by Gina Azzi
“I know you did. But when you really fit somewhere, you don’t have to try so hard. You’ve always been one of us, Low.” He taps his water glass against mine. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you for this chance, Eli.”
“Don’t thank me yet. The hours are brutal and I’m grumpy most of the time.”
“I remember.”
“And you start tomorrow.”
I laugh.
Eli chuckles, tossing an arm around my shoulder. His voice sobers as he glances at me. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry he hurt you. I really am. But don’t let him get you down. You’re so much more than Bryce Hawke.”
“He’s Hollywood’s Golden Boy.”
“Pssh. Who fucking cares? You’re Harlow Reid. You work for Eli fucking Holt. Hawke’s got nothing on me.” He drops his arm as I swat at him.
“You’ve always been modest.”
Eli grins. “I’ve always been honest. L.A. can build you up as quickly as it can tear you down. But you’ve always been legit, Low. From the first day I hired you, when I barely could offer you a salary —”
“You bought me Taco Bell.”
Eli laughs. “Because I fucking knew. Knew you were down for the adventure and not the glam. You cared about the films, not the noise. You still do. Don’t let this thing with Bryce define you. Not publicly and especially not personally.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I nod slowly, digesting his words. Wrinkling my nose at him, I ask, “Do I really start tomorrow?”
Eli grins, flipping his chin toward the nearly depleted tequila bottle. “Want to drink to it?”
I flip him the middle finger as he laughs.
4
Connor
The Bulldog’s cross catches the right side of my face, landing a punch that blurs my vision and causes pink-tinged saliva to shoot from my mouth.
Staggering back several steps, I regain my footing, sharpen my focus.
This is my last fight. In my soul, I know it. Now, I just need my dumb head to catch up. But I’ve never been the brightest crayon in the box and this, me taking on the reigning cruiserweight, Dan “The Bulldog” O’Brien, after my injury, my shortened training schedule, and thinking I can win, demonstrates the point.
It doesn’t matter that I’ll walk out of the ring with my wallet padded, win or lose. I need this win. My reputation depends on it to grow my gym. My soul demands it to prove that I did everything in my power to win this fight, that I’m ending my career at the top.
O’Brien comes at me again but this time, I’m ready. I unleash a powerful combination that throws him for a split-second. He responds with a crushing jab that knocks my head back, followed by a right hook that tosses me off-balance.
Reaching for the ropes, my fingertips glide past the vinyl coating the steel-cables and I hit the canvas with a thud. In an instant, O’Brien is on me. I dig deep, adrenaline coursing in my veins, humming in my temples, pounding in my chest. My head is spinning, my thoughts pulling in too many directions. His knee connects with my ribs and I lose the ability to draw in a breath.
I’m going to fucking lose this fight.
Lose everything I’ve spent my entire career working towards.
No.
Managing to twist away from O’Brien, I roll out of the clinch until we’re both on our feet again. The Bulldog grins at me, his smile sinister, his eyes sharp. My head throbs, the colors around the arena bleeding into each other, the sound of cheering and yelling erupting in my eardrums and fading into a whisper. I try to shake it off.
This is it; the fifth round.
I can do this. I need to do this.
I start for O’Brien and connect with a Thai kick followed by a combination that he blocks before taking me down.
The arena buzzes in the background as everything around me goes black.
I awake with a start, cold sweat beading along my forehead, my hands clammy and clenched.
Fuck.
I blow out a ragged exhale, hoping my heart rate returns to normal. The sheets are twisted around my waist and I close my eyes, slowing my breathing.
Anxiety rattles in my chest as my nightmare recedes from memory.
Six months ago, I hung up my gloves for good after getting my ass handed to me. My career ended in a monumental loss and a punishing concussion. Since that night, my life has taken a drastic nosedive.
My reputation, shot to hell, had the fighters I trained looking at new gyms.
