Saving My Soul: A Second Chance MMA Romance (Second Chance Chicago Series Book 3)

by Gina Azzi

  “Good. I’ll send a car to pick you up from the airport. It will take you straight to our home. See you tonight.” He hangs up.

  I sit on the edge of my bed and blink into the sunlight for a full minute before I spring into action, throwing necessities and random items into my suitcase.

  Thirty minutes later, after leaving Jack a voicemail and scrawling a hasty note to my mom and Kent, I’m in the back of a cab, bound for LAX.

  The flight is torture.

  Not because I’m sandwiched between a desperate mother, bouncing a wailing toddler on her knee and a drunk man hiccupping on my shoulder, but because my head is all over the place.

  Was Eli right? Will Connor need me now? If he does, will we both just be settling for the moment, instead of hashing out what really needs to be said between us?

  God, that’s so freaking selfish. Connor just lost his dad. The last thing he’s thinking about is our relationship.

  Are we still in a relationship? It was one fight!

  Was it even a fight? Did we break up? Did he end things with me and I don’t know? Does he think I ended things with him?

  Jesus.

  When the plane lands at O’Hare, I hurry to the baggage claim and into the waiting car that Eli sent, relieved and petrified and coming undone at the seams.

  The ride to Eli and Zoe’s is short compared to the agony of the flight. The moment the car pulls into their driveway, I’m racing to their front door.

  Zoe pulls it open before I can knock and I skid into her, wrapping my arms around her to keep her from falling back.

  “Thank God you’re here,” she says the second I step out of our embrace.

  “What? Why?”

  She tips her head toward the living room. “He’s been sitting in there for hours. Eli’s with him, but so far I don’t think they’ve spoken a word to each other.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “Drinking.”

  I wince.

  Zoe nods. “I mean, of course he needs a drink. But he’s stewing. Turning things over and over in his head and as well as I know Connor, he’s drawing some really negative conclusions.”

  Fear washes over me. “Do you think I should go in there?”

  “You have to.” Zoe pushes me in the direction of the living room. “I’ll bring you a glass of wine and pull Eli out. Maybe then, Connor will finally start talking.”

  “Everyone grieves differently.”

  “I know that. I also know that bottling it all up is more harmful than helpful.”

  “Yeah.” I take a large inhale, exhale slowly, square my shoulders, and push into the living room.

  Eli’s eyes flick to mine the moment I clear the threshold. His green eyes blaze with concern, his jawline tight. I sense his worry immediately, which is great if he’s showing it so freely.

  I step up to the man I love so much it hurts. Even more so now that I pushed him away just last night. Just hours before life TKO-ed him. “Connor.”

  His gaze meets mine, dark, bottomless, unreadable.

  “Hey.” I crouch in front of him, placing my palms on his knees.

  He doesn’t move, just continues to stare at me.

  I hear a rustle behind me and know that Eli left the room.

  The air crackles with our energy, the way it always does. But now, Connor makes no move to close the space between us. I don’t press him. Instead, we stare at each other, wary, hesitant, like the individuals we used to be instead of the couple we’ve grown into.

  A pang cuts through my chest and I press my cheek into his jean-covered thigh, my arms encircling his waist. After several moments, his hand lifts and settles in my hair, his fingers threading through the strands and holding me against him.

  I don’t know how long we sit there, but the silence is oddly comforting. Shadows grow longer on the pale grey walls. My knees begin to ache, but I don’t move a muscle.

  Instead, I offer whatever tiny comfort I can provide and pray like hell that Connor accepts it.

  24

  Connor

  Nothing.

  I feel absolutely nothing.

  Everything is numb. Dulled. Muted.

  My senses. My thoughts. My emotions.

  After I lost to The Bulldog, I never thought I’d feel so low again.

  I was wrong.

  But this isn’t feeling low. This is feeling nothing. This is an agony that doesn’t burn, a hurt too sharp to absorb, a loss too fucking great to understand.

