Saving My Soul: A Second Chance MMA Romance (Second Chance Chicago Series Book 3)

by Gina Azzi

  “How was your day?” Connor asks.

  “Good. Really good. I finalized everything for Eli’s premiere next month and I started interviewing local candidates in L.A. to be the point person for some day-to-day tasks there. I’m going to discuss a more detailed schedule with Eli this week so I can better plan my time between Chicago and L.A.”

  “The premiere for the movie Golden Boy starred in?” Connor’s voice is rougher than it was a moment ago. This time, when he peers at me, his eyes are narrowed, a glint of steel in his irises.

  “Yes,” I say. “Eli was an assistant director on the film so he’ll be there.”

  “And the coward?”

  “Bryce will be there. He was the lead actor.”

  Connor shakes his head, his jaw tight, as he stares out the windshield.

  I wait for him to ask the question and he doesn’t disappoint.

  “Are you going?”

  “To the premiere?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Of course. I mean, I have to go. I’m on Eli’s team.”

  Connor clamps down on the corner of his mouth again, this time in frustration. “I know,” he blows out. “I’m sure it’s going to be great. Plus, it’s a special night for Eli,” he says finally, his voice controlled.

  “It is. He’s been angling to get a foothold in directing since Dangerous Devils.”

  “I know.” Connor taps out a staccato rhythm against the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “I know. Just don’t let Golden Boy get in your head, Reid.” He fixes me with a solemn expression.

  “Pssh.” I flick my wrist, injecting lightness into my tone to brighten the mood in the truck. “This has nothing to do with Bryce. This is about my career. And trying to do a good job in my new position.”

  Connor nods.

  “What’s your news, anyway?” I ask as we pull into the parking lot of a steakhouse in downtown Chicago. “Fancy.”

  “Uh…” Connor snickers.

  “What?”

  “We’re hitting up the little Italian place.” He points to a tiny restaurant that looks more like an extension of the steakhouse than its own restaurant.

  “Oh.” I feel my cheeks blaze. “I love Italian.”

  Connor lifts an eyebrow. “I know. This place is one of Chicago’s best kept secrets.” He slips out of the truck as I climb out of the passenger seat.

  Once I’m standing, my dress straightened and my purse hanging off my shoulder, Connor takes my hand again and tugs me toward the restaurant. “Once we sit down, I’ll tell you everything. But you have to promise to be straight with me. I feel strongly about this new idea, but it may also be my last chance to save Cyanide. I need to go about it the right way and be smart, not just emotional. If it’s not going to work, that’s fine, but I can’t sink the rest of what I have into it. You know?”

  “I got you. You’ll get my brutally honest thoughts.”

  “Don’t be too brutal, Reid,” he quips, holding the door open for me.

  We’re seated at a back table with a red-and-white checkered tablecloth. The restaurant is small but bursting with warmth. It feels like I stepped into a nonna’s kitchen somewhere. Familiar and comfortable, sitting at the table, listening to soft Italian music and breathing in the scent of all that Italian deliciousness, it feels like being enveloped in a hug. I’m immediately at ease and order a glass of Sangiovese wine. Connor asks for a beer and a variety of appetizers to start off.

  “Cheers!” I hold my wine up to his beer.

  “Cheers, Low.” He clinks his glass against mine and takes a sip.

  Once I’ve tasted the delicious wine, I place my glass down and raise my eyebrows at Connor. “Tell me.” I gesture my fingers in a “gimme” way that causes his eyes to spark.

  “Okay.” He puts his beer down and hunches forward. Leaning closer to me, he whispers, “I want the truth, though.”

  “Swear it.” I cross my heart.

  “Today, my friend Moe, who owns a gym farther outside of the city, came to visit me. His cousin’s best friend was messed up pretty badly by her boyfriend.”

  “What?” My mouth drops open in horror. This definitely was not what I expected Connor to say.