Pop’s unexpected diagnosis with Creutzfeldt-Jacob Disease the following month rocked me to my core. Losing MMA hurt, but it was nothing compared to the realization that my days with Pop are numbered. With each passing day, he fades further away and I desperately cling to the parts of him I recognize.
Sighing, I pull myself from my bed even though it’s barely light outside. I tug on the faded jeans and T-shirt I wear to the construction site.
Instead of sweating in the gym, perfecting my footwork and honing my strength to fight, I now sweat under the merciless sun clearing debris and hauling around building materials.
I know I should be grateful. I’m able-bodied. I’m employed. I’m healthy.
But it’s real fucking hard to count my blessings when Pop is fading away and I’m helpless to help him, literally unable to save him.
Uselessness grips my neck like a noose, the same way it did the night I lost to O’Brien.
That night, drunk and hurting, I pulled out the magazine with Harlow’s radiance beaming from the cover. I spent I don’t know how long staring at the woman who would never be mine. Why not kick a dog when it’s down?
She looked happy with Bryce. Even though it turned my stomach sour, I tried to be happy for her. I rolled up the magazine and put it away for good. After losing to the Bulldog, Harlow was just another loss to add to my arsenal of defeat.
Lacing up my work boots, I stand from my bed and exit the room. I can still taste Harlow’s lips on mine. Feel her soft skin, breathe in her scent.
My heart rate ticks up as I recall everything about two nights ago. Telling her truths, absorbing her hurts, kissing her lips. For the first time in a long time, the heaviness that hangs over me like a perpetual storm cloud lessens.
This year has kicked my ass. Right now, though, Harlow being back seems like a silver lining.
I had no right to tell her I would help her rebuild her life. Being close to her will only blur the line I drew in the sand two years ago. Since then, nothing’s changed. If anything, I’m worse for her now, with even less to offer, than I was back then.
I tear a banana off the bunch, toss it into my backpack, lock the front door behind me, and bound down the porch steps toward my truck.
Harlow’s crestfallen expression and puffy eyes flicker in my mind, along with the hurt that laced her words when she asked the heartbreaking question: Why am I not enough?
There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to stay away from her again.
I can keep lying to myself and pretend I care because of our history. I’ve fucked her in every imaginable position overlooking the city lights of Los Angeles and Chicago. Or maybe it’s because of our mutual friends and the overlap of our lives.
But that’s all bullshit.
I can’t stay away. A part of me, a bigger part than I want to admit, wants her more than my next breath.
She makes me feel something again. Something that isn’t hopeless.
As soon as I pull down Eli’s street, I see her. And, since my windows are open, I hear her.
“Give me everything you got, Maddie!” she hollers, bouncing from one foot to the other. Behind her, two orange cones are set up to create a goal.
Maddie places a soccer ball in front of Harlow and backs up, preparing to make her kick.
I pull into Eli’s driveway and kill the engine.
Harlow’s ass sways in my line of vision, her shorts so goddamn high up her thighs I can’t look away. Her legs are tanned and shapely, her feet bare, her energy infectious.
/>
“Kick it, baby girl!” she cheers as Maddie runs toward the soccer ball, her foot connecting and sending the ball straight toward Harlow.
Harlow’s hands are up and even though she could easily catch the ball, she dives in the opposite direction, missing completely.
“GOOOOOOAAAAAALLLLLL!” Maddie screams, raising her arms in V for victory and running around the front yard.
“You’re the next Abby Wambach!” Harlow announces. She stands from the lawn, wiping blades of grass from her perfect ass before turning to me.
The second her gaze collides with mine, she smirks and I know she caught me checking her out.
I dip my head to the side and feign casual. “I didn’t know you played soccer.”
“It’s been years.”
“Were you goalie?” I ask, skepticism heavy in my tone. My eyes scan her body, drink in her curves, and linger on the pucker of her mouth.
“Forward. Did diving in the wrong direction give me away?”
“Just a little bit.”
Her grin widens, her eyes blazing. “I’ll have you know that my team was badass. We almost won State my junior year.”
“What happened? You trip over the ball?”
