by Gina Azzi
“Volunteered me?” Charlie guesses.
Mrs. Adams nods, tears trickling down her cheeks.
“Of course I will.” Charlie sighs. “Just promise me you’ll call as soon as you get there and keep me updated on everything regarding Drew. I mean, everything.”
“You know I will.”
“When’s your flight?” I interject. “I can take you to the airport.”
“Oh, Evan.” Mrs. Adams makes eye contact with me, as if just realizing I’m here. At the bewilderment in her gaze, I know she’s overwhelmed. “That would be wonderful, thank you. I called Jim but his flight from Cleveland this morning was delayed. My flight is in three hours. I need to get going but I don’t want to leave the house like this—” She lifts her arms and lets them drop to her sides. “I was trying to find things for Drew that he might need and…”
“Don’t worry, Mama. I got the house. Evan and I will take you to the airport, and I’ll sort everything out.”
“Are you sure? I’m sorry, Charlie. I don’t mean to dump this—”
“Shh. I’m fine. Really.” Charlie pastes on a smile.
“But I’m so happy you’re home for Christmas and now,” Mrs. Adams gasps, her hand covering her mouth. “I forgot about Christmas! Oh, let me call—”
“Mrs. Adams, relax. Charlie will spend Christmas with us,” I interject again.
Charlie and her mom swing their gazes to mine.
“Really?” Mrs. Adams asks hopefully as Charlie narrows her eyes.
“Of course. We’re going to Eli and Zoe’s Christmas Eve, and Charlie is more than welcome to be with Ollie and me on Christmas Day.”
“That’s perfect. Oh, I’ll feel so much better with you looking after her, Evan.” Mrs. Adams reaches for my hand and grips it.
“More like the other way around,” Charlie mutters under her breath.
I ignore her statement and turn my attention to her mother. “Anything I can help with or are you all set?” I point to her suitcase.
“All set.” She looks around one last time.
“Come on, Mama.” Charlie wraps an arm around her mother’s shoulders and guides her toward the front door. “Tell Drew I’m praying for him. Tell him I’d be there if I could. Tell him —”
“I’ll tell him everything, Charlie. You just take care of yourself, and hopefully, Drew and I will both see you in time to ring in the New Year.”
Charlie walks her mother to my car as I store Mrs. Adams suitcase in my trunk. Once I’m behind the wheel, easing down the street, I chance another glance at Charlie.
She’s chomping on the ends of her hair, her fingers raking through strands as she glares out the window.
The ride to the airport is quiet, with everyone lost in their own thoughts. Charlie offers her mom a teary good-bye, and we stand and wave until she disappears through security. Once she’s out of sight, Charlie’s face crumples and her shoulders shake with the emotions she’s actively been repressing for the sake of her mom.
“Hey.” I drop my arm around her, squeezing her shoulder. “It’s okay.”
“Yeah.” She nods, wiping her fingers under her eyes. “I know. I’m just, I’m worried about Drew.”
“Of course you are. Your mom will keep you updated. In the meantime, whatever you need, I’m here for you, Charlie.” My fingertips graze the material of her jacket in lazy patterns.
She nods again, shooting me a grateful smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“I mean it.” I give her shoulder a little shake.
“Yeah. I know,” she whispers, but she doesn’t sound convinced.
Instead, she looks like the vulnerable, hurt girl from three years ago.
I can’t remember the last time I was this distracted at work. The folders keep stacking up, Giuseppe’s charges may develop into a full-blown RICO trial, indicting half the Esposito family, and I can’t find it in me to care.
I can’t stop thinking about Charlie. About the tears that stuck to her eyelashes or the false bravado in her smile. I hate that she’s worried and hurting. I hate that she’s alone.
I take a small sliver of comfort in the fact that she’s watching Ollie this afternoon. I already informed him that his mission is to wrangle her into staying for dinner.
Shuffling through the folder on my desk, a knock interrupts my thoughts.
