What Lingers
this is part 2 of "Haunted by You" part 1 here
pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader
tags: ANGST, heartbreak, conflicted feelings, kinda love confessions, exes to????, did I mention angst?, husband! Frankie, daddy! Frankie, regrets, alcohol mention, longing, mention of addiction, an apology, betrayal, Frankie really needs a hug
summary: After Frankie's whole world shatters he finds himself back in a place he shouldn't be at.
notes: We got an alternate, way more heartbreaking ending for this which I put under the cut!
both parts also readable here
Frankie thought he was doing the right thing—the honorable, morally correct thing—by staying with the woman carrying his child. He told himself he could make it work, build the life society always told him was the ultimate goal.
So why did it feel like a prison?
The ache in his chest was a constant reminder—not just of what he lost, but of what he truly wanted, what he craved more than anything. You were always there, lingering in his mind, haunting his dreams when he finally managed to sleep.
He deserved every second of it.
The birth of his child should have been the moment everything clicked into place. The moment that made all the sacrifices worth it. But something felt off.
At first, it was just a whisper of doubt, a fleeting thought he pushed aside. He told himself it was exhaustion, stress, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. But as the days turned into weeks, the feeling only grew. It was in the way the baby’s features didn’t quite match, in the tiny details that gnawed at him when he laid awake at night. This child wasn’t his.
The thought was poison, eating away at him, and no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, it wouldn’t leave. Still, he loved the baby—God, did he love them. He held them close, rocked them to sleep, whispered promises into the soft dark. His heart felt full despite it never being fully healed after you broke up.
But love couldn’t erase doubt.
After months of trying to swallow it down, he finally asked her. He expected denial, expected anger. What he didn’t expect was how quickly she snapped, her voice sharp, calling him crazy, accusing him of trying to ruin the one good thing they had. So he let it go. Or at least, he tried to.
Her affair had lasted for months—long before the pregnancy, long before Frankie had convinced himself he was doing the right thing by staying. And though she swore it was over, that she had ended it, it didn’t change a damn thing.
She hadn’t chosen him. Not then.
Maybe not ever. But he couldn’t blame her, he did the same.
Frankie was absolutely shattered, devastated in a way that felt too deep, too consuming to put into words. He thought he’d prepared himself for the worst, but nothing could have braced him for this.
Everything he had sacrificed, every moment of pain he had endured to hold his family together—it had all been for a lie. Pain clawed up his throat, squeezing the air from his lungs. He wanted to scream, to break something, to disappear into nothing. Instead, his mind drifted to the one thing he knew could make it stop. Just for a little while.
The thought hit him like a slap.
He could almost feel it—his pulse slowing, his mind numbing, the weight lifting off his chest. But at the very last second, something in him twisted, jerked him away from the edge. He exhaled, hands shaking, and almost without thinking, he grabbed his keys and walked out. His car moved on autopilot, cutting through the night, heading to the only place that made sense.
The bar. Your bar. The same one he had met you in months ago.
You sat alone, fingers curled around a glass, your gaze unreadable—distant—until you spotted him. Your brows furrowed, deepening as recognition set in.
"Frankie?" you asked, breathless, his name spilling from your lips—healing and hurting in equal measure.
How many nights had he laid awake, dreaming of seeing you again, of hearing your voice one last time? And now, here you were, and it all came crashing down on him. Every feeling he had buried, every sacrifice he had made to convince himself he was doing the right thing—only to realize it had all been a twisted lie.
But then, had he ever been honest with his wife? He had never told her the truth—that his heart had never truly belonged to her. That he had always kept a space for you, waiting, hoping, like a stray dog lingering at the edge of a home that was never really his, starving for scraps of something he could never have.
For a moment, he couldn't speak. His throat felt tight, his chest hollowed out by everything he had tried so hard to ignore. And you just stared at him, brows still furrowed, fingers twitching around your glass like you weren’t sure if you should reach for him or let him be.
