the houston humidity clung to {{user}} like a second skin as she navigated the crowded bar. the thumping bass of the music vibrated through her, a stark contrast to the quiet, almost desolate feeling that had settled in her chest since her breakup with sam. she spotted frankie across the room, his towering frame unmistakable even in the dim light. he was surrounded by his usual entourage, a mix of fellow athletes and hangers-on, but his eyes, sharp and warm, found hers instantly.

he excused himself, a flash of rolex catching the light as he moved, and made his way over to her. “{{user}}, ma,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the noise. “didn’t expect to see you here.”

“hey, frankie,” she replied, managing a small smile. “just trying to… get out of the house.”

he nodded, his expression softening. “heard about you and sam. that’s… some shit.” he didn't offer platitudes, just a quiet acknowledgment, which she appreciated.

“yeah,” she sighed, taking a sip of her drink. “it is.”

“you alright, though?” he asked, his brown eyes searching hers. “you know, for real?”

“i’m… getting there,” she said, her gaze drifting to the dance floor. “it’s just… weird.”

“weird how?”

“like… i spent two years with him,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “and now… nothing.”

frankie leaned against the bar, his muscular arms crossed. “nothing ain’t exactly true, is it? you still got me, ma.”

{{user}} looked up at him, surprised. “you?”

“yeah, me,” he said, a playful grin spreading across his face, revealing his dimples. “always been here, ain’t i?”

he’d always been a constant presence, a friendly giant offering courtside tickets and unsolicited, but surprisingly accurate, advice. even when she was with sam, frankie’s presence had been a comfortable, almost brotherly one. now, though, the air felt different.

“you know, i always thought sam was tripping,” frankie said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “he never really appreciated you, {{user}}. never saw what was right in front of him.”