Before I can call that it’s open, the door swings open until it bounces against the door stopper, and Giuseppe Esposito shadows the frame, Frankie close on his heels.
I stifle my groan, my irritation flickering by Frankie’s presence alone. Standing from my seat, I collect some papers and stick them into a file. “Come on gentlemen, we’ll be more comfortable in a conference room.”
“Just going to use the bathroom.” Giuseppe points to the bathroom door. For a man who might be going away for life in a few months, he’s shockingly calm. Dressed perfectly, with a pocket square in his suit pocket, someone passing him on the street would have no idea he’s a mastermind criminal. I nod and point out the conference room that Frankie and I will be waiting in.
Turns out, I do favors when the managing partner of my firm, Cal Sowinski, applies enough pressure. Today, instead of discussing details pertaining to Giuseppe’s case, we are meeting to sort out the drug trafficking charges Frankie is slapped with.
He strides ahead of me into the conference room and collapses into a chair. I take a seat across from him. He stares at me, his gaze hard. I stare back, frustrated more than intimidated.
He points to his watch, giving me a “what-the-fuck” look. “I’m paying you by the hour.”
“You don’t pay shit.” I drop the folder onto the table and lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “Your father does. So, we’re waiting for him.”
“I don’t want this charge to stick.”
“I know. I’m working on a few approaches, so you need to sit tight.”
Frankie kicks back in his chair, his expression bored. Then, he leans forward, an actual question on his face.
Just when I think he’s going to ask something relevant, he quips, “How well you know Charlotte?”
What the fuck? His question causes my heart rate to tick up, but I keep my face smooth, unreadable.
Because I’m not going to be intimidated by this clown.
“Who?” I ask, furrowing my brows.
“Ah, come on, Ev.” Frankie shifts his weight, so he’s leaning forward in his chair. “Charlotte. Hot piece at the pub you had your eye on the other night.”
My muscles tighten at the way he describes her, like a piece of ass. “You mean Charlie?”
His grin widens as he snaps his fingers. “Yep. Hate that fucking nickname. She’s a gorgeous girl, got no clue why she wants to go by a boy’s name.”
I shrug. “Do you have any questions about the charge against you?”
Frankie studies me closely, so closely I start to feel uncomfortable which never, ever, happens. I don’t let my clients call the shots. I’m always in control. Calm, confident, unreadable.
Except right now, I feel like he can see right through me. And I can’t read a goddamn thought in his twisted, convoluted head.
The realization unsettles me, fueling me with a desperation that turns my stomach slick.
“Nah, think I’m good,” he says suddenly, knocking against the table as he leans back in his chair. “She’s not worth it, you know?” he adds after a beat.
I lift an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.
But he doesn’t say anything. Just glares at me for a long beat before a smarmy smile slips across his face.
“Okay, where are we?” Giuseppe asks, entering the conference room.
“Let’s talk about Frankie’s charge.” I pick up the folder, relieved to gain some control over this meeting.
The entire time I walk Giuseppe and Frankie through their options, I feel Frankie’s gaze on me. It’s more unsettling than I thought it would be.
I have no clue wh
at I work on for the remainder of the day. My mind is twisted in knots, traveling down shadowy paths that lead to darker dead ends. At eight, I call it a day and shrug into my suit jacket.
Walking down the hallway toward the elevators, I wave to some of the partners but keep my eyes glued on the exit. Charlie texted me that her and Ollie were heading to my brother’s for dinner, so I head straight there. Of course Zoe beat me to it, ensuring Charlie’s not on her own for dinner tonight.
When I walk into Eli and Zoe’s house, voices from the back of the house ring out. Entering the kitchen, I’m not surprised to see Charlie, with a wine glass in hand, looking distracted.
As soon as her eyes meet mine, her face flickers with recognition. As if the sight of me pulled her back to reality, away from her thoughts. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I say slowly, glancing at Zoe. “Ollie?”
