by Gina Azzi
Frankie’s eyes widen, but there’s no surprise in their dark depths. Instead, he leans even closer, trying to crowd me. Still, I don’t back up.
Evan tracks the exchange, his gaze narrowing as he widens his stance and shoots me a look that I can’t decipher.
My anger builds with each passing second, mixing with hurt and betrayal, and a million other emotions I thought I locked away six years ago. I feel like a Molotov cocktail, ready to explode.
“Charlotte,” Frankie says again. The sound of his voice saying my name, my full name the way he always did, washes over me like a wave of nostalgia, ripping the scabs off my hurts.
Confusion followed by anger blazes across Evan’s expression before he blinks and his demeanor shifts. Gone is any semblance of emotion. Instead, a cool, calculating cloak hides his thoughts as he surveys me like a piece of evidence in his case. I’m no longer the woman he lost himself in just last week. Or the friend who helps care for his son. Nope, now, I’m just another piece in the 1000-plus piece puzzle he’s sorting through in his mind.
His hardness toward me brings a new wave of pain, and I blink furiously to keep my emotions under control.
“Why are you here, Frankie?” I repeat, my voice wavering.
Frankie reaches out again, brushing the backs of his knuckles over my cheek.
Evan stands ramrod straight, his mouth pressed into a thin line. But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t intervene at all.
I slap Frankie’s hand away, disgusted at the amusement that fills his eyes.
“Feistier than I remember,” he murmurs.
I arch an eyebrow, staring at him. He looks good, which pains me to admit. Black hair, dark eyes, and an effortless, cunning charm that would put his own mother six feet under, Frankie Esposito has that extra something that deceives even the staunchest of skeptics. He sure pulled the wool over my father’s eyes.
“You look good, Charlotte,” he continues easily, as if I’m not crumbling inside under the weight of his gaze, under the pressure of Evan’s silence. “But you’ve always been beautiful.” His voice is meant to caress, to salve all the wounds he left me with.
Forcing a swallow, I glance at Evan from the corner of my eye.
He’s a statue. Hard, unmoving, and stoic. I couldn’t read him if I was a damn psychic.
I scoff, placing a hand on my hip. Frankie’s gaze follows, scanning my body and lingering on my hips and breasts. Too late, I realize my mistake by drawing his attention to my curves. Disgust rolls through me as the tip of his tongue peeks out from between his lips. I swear softly. “You’ve seen me. You can leave now.”
He grins at the animosity in my tone, probably thinking it’s some fucked up kind of challenge. Foreplay. But it’s not. I’m not the Charlie he remembers. I’ve grown a backbone since Frankie Esposito blew up my entire world.
“How’s your mom? Your brother?” Frankie forges ahead, unaware, or maybe just unfazed, that the temperature in the pub has dropped about a gazillion degrees.
The mention of my family has Evan narrowing his eyes at me in accusation. His hands ball into fists that he slips inside his pants pockets.
The mention of my family has the ball in my throat expanding until I nearly choke on it. A hint of a smile ripples over Frankie’s mouth, and I want to punch him. Preferably in the face.
“We’re all fine,” I reply instead, unwilling to play his stupid head games. “Are you going to order a drink, or are you just wasting my time?”
“Just a beer, babe.” He peers over my shoulder at the tap. “A Coors Light.”
I blow out a breath as I turn away and fill his beer. I can feel Evan’s eyes boring into the space between my shoulder blades, but I shake it off and don’t make eye contact. The last thing I need is for Frankie to draw any type of conclusion between Evan and me. After he jilted me, I was essentially off-limits to everyone in our neighborhood. He made my dating life miserable. Frankie didn’t want me; he cast me away like trash after taking everything from me. But even though he didn’t want me, no one else could have me either. With the exception of a handful of guys in college who weren’t from the Chicago area, I hardly went on dates or out to dinner until I met Evan.
And now, Evan’s his fucking lawyer. Of all the criminals Evan represents, he has to represent Frankie's family?
How many ways can one man ruin my life?
The thought almost causes me to laugh out loud because of how ironic it is.
