Saving My Soul: A Second Chance MMA Romance (Second Chance Chicago Series Book 3)
Page 3
I gratefully accept the shot glass and toss it back.
My friends stare at me, more shocked than impressed.
“Fill it up.” I hold the glass back out to Eli who pours wordlessly.
After my second shot, the brick that’s been lodged in the center of my chest all day begins to crumble. I’m able to take my first deep inhale since I landed in Chicago this morning.
“Harlow, your phone is blowing up.” Zoe shakes it at me.
On the screen, Bryce’s name is everywhere.
“He’s called four times since we came inside,” she continues, alarmed.
“Pussy,” Connor mutters.
“Dick,” Eli chimes in.
“He should be here.” Connor jabs his finger into the top of the island.
“Taken the first flight out,” Eli confirms.
“Guys,” Zoe warns.
But I tune them out and allow myself to grow numb to everything that is spiraling out of control around me.
My tears are starting to dry and in their place, anger blazes. “He picked out a ring,” I announce to the room, unsure if Bryce even purchased the ring he showed me. But right now, that’s not the important part. The important part is that he allowed me to believe in a future he wasn’t committed to living. He filled me with the hope for a marriage, a family, that he wasn’t planning to follow through on.
“What?” Zoe gasps.
I nod. “It was three carats. Flawless. Princess cut. The band had—”
“How could he do this to you?” Zoe wails, starting to understand the depth of my heartbreak. On top of losing Bryce, I’m losing the dream.
Now, I’m forced to address the big black hole of my future with a confused question mark dangling over it.
“I didn’t know you guys were that serious,” Eli says slowly.
Shrugging, I pick up my shot glass and drain it.
“You’re going to feel like shit tomorrow,” Zoe cautions.
“I don’t think I could feel worse than I do right now.”
“Me either,” Connor says, clinking a shot glass against mine before drinking it.
Zoe and Eli exchange a look, but I’m too exhausted from Bryce’s bullshit and distracted by Connor’s taking a shot to decipher it.
“Let’s play Never Have I Ever,” Zoe suggests.
“Jesus Christ,” Eli murmurs, looking toward the heavens.
“Oh, come on. We’re not going to talk any sense into them. Might as well join in and have some fun,” Zoe tells Eli, pulling him onto a barstool.
Connor pours four shot glasses and places them in front of each of us.
“I’ll start,” I announce. “Never have I ever sat in the back of a police car.”
Zoe snorts as Eli and Connor toss back their shots and refill the glasses.
“You suck, Low.” Eli points at me as I wink at him.
“Never have I ever been broken up with in a tweet,” Connor says, smirking at me.
I chuckle in spite of myself. “It was a blog,” I clarify, even as I take the shot.
“Never have I ever gotten caught having sex,” Zoe says.
Connor and I look at each other, a pregnant pause hovering between us. His eyes, cocoa and mysterious, burn with mischief.
Despite the fact that my heart feels like it’s been fed through a meat grinder, I find myself smiling at him.
We both take our shots. Eli groans, throwing his hands in the air as Zoe claps and whoops wildly.
“Never have I ever cheated,” Eli finally says.
None of us drink. The moment is sobering, causing some of the weight of the day to come rushing back.
We play a few more rounds before Eli and Zoe retire to bed.
But Connor and I stay up, the bottle of tequila between us. At some point, we stop playing the game and start talking.
“You are enough,” Connor says suddenly, spinning the cap of the tequila bottle.
“Huh?”
“Before, in the bathroom. You asked why you aren’t enough. You are, Harlow. You’re too much.”
I peer at him in confusion, the room starting to spin.
“I will never deserve a woman like you,” he explains, gesturing between us.
“You’re drunk,” I blow off his honesty.
He shakes his head, reaching out to grab my fingers. “I’m an idiot.”
“Already knew that one,” I announce to the ceiling.
Connor chuckles but his hand grips mine, persistent, “Harlow, you’re enough.”
I blow out a deep breath, leaning over the table to stare into Connor’s eyes. I don’t know if I’m searching for his truth or mine but I fall into their endless depths, hypnotized by his sincerity and the sliver of vulnerability he’s never shared with me before. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you should know that. You deserve everything, Low.” His voice is low, husky, and so sexy I inch even closer.
“Connor, I—”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t,” I shake my head, tilting it to the side.
Connor’s hands settle on my shoulders, keeping me steady as I teeter back and forth on the barstool.
“You broke my heart,” I admit, my confession shattering the air between us.
“I never meant to,” he says solemnly, his words a salve to the wounds I’ve been carrying around since he shut me down two years ago.
“You were going to marry Golden Boy,” he whispers, hurt heavy in his tone.
I nod, shimmying closer until his knee is nestled between my thighs and our mouths are inches apart.
“Would you care?” I ask, my heart thudding.
Connor’s expression is tight, his eyes bleeding with honesty. He dips his chin, a jerky movement that belies the significance of his confession.
My hands lift until they rest on his cheeks. His stubble pricks my palms and I slip my hands higher, enjoying the friction against them.
Connor’s eyelids drop to half-mast, one of his hands wrapping around my wrist, anchoring me to him. “Harlow,” he says my name. A wish and a curse and a plea.