  Pop’s face fills my mind. His eyes, nothing like mine, were blue and bright and glowing. His smile, nothing like mine, was enormous and freely given. He was a million times greater than the man I’ll ever be, and now he’s gone. And I have no clue how to carry on without him.

  The pain is nothing like when my mom left. Then, I felt abandoned. Now, I feel obliterated. Like the strings keeping me tied to this world, to reality, have been cut.

  Instead, I’m flapping out in the wind, untethered to logic, to anything that makes any kind of sense.

  “Are you sad?” Maddie asks in her sweet voice. Her palm rests on my cheek.

  When I glance down, I’m surprised to find her sitting in my lap.

  “I am,” I tell her.

  Her eyes, too soulful for a three-year-old, fill with emotion. She seems to understand more than most adults.

  “Then I am too.”

  “Why are you sad?” I nudge her.

  “Because you’re sad,” she replies, like it’s the most obvious reason in the world. Although, I stop to think about it, she does have a point.

  “But I don’t want you to be sad, Maddie.”

  She shrugs. “I don’t want you to be sad either.”

  That earns her a small smile, which she returns before resting her head on my shoulder.

  “Madeleine Ann,” Zoe comes into the living room.

  Maddie scurries from my lap quickly, shooting me an apologetic look over her shoulder before hurrying after Zoe.

  I’ve been sitting in this chair for so many hours, I lost count.

  “Connor? You hungry?” Harlow asks, her tiny frame shadowing the doorway. She crosses her arms over her chest, but the movement isn’t defensive, it’s protective.

  Part of me wants to reach out and pull her into my lap. Last night flickers briefly through my head. Was it just last night? It feels like a lifetime ago. When the heaviest thing weighing on my mind was whether or not I fit into Harlow’s world.

  I chuckle, but the sound is harsh and Harlow winces.

  Pop is gone. Dead.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She flinches and I silently curse myself. Why can’t I ever say the right things where Harlow is concerned?

  “I came for you.”

  “I thought you wanted to spend time with your family and friends?” Jesus, I wish I didn’t sound so defensive. Is she here out of guilt? Obligation? I don’t want her to hang around, walking on eggshells, trying to piece me back together because she feels bad for me. I don’t want anyone’s pity.

  Got that bit from Pop for sure.

  Harlow shrugs, pushing off the doorway and stepping toward me. “Things change.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  I shake my head.

  “You need to eat.”

  She touches my wrist. It’s gentle. Compassionate. And it pisses me off because it’s hesitant.

  Like I’m going to fucking shatter. Like she isn’t sure if she should be the one to touch me.

  I crave her touch and detest it at the same fucking time.

  “I’m fine right now.”

  “Connor, I—”

  “You don’t have to say anything.”

  She bites her bottom lip to keep it from quivering. “I’m going to head out now.”

  “Okay.”

  “Unless you want me to stay?” Is that hope in her tone? Or is it misery?

  “Whatever you want to do.”

  She nods slowly, he
r eyes boring into mine. “I’ll be back tomorrow, Connor.”

  She quickly strides from the living room, like she can’t wait to get away from me.

  Where’s the girl who laid her head in my lap earlier? How long ago was that? Could have been fucking days. But when I stare down at the outfit I wore when I boarded the flight from L.A. to Chicago a lifetime ago, I know it wasn’t.

  Ah, I can’t blame her. I wouldn’t want to be with me right now either.

  “Don’t do it.”

  “What?” I bite out, turning to see Eli standing where Harlow was a moment ago.

  “Push her away.”

  I snort.

  He plops down in the armchair across from me. “I’m serious, Connor.”

  Earlier today, we sat like this for hours, consuming copious amounts of alcohol. But no matter how much I drank, I could never reach the mental oblivion I sought. The numbness came, but not the ability to forget.

  Tomorrow, I’ll have a hangover that served absolutely no purpose.

  Just like Pop’s death.

  It shouldn’t have happened, and I don’t understand why the hell it did.