  Connor reaches out and clasps my wrist. “Moe’s been thinking about the women who come into his gym, and there have definitely been women at Cyanide looking for an outlet, a place to find something that will help them heal. Something more than the self-defense class that Zoe teaches. These women are looking for confidence, empowerment, a shred of the woman they were from before.”

  “Dignity.”

  “Exactly.” Connor squeezes my wrist. “Moe and I got to talking. We’re considering starting a non-contact program at Cyanide that would meet, I don’t know, two or three mornings a week and focus primarily on women who are victims of violence and trauma.”

  “Wow,” I breathe out, my mind darting off in a million different directions.

  The merits of the idea. The help it can provide. The community of women. The benefits for the gym. Recognition of the issue. Financial influx for Cyanide.

  A new vision and purpose for Connor.

  “Low?”

  “Yeah.” I look back up, feeling a blush work over my cheeks.

  “I don’t know what to do now. I mean, we need a name for the program. We need to figure out the actual mission. Do we get speakers to come? Do we try to build a community for these women? How do we advertise? Is it better to publicize it or do things quietly? What if they’re too scared to come? How do I pay for it right now?”

  “Hey.” I flip my palm and slide my fingers through his. “One thing at a time, okay?”

  He nods.

  “I think this is the best fucking idea I’ve heard in a really long time.”

  A slow smile spreads across Connor’s face, his eyes gleaming as my words register. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously! I love the concept. It’s so important to recognize the issue. So many women are victims of violence, even in their own homes, by the men they pledge themselves to. But God, honestly, harassment against women is everywhere. I know a lot of attention was brought to sexual harassment with the #MeToo movement and in some industries, things have improved, especially in terms of the stigma associated with highlighting sexual harassment and assault. But it’s still really bad.”

  Connor slips his hand out of mine as it clenches into a fist. He takes another sip of his beer and clears his throat. “Have you ever, I mean, did anyone ever —”

  “Oh God, yeah,” I chuckle, partly from nerves and partly because I don’t want Connor to freak out. But that’s dumb, because the truth is that I’ve been sexually harassed more times than I can count, and it’s nothing anyone should ever laugh about. Sure, I managed to get myself out of the situations with a little humor and a brush-off, but certain men that I’ve worked with on Eli’s films over the years make my skin crawl even when I spot them now at a L.A. brunch. “It’s kind of impossible not to experience if you work in the entertainment industry.”

  “What do you mean? What happened?” Connor presses. His jaw is tight again, even tighter than in the truck. Anger blazes from his eyes and his shoulders bunch with the emotions he’s trying to control.

  “I’m not trying to compare myself to the women you are talking about with regard to your program. It’s not the same thing.”

  “No, I get that. But it’s still important. It’s still not something to blow off,” Connor points out, his tone harsh.

  “True. To be honest, I saw it all the time growing up. My stepdad is a famous producer. The number of dinners and soirees he hosted always had some douchebag guy — usually famous, wealthy, and egotistical — getting handsy or mouthy with a girl. Kent, my stepdad, would always tell me that if anyone does anything to make me uncomfortable, I shouldn’t brush it off, but look them straight in the eye and tell them, in a firm voice, to knock it off and that I would report them to my stepdad. So, I kind of had an out, because of who Kent is. B
ut still, I’ve had men corner me. Ask me who I had to blow to get my job or demand to know if I was fucking Eli. I’ve been roofied, twice.” My tone sours as I stack all of the instances up in my head. “For sure, I’ve been lucky that nothing really bad ever happened to me but there have been a lot of encounters. On Dangerous Devils, Eli fired his acting coach one week in for grabbing my ass at the refreshments table. And, you know, there’s always…” I trail off as I get a good look at Connor’s expression.

  He’s seething. Hot rage rolls off his shoulders and the hatred flaring in his eyes could melt steel. “There’s always what?”

  “Nothing. Forget it. Just suffice it to say that harassment against women is commonplace, and there are more women who endure violence than you, or anyone, probably realizes. I like your idea, Connor. I like it a lot and I’m really proud of you for wanting to pursue something that will provide women with a safe space and a chance to confront their fears and build up their confidence again.”