“Make the hurt stop,” I say, desperate to feel the type of validation Connor can provide.
He sighs, his expression tortured. The strong muscles in his back bunch, causing tension to pop in his shoulders. He turns his face, pressing his cheek deeper into my palm. “Baby, I —”
“Shh,” I cut him off. Emboldened by tequila and without a shred of dignity to worry about, I close the space between us and press my mouth against Connor’s.
His full lips are soft against mine. But after a moment, his tongue slips in between the seam of my lips and meets mine in a long-overdue dance.
Heady, hungry, and overflowing with need, Connor kisses me fiercely. Like he isn’t sure whether he wants to save me or consume me. My fingertips curl against his skin as his hands drop to squeeze my waist, kneading the skin under my dress.
Arching my back, my chest brushes against Connor’s. My breasts feel heavy, straining against the flimsy material of my summer dress as my nipples harden.
I moan softly and Connor rips his mouth from mine.
“Fuck,” he swears.
Our chests are heaving, panting breaths mingling in the space between us.
“Not like this, Low,” Connor growls, sliding off the barstool.
He glares at me, his eyes darker than midnight. I shrink back from his intensity. He picks me up like a sack of potatoes and tosses me over his shoulder.
“Connor,” I squeal, confused and delighted and delusional. I tap on his back, “Put me down.”
“I’m putting you to bed. You’re fucking dangerous, Reid,” he declares, stalking to Zoe’s guest room and depositing me in the bed.
The last thing I remember before sleep claims me is the warmth of Connor’s touch as he brushes his fingertips through my hair and places a lingering kiss on my forehead.
Saying I couldn’t feel worse was a big, fat, monumental lie.
“Motherfucker.” I roll until I fall out of the bed, the floor rushing up to greet me. “What the hell?” I cry out, lying in a heap of limbs and twisted bedsheets on the floor.
The unfortunate events of the previous day slowly piece together in my mind. Cheating ass Bryce. Sexy as sin Connor.
Drinking all the tequila.
“Good morning,” Connor chirps, suddenly kneeling beside me.
“Why are you here?”
“Wanted to make sure you didn’t throw up and suffocate in your sleep.”
“You’re a gentleman.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” He slips his arms beneath me and lifts me easily.
The movement rattles my body and I groan.
“You drank too much,” he adds.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”
“You need to drink water.”
“Stop talking.”
“I missed your sunshine, Harlow.”
“I haven’t missed you at all.”
He snickers.
“Why the hell are you so chipper? Shouldn’t you feel like death like me?” I accuse.
“I didn’t drink as much as you. Plus, I can handle my liquor better.” He cradles me against his chest and strides out of the bedroom.
“What are you doing? Put me down.” I clutch at his T-shirt, memories from last night muddling my brain.
“I’m on strict orders from Zoe to feed you and sober you up before Maddie comes home this afternoon. She wants to play with her new Barbie dream house with you.”
I make a noise that sounds like an animal dying in the wild.
“That’s what you get for showing the rest of us up with your ‘best gift in all the land.’”
“I don’t see her as much as you guys do,” I backtrack to explain.
“Also your fault.”
Bringing my hand to cover my face, I sigh. “Connor, I feel like death incarnate. Can you please go easy on me this morning?”
“Nope.”
“What?”
“I can’t. I went easy on you yesterday, babe. Today, we’re piecing your life back together.”
“‘We?’”
“What, you think I’d just leave you to figure it out on your own?” He quirks an irritating eyebrow as if to say, ‘look how well that worked out.’
“You mean like the last time?” I point out, mean-spiritedly.
But Connor is undeterred. His cocoa eyes gleam as he stares down at me. “I’ve learned a lot since then, Harlow. Haven’t you?”
I grunt.
After half a loaf of toast, strong coffee, and a hot shower, I feel more human.
“There she is.” Eli grins when I enter the kitchen. “Zoe took Maddie out for lunch but they should be home soon,” he explains as I glance around the quiet kitchen.
“Connor?” I ask.
“Went to check on his dad.” My confusion must be evident because Eli continues, “He was diagnosed with Creutzfeldt-Jacob Disease.”
My eyebrows pull together as I look at Eli, bewildered.
He sighs, scrubbing his palm over his face. “It’s rare. Connor was rocked by the diagnosis.”
“What is it?”
“A degenerative brain disorder. At first, Connor thought it was early onset Alzheimer’s. Cameron’s memory was starting to slip but it seemed to fail almost overnight.”
“No.” I shake my head. Images of Connor’s dad, strong, resilient, and so damn proud of his son fill my mind. “What’s the prognosis?”
“Not good.” Eli clears his throat, pain twisting his features. “Seventy percent of those diagnosed pass within the first year.”
“What? Are you serious?” My mind struggles to process such a staggering statistic. “When was Cameron diagnosed? How is Connor handling it?”
“About six months ago,” Eli admits, regret heavy in his tone. “Cameron was diagnosed shortly after Connor lost his fight. It’s been a tough year for him, everything he loves being ripped away.”