He shook his head. If he let you say his name again, he might break apart completely. He sank onto the barstool beside you, his fingers instinctively reaching for his neck, rubbing the tense muscles there—his nervous tick, the only thing keeping him grounded.
"I don’t even know why I’m here," he admitted, voice rough. "I just… I just started driving, and this is where I ended up."
You didn’t say anything at first. Just watched him, like you were seeing him for the first time all over again. And maybe, in a way, you were. He swallowed hard, staring down at his hands.
"She had an affair," he said finally. The words burned, his voice cracking under their weight. "For months. The whole time. The baby… they aren’t mine."
Silence settled between you. Heavy. Suffocating. The kind that made his leg bounce nervously, the kind that was too hard to endure. Frankie let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.
"And the worst part? It doesn’t even matter that she ended it. It doesn’t change a damn thing." He exhaled sharply, fingers pressing into the side of his neck as if he could squeeze out the ache beneath his skin. Then, finally, he looked up at you. "I stayed for a lie. I gave up everything for a lie."
Something flickered across your face—something he couldn’t quite place. Pain? Guilt? Understanding? Maybe all of it at once. But you didn’t speak. You didn’t turn away. So he kept going.
"I almost used," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tonight. I almost went back to it." Your breath hitched, just slightly. He didn’t have to explain. You knew exactly what he meant.
"But you didn’t," you said softly.
His throat tightened, the sharp-edged emotions tearing him apart. And yet, here you were—just listening. He didn’t deserve that, not after your last meeting, not after everything he had done, the pain he had caused. But still, you stayed.
Frankie blinked hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. "No," he murmured. "I didn’t."
"I think I need a drink," he added, ordering the same thing he always did.
He shifted the glass in his hand, the ice clinking softly as he swirled it, watching the liquid move, mesmerized by the simplicity of it. Then, he took a sip, feeling the burn slide down his throat, grounding him—if only for a second. His whole world had just been turned upside down, shattered beyond recognition. And yet, here he was, sitting next to the only person who had never made him feel like the loser he knew he was. The only person who had every reason to curse him to hell… but didn’t.
Frankie exhaled, his fingers tightening around the glass. He wasn’t sure how to say it—how to make you understand what had been clawing at him all this time. He glanced at you, watching the way you held yourself, the way your eyes seemed to flicker with something he couldn't quite name. The silence between you stretched out, but this time, it felt familiar—like déjà vu.
He could almost hear your voice in his head, that night months ago, sitting at this very bar. He’d been about to kiss you, feeling the pull between you two, but you had stopped him. You had pulled away and told him, "You can’t risk your family."
And he hadn’t. Not then. But now? Now, it felt like the world had shifted, and the weight of everything—the lies, the betrayal, the things he couldn’t undo—came crashing down on him.
"I don’t know what I was thinking," he muttered, shaking his head, his voice rough. "I thought I was doing the right thing. That I had to go, had to try. But I was wrong. I knew I was wrong, even then."
He took a long sip, feeling the burn as it went down, but it didn’t help ease the ache in his chest. "I hurt you," he said quietly, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "I walked away, and I didn’t let you say anything. I didn’t give you a chance. I was an idiot, stupid and reckless."
His leg bounced nervously under the table. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop the restless energy that was building inside him, this need to say everything.
"You deserved better. You deserved more than that." He swallowed hard, looking away, his gaze falling to the melting ice in his drink. "Better than me, always had."
The silence stretched between you again, but it wasn’t as heavy now. It was just... waiting.
He finally forced himself to meet your eyes. "I’m sorry." The words felt too small for everything he had done, but they were all he had. "For leaving like that. For treating you like you didn’t matter when you were the only thing that ever really did."
He looked down at his hands, a shaky exhale escaping him. "I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just needed you to know."
His fingers curled around the glass, but he didn’t bring it to his lips. It was just a desperate attempt to hold onto something, to not drown.
"Because I still care about you. More than I should." He paused, struggling to find the right words. "More than I know what to do with."
And there it was. The truth. Out in the open. The things he had kept buried for so long.