“Can’t seem to keep your nose clean?” I taunt, dropping the beer in front of him. I side eye Evan. No way am I letting Frankie rattle me again. And definitely not on my turf.
Frankie’s eyes narrow, anger flashing in their depths at my double entendre. Cocaine is child’s play to a drug dealer and even the most skilled dealers eventually get caught. “I’m fine. Lawyered up with the best.” He flips his chin toward Evan who’s looking around Shooters like he doesn’t have the slightest interest in our exchange.
What the hell?
“I’m sure you’ll land on your feet,” I grind out.
Frankie grins. “Cat’s got nine lives, baby.”
“Then you should have died about three years ago.” I pick up some empty glasses as Frankie’s laughter rings out, freezing my motions. His laugh. His fucking laugh, it crashes over me like a tidal wave, bringing me back to when I was eighteen, to when my dad was still alive, to when I was whole. Swallowing the bile crawling up my throat, I spit out, “Tell your Ma hello for me. I still bake those biscotti cookies she taught me.”
Frankie’s laughter dies at the mention of his mother. That’s right, Esposito, two can play this game.
“Take care of yourself, Charlotte,” he says instead, looking around the crowded pub pointedly before fixing me with his stare. “It’s a damn shame you never got to go to Northwestern. When I heard you moved to New York, I thought finally, she found a way out.” His eyes meet mine, hard and unyielding. “And yet, here you are. Back with your tail between your legs just like always. Slinging beers, desperate for attention. Still single, aren’t you? What happened? Couldn’t land a man to give you the home and babies you always dreamed of?”
His words are malicious, meant to cut. And inside, I’m bleeding out. My old dreams surfacing, my old desires swelling inside of me. Frankie Esposito derailed my life, and he’s proud of it.
But before I can say anything, Evan grabs his arm and squeezes, applying enough pressure that Frankie’s face twists. “That’s enough,” he says sharply, pulling Frankie away from the bar. “We got a few things to discuss. Pay for your fucking beer.”
Frankie reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a fifty-dollar bill, dropping it on the bar. “Keep the change, sweetheart. I hear you can use it.”
The backs of my eyes burn with angry tears I want to spew like lava. My throat aches, my hands clench. Vibrating with rage, I shake and glare at the first man who shattered my heart and the other man who obliterated the remaining pieces.
Evan hustles Frankie away from the bar. I see Connor follow behind them. Then, Eli appears in my line of vision. “You okay?”
“Yes,” I bite out.
“I’m being serious.”
I don’t say anything.
Eli comes behind the bar and picks up a bar rag. “Next round is on me,” he announces to the customers, some of them staring at me curiously, the rest glaring at the long wait. “Take a minute, Charlie. I got this.”
I nod, too overwhelmed to argue with him. Dropping my head, I stare at the ground as I practically race to the back office. Once the door is closed behind me, the tears come.
They come and they don’t stop. Hot, pulsing with fury, they streak down my cheeks. What the hell was that? Why did he have to show up here? I’ve moved on from Frankie and his head games. His stupid messages and his shadowy presence in my life. I moved all the way to New York and what? Now that I’m back, he still thinks he has some claim to me?
An important realization slams into me. It�
��s not that I missed Frankie. Because I sure as hell haven’t thought about him in a romantic way in too many years to count. It’s that he brings up too many memories, too much hurt, from that time in my life and waves it in front of my face like a matador egging on a bull. He wants me to snap.
I grab a handful of tissues and press them against my eyes as I sink into a chair.
The office door swings open, and I drop my tissues. “Charlie.” Evan winces when he sees me, and more tears well in my eyes.
He passes me some more tissues, and I accept them gratefully, unable to look at him.
Evan glares at me like he’s angry with me, which makes no sense because none of this is about him. “What the hell was that, Charlie?”
“You’re representing the Esposito Family?”
“How do you know him?” Evan demands, dropping his hands to the arm rests of the chair until he’s looming over me, crowding me. “He’s dangerous.”
“Is that why you let him touch me?” I shoot back.