Her mouth drops open, indignation stamped in her expression.
I swallow back my laughter, quirking an eyebrow instead. My chest tightens and I realize how much I miss her. More than I ever considered. But Jesus, I like getting a rise out of her, like riling her up.
“No, I didn’t trip over the ball.” She lifts her hand, jabbing a finger in my direction like she’s about to tell me off. Her expression is pinched but in the next blink, it relaxes and she bites her bottom lip. “I got red carded,” she admits, her nose wrinkling adorably.
Laughter shakes my shoulders and I can’t hold it back anymore. I chuckle loudly, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Let me guess, you let your sassy fly?”
She shrugs, her mouth tipping up at the corners. “Something like that.” Her eyes meet mine knowingly, heat ringing her irises. She’s always been a little bit wild, spirited, just skirting the edge of reckless. According to Eli, Bryce was always trying to curb her passion.
But Jesus, I crave her intensity. It makes me feel alive the same way fighting does. Her ferocity, her wit, her courage is restorative, not demanding.
The space between us flickers with energy. Except for Maddie’s voice in the background, the rest of the world melts away.
Harlow is beautiful. I want to reach out and palm her hip, pull her into me, drop my mouth to hers and…take. Instead, I curl my fingers into my palm and clear my throat.
“I’m ready, Auntie Harlow!” Maddie calls out.
Harlow nods, turning away from me and assuming her position.
I watch her and Maddie play for a few minutes. She lets Maddie score each time and then chases her around the yard. Harlow laughs loudly, caught up in the moment and Maddie’s enthusiasm, like her heart wasn’t broken on the internet a few days ago. Whenever her eyes meet mine, they’re filled with mirth and a joy so deep, it renders me speechless.
This is the Harlow I know.
Not the coiffed and perfected lady who knew the gossip of inner Hollywood circles, but this woman, wearing short shorts and a crop top, her hair piled messily on top of her head and a grin stretching across her face. A woman with an unbreakable spirit.
When they take a break for Maddie to drink some water, I step closer. “You’re really moving here?”
“I really am.”
“You sure you want to work for Eli again?” I ask, only half-joking.
Her eyes glimmer. “I’ll let you know after I complete my first week.”
I smirk and she smiles, her expression so sincere it sucker punches me. My throat dries as I work a swallow, wanting to ask her a million questions but not knowing where to start. Or how.
Maddie calls for her again and she runs off, copying Maddie’s movements as they dance zig-zag patterns across the lawn.
Leaning back against my truck, I continue to watch them. It’s beautiful outside. The heat of the day is receding as the breeze of dusk kicks up. The sky is cotton candy swirls dotted with massive clouds and the first fireflies are flickering.
I drink in Harlow’s happiness like I’ll never be able to quench my thirst, never be able to get enough of her. It’s a dangerous realization because I know that we don’t have a future together. We never did. If I was smart, I wouldn’t be here right now.
Minutes pass but I don’t move to get back into my truck.
I’m drawn to Harlow and I’m too damn exhausted to fight against it, especially after last night’s nightmare coupled with Pop’s rough morning.
“Madison Ann.” Zoe steps down the front stairs, grinning at me. “Hey Connor.”
I hold out an arm and Zoe steps into my embrace. Dropping her head to my shoulder, she watches Maddie and Harlow with the same quiet amusement as me.
“She doing okay?” I jut my chin toward Harlow.
“Yeah, she’s okay. The hurt comes in waves. Sometimes, like right now, Maddie’s enough of a distraction to have Harlow laughing and present in the moment. But there are little reminders or thoughts throughout the day that make her go quiet until her face crumples. I hate seeing her hurt like this. I wish I could do more for her.”
I remain silent, my attention focused on Harlow. The thought of her hurting hurts me. The realization that there’s nothing I can do to ease her pain cuts even deeper. Shame fills my stomach, churning with the helplessness I constantly carry for Pop.
Next to me, Zoe sighs and I peek over at her.