  “I know you,” Eli continues. I glare at him. “Any time you’re faced with the impossible, you fight your way out of it. Don’t take up a fight with Harlow.”

  “Too late.”

  “She’s not going to back down.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “Goddamn it, Connor.” Eli leans forward, his expression menacing. “I know you’re hurting, okay? I can’t imagine how the hell I would react if my mom unexpectedly passed. But me, Zoe, Evan, Harlow — we’re you’re family. So you can sit here for as many days as you’d like and drink yourself stupid. You can swear and scream and fucking cry if you want. You can ice us out with your silence. You can pick every damn fight you want about whatever you want. But we’re not going anywhere. Accept that. I’m going to sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll go with you to make the funeral arrangements.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to. Because family doesn’t let family make decisions like that on their own. You’re one of ours, Connor. And Harlow is too. Don’t push her away just because you’re hurting.”

  I don’t say anything to that. It’s easier to push everyone away and sit in this quiet spot and drink than it is to remember his laughter, the way he told me not to come back from California without Harlow. He really liked her.

  Outside, darkness falls. Inside, the house stills.

  I feel nothing at all.

  Just numb.

  Pop’s funeral is like nothing I ever imagined.

  Mainly because I never allowed myself to consider such a possibility.

  We bury him after a morning service. I’m surprised by the amount of people who show up to pay their respects. Friends of his from the union, veterans who served in Vietnam, guys from Shooters Pub who Pop used to shoot the shit with. My fighters from the gym, the same ones who were on the fence about starting over someplace new, now shake my hand and offer me their condolences. They all come, dressed in their Sunday best, with bowed heads and solemn expressions.

  That’s when the first crack fissures in my chest.

  Father John offers a heartfelt graveside eulogy that leaves the majority of attendees fighting to control their emotions. Pops oldest friend, Nicky “Kick” Kirkpatrick, dabs at the corners of his eyes with a handkerchief in Scottish plaid. The sight of him, openly weeping for my pop, causes the second crack.

  Pop is lowered into the ground under the bright, blue sky of summer. He celebrated his birthday just last month, making him seventy-five when he passed. Birds chirp, trees thick with green leaves rustle, and sunshine gleams. The setting is all wrong. The day makes no goddamn sense. Nothing about Pop’s death makes sense.

  Kick drops a flower onto Pop’s casket.

  The third crack fractures.

  My eyes latch onto Harlow. God, she’s so damn beautiful, seeing her here hurts.

  A trim black dress flirts just above her knees with tiny sleeves that barely cover her shoulders. A black purse hangs from her arm. Black heels cover her feet. But her mouth, her lips are painted a deep red. Scarlet. She looks elegant and classic. A timeless beauty.

  Her green eyes glisten with tears, wide and vulnerable. Loss haunts her features and I know she’s hurting, partly from the loss of Pop and partly for me.

  The fourth crack explodes inside of me. I bite down, hard, until the rust taste of blood fills my mouth.

  Father John concludes the burial ceremony. Friends pull me into handshakes and hugs. Words of sympathy are whispered in my ears.

  The Church women have committed to a meal schedule to make sure I eat for the next week or two.

  Eli’s hand on my shoulder, heavy and settling. Evan’s compassionate expression. Zoe’s warm embrace. The press of Harlow’s lips to the underside of my jaw.

  Words.

  I nod but I don’t hear anything anyone says. Not really.

  The cemetery empties out. Everyone returns to their lives. Their normal. Their wholeness. Errands and work and family dinners. Planning vacations and paying bills and exercising.

  The fifth crack slams through me and I drop to my knees, grateful I’m alone.

  A keening sound pierces the air and it takes me a moment to realize it’s me.

  Jesus. When was the last time I cried? Why does it hurt this fucking much?

  “Let it out, son.”

  I turn, glaring at the person behind me but I lose the will to stay angry the moment I spot Kick.

  “What are you still doing here?” I drop my head to scrub a hand over my face, hiding my tears.