  He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did anyone ever hurt you, Harlow?”

  “No.”

  His eyes snap to mine. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  “Did anyone ever threaten you?”

  “No.”

  He blows out a long exhale, some of his anger abating.

  Our waitress drops off an insane amount of appetizers. I glance up, thanking her as Connor continues to compose himself.

  Adding some bruschetta and arancini to my plate, I tilt my head toward Connor. “I wasn’t trying to make you think all of these awful things. I just wanted you to know that your idea is a good one. It’s worthy and it’s important.”

  He nods, adding some appetizers to his plate. “I fucking hate that you were put in compromising situations.”

  “I know. But I was lucky. I got out of them.”

  “I never thought about everything you would experience working in L.A. For Eli. On that fucking plane.”

  I chuckle, pointing the tines of my fork at him. “That whole experience was a shitshow.”

  “Do you regret it?” he asks, his tone more curious than judging.

  “No. I think I needed to do something on my own, to prove to myself that I could. Plus, I learned a lot. Mostly about myself. I think that’s always a good thing. You know?”

  “Yeah,” Connor replies, adding some Caprese salad to my plate. “You really think I can do this?” He peers at me, his expression so vulnerable that my heart leaps into my throat.

  “Yes, Connor. I know you can do this.”

  “I know this isn’t your area of expertise. But I also know you want to move toward public relations. So, given your network, and your passion, any idea on how I get it all rolling?”

  I grin at him, leaning forward and dropping my voice. “I’ve got ideas.”

  He snorts. “Like what?”

  “Well, I work for one of Hollywood’s most celebrated celebrities. He’s a client of one of the best PR agencies in the country. Plus, his wife is a badass trainer with a crazy YouTube and Instagram following.”

  Connor’s face falls. “I don’t want to ride on the coattails of—”

  “You’re not.” I hold up my palm, cutting him off. “You’re not riding on anyone’s merits except your own. What we’re going to do is use the platforms of really famous people to raise awareness of this really important issue. Then, we can slip in the action you and Moe are providing — with the non-contact program and safe space, we’ll have to refine all of that more. But Eli and Zoe, with their unique platforms, are going to highlight the issue more than the solution. This will generate interest and buzz about your program and gym without it seeming like we’re selling it.”

  “Oh. Okay. I never thought about it like that.”

  “The issue is the most important thing, Connor. But it’s still necessary that you’re able to earn some type of income from the program and then funnel that into gym memberships and other ways to expand your business.”

  “Isn’t that,” he pauses, his shoulders dipping, “I don’t know, fucked up?”

  “Which part?”

  “It’s like benefitting from someone else’s pain.”

  My expression softens. “This is why I like you so much.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of how much you care. Your heart.” I reach my hand across the table to wrap around his forearm. “It’s not selfish. You’re not going to get rich from this, trust me. You’re going to launch a program that allows you to draw attention to the gym and keep your doors open while raising awareness about an important issue. The media surrounding the launch is what you’ll need to capitalize on for other aspects of your business. You’re just doing good while trying to do well. And it’s okay. It’s really hard to do anything meaningful and important without any capital, right?”

  “I guess so.”

  He sounds unsure and I secretly admire that he seems more invested in the program than in the future of his gym.

  “I got you, Connor. I’ll draw up a list of contacts for you to connect with about the launch. You’re going to kick off this program and you’re going to save your gym at the same time.”

  10

  Connor

  “Soul Sanctuary,” Harlow says before draining the last of her wine. Her cheeks are flushed, the golden in her eyes dimming as the green flashes. She looks beautiful.

  “Soul Sanctuary?”

  “As a name. For the program. What do you think?” She leans forward, her excitement evident in her demeanor.

  We discussed the program for most of dinner and the more we talked, the more the thought formed into a possibility. Now, wrapping up dessert, it’s bursting with promise.

