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

by Gina Azzi

  Seething, I pace back and forth. Emotions I’ve never experienced bubble up inside of me, intense and overwhelming and real. Rage bubbles beneath my skin. My fingers shake with adrenaline, with a desperate energy to release everything swirling inside.

  I hate it. I hate how I feel, like I can’t control myself. I hate that I don’t understand where the hell Harlow’s head is at.

  I hate that Pop isn’t here to counsel me through it.

  My hand clenches into a fist and my mind fogs over. It’s only a matter of time before my fist collides with the wall, going right through it.

  I stare at the hole, breathing heavily.

  The smallest flicker of relief swells in my chest and I close my eyes.

  Haven’t I always known this would happen? She’s always been too big for my world. I could never keep her here. Not when the pull of L.A. beckons.

  I just didn’t think she’d leave so soon.

  “You’re for fucking real?” Eli questions, his eyebrows pulled so low, they nearly touch.

  I nod, reaching for the neck of my beer bottle and guzzling a swig.

  “Man, come on. Think this through. You and Low, you guys were—”

  “It’s not going to work.”

  “Because she may take a job in L.A.? Connor, that’s not fair and you know it.”

  “Because she didn’t even tell me she might take a job in L.A.” I glare at my best friend. “You know, you’re supposed to have my back, right?”

  “This isn’t like that. You can’t expect Low to turn down opportunities she’s worked her ass off for. If your positions were switched, would you want her to ask you not to train for a big, career-changing fight because it would mean time away from her? Think about it, man.”

  I know he’s right. Of course Harlow should interview for the position. Of course she should try for it. But right now, I just want one person in the damn universe to be on my side. To have my back. To put my needs first. The same way Pop did.

  But now, Pop is gone. There is no one else.

  “Yeah, well, the tables aren’t turned. So basically, if I was still some hotshot UFC fighter, taking on a fight that was going to bring in bank, you’d want me to go for it. But since I’m a nobody, trying to plug holes on a sinking fucking ship, Harlow has no business waiting around, right?”

  Eli’s expression falls before a shock of anger blooms in his expression. “Fuck off, Connor. You know that’s not what I meant. Jesus Christ, do you hear yourself?”

  “Yeah, Eli. I do. I’m launching the most important thing I’ve done since ruining my career tomorrow. It’s the last thing I swore to Pop that I’d do right. It’s in less than twenty-four hours, there’s a shit-ton of things to wrap up, and instead of concentrating on my career like Harlow, I’m sitting here arguing about her with you. Still putting her first.”

  “Uh, hey.” Moe knocks tentatively on my front door, even though the upper half of his body is already wrapped around it. “Is this a bad time?” He looks sheepish, like someone who just caught people arguing do.

  “Nah, we’re all set.” Eli decides, standing from the table. “Don’t be an idiot.” He points at me before making his way toward the door.

  Moe steps into my kitchen, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “We’ve got a problem.”

  “Of course we do,” I mutter. Can one thing in my life go right? Just one? I just want one sign that my whole life isn’t turning to shit.

  “Callie’s ex, Daryl, is threatening to show up at the launch.”

  I groan, closing my eyes.

  “It’s a public event…” Moe continues, knowing we can’t bar him from attending.

  “Did Callie file a restraining order?”

  “No. She was scared, embarrassed…”

  I nod, knowing it’s no use trying to figure out how to stop Daryl from coming tomorrow. Our time is better spent preparing for the fire he’s going to try to ignite.

  “He wants a payout,” Moe whispers.

  “Not going to happen.” I glare at him, my fingers curling into fists the way they always do when I’m pissed. Right now, I’m more than pissed. I’m fuming. “We’re not going to give that piece of shit a dime. He wants to come tomorrow? We’ll make him the damn poster boy for a wife beater. And I’ll personally show him how I deal with boys like him.”

  Moe closes his eyes, the color draining from his face.

  “What?” I snap.

  “Daryl is the stepson of the Chief of Police.”

  “I wouldn’t care if he was the Chief of Police. I’m not feeding into this. He shows up tomorrow, I’m taking him down.”

  Moe looks at me and nods. “You’re right. Okay.”

  “Okay. Anything else?”

  “Nope. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “See you,” I grumble. Standing from my chair, I pace around my kitchen, anxiety and anger and so much crap swirling in my veins, I don’t know how to process it all.

  Pop should be here.

  What if Daryl blows up the event? How much damage control should I prepare for?

  Why does it feel like when I clear one hurdle, I’m already tripping over the next one?

  Hopping up onto my kitchen counter, I drop my head back until it hits the cabinets. Glaring at my kitchen ceiling and the stupid water stain there I need to get fixed, I think of Pop.

  He would have loved this. The energy, the excitement, even the challenges of preparing for tomorrow.

  He would have loved the concept of Soul Sanctuary.

  Set your soul on fire.

  The next chapter.

  A purpose.

  Isn’t that what I’m trying to do? Isn’t that what I am doing?

  Screw Daryl. Screw all these missteps and mishaps.

  Screw the fact that I feel physically ill inside that Harlow is leaving. Again. That she’s running back to L.A. because Chicago, my life, doesn’t hold a candle to the bright lights and fancy parties.

  Didn’t I always know this? Isn’t it my own fault for thinking we could have a future when she was always destined for more?

  I blow out a deep breath and slide off the counter.

  Tomorrow is about the next chapter. My future. I only wish Harlow was going to be a part of it. But deep down, I know that’s not going to happen.

  It’s time for me to let Harlow go. It’s time for me to step up and throw everything I’ve got, every shred of myself, into Cyanide.

  For myself. For my future.

  For Pop.