“You good, Zo?” A ball of nerves wells in my throat even though I know I’m being paranoid. Three years ago, Zoe had a lot of health scares that pushed Eli into a constant state of concern. He hides it well, but it’s always lurking just under the surface.
With the hole my life is currently tumbling down, I’ve become paranoid as well.
“Yeah, just tired,” she murmurs, her eyelids heavy.
“Hey.” I jostle her shoulder until she opens her eyes. “You sure that’s it?”
A small smile flits across her lips as she shakes her head and my heart sinks.
“It’s good news, actually,” Zoe adds.
I frown at her, confused.
Then, her hand rests over her stomach and I narrow my eyes at the smallest swell there.
It finally clicks and I chuckle, a mixture of happiness and relief floating upward. “You’re fucking pregnant?”
Zoe nods, her smile growing. “We’re telling Maddie tonight.”
“Jesus, Zo.” I squeeze her close and drop a kiss to the crown of her head. “I’m so happy for you.”
She tips her head toward Harlow. “Thanks, Connor. I’m happy for you too.”
I shake my head. My jaw hardens and a muscle ticks under my eye.
“All part of the fun, my friend,” Zoe jokes, rolling her eyes. “You guys will figure it out.” She pushes off my truck and claps her hands, signaling for Maddie.
After Zoe wrangles Maddie into the house, Harlow slips on her flip flops and approaches me. Strands of her hair have escaped her bun and fall around her face, sticking to her neck. She looks a million times more beautiful than she did the morning of Maddie’s birthday party. This version of her, the effortless one, is my favorite.
I kick off my truck and stuff my hands into my pockets, rocking back on my heels.
“What are you doing here?” Harlow asks coyly, stopping just shy of reaching distance.
“Came to see you,” I answer.
A ripple of worry passes over Harlow’s face, the green spark in her eyes dimming. “Connor, I —”
“I wanted to see if you were hungry. Pancakes?” I cut her off before she says something to turn our easygoing vibe into something uncomfortable. For both of us.
She brightens. “Breakfast for dinner? You know that’s my favorite.”
“I do.” I tip my head toward my truck.
“Let me just grab my wallet.” She starts for Eli’s house.
“Harlow Reid. Get your ass in the truck.” I hate it when she plays this stupid I’ll-pay-for-my-meal shit.
She smirks and rolls her eyes but she rounds the truck and slides into the passenger seat.
I climb back behind the wheel, flip the ignition, and back out of the driveway. “I know a spot.”
“I’d hope so; this is your hometown.”
“Smartass. I meant, I know a really good place. Best pancakes you’ll ever have.”
“Connor, I’m from L.A.”
“You’re from Georgia.” I hang a left toward the tiny diner with the best breakfast.
“True,” Harlow chuckles, kicking off her flip flops and crossing her legs on the passenger seat. “I am from Georgia.” She thickens her Southern drawl, which is so slight these days it’s barely discernible.
“You ever miss it?”
She glances thoughtfully at me before turning back to the window. “Sometimes. It’s strange, you know? If I were to go back now, I don’t think I’d fit in. It’s hard to go back to what was once you’ve been away so long.”
“Do you ever visit?”
“No. Not since my grandparents passed. When I was a kid, I spent the entire summer at their farm. Eating peaches right from the trees and riding horses all day.”
I reach a hand over and squeeze Harlow’s knee. I picture her, horseback riding at sunset, her hair wild, her laughter loud. “True Southern girl, huh?”
“Hell yeah,” she says with a giggle. “But now, I guess Chicago is home.”
I glance at her, the right side of my mouth lifting. “Welcome to the Windy City.”
“You’re so lame.”
I tip my head toward her, giving her the side-eye. Hanging with her like this is nice, familiar. I clear my throat, knowing I’m about to veer into uncharted territory. “How you holding up?”
My words hang suspended between us as I wait for her response. Christ, I hope she’s not pining for limp dick Golden Boy. I hate that he hurt her, but I hate that she was going to fucking marry him more.