“He’s in the garage with Eli and Connor,” Zoe supplies.
A strange silence settles over the kitchen, thick with a tension that no one wants to add to or detract from.
“Heard you met Frankie,” Zoe breaks the ice.
Charlie closes her eyes and lifts her wine glass to her lips. I watch her take a sip, note how her shoulders relax the tiniest bit. Is he causing her more stress on top of everything? What the hell went down between them?
“I did,” I say, flicking my gaze to Zoe.
The way she worries her bottom lip between her teeth alerts me to her concern for Charlie, too. Something is off.
“What’s the deal between you two?” I say, pouring myself a glass of wine and slipping onto a barstool.
Charlie drains her glass and sets it on the kitchen island. When her eyes connect with mine, I see how confused and overwhelmed she is. Does she still have feelings for him?
“No deal. We dated for a long time, got engaged, broke up,” Charlie says, her voice monotone.
“Charlie,” Zoe prods gently.
Charlie glances at her, a look passes between them, and Zoe sighs.
Charlie’s eyes close, and I note the tiniest dip in her chin.
Zoe turns to me. “If Frankie is turning up, it’s bad news. He only makes appearances in Charlie’s life when he’s up to something. When he needs something.”
“Like what?” I bite out, my foot tapping faster.
No one says anything.
“Charlie?” My grip on staying cool is starting to slip. A surge of protectiveness washes over me, making it difficult for me to remain logical, rational, when I feel off-balance, desperate for answers.
“An alibi. Money. A place to hide out…” she whispers.
“He’s asked that shit of you? Wait, wait. Have you helped him in the past?”
Charlie picks up the wine bottle and tips it over her glass.
“Charlie?” I demand.
“No.” Her voice is quiet, borderline defeated, and irks the shit out of me. Where is the feisty firecracker from a few days ago? Where is the woman who called me out on my bullshit? Where is my Charlie?
“He’s dangerous, Charlie. Frankie Esposito is a very dangerous man.”
She snorts. “You think I don’t know that? Newsflash, I almost married Frankie. I know exactly who he is and what he’s capable of. And this time, I’m pretty sure what he wants is me.”
A coldness so severe it burns blazes through my body at the mere thought of Frankie and Charlie. She’s gotta be fucking joking. “What are you talking about?” I nearly shout. “Why would you think that? Has he done something to you?”
I’m known for being logical, collected, quick on my feet. But Charlie’s words, coupled with her expression when she hurls them at me, has all my chill evaporating.
“Charlie, why would you say that?” I growl, leaning into her and taking her arm, so she’s forced to meet my eyes.
Charlie shakes her head, her exasperation coloring the air. “Because I know Frankie. I know how his mind works. He’s fucking with me and with you through me. I’m a big girl, Evan. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a really long time now.”
“I know you can. Wait a minute, what do you mean ‘fucking with you’?”
“He’s up to something,” Zoe murmurs. “He never lets Charlie move on, never gave her a chance to move forward with her life until she went to New York. Now that’s she back, so is he. Why don’t you stay here, Charlie? It’s the holidays and I’ve missed you.”
Charlie tilts her head to the side, offering Zoe a soft smile. “I know what you’re doing, and I love you for it. But I’m fine. Really. I’m definitely not going to be run out of my own home again by Frankie.”
Again? When did he—
Charlie slides off the barstool and moves toward the door. “I’m going to get going. It’s been a strange day and I’m tired.”
“Wait, at least take some leftovers.” Zoe runs after her. She calls to me over her shoulder, “There’s a hot plate for you in the microwave, Evan. Charlie wait, Harlow is picking up that cheesecake you love, and she’ll be back any minute.”
Charlie shakes her head and hugs her best friend. “Thanks Zo, but I have no appetite. I’m exhausted. And I don’t want to waste my time thinking about Frankie when I need to be focused on Drew. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Zoe sighs, worry evident in her expression. Finally, she nods and hugs Charlie back. “Just call if you need anything. At any time.”