  “Not ready to say goodbye,” he answers, his Scottish brogue thicker in grief.

  I force myself to my feet. “Yeah. Me either.”

  Kick and I stand at Pop’s graveside. We stare at the hole in the ground for a long time. Long enough that I lose track of time.

  “Fancy a pint?” Kick’s voice is quiet.

  I glance at him, understanding the melancholy in his face, the longing to not return home. To emptiness. To quiet. To be left alone with your thoughts when you could be swallowed up by the rowdiness of a pub.

  “Something stronger.”

  Kick nods and after a lingering glance at Pop, he turns and leaves the graveside.

  I blow out an exhale and stare at Pop’s casket. “Take care, Pop.”

  25

  Harlow

  “He’s not answering. Do you know where he is?” I ask Eli as I burst into his kitchen. I’ve tried Connor five times in the past hour and each time he doesn’t pick up the anxiety in my throat crawls higher. Now, I feel like I’m going to choke on it.

  “He’s at Shooters.”

  “And you’re here?” I point at him accusingly. Shooters is a pub that he owns, along with Zoe’s dad.

  “He’s with Kick, Cameron’s best friend. They’re, you know, talking. I think he needs a minute. I’m going to pick him up when Joe calls me.”

  Joe is Zoe’s dad. Even though he no longer works at Shooters due to his blindness, he still has a penchant for a pint and a chat. Especially if it’s about football.

  “Okay,” I say, some of my concern dissipating since Eli doesn’t look worried at all. “Where’s Zoe?”

  “She just put Maddie to sleep, and then Charlie called.”

  “Oh, she’ll be awhile.”

  Eli snorts. “Tell me about it. I ordered Indian. Should be here any minute.”

  “Good. I’m freaking starving.”

  “Yeah. It was a tough day.”

  “The worst. How are you holding up?” I glance at Eli, knowing how close he was to Connor’s dad.

  Eli shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay. It hurts. It fucking sucks. But Cameron wasn’t Cameron this past year. His disease came on fast. It seemed like he was a different person overnight. I don’t know. I guess I’ve been mourning the Cameron I knew for months and this was inevitable. It doesn’
t make it any easier, but it makes it a little more just. For him. Seeing him suffer ripped Connor apart. And Cameron was suffering.”

  “I didn’t realize it was so…aggressive.”

  “Connor’s had a shit year. Cameron’s death is going to devastate him. It’s like as long as he had his pop, he had something to work for, toward. Now, fuck.”

  The doorbell rings. As Eli stands to accept the takeout, my phone buzzes with a new message.

  Helen: Great job at the premiere. A junior-level position just became available in the L.A. office. Could be a great opportunity for you. There’s a short list. Your name is on it if you want to throw your hat into the ring.

  My heart thuds, my hands growing clammy as I re-read Helen’s message. A junior-level position? Wow. This is what I’ve been working toward ever since I became Eli’s P.A. Of course I know my connection to Helen is directly related to my relationship with Eli. If Eli didn’t encourage me to network the way he did, Helen wouldn’t even know my name. But now, for her to consider me for a position at her firm? To have the chance to work for other celebrities, to build my client base, to expand?

  “What’s up?” Eli asks, placing the takeout bag on the island.

  “Helen just messaged me. There’s a junior-level position available in L.A. and I’m being considered.”

  Eli whistles before cutting me a grin. “That’s huge, Low. Congratulations.”

  “Do you think I should try for it?”

  “What do you mean? Of course you should try for it. This is what you’ve been working toward, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but you’re not mad if—”

  “Of course I’m mad,” he says cheerfully. “Helen is trying to poach the best asset on my team.” He grins, his eyes softening. “But you’ve been working toward more for a hell of a long time, Low. Plus, you impressed the hell out of Helen with the way you handled things for the premiere. She was short-staffed and asked if she could pull you into some additional work. I knew this was your shot, so…”

  My mouth drops open as I hold up my phone with the message on it. “You orchestrated this?”