Cocky Suits Chicago: Books 1-3

by Alex Wolf

“Yeah.” I sigh.

  “So she went back to Texas?”

  “Yeah, she’s gone.”

  The old man snickers.

  What the fuck? Doesn’t he see me pouring my damn heart out here? I don’t make it my business to share my personal life with just anyone.

  “Something amusing? What the hell? I’m dying over here.”

  “Oh cut the shit. You ain’t dying.”

  I sit up on the couch. “Is this some kind of mindfuck you’re pulling on me right now? Of course I’m dying.”

  “Men overseas are dying, away from their families, wishing they could hold the people they love. You’re acting like a pussy. Talking instead of doing. Feeling sorry for yourself. And I must say.” He finally turns and eyes me up and down. “It’s not a good look.”

  I halfway want to punch his ass, but he’s in a damn wheelchair for fuck’s sake. Not to mention, I can’t really argue with him. I am feeling sorry for myself.

  Before I can say anything, he says, “Maybe that’s a little harsh, but you’re thinking about this thing all wrong, kid. When Deacon fucked up, what’d you do? He was probably looking the exact way you are right now, wasn’t he?”

  I hold my face in my hands. “Yeah, he was in bad shape. A fucking mess.”

  He spins his chair around. “Well, what did you do? You were on the outside looking in. That’s how you need to approach your little problem here. You smacked him around a little, I’m sure, to get him out of his own head. Then you guys came and took me to the Bears game, Deacon begged and pleaded until she couldn’t say no. He refused to let her go. He made his move. He did something instead of crying on a couch about his problems. Why aren’t you taking your own advice right now? You watch all those damn romance movies and shit. Wasn’t that how you came up with it?”

  Jesus fucking Christ, I could kiss this old bastard.

  I jump up to my feet. “You’re right. I’ve been caught up in my emotions like a little bitch, wallowing in self-pity. I’m not a damn woman like Deacon.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly put it like…”

  He sounds like he’s in a tunnel a million miles away right now. My brain is spinning, scheming. Concocting a web of ideas like John Nash in A Beautiful Mind. The light bulb goes off. “Fucking hell.” I shake my head. It’s all so obvious now. I can still have her. I snap my fingers and point right at him. “The over-the-top redeeming gesture. I need one, bad. And it needs to be way better than Deacon’s because he’s a bitch and I’m the pioneer of this shit.”

  Mr. Richards laughs. “Well, hell, there ya go, son.”

  “Gotta get out of here. I have work to do. Thanks, Mr. Richards.”

  He waves me off with a hand and goes back to watching TV. “Anytime, kid. Good luck.”

  I haul ass toward the door and damn near barrel over Deacon and Quinn as they walk in.

  “What the fuck, bro?” Deacon yanks Quinn to the side so I don’t level them to the ground.

  “Outta my way!” I grin at both of them. “I need a dry-erase board and some markers. Gonna draw up a plan that shits all over yours.”

  They both stare at each other as I haul ass to the elevator.

  “What just happened?”

  Deacon shrugs. “I think he’s going after Abigail.”

  Quinn clutches her chest. “Finally. I wish I could be there. I bet it’s amazing.”

  Deacon grins at Quinn. “Bet mine still ends up being better.”

  The elevator doors open, and I step in and turn back to them. “You wish, dick breath.” I hold up a middle finger at him as the doors shut.

  Abigail

  It’s Christmas Eve and I’ve sulked nonstop for the last twelve days since I got back to Dallas. Weston told me I didn’t have to start until after the new year, and to enjoy a break before I came back to the firm.

  I glance around the room and I should be happy right now. It’s freaking Christmas, my favorite time of the year. Dad’s legs are shot out perpendicular to the floor in the recliner and his snores echo through the house. He has a Dallas Cowboys blanket draped over his Longhorns hoodie because Mom keeps the house cold and he just deals with it and never complains. I smile at him. I know it drives him up the wall, but he always shrugs and says, “Happy wife. Happy life.”

