed, but he’s getting on my fucking nerves. “You should be more concerned about that motherfucker worming his way into Frog’s life again. He was your friend—”

“Old coworker,” he corrects. I know they worked in Old City as tattoo artists. “I’ll talk to him, but what about you and your sister?”

My head is spinning. “What?”

“You think you might need to tell her about Nessa?” He shifts his weight, like maybe he doesn’t even want to really broach this topic with me.

My nose flares. Muscles flex into rigid bands. I only glance over at Frog. She’s lying in the sand with Luna, and they act like its snow, making angels as they shift their arms and legs.

The happy innocence of the two girls creating “sand angels” extinguishes some heat in my lungs, but I end up shaking my head roughly at Donnelly.

“I can’t tell my sister why I broke up with Nessa. I can’t.” Joana might be angry at me for not admitting the full truth sooner. I just couldn’t get it out. I haven’t been able to. Now, I feel like I took too long, and what’s the point anymore? “Jo knows I ended things with my ex on bad terms. That’s good enough.”

Donnelly hesitates to add more.

I scrutinize him, then let out a long, long groan. “Ah qual é.” Oh come on. “Oscar put you up to this, didn’t he? He’s wanted me to tell Jo since Vegas, and he thought maybe you could convince me.”

“Didn’t work though,” Donnelly says lightly. “You’ll be happy about that.”

No, I’m not happy. I’m confused, hurt, conflicted. “Can we talk about literally anything else?” I smack my arms at my sides with a sigh. “You want kids someday?”

“Luna would look cute with a cabbage patch baby.” It’s a nonanswer.

“Great,” I mutter, not playing into his banter.

Our gazes meet with newfound tension. I didn’t think any friend could have real tension with someone like Donnelly—he might as well be the living version of “water off a duck’s back”—but sure enough, I’ve found a way.

I think I suddenly hate Florida.

But then I remember Frog’s bright expression and sharp gasp when she saw the white sands. When her feet sunk into it.

And I think, that was worth it. That was worth all the hard parts of being here.

“Hey! We need water!” Luna yells at us, waving two hands like she’s flagging down a helicopter.

I grab my water bottle from the ground and run with Donnelly to the girls. Frog has her eyes closed and sand is…everywhere. Covering her long legs, her bony shoulders, her soft cheeks. Specks of sand stand out among the dark strands of her hair.

They were basically rolling in it.

“She needs water,” Luna gestures me toward Frog, but I already start to kneel in front of her.

“I rubbed my eye, and now it hurts like hell,” Frog explains to me under my breath. “But it’s my fault. Don’t blame the beautiful, luscious sand.”

“The beautiful, luscious sand that’s now infecting your eye?”

“Infecting? Wait—I can get an infection from this?”

I end up smiling. “Here. Hold still, Kannika.” I take her chin in my hand after I uncap my water bottle. “Open your eyes.”

She does, squinting, and I can see they’re both red and inflamed. Jesus. I cage my concern as best I can and tilt the water into her eyes. She blinks a ton. I stop for a second to gauge her pain level. “Better?”

“Yeah, I think so…”

“Let’s do it one more time just to be sure.” I repeat the process. Streams of water slip down her cheeks, and as her eyes begin to clear, they focus more on me. Her chin feels soft in my grip. The air stills. I can read her silent looks. I know the eager, pleading she sends me now is asking, We’re okay, right?

All I want to be is okay with Frog.

It’s felt like a quiet agreement since we’ve been single together. That we’d be okay together. That we’d figure life out together. And like hell am I going to let her ex’s text message add unnecessary friction between us.

I nod to her.

It takes me a moment to realize I’m still holding her face. Practically cradling her cheek that warms with flush against my hand.

I inhale a short breath. My throat grows coarse, and my words come out coarser. “How’s that?”

“I can see.” Her lips lift into a small smile. “Thanks.”

I drop my hand and glance behind me, thinking Luna and Donnelly will be watching us. Instead, I see them in a whispered conversation that I’m sure revolves around Luna’s brother.

Frog follows my gaze to our client and her boyfriend. “Everything okay with them?” she asks me quietly.

“Yeah, I’ll fill you in later.”

Her frown cements in hardened concern.

“They’re good. It’s not about their relationship.”

Her shoulders sag in relief. She’s told me more than once that she doesn’t want to live in a world where Luna and Donnelly break up. I care about their relationship too, but I get a sense there’s something more to it for Frog.

It’s what I ask her when we make it back to the hotel room. Luna and Donnelly head to The Conch room, which means Frog and I are officially off-duty. It’s a pizza delivery kind of night for all of us.

Frog, still covered in sand, unzips her suitcase and contemplates my question. “Luna and Donnelly are both unique, right? They match each other’s weird in the best way. And if they can find each other, it means soul mates exist for everyone.”

It means Frog has a soul mate. Okay, I see the logic now.

“And if they don’t work out?”

She pauses, her hands on her suitcase. “Love is dead.”

My brows rise. “Dramatic.”

She shrugs. “It’s just the truth.” She takes out her toiletry kit and nods to the bathroom. “Do you need to use it before I shower?”

I look her up and down. “No, you definitely need to go first before you get that shit everywhere, Sand Princess.”

