Chapter 5
Frank Castle did not cry. That wasn’t who he was.
Sure, he’d been through hell. Lost his wife, lost his kids, lost every damn thing that ever mattered. But he’d survived. He didn’t break. Didn’t let himself feel enough to break.
That was the rule. That was what kept him from coming apart.
But tonight, something cracked.
Maybe it was seeing Matt with Karen.
Maybe it was the way Matt smiled at her like she mattered.
Maybe it was the way Frank had to remind himself—over and over—that Matt wasn’t his, that Matt could do whatever the hell he wanted, that it was none of his business.
Or maybe it was the fact that, for the first time in years, Frank wanted something he couldn’t have.
And he hated himself for it.
So he locked himself in his apartment, dropped onto the couch, and stared at the ceiling, forcing himself to breathe.
Deep. Slow. Controlled.
Didn’t work.
Because all he could see was Matt smiling.
All he could hear was Karen laughing.
And all he could feel was this tight, aching weight in his chest that he couldn’t shake.
It was stupid. He was stupid. Because this? This wasn’t even about Matt.
It was about him.
About the fact that he’d spent his whole damn life thinking he was one kind of person, only to realize—too late—that maybe he was something else.
And maybe that something else made him weak. Made him pathetic.
Made him sit there in the dark, fists clenched, eyes burning, fighting the kind of feeling he never let himself have.
And maybe—just maybe—he lost that fight.
Just for a second.
Just long enough for his breath to hitch, for his chest to shake, for his whole goddamn body to tense like he could physically stop himself from breaking apart.
Didn’t work.
So Frank Castle—former Marine, hardened soldier, the kind of man who didn’t flinch at blood or death or war—sat there, in the dark, fists pressed to his eyes, and cried.
Quiet. Choked. Furious.
Because he wasn’t this guy. He wasn’t weak.
He wasn’t someone who cried over something this stupid.
But the tears came anyway.
And Frank hated himself for every damn one of them.
Matt heard it.
He hadn’t meant to.
But Frank wasn’t exactly subtle.
At first, Matt thought it was just another bad night. He’d heard Frank pacing before, heard the way he moved—heavy steps, restless energy, like he was fighting something inside himself.
Tonight was different.
Because tonight, Frank wasn’t moving. Tonight, Frank was breaking. And Matt didn’t know why.
Didn’t know what set him off, what made him crack.
But he heard it.
The way Frank’s breathing hitched.
The way his heartbeat stuttered.
The way his whole body tensed, like he was trying so hard to keep it in.
And Matt?
Matt wasn’t sure what to do with that. Because Frank was strong. Too strong.
The kind of strong that didn’t let people see him weak.
So if Matt could hear this—if anyone could hear this—then Frank must’ve really lost control.
And that scared Matt more than he cared to admit.
Because Frank wasn’t the kind of guy who lost control.
And yet, here he was.
Sitting in the dark.
Crying.
Matt clenched his jaw, shifting in place.
He shouldn’t do anything.
Frank wasn’t the kind of man who wanted to be comforted.
Hell, if Matt knocked on his door right now, Frank would probably slam it in his face.
So Matt stayed where he was.
Listening.
Waiting.
Wondering why, for the first time in a long, long time, he wanted to break his own rules—just for Frank.