by Gina Azzi
His hand squeezes my hip once before he releases his hold on me and steps away, striding to the refrigerator to fill my water glass.
I blow out a shaky breath and turn. He walks toward me, watching me carefully, curiously. When he hands me the glass, I manage a thank you before I take a sip. The cool water clears my mind, settles some of my nerves.
“You’re really not moving back?” he asks in that direct, unabashed way of his.
His gaze doesn’t waver from mine. I square my shoulders and stand up taller. “It depends on how my interviews go, where I receive job offers.”
“Where are you interviewing?” He leans back against the kitchen island. His body appears relaxed but his eyes, oh his eyes blaze, piercing me to my core.
Intent. Focused. Gah. Having all that attention from Evan Holt is like being an ant under a magnifying glass in the middle of summer. He obliterates.
I collect my thoughts before rattling off several companies and end with, “I hope to secure a position with Garner & Gibson.”
A ripple of interest crosses Evan’s face. “They’re all based in New York?”
“Yes.”
“You want to live there, permanently?”
“I don’t know yet. I’d love to live in the city for a few years, though. But I’ll apply to a few firms in Chicago, to make my mom happy.”
He nods, a frown twisting his mouth like he tasted something unpleasant. He opens his mouth to respond but his phone beeps.
Frustration flickers in his expression as he pulls his phone from his back pocket. He must be crazy swamped at work, as always. But before, his eyes would gleam with interest, not annoyance. I move to turn so he can have some privacy but when he swears softly, I pause, glancing at him over my shoulder.
“All okay?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose before running his hand down his face. “My babysitter, Kaylee, has a family emergency. She needs to go home earlier for the holidays since her grandmother isn’t well. It must be serious for her to leave so suddenly.” He raps his knuckles against the island, his body wound so tightly, it nearly vibrates. I can see his mind processing, turning thoughts over and over. “Ollie has another month of school before the holiday break. I just…I need to sort out after-school childcare.”
Watching him closely, I wonder what happened to the man I once fell for. Sure, Evan’s always been a bit on edge, organized, disciplined, Type-A. But I’ve never seen him this rattled, especially over something like childcare for a ten-year-old. Since I’ve met him, I’ve seen him juggle a lot. Work and parenting, obviously. But also cooking dinner and being snack dad at Ollie’s soccer practices. He makes waffles on Sunday mornings and runs on a treadmill at four-thirty AM. He’s the king of multi-tasking and balancing.
His babysitter bailing is not the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Do you have a backup?”
He clears his throat, picking up my water glass and taking a swig. “Of course. I mean, there are people I can reach out to, but Ollie is in such a good place with Kaylee. I don’t want to dump him with someone he doesn’t know that well. I don’t want him to feel like I’m dismissing him. But work’s been insane, I’ve got this fucking case…”
Witnessing Evan’s distress causes me to reach for him, the way I would have three years ago. Old habits die hard, and as much as I told myself I’d keep cordial space between us, seeing him stressed erases all my self-sworn declarations.
I wrack my mind for a way to help when Ollie enters the kitchen.
“What’s wrong?” he asks automatically, his eyes shifting between his dad and me.
Evan sighs. “Kaylee just messaged me. She needs to head home to Kansas early.”
“Her grandmother was admitted to hospice,” Ollie provides, sounding decades older than ten.
Evan groans, his face stricken. “I didn’t know it was that bad. She should have left already.”
Ollie shrugs, walking farther into the kitchen. He stops next to me and wraps his arms around my waist in the best hug I’ve gotten in ages.
We both stare at Evan. I’m about to ask if his mom can come early for the holidays when Ollie’s neck snaps up and his face brightens. “I know! Charlie can stay with me, right, Charlie?”