Evan swears, stepping back and gripping the side of his neck. “You know what any reaction would have been to a guy like him?” He glares at me. “Ammunition. You don’t want to be on that guy’s radar.” He jabs a finger toward the door and the pub where Frankie is probably enjoying his beer, not giving me a second thought.
My chuckle holds no humor. “Too late for that. I can’t believe you’re representing that scum.”
“How do you know him?” Evan asks again, his anger draining away as dread weighs down his words. His eyes search mine, and I know he already knows the answer, but he needs me to confirm it.
“He’s my ex.”
Evan hangs his head. “Jesus.” He glances back up. “You dated that piece of shit?”
“Dated? No, Frankie and I were supposed to get married.”
Evan’s face falls, and he looks away as if he can’t bear the sight of me. His jaw clenches tightly. “He’s your ex-fiancé?”
“The one and only.” I drop my head back against the chair hoping that if I stare at the ceiling, my tears will be reabsorbed by my body. My hands grip the arm rests until they ache.
Evan paces around the small office space, restless, as if he wants to burst through his skin.
“Did he hurt you?” he demands, stalking back to my chair.
I glance up at him, my eyes still swimming with tears. What the hell do I tell him? I can’t tell him everything, can I? It’s so shameful. So heartbreaking. My heart thuds in my ear drums.
“Tell me.”
“I can’t,” I whisper, my voice cracking. I lick my lips and try again. “I don’t want to do this right now.”
“What? Charlie, I need—”
“No. You don’t get to have needs about this. Only I do. And right now, I need you to leave, so I can pull myself together and go back out there—” I point at the door—“and finish the shift I said I would cover.”
Evan frowns, his eyes narrowing into slits. He grips the back of his neck again, and I don’t miss the way his muscles roll, the way his bicep stretches the material. I close my eyes.
Evan sighs and crouches down next to my chair. He places his hand on my knee, and my eyes fly open, drowning in the depths of his. “Are you okay?”
“Not really.” My voice sounds small, and I twirl some hair around my finger before nibbling on the ends.
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long were you engaged for?”
“Only for a few months,” I admit, not adding on that we were together for years. Even after we broke up, Frankie made sure no one would date me. Unbidden memories of my life from before, back when Frankie was in it, flood my mind. The highs were so high I felt like I was in outer space, and the lows were so low I’d wished I were dead.
“Charlie, please—”
“You and I don’t have this type of relationship, Evan. We don’t do this.” I gesture between us.
“Have a conversation?”
“Not about real things. Not about things that matter.”
Evan rears back, his expression stricken, as if I punched him. “He, that guy,” he says, jabbing his finger toward the door, “he matters to you?”
I groan. “That’s not what I meant. Just, please go.”
“No. I’m not going to leave you like this.”
“I’m fine. I’m always fine.”
A gentle knock sounds at the door, and Connor pops his head in. “Hey, all good?”
I nod, scrubbing the back of my hand across my eyes.
“Okay, well, Charlie, Eli says to take off,” Connor continues. “He’s going—”
“No.” I jump to my feet. “I’m fine, really.”
Connor shakes his head, sympathy swelling in his chocolate eyes. “It’s not that, Charlie. Your mom called. She needs you at home.”
“What?” I ask, shuffling back until the backs of my knees hit the chair. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Something about your brother,” Connor says, his gaze swinging to Evan’s.
Helplessness rocks through me as I lean forward, bracing my hands on my knees. I feel the wind knock out of me as I wheeze, searching for air.
“Charlie.” Evan’s hand wraps around my upper arm. “You’re okay. Breathe babe. You’re good.”
The air doesn’t come and my knees buckle.
Evan pushes me down into the chair. His hand finds the back of my neck and pushes it down, in between my knees. He continues to speak in a low, calming tone. Seconds that feel like hours pass as my chest burns and my vision blurs.
Just when I think I’m going to pass out, my lungs catch on air, and I drag in a reedy, shaky inhale.
“Good job, baby. You’re okay.” Evan rubs slow circles on my back.
Connor reappears at his side, holding a glass of water to my lips. “Slow sips.”