“Duh.” Charlie’s mouth lifts on one side in a smirk. She waves a hand at me. “Ollie is awesome. He needs new soccer cleats.”
“Charlie, wait.” I hustle after her, sliding my hand to the center of her back. “You can stay with me if you want? Please. I’d feel much better if you weren’t by yourself.”
She offers me a small smile, but her eyes are colored with sadness. “It’s ironic, isn’t it?”
“What?” I ask.
“Now, you want me to sleep at your place? Now that we’re barely anything at all, I get the invite.” She snorts, but her face is stricken. “Good-night, Evan.”
My hand falls away from her back as she walks toward the front door. After it’s closed firmly behind her, I turn around, looking at Zoe for answers.
Zoe offers me a sympathetic shrug. “Whenever he reappears, he throws her off balance. He’s been playing these head games with her a long, long time. Trust me, this time isn’t any different. Frankie may not want Charlie to become his wife anymore, but he doesn’t want her to become anyone else’s, either.”
Zoe’s words do nothing to reassure me.
12
Charlie
Frankie popping up isn’t a random coincidence.
He wants me to know that he keeps tabs on me. He wants me to know that he’s still connected to my life. But this time…a shiver runs down my spine remembering the knowing glint in his eyes at Shooters.
This time, a part of me truly believes that he’s after me. I don’t want to think that he’d physically hurt me but I wouldn’t put it past him either. He’ll definitely continue to sabotage my happiness if I stick around. God, I used to be so delusional. Back when I was a teenager, I truly thought that Frankie chasing me made me special.
His attention, even the negative kind, would fill my stomach with pride. Being Frankie Esposito’s girl was its own type of drug. It was status; it was street cred; it was worth something in the crappy neighborhood I grew up in.
Now, the thought fills my mouth with a bitter taste. Evan was right about one thing: being on Frankie’s radar is never a good thing.
But why now? He’s popped up in my life over the past six years but never so directly, never so in my face. What influenced him to seek me out now?
The thought runs on a loop in my mind, even though I’ve done everything I can to distract myself these past few days, even picking up some bartending shifts at Shooters to help Eli and Joe out.
Hanging behind the bar, like I have so many times before, I try to envision my future. I’ve received rejection letters from three more design companies.
At this rate, this is going to be my future. A forever bartender at Shooters, just like Frankie predicted.
A sour taste fills my mouth, and I’m grateful when my phone buzzes, skittering across the top of the bar. Shooters is dead this time of day, a quiet lull in between the lunch regulars and the five o’clock crowd. A distraction for me between filling in for my mom as a receptionist at the doctor’s office and picking Ollie up from school.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Don’t even tell me you’re not coming back to the city,” Trent says, his tone severe.
“What? No, why would you even have that impression?”
“You haven’t called me in three days.”
I snort. “I’ve been busy.” Balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder, I pick up a bar rag and wipe down a water spot on the bar.
“Busy screwing a sexy single dad?” he asks, a note of hope in his voice.
“No.”
Trent huffs. “What’s going on, Char?”
I pick at the frayed edges of the bar rag. “Drew got hurt. He’s at a hospital in Germany.” Just saying the words causes a lump to swell in my throat.
“Oh my God! Is he okay?” Trent asks.
“He is.”
“Thank God.”
“He suffered severe burns from an IED. He was airlifted to Germany and had emergency surgery. He also had one hell of a concussion, although traumatic brain injury was ruled out. So far, he’s recovering well. His prognosis is even more favorable than originally believed, so he should make a full recovery.” I explain everything Mom told me about Drew this morning. “Mom is giving me regular updates, but I don’t know. I feel so helpless being here, so far away from them.”
“I’m so sorry, baby girl,” Trent says.
“Thanks.”
“You must be so overwhelmed.”
I sigh. “That isn’t even all of it. Frankie showed up.”