  Mom’s in the kitchen, baking a turkey she’ll use for turkey and noodles tomorrow. It’s our tradition. My sister is back in her room, doing God knows what. She’s fourteen and at that angsty teen stage where she listens to her headphones all day and wants nothing to do with anyone. National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation is on the TV and all I can think about is Dexter quoting it word for word on our first date.

  I start to laugh at the thought, then stop myself. Part of me wishes Cousin Eddie would drag Dex to the house so I could give him my own version of a Clark Griswold Christmas diatribe, but the rational part of my brain knows I need to just mope around for a bit longer and then forget about him.

  Dexter.

  My favorite Christmas movie is on, the house smells amazing, and yet all I can do is think about him. What’s he doing? Who’s he doing it with? I know he’s probably with his family but all I can seem to imagine is him finding someone else and moving on already. She’s probably older, more mature, more beautiful, more experienced in the bedroom. Better for him.

  You did the right thing.

  I know my brain is right, but my heart doesn’t agree one bit. Why does this hurt so damn bad?

  Mom walks into the living room and gives me the obligatory I’m sorry you’re in pain, sweetheart look. “Honey, why don’t you come help me in the kitchen? Take your mind off things.”

  I shrug. It can’t make anything worse.

  I sulk into the kitchen behind her and she reaches into the very back of the fridge and comes out with a bottle of wine.

  “Mom!” My eyebrows rise.

  She waves me off like it’s nothing, but then peeks around the corner to make sure Dad is still asleep. “It’s this or the gun. Which one do you want to use to fix this problem of yours?”

  I can’t tell if she’s joking or not. Finally, I nod at the bottle. “The wine, please.”

  “Nothing wrong with it on a holiday.” She pauses and points a finger at me. “In moderation of course.” She pours us both a glass.

  This is hilarious. I’ve never seen her drink a day in her life. I wiggle my eyebrows at her. “So, does Dad know you like to get all sauced up?”

  She glares. “I do not get all sauced up.” Mom stops and sighs long and hard. “Look, nobody is perfect. Not me. Not your dad. Not you. And not your boyfriend you’re getting over, okay?”

  I nod.

  “It’s hard to watch you going through this, especially since we just got you back home, and because I know how much you love Christmas.”

  I feel like I might tear up. This is the part where we finally talk about everything, like we always do, and for some reason my throat is scratchy, and I don’t know if I can get any words out to my mom. And we talk about everything.

  “This is a part of life though, sweetie. Everyone has their heart broken by someone. It might sound, I don’t know, insensitive, but I promise you something…”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s going to make you a stronger woman. It will hurt and you’ll cry, and I’ll be here every step of the way to comfort you, but you’ll eventually look back at it, learn from it, and it’ll lead you to the man who ends up with your heart one day.” She walks over and pulls me in close to her chest.

  I finally break. The tears start to flow as she smooths down the back of my hair.

  “Mom, I know I’m still young, and I didn’t plan on meeting the right guy for a long time.” I sniffle and bury my face into her shoulder. “I just… For some reason, I just knew he was the one. I don’t know how to explain it. He just got me. And I got him. We were just… right.”

  Her grip tightens around me, and I know she’s having murderous thoughts about Dexter right now.
It’s what I’d do if someone caused my child any emotional pain. “If he loves you the way you love him, he’ll come crawling back. Trust me, they always do.”

  “I don’t think so. He would’ve done it already. He’s older and has a good job. He won’t have any problem moving on. It was stupid. I think I just read too much into it.” I can’t believe I’m in my kitchen, crying to my mom over a guy. I’ve never been that kind of girl. I can’t believe Dexter Collins turned me into this.

  I wipe away at my tears and pull back.

  Mom grabs her glass of wine and glances out into the living room at Dad, then back at me, and her voice lowers. “You never tell another living soul what I’m about to tell you, okay?”

  I take a sip and nod. “Umm, okay.”