Evan’s eyes widen and alarm ripples across his expression. “No, Ollie. Charlie’s home to see her mom. She doesn’t have time to —”
“I can hang with him,” I cut Evan off, volunteering without considering the implications of my words. Ollie’s smile widens and even though a part of me knows this is a really horrible idea, the genuine excitement in his expression has me thinking up all kind of rationalizations. I’m doing it for Ollie, not Evan. It will be fine; I’ll barely see Evan anyway. It’s just like old times and isn’t that what coming home is?
“What?” Evan asks, surprised. “You just got home. You’re on vacation. You’re —”
“Available in the afternoons for the next three weeks or so. My mom is working then, anyway.” I shrug, glancing down at Ollie again. “There’s no one I’d rather kick it with than you, dude.”
Ollie glances up at me and beams. “Really?”
“Totally.” I squeeze him closer.
“I can’t ask you to do that,” Evan says quietly, but I see the flicker of indecision in his eyes, the one that wants to accept.
“You didn’t. I offered.”
“God, Charlie. I mean, that would be huge, but that’s not fair to you. You’re home for such a short time, and I don’t want to take advantage of…” He trails off, unsure of how to continue.
He doesn’t want to take advantage of me? Our shared history? What once was?
Shrugging, I blow off his indecision. Eli’s work schedule is just as crazy as Evan’s and Zoe has so many doctor appointments to monitor her pregnancy she hired a nanny to help with Maddie. Not knowing who else Evan can reach out to if he doesn’t call his mom, I say, “Well, if you can’t find someone more qualified, the offer stands.”
“Please Dad,” Ollie begs.
Evan winces and shoots me an uncertain look.
I quirk an eyebrow, waiting.
“You sure?” he asks.
“I’m positive. We’ll have a killer time. Right Ollie?” I glance down at Ollie again.
“The best time.” He bounces on his toes, waiting for his dad’s decision.
“Okay, if you’re sure,” Evan agrees, his eyes darting between Ollie and me. His mouth twists painfully for a beat before pressing into a thin line. “Thank you, Charlie. Really.”
“It’s not a problem. It’s something I’d do for any of my friends.” That’s the truth. I would offer to watch any of my friend’s kids in a heartbeat.
The only issue is that Evan and I aren’t friends. This is the first time in years we’ve even managed to act friendly toward each other. So why did I just stick my foot in my mouth?
Ollie whoops loudly and runs off to tell Maddie his news.
That’s why. That kid right there is the reason why I’m willingly inserting myself back into Evan’s life after I spent many months trying to move past the pain Evan’s rejection caused.
Evan steps closer, stopping in front of me. His hands raise tentatively, as if he’s unsure if I’ll flinch or melt under his touch. Slowly, he drops his hands to my shoulders and bends his knees slightly until we’re eye level.
“I know I’ve said this a thousand times before,” he says, his voice rough, his expression solemn, “but it’s still the truth. I don’t deserve you, Charlie.”
I peer up at him, getting lost in the emotions swirling in his eyes. My gaze dips to his lips. Full, soft, and too kissable for his own good. I force my gaze back to his. “I’m doing it for Ollie.”
The corner of his mouth ticks up, at complete odds with the intensity in his eyes. “Thank you, Charlie.” He squeezes my shoulders before dropping his hands and stepping around me, walking back into the living room.
I watch him
walk away, my head swirling with confusion, my heart racing. I raise the heel of my palm and rub the center of my chest as if the motion will smooth out my lie.
Yes, my volunteering was prompted by Ollie’s enthusiasm to hang out with me.
But deep down, a part of me offered to help because I hate seeing Evan in any kind of distress.
Even if I don’t want to admit it to myself. And I don’t.
3
Evan
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I glare across my mahogany desk at my client’s son who is becoming a giant pain in my ass.
Frankie Esposito.
Playboy son of one of the higher-ups in the Chicago Outfit, Frankie’s a notorious drug trafficker plaguing Chicago’s streets. And pissing off a lot of people in the process. Because while his father’s generation didn’t dabble much in pushing drugs, Frankie’s brand of mobster is all over it. The more he deals, the more territory he controls, the more toes he steps on. Now, he’s invited the Bratva and a slew of other street gangs into territorial wars as they try to halt his expanding distribution and the sex ring he’s working on the side.