  “Soul Sanctuary,” I test it out. “I like it, Low.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. It’s pretty perfect. I like Sanctuary because it’s supposed to be more than just a safe space but a place where women can feel connected to each other.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And soul because…” Find something that sets your soul on fire. I shake my head, “Thank you, Harlow.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. Wait until you see all of the prep work we’re going to have to do.”

  “I’m up for it.”

  Harlow beams across the table and I stare at her, mesmerized. Why didn’t I hold onto her with everything I had two years ago? Why didn’t I fight to win her back a year ago? Before everything with my career and future went to shit? How the hell did I let someone so special, so real, slip away?

  Why is she even giving me another chance?

  “Want to get out of here?” I ask, wondering if she is giving me another chance or if I’m reading the situation wrong.

  “Sure.” Harlow dabs a napkin against the corners of her mouth.

  I get the check and settle the bill before Harlow and I slip from the restaurant. My mind is buzzing with theories about why Harlow is spending time with me. My nerves, something I haven’t felt in a really long time, are rattling in my veins.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” she asks, interrupting the downward spiral circling in my head.

  I chuckle and Harlow grins up at me, her expression so open I want to fall into it. “I’ve missed this.”

  “Hanging with me?” She quirks an eyebrow, surprised.

  “Being myself with someone. You.”

  “Ah.” She shakes her head, her eyebrows swooping inward. “Were you ever yourself with me?”

  “More than with any other woman.”

  The realization hits me hard. Shouldn’t that have been a sign? The fact that I confided more to Harlow than any other woman should have been a slap in the face that I couldn’t let her go. But I never gave her what she really wanted. I never gave her all of me; I couldn’t. Not when her future was so big and bright and…there.

  For nearly two years, our arrangement was easy, casual. Then she told me she wanted more.

  Fuck, if her hopeful expression, the damn light
in her eyes, didn’t make me burn for her, make me wish I could want the same things she does.

  But my future wasn’t a fairytale. I don’t have a rich stepdaddy and a plush life. I don’t have a proper pedigree and lofty connections.

  At the time, I had Pop, my fists, my gym, and my fighters. In that order. I still don’t know what foie gras is or anything about skiing in Aspen. I only know sweat, determination, and how to throw a right hook.

  Back then, the only right option seemed like ending it. So I did. I told Harlow we shouldn’t keep hooking up because we were no longer on the same page. She tried to hide her tears from me, but the sight of them bothered me. The sight of her hurting hurt me. She left my place in a hurry and I did nothing to discourage her.

  When she returned to L.A., I knew she wouldn’t be coming back. I pushed her away. I made her Bryce’s for the taking.

  The thought of her ex fills my mouth with a sour taste and I grimace.

  I made her Bryce’s. But when she left, I never even tried to replace her. Not really. I made me alone.

  “Really?” Harlow asks.

  I squeeze her hand. “Really.”

  She sighs, glancing up at me, emotions flickering quickly across her expression. “Take me home with you, Connor.”

  “What?” I stop walking and turn toward her. The request knocks the breath out of my chest because, is she for real? There’s nothing more on earth that I want right now than Harlow. But, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. We have unfinished business, Connor.”

  “Are you wanting to explore that or put it to rest?” I ask, needing to know her thoughts, needing to have a pulse on her feelings if we take this next step.

  Needing to manage my own damn expectations. Hopes.

  Harlow’s quiet next to me, and my stomach sinks.

  “The first,” she finally whispers. “But I don’t know how to do that with you and be casual.”

  “Why would you have to be casual?”

  “Didn’t I scare you off the last time?” She snorts, but the sound is derisive. “I definitely did something to push Bryce away.”

  At the mention of his name, anger rushes through my blood, the sound roaring in my ears and a litany of swears swelling in my throat. But at the forlorn expression on Harlow’s face, I swallow the swears back down and gentle my tone. “You didn’t scare me off. I mean, you did, but not because of anything you did. I got scared off because of the way I felt about you.” I say the words I know she needs to hear but more than that, they are the words I need to say.