  “Your dad screwed up really bad once too, back at the very beginning. It was our first anniversary and you weren’t born yet. Our first wedding anniversary, and he stood me up, didn’t show. Who the hell does that? I could still wring his damn neck. We were supposed to go to dinner. His friends got tickets to the Cowboys and Giants game. He went. Didn’t tell me he was going. Didn’t say anything about it.”

  “Oh. My. God.” I almost want to laugh because it’s so Dad, and it was so long ago, but I bet she was furious when it happened.

  “Yeah.” Her eyes bug out. “I sat at the restaurant and he never showed. We didn’t have cell phones yet. I had no way to get hold of him. I just sat there, seething, then crying, turning my wedding ring over and over on my finger, wondering if we were going to work. So, I went to Grandma’s. He got home. Didn’t know where I was. Didn’t know what was going on.” She pauses and looks like she’s getting worked up about something that happened more than twenty-five years ago all over again. “Geez, that big idiot, I swear. It was our first anniversary as a married couple. Anyway, so, he shows up at Grandma’s at almost midnight and bangs on the door.”

  “Uh oh.”

  Mom nods. “Yeah. Right? At your grandma’s house. Your father is a lot of things, but he does not lack testicular fortitude, at all. We made it a point to never argue in front of you girls, but we’re not perfect at all. We can have blowouts with the best of them when you kids aren’t around, still do on occasion. So, anyway, he’s upset. I’m even more upset and the dummy doesn’t know why, and I have to finally tell him. Things get really heated. He’s telling me to stop acting so dramatic and being stupid. I tell him to just go home. I don’t want to see his dumb face and I’ll come back to the house when I don’t want to tear his head off.”

  This is so surreal. I can’t even picture them arguing like this.

  “And I sat up, and I cried to your grandma, looking the same way you look right now. She pulled a bottle of wine from the back of the fridge and shocked me the same way I shocked you just now when I did it. That bottle’s been sitting back there waiting for this moment for years, honey. I bought it the day you went on your first date, knowing this day would come at some point.”

  I laugh and cheers her glass, somehow feeling a little better because I know the HEA is coming soon. “So, what happened with you and Dad?”

  She smiles toward the living room, the smile she reserves just for him and nobody else. “The big goof didn’t even make it until the morning on his own.” She laughs and leans in. “He was back within an hour, begging and pleading and apologizing.”

  I almost want to swoon. Good for Daddy.

  “Look, Abigail, the moral is, if you screw up in a relationship, you own it. You ask for forgiveness. That’s all you can do. I don’t know all the details of what happened with you and that boy up north. But I know you’re a good judge of character. We raised you to be. If he’s any kind of a man, he’ll be back, and he’ll fight for you. If he doesn’t, you don’t need his sorry ass.” She covers her mouth. “I swear, this is why you shouldn’t drink. This stuff turns you into a heathen.”

  I laugh and cheers her glass one more time. “Thanks, Mom. You’re right.” I reach for her glass. “Should probably let me have this then, so you don’t turn into more of a heathen.”

  She smacks my hand away playfully. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing to be a heathen once in a while. I’ve waited years for this wine.”

  We both laugh.

  Dad’s snores eventually echo into the kitchen while I help Mom with some of the side dishes. She just shakes her head and keeps baking. “Maybe I should’ve stayed at Grandma’s house forever.”

  A while later, we’re still in the kitchen and the doorbell rings.

  I look up from a mixing bowl. “You expecting company?”

  Mom shakes her head. “Not at this hour. Maybe it’s Lorraine next door. She’s baking too and all the stores are closed. Probably needs something.” She continues to knead a pie crust. “Can you grab it? My hands are all doughy.”

  “Sure.”

  I push away from the counter and walk past Dad. He’s still completely out of it, probably asleep for the night. A Christmas Story is on the TV now and I curse myself for missing part of it.

  As soon as I open the door, about ten carolers start singing We Wish you a Merry Christmas. My face lights up for the first time in weeks, since I left Chicago. It’s my favorite Christmas carol of all time because it’s so simple and to the point.

  The carolers are adorable too. They’re all boys and girls ranging in age from about six to twelve.