Tears well in my eyes and I avert my gaze. The nausea from my hangover fills my stomach but for an entirely different reason.
Connor’s dad is going to die.
Connor doesn’t fight anymore.
He hasn’t alluded to either while I’ve been falling apart because Bryce and I broke up. Shame burns me from the inside out. Even though I know being cheated on sucks and I’m allowed to feel bitter about it, Connor is losing his dad. His career. His dream.
The realization hits me hard. For a moment, my heartbreak seems irrelevant. Instead, I’m left wondering how Connor is managing everything. I’m left questioning why he didn’t tell me.
Eli pulls out a stool for me at the island. “How’re you feeling?”
“Alive. Barely.”
Eli snorts. “This is fucking role reversal.”
“Yeah. I can’t believe the amount of times I had to nurse your hungover ass back to health or pull you from random hotel rooms to make your call times.”
“I was spiraling,” he says, a rare admittance to his life before Zoe made it all better.
I shrug.
“You weren’t going to marry him,” Eli states, giving me whiplash with the change in direction of the conversation.
“Pardon?”
“Hawke. You wouldn’t have gone through with it, Harlow. At least, not the Harlow I know.”
I help myself to an apple and peanut butter. “What are you talking about?”
“Look, I get it. The allure of L.A. is hard to pass on. It’s shiny and exciting. Every party is a scene and every restaurant is part of a wider trend. But, truthfully now, me and you, no bullshit, were you happy?”
Swallowing thickly, I blink at Eli, pausing.
In light of Bryce’s cheating, moments of doubt that I buried, feelings of unease that I ignored, flicker to life.
I remember his late nights working. His beautiful co-star whose every whim he seemed to indulge. The way he makes every person, and mostly women, feel like they are the only one in the room, the center of his world.
“See?” Eli concludes, determining the truth from my silence.
Shoving a spoonful of peanut butter into my mouth, I plop down on the barstool. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
“Work for me again,” he says like it’s the most obvious solution in the world.
“What?”
“Work for me.”
“As your assistant?”
Eli shakes his head. “Manager.”
I stare at him, my mouth dropping open. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah. To tell you the truth, I have a pretty great assistant even though he’s not as good as you were. But I don’t need an assistant as much as I need a manager. My life is split between L.A. and Chicago. My career is split between acting and directing. I need someone I trust to manage it all, to stay on top of things. Right now, it’s becoming too much for my P.A. and things are starting to slip through the cracks.”
I narrow my gaze at him. “Do you really need this position filled or are you just taking pity on me?”
“Both. I want you back on my team, Low. You never should have left in the first place.” He shoots me a knowing glance. My stomach twists.
Even though I never told Eli outright, he correctly deduced that the real reason I resigned from being his P.A. is because Connor broke my heart. When Connor ended our friends-with-benefits thing two years ago, I ran from everything that was tied to him. Including my job as his best friend’s assistant.
“I haven’t managed anyone’s life since I quit being your P.A.”
Eli chuckles. “I know. If you want to keep doing your thing in L.A., than do you. But if you’re interested in running my life again, I’d love to have you back.”
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nbsp; My head buzzes, my eardrums ringing loudly.
A job offer.
The opportunity is greater than hosting reality TV. It’s a chance to build my career with tangible and transferrable skills. A long time ago, back when I started out as Eli’s P.A., I dreamed of working in public relations. I wanted to help shape the careers of actors. Asking for the dirty deets about what went down between two strangers in an airplane bathroom seems galaxies away from that dream now.
I sigh. My stepdad Kent, a Hollywood producer, emailed me last night, offering to hook me up with a job offer on one of his films but I still want to pave my own way, without using his name to open the door or relying on it as my life spirals. “You’re for real?”
“Yeah, Low. I’m for real. It’s a shit-ton of hours. You’ll have to travel between L.A. and Chicago a lot but since my life is rooted here, I’ll need you to commit to a permanent move to Chicago.” His eyes glimmer with mischief as he claps his hands together, rubbing them like the evil mastermind he is.
“You and Zoe concocted this, didn’t you?”
Eli tips his head back and laughs. “You know it was all Zo.”
“Jesus!” I jump from my chair, the reality of his offer hitting me in the face. I won’t have to go back to L.A. with my tail between my legs. I won’t have to go back to L.A. at all except in a professional capacity. Throwing my arms around Eli in gratitude, I smile. “Thank you, Eli. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“You earned it, Low. It’s about time you stopped letting Hawke overshadow you. It’s about time you came home.”
“Home?” I quirk an eyebrow. “I’ve never lived in Chicago.”
“I know. But home is where your people are. And Harlow, the L.A. party scene was never your vibe,” he flips his chin at me, “no matter how good a job you did at pretending to fit in.”
Sighing, I sit back down on my stool. “Am I that obvious?”
“No, I just know you. Squeezing your ass into a size two and making your hair blonder doesn’t stamp out your individuality. Dating Hawke doesn’t change the fact that you hate small talk and forced socialization. You’re too quirky, with your iced coffees in a blizzard and your nose piercing from when you were pretending to be a rebellious teen, to want that Hollywood glitz forever.”
Shaking my head, I exhale. “I really tried to fit in.”