You were quiet for a long time. Too long. The weight of everything Frankie had just said seemed to settle on your chest like an anchor, pulling you under. It was visible on your face. But you kept yourself steady, breathing slowly, carefully. Finally, your voice broke through the quiet, soft but cutting.
"I'm sorry for what you're going through, Frankie," you said, your words almost too gentle, as if they were meant to soften the blow. "I really am." He felt a tightness in his chest, a strange mix of gratitude and regret, but he didn’t let it show.
"But I’m not in a place where I can just watch you destroy yourself again. I can’t do that. Not ever again."
Your words hit him like a physical blow. He wanted to say something, to argue, to explain how hard it had been—but it was useless. He deserved every ounce of it.
"An apology doesn’t fix anything," you went on, quieter now, and that’s when he felt it—the shift. Your gaze didn’t waver from his, and though he saw no anger, there was something final in your tone. "But for the first time in your life, you’re being honest with me. Instead of hiding behind your failures."
That cut deeper than he expected. For the first time, he wasn’t hiding from you, and yet, here you were, laying out the truth, and he couldn’t look away. The sharpness of your words settled into him, the bitter taste of his own mistakes lingering.
"I can give you that. But it still doesn’t change anything."
Your words felt like a door slamming shut, something irrevocable.
"I can't go back, Frankie. Not after everything."
He opened his mouth to say something, but the words got stuck. There was nothing left to say, nothing left to fix. He had lost his chance.
Months had passed. Time, like the seasons, had moved on, relentless and unyielding. Frankie had spent most of it lost in his own head, wrestling with the weight of the past, the ache of what he had lost. It wasn’t easy—coming to terms with the fact that the one good thing in his life, the one thing that had kept him tethered to any semblance of happiness, was gone.
But somehow, he did. It wasn’t a clean cut—not by any means—but with each passing day, the pain dulled just a little more. The harsh reality of his life now felt like some cruel joke shared with his boys. Dark humor had become his coping mechanism. It was unhealthy, but it was better than the alternative. The world kept turning, whether he wanted it to or not.
And then, on a day like any other, something—someone—stopped him in his tracks.
A scent, faint but familiar, clung to the air. A smell he had once inhaled like a lifeline. The softness of it, like the last remnants of a memory, hit him before he could fully register it. He glanced around, his eyes landing on a woman walking a few steps ahead of him, her hair the same shade, the same way it used to fall over your shoulders. His heart skipped a beat, an old ache flaring up in his chest, sharp and heart wrenching. It was fleeting, just a glimpse, but it was enough to send his mind spiraling back.
The woman walked a few more steps before turning down another street, disappearing from view. But Frankie’s eyes remained locked on the spot she had vanished at, his pulse still racing, the pain still there—but now laced with something else. A desperate longing, one he’d buried so deep he thought it would never see the light of day again
And then, just as if the universe had decided to play a vicious trick again, you appeared.
You were standing right in front of him, suddenly impossibly real. Impossibly close. And just like that, his world snapped into focus. You, with that familiar smile ghosting at the corners of your lips, the same eyes that haunted him in his quietest moments now locked onto his, studying him, seeing right through him.
"Francisco Morales," you said, your voice light, teasing almost, but there was a softness there too. "I really can’t escape you, can I?"
The words landed in his chest, like a broken promise that still felt like it could heal him. His heart swelled with a bittersweet ache, as though everything he had lost, everything he had tried to let go of, was standing in front of him, alive and tangible, as if nothing had ever changed. And for the briefest moment, just before the walls he’d built around himself could fully rise again, Frankie allowed himself to believe that the universe was offering him a second chance—or at least the chance to make something right.
He stared at you for a long moment, his heart still beating like a drum in his chest, but then he shook his head with a small smirk, as though trying to deflect the weight of it all.
"Same to you," he said, his voice light but carrying an undercurrent of something deeper. "You stalkin’ me or something?"
And just like that, a tiny spark flickered back to life between you two. You gave him a smile—just the slightest curve of your lips—but it was the kind he knew all too well, the one that only existed because of him.