  I stand there, basking in it, just remembering why I love the holidays so much and being with my family. I glance back and Mom, Dad, and my sister are fanned out behind me, smiling at the carolers. Mom must have rustled them up and hauled them to the door.

  When they sing the verse about figgy pudding, they part in the middle and Dexter rises from a knee and starts toward me.

  Figgy pudding. Of course, he planned out every damn detail.

  Mom’s hand grips my forearm and her fingers are trembling. Not in a protective way, but in a way that says oh my God, what did I tell you?

  I don’t even have to look back to know she’s grinning like an idiot. It looks like a scene right out of the Hallmark Christmas movies.

  As much as I want to stare at Dexter’s face, and read every single one of his expressions, I can’t, because he’s holding a Husky puppy with the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. My brain tells me I should scream at him to get away, do something. Tell him off in front of everyone. Let him know how stupid he is for what he did. I should do anything but gush at the puppy in his arms, but I can’t.

  It’s the most beautiful dog I’ve ever seen in my life. If any man on this godforsaken planet knows how to buy my affection, it’s freaking Dexter Collins. Ugh!

  “Merry Christmas, Abby.”

  I fold my arms over my chest. All I want to do is grab that puppy from him and bury my nose in its fur, but I know I can’t just let Dex off the hook like that. He hurt me, bad. He can’t buy his way out of it by flying to Dallas with the cutest puppy in the world, but it might get me to listen to him for two seconds and no more.

  I can’t be bought, and I don’t know if I want to forgive him anyway. I already moved across the country because of him.

  “Dexter, I…”

  He cuts me off. “Look, Abby, I was an idiot. I know there aren’t words that can make up for what I did.” He glances down at the ground, but then angles his gaze back up at me.

  I can see the shame written across his features. He looks like he genuinely feels remorse, but it’s still not enough. I was doing my job back in Chicago and I won’t apologize for it. My career means a lot to me and I will always work my ass off. That’s how my parents raised me. I didn’t keep any personal secrets from him.

  He hands the dog to my mom and I immediately want to snatch it away from her, but I don’t. All I can do is stare at Dexter. He has that little boy look about him again, the one where he shows me his vulnerable side. It’s the Dex I fell in love with.

  Then, he does something I don’t expect. He takes both my hands and drops to his knees in front of
me. Why does it feel so good when he touches me? Why does it send warmth rushing through my veins and make me want to forget all our problems and rush into his arms? I’ve missed him touching me so much.

  “I’m not perfect, Abigail. I never will be. I’m an idiot. I do stupid things all the time and I won’t promise I won’t screw up again. I should’ve never made that promise to you in the first place. But I’m begging you. Please, I want another chance. I was always content being on my own, doing whatever I wanted, until I met you. You deserve the truth and the truth is, I’m going to screw up again. And again. But what I will promise you is that I’ll always come back, and I’ll always apologize, and I’ll always make it up to you.”

  A tear slides down my cheek. Everything hits me at once, all the pain and all the happiness. Dexter just makes me—feel things, emotions I didn’t know I had inside me. “Dex, I can’t…”

  “Yes you can.”

  I look away because staring at him like this in front of me is too much to bear.

  “Abby, look at me.”

  I glance back to him and his eyes are glassy, tears forming in the corners. His voice cracks when he tries to speak. “I’m miserable without you. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. My whole world is gray. There’s no color in my life without you. I’m blind, stumbling around, lost.”

  If I wasn’t turning into a blubbering mess before, I am now. “I just can’t, Dex. You hurt me so damn bad.”

  He uses his shoulder to wipe away some of his tears. “I know. I don’t know much, but I know I hurt you and I know I screwed up. I know one other thing, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I know I love you.” He glances down. “I’m down on my knees, in front of your family, risking the worst rejection of all time, begging for you. I’ve never begged a day in my life. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I’d beg for eternity just for one more chance to show you how much I love you. I’m not going away, not now and not ever. I’ll fight for you every day the rest of my life if I have to.” He shakes his head. “I just need one more chance. Please don’t leave me. I’ll do anything.”