All while his father is awaiting trial for multiple counts of racketeering.
I blow out a deep breath and pinch the bridge of my nose to rein in my temper. I’m never affected by guys like Frankie; I’ve been working with them for too long. Hell, most of the time, I even like them. The criminal pool is always expanding, but the guys in the Outfit’s circle, the ones who’ve been around a long time, are usually polite, considerate, and well-mannered. They know how to use their charm and finesse to manipulate the system, to get what they want. As a result, they’re often successful.
But Frankie Esposito, the clown reclining in the chair opposite my desk without a care in the world, irks me. He’s cavalier, not even concerned that his dad might get locked away for life. Entitled and arrogant, he’s been given too much respect because of who his father is and not because of who he is.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” he says in that slick tone of his, trying to win me over with a grin.
“Frankie, I’m not going to break the law —”
“Come on, Ev.” He sits up in his chair and leans forward. “It’s hardly breaking the law. Bending it maybe but—”
“No.”
He sighs, getting to his feet. “Can you help me out or not?”
The muscle under my right eye twitches, and I clench the underside of my desk, keeping my expression neutral. I’m better than this. Why does this kid irritate me so damn much? He wants me to help him out of a drug-trafficking charge…by getting it dropped. By erasing evidence. I don’t have the power to do that and even if I did, I wouldn’t. Still, he thinks because his father pays my firm a lot of money, that means I wave a magic stick in the air, and he walks away from his fuckups without any consequences.
It doesn’t work that way, buddy.
As one of the city’s seasoned criminal defense lawyers, I’m known for being calculated, decisive, and rational. But goddamn it if this punk doesn’t push my buttons.
“I’m representing your father. Not you.” I stand up. “Don’t get it twisted. I may represent members of your family in a legal capacity, but I don’t do favors.” I stride around my desk, pulling open my office door for him. “If you need legal counsel, talk to Megan at the front. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”
Frankie meets my eyes, his gaze hard and unyielding. A flicker of something dangerous, something irrational, ripples in their black depths and that irks me, too. “Nah, man. We’re cool.”
“Cool.” I hold the door open and extend my hand. Professional curtesy and all that. “I’ll be in touch with your dad soon.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, shaking my hand before leaving.
The moment the door latches closed behind him, I exhale the frustration flickering around my body, zapping different parts like the fireflies Ollie catches in mason jars. The audacity of that asshole to come in here and ask me to destroy evidence on his behalf. His own father, potentially looking at life behind bars, doesn’t try to pull stunts like that.
Collapsing back behind my desk, I scrub my hand over my chin and attempt to regroup. Glancing at the clock, I abandon that idea. It’s already after eight. If I don’t leave now, I’ll miss spending time with Ollie before he goes to bed.
I pack up for the night, knowing I’ll have my work cut out for me after Ollie falls asleep. Vying for partner at my law firm is intense. Single parenting is daunting. Most days, trying to balance both and feel like I’m not royally fucking it all up is damn near impossible.
“Something smells good,” I call out as I enter my house, punching in the code to turn off the alarm.
“Hey Dad!” Ollie calls out, his socks gliding across the wood floors until he comes to a stop in front of me.
I toss an arm around his shoulders, mussing up his hair. “Hey, big guy. How was school today?” I plant a kiss on his head as I steer him toward the living room.
“Good.”
“What’d you learn?”
He narrows his eyes at me, looking so much like a younger version of Eli that I chuckle.
“Well? Anything? Don’t tell me I’m paying that ridiculous tuition for you to learn how to give side eye,” I prod and Ollie laughs.
“We had a spelling bee today and rehearsal for the Christmas play.”
“Oh, that’s right. A Christmas Carol?”
“Yeah.”
“And you are…?”