Her cheeks flush. “Only a Florida Sand Princess. Sand at Lake Erie is all gritty and rocky.” She skips toward the bathroom, leaving sandy footprints in her wake.

When the door shuts, I find myself staring at it for far too long. What the fuck am doing? I run a hand through my hair and take out my phone. I call my brother as I toss couch cushions to the floor.

“Pick up,” I plead. With Oscar, it’s a crap shoot. He could be talking to penguins on Antarctica or flying over the Pacific with shit cell service.

So I’m incredibly lucky when I hear his groggy voice. “Quinn?”

“Did I wake you up?”

“No, this coffee hasn’t kicked in yet. What’s up?”

I don’t even bother asking where he is or what time zone. To be honest, I’m not sure why I called. It’s not to dig into him about telling Donnelly to do what he felt like he couldn’t: Convince me to spill the truth to our sister. I know that he just wants me to be honest with Jo. I know that he cares.

I know he loves me and Joana.

Maybe it’s the remnants of guilt still sitting on my chest from wishing he were different. I don’t want to wish that. I can’t imagine Oscar being anyone other than who he is.

“I think I pissed off Donnelly,” I admit.

“Bro.” He releases a long yawn. “That’s not possible. He’d never be angry at you.”

“Not a normal kind of fucking angry. Just angry for Donnelly. There’s tension there.”

“Trust me, he’ll squash it next time you see him. Don’t sweat the small shit is tattooed somewhere on his body.”

I try to recall that tattoo on his body. “Seriously?”

“No,” Oscar says, and I imagine the shake of his head. “You sweet summer child—”

“Fuck off.” I roll my eyes, then exhale a sigh. “Do you and Jack want kids someday?” I’ve never really asked Oscar since our parents bug him enough. They want grandchildren, and he’ll usually answer with a snarky, If I do have them, you’ll know when they’re sent off to kindergarten.

To which, Mom will smack his arm and lecture him about you better tell me before they’re born. To keep that secret from me…for that long. It’d make us all laugh.

I hear him yawn again. “Jack and I travel too much. We’ve been on the fence.” It feels good receiving a serious answer. I don’t know why I was seeking any more from Donnelly.

“You’d be a good dad.”

There’s a long pause. “Jack would be better. Thank God I have him.” I want to refute this, but he’s quick to ask, “You have kids on the brain, bro?”

“I’ve been thinking about them since this whole thing protecting Luna has a deadline.” I lower my voice and stare at the door to the bathroom. The sound of water hitting tile is audible. “Akara will transfer me back to Baby Ripley’s detail eventually, right?”

“Last I heard that was the plan.”

"Good...yeah..." I hold the side of my tensed neck and eye the lone bed. “So, I have a one bed situation with Frog, and she won’t take the bed.”

“So let her take the floor.”

I grimace. “That’s rude as hell.”

“Why because she’s a girl? She one of us. She’s Omega.”

“Would you let her sleep on the floor?”

He pauses again. “If she wanted to and she’s offering, sure. My back doesn’t do well on the ground anymore.”

My lips rise. “You’re not pushing sixty.”

“Get to thirty-four doing what we do and come talk to me then.”

My smile softens. “You’ll still be here?”

“Probably. You better be too.”

It hits me harder, knowing he wants me to stay in private security with him. That wasn’t always the case. I go to chuck the tiny couch cushion onto the floor, but I stop myself short. Yeah, I know letting Frog take the ground will make her feel more like Gabe. Like she’s one of the guys.

But how long can I pretend that she’s not…something else to me too?

I’m gripping the cushion too hard. “I can’t fall asleep when I feel like a shitty person,” I admit to my brother.

“Then sleep next to her on the floor like an idiot.”

I glare. “Thanks a lot.”

“Hey, you called. You asked. I legitimately answered.”

“Lovely, let’s do this again sometime.”

“Anytime, bro.” I hear his smile, and I feel mine rise again. Before I say a goodbye, he says quickly, “Don’t do anything stupid now that you’re sharing a room with her.”

Smile fucking gone.

My muscles tense. “We’ve shared a room before.”

“Not before she enlisted your help in losing her virginity. Just…be smart.”

Like you. I exhale roughly. Those words sit on the tip of my tongue, but I know better than to release them like a slingshot. I didn’t call Oscar to argue with him or drudge up old wounds. “We’re just friends,” I remind him while I remind myself.

“Okay, good. Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

I didn’t know it’d be such a worry. Frog and me, together.

I guess it’d mess with the team dynamics if something did happen between us. Not that it will. Not that it can. I’m doing my best trying to keep Frog and my friendship intact through all this. That’s what matters most to me.

I toss the couch cushions on the ground, then start stripping the bed. All the sheets. The blankets. Meticulously, I pull the sheets around the cushions and neatly fold the blankets on top to create a pseudo bed. My attempt at making the floor as comfortable as I can.

Now the actual bed is bare except for a mattress and a single pillow.

Yeah, Kannika can take the floor now.

I can sleep with that.

Thank you so much for reading Frog and Quinn's story! We hope you enjoyed this chapter. We love showing the side character relationships just as much as the romance. And there's lots happening for Omega during this summer ☀️

There's another Frog and Quinn chapter coming this month. Stay tuned!

xoxo Krista & Becca

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