I take a drink, the coldness centering me, allowing a bit of clarity to return. “I’m okay,” I manage to say, as if trying to convince myself. “I’m okay.”
“You’re doing great,” Connor says encouragingly.
“I need to go home,” I say, my eyes darting up.
Evan’s arm wraps around my back, his hand finding my waist. “I’ll drive you.” Connor cuts him a look that Evan meets head on. “I had one drink. I’m fine.”
“Call me if you guys need anything,” Connor says, helping me to my feet along with Evan. “Let’s take the back exit. I’ll be right back with your coats.”
“My phone and purse are behind the bar,” I say absently.
I stare into space, nothing making any sense as Evan and Connor spring into action. Minutes later, I’m bundled into my coat and hustled out to Evan’s car. As we pull out of Shooters’ parking lot and turn in the direction of my mom’s house, I close my eyes.
Anytime Frankie Esposito turns up, my entire life turns to shit.
11
Evan
Charlie is lost in her head.
I don’t blame her. I can barely concentrate on anything other than the fact that Frankie fucking Esposito is her ex-fiancé. She was going to marry him. Glancing at her from my peripheral vision, I note the tension lining her face. Her hair is clamped between her teeth, her gaze trained out the window. I can almost hear the thoughts circling her mind—that’s how much she’s trying to process.
“You okay?” I ask, keeping my voice measured.
She turns to me, her eyes glazed. She blinks twice before nodding, as if she isn’t sure if she heard me.
“We’re almost to your mom’s,” I try again.
“Yeah. Yeah, good. I hope everything is okay. But with Drew…” She shakes her head and turns back toward the window.
I sigh, pressing down on the accelerator. Minutes later, I park in front of Charlie’s mom’s house. She stares at the house, her hand wrapped around her seatbelt where it cuts across her chest. We sit in the silence, the lack of noise loud.
I clear my throat.
“Guess I should go in, huh?”
she remarks dryly, unclasping her seatbelt.
“Come on.” I flip the ignition and remove my seatbelt. “I’ll go with you.”
She peers at me, her eyes glinting like sapphires. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” It’s the truth. I want to be there for her. Even though I haven’t spoken to Marianne in a long time, she’s always been friendly and warm toward me. Right now, with an emergency unfolding, I want to help Charlie and her mom anyway they need me. I open my car door and step out into the cold. It smells like Christmas, bitter cold, and the burning wood of fireplaces.
When Charlie steps beside me on the sidewalk, I take her hand in mine and squeeze down to let her know I’m here. She blows out a long sigh, straightens her shoulders, and pulls me toward the front door.
As soon as we enter, I know something is very wrong. The house, usually in immaculate condition, is in disarray. Clothes are piled haphazardly throughout the living room and foyer. Folders of papers cover the console table inside the front door.
“Mom?” Charlie calls out, her voice catching.
Mrs. Adams exclaims in the distance before rounding the corner, her face streaked with tears, her eyes wild. She launches herself at Charlie, collapsing in her arms and sobbing with so much anguish that my chest squeezes into my throat.
“Mom, is Drew okay? Is he…” Charlie whispers, and I can taste her fear.
“He’s in a hospital in Germany,” Mrs. Adams wails.
Charlie’s shoulders slump with relief, and I draw in a sharp breath.
“Mama, what happened?”
Mrs. Adams wipes her cheeks and shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears. “He was on a mission. All I know is he’s been airlifted to Germany. There was an explosion. He had emergency surgery and may need another surgery. I just, I need to be with him.”
“Of course. I’ll come with you,” Charlie reassures her, gripping her mother’s shoulders.
“I’m so sorry. Charlie, I’m so sorry. You can’t. They will only admit one family member.”
“I can wait for you at the hotel. Just be there for you. For Drew.”
“Oh, honey, I won’t be able to leave him. You know I won’t. Besides, I was hoping you’d fill in for me at the doctor’s office, just the mornings for the next week? I’m leaving them in a pinch, and well, I …” Mrs. Adams looks at Charlie helplessly.