“Christmas Present.”
“Nice! When is it again?”
“The twenty-third. Last day of school before the break. You’re coming, right?”
“Of course I’m coming,” I say, sharper than I intend to. While I’m not father of the year, I do a pretty good job at showing up to all of Ollie’s soccer games and extracurricular activities, Christmas performances included. “So is Uncle Eli, Aunt Zoe, and Maddie.”
“And Charlie.”
“Charlie?” I ask as we enter the kitchen.
The woman in question is standing barefoot in my kitchen looking so damn beautiful I freeze. Tight leggings that hug her curves, an off-the-shoulder sweater that caresses her skin, and woolly socks that should look silly but don’t force me to grin; she’s as effortless as she is gorgeous.
Add in her optimism, humor, and wit, and she’s a damn bright spot that could rival the sun. Back when we were—whatever the hell we were—I was a different version of myself. Not just strict, single dad Evan. Or hard-ass lawyer Evan. Hell, I wasn’t overwhelmed and exhausted Evan, either.
With Charlie, I was more like the guy I was before my life fell apart. Before Sophie left. Before my divorce from hell. And definitely before I felt like a constant failure to Ollie. The memory burns, twisting my stomach painfully. Seeing her now, in my kitchen, familiar and comfortable, hurts more than it should.
She grins, placing two plates piled with spaghetti and meatballs on the table. “Ollie invited me to the play,” she answers. “Hope that’s okay?” A tiny line dips between her eyebrows, and I long to rub my thumb over it, smooth it back out.
“Of course it’s okay,” Ollie answers, stepping out from under my arm and slipping onto a kitchen chair. “I’m starving.”
“We’d love to have you,” I echo, wincing at the L-word.
“Great.” Charlie grins, tilting her head toward the other dinner plate. “Sit and eat while it’s hot.”
“You didn’t have to make supper,” I say, my stomach growling from how damn delicious it smells.
She shakes her head, wiping her hands on her leggings. “It’s nothing.”
I raise an eyebrow. “It’s not nothing but thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She reaches for her purse, slipping it on her shoulder.
Disappointment swirls in my chest. “You’re not eating with us? Come on, you should at least enjoy your hard work.”
“Can you pass the parmesan cheese?” Ollie asks.
“You should stay—eat with us,” I tell Charlie.
Something flickers in her eyes that I can’t decipher, but she blinks it away. “I’d love to but I can’t. I’m meeting a few girlfriends for drinks. Thanks for the offer.”
I swallow back my disappointment and stand. “Another time then. I’ll walk you out.”
She nods, her expression smooth. She’s nonchalant, normal, acting as if this — her watching my son and hanging at my house all afternoon — isn’t giving her deja vu. Maybe it isn’t.
Has she completely forgotten all the nights we burned, wrapped up in each other?
I follow her to the front door. “Thank you for today, Charlie. Really.”
“Yeah, it’s no problem. Ollie and I had a great time. It’s nice to hang with him again.” She tugs on a boot, and I grin at the fluffy pom-poms on the ends of the laces. They’re playful, just like the woman wearing them. As she bends for her other boot, my gaze drops to her ass and I stifle a groan. Charlie was always in shape, but now she sports the toned thighs and rounded ass that women work for. And her leggings leave nothing to the imagination.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” She squints at me, playfulness rippling over her expression.
I shrug, embarrassed that she caught me checking her out. “You’re just…different.”
“Different good or different bad?”
I shake my head, unsure how to answer that.
Charlie spins and plops down on the bench near the door to tie her boots. She eyes me defensively. “I changed. I grew up.”
My gaze flickers down to the pom-poms on her boots, and I lift an eyebrow.
She snorts, lifting her booted foot. “These? Oh come on, they’re cute.”
I chuckle, offering her a hand. She drops her fingers in mine, and I wrap my hand around them, savoring her warmth as I tug her up from the bench. “See you tomorrow?”
“See you tomorrow.”