  27

  Harlow

  “Thank you so much for considering me,” I say, flipping my pen between my fingers.

  “Absolutely, Harlow. You have impressive experience and come highly recommended. We’re speaking with a few more candidates this afternoon and will reach out soon.”

  “Sounds great. Thanks again.”

  “Thank you. We’ll be in touch.”

  “‘Bye,” I end the call, doing a little happy dance around my kitchen and living room.

  I throw myself down on the couch, close my eyes, and try to hold onto my excitement. The good vibes pulsing around my chest are short-lived as Connor’s image floods my mind.

  Connor.

  Two nights ago, we had a fight. A real disagreement that left with him shutting me out and me crying. We haven’t spoken since. Now, I have no clue where we stand.

  While other aspects of my life are falling into place, creating the type of harmony I’ve always strived for, my romantic life, as usual, is imploding.

  I feel blindsided.

  Tears prick the corners of my eyes as my stomach clenches.

  I never anticipated Connor shutting me out because of one disagreement. Because I have an opportunity I can’t pass up. Anger rattles through my veins as I think about how much I’ve supported him with Soul Sanctuary and how he shut me down now that my career is on the brink of advancement.

  My phone rings and some of my fr
ustration eases at Zoe’s name.

  “Hey Zo,” I answer.

  “How’d it go?”

  “Great!” I smile, recalling my interview. “So much better than I thought. It was so natural, like a conversation. David, the guy interviewing me, is the person I’d be reporting to if I get the job. He was really open and straightforward. He’s interviewing a few more people this afternoon so fingers crossed. I can’t believe this interview happened at all, never mind this quickly.”

  “Wow,” Zoe whistles. “That’s amazing, Harlow!”

  “I know. I mean, if I’m lucky, there will be a second round to prepare for, but I didn’t expect the first call to be with David. You know?”

  “I’m so happy for you! You deserve this, Low. You’ve worked so hard for so long, it’s about time things start paying off.”

  “One thing at a time,” I remind her and myself.

  “Right. First, the launch.”

  I groan.

  Zoe’s sigh fills the line. “Have you told Connor about the interview yet?”

  “No. The interview timing was so last minute, and we haven’t talked in the past two days.”

  Zoe swears, and I swallow back my sob. My emotions are all over the place, oscillating between excited and happy to heartbroken and desperate every other blink.

  “Are you still coming today?” she asks.

  “Of course,” I respond, somewhat offended.

  “I didn’t mean, I just…Are you and Connor okay? Like, are you together?”

  Her question, a valid one, rips me wide open. “I don’t know,” I admit, hating the uncertainty that fills me.

  Are Connor and I together? Are we having a disagreement or did we break up? Why don’t I ever know where I stand with him? Why do I keep letting him put me in this position? This limbo.

  “You guys should talk,” Zoe advises.

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe after the launch.”

  “Maybe.” I say the words, but anguish fills my chest and I know I won’t be able to wait that long. For a girl used to sliding into default mode and focusing on the work, I can’t tear my mind away from Connor. I can’t knowingly attend today’s launch without knowing where we stand.

  My phone beeps and I frown when Moe’s name appears on screen. “Hey Zo, that’s Moe beeping in. See you at the gym?”

  “Yes, meet you there.”

  I click over.

  “Hey, Moe! Ready for today?” I ask, forcing professional Harlow to outshine personal Harlow. At least where Connor isn’t concerned.

  “Hi, Harlow. I think so.”

  “What’s wrong?” My heart rate ticks up at the worry in his voice. This isn’t unusual. Most clients have some sort of a freak-out before their first event and small details tend to unravel in the eleventh hour.

  Clicking my pen, I sit up straighter and balance the phone between my ear and shoulder.

  “Daryl, Callie’s ex, is threatening to come to the launch.”

  “Shoot. Does Connor know?”

  “Yeah, I told him last night. I just didn’t want to bug you so late.”

  I wait for Moe to continue as I click the back of my pen. In. Out. In. Out.

  Just the thought of Connor has me on edge. Why didn’t he call me? Is it because he’s done with me? With us? Does he even want me to come to the launch today? Is he expecting me to skip it?

  “He blew it off. Basically said he’ll deal with Daryl if he shows up.”

  “Damn.” I rub my forehead. I’m not surprised by Connor’s dismissal. He knows he can take down a guy like Daryl, a guy who gets off on hitting a woman. In fact, Connor might even welcome it.

  But the optics of a fight, a showdown, at the launch of a non-combat program for victims of violence looks bad. Really, really bad.

  That old adage “there’s no such thing as bad press” isn’t entirely true.

  Running through a mental list of ways to mitigate the escalation of a conflict, I start concocting a contingency plan. “Don’t worry, Moe. I’m on it. The last thing he needs is more stress on his plate.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. We’ll beef up security. I’ll get Eli and Evan in on it,” I blurt out. Eli’s star appeal is always a positive, and Evan’s reputation as one of Chicago’s most bad-ass criminal defense lawyers is always useful.

  “Okay, whatever you think is best, Harlow.”

  “See you in a few.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks.”

  I end the call, lean back in my seat, and take a deep breath.

  Nerves still jumble in my chest from my call with David. Possibilities and what-ifs flood my mind before my thoughts drift back to Connor. He’s the sun in my universe right now, and it seems like everything revolves around him. My thoughts, my feelings, my future plans.

  I’ve made him my sun and I don’t know if I’m a star or an asteroid in his world. The thought leaves me more unsettled, more anxious, more desperate for the truth.

  I pull myself from my chair, checking my phone for the time. I need to get ready for the event. I want to be at Cyanide early to help set up and make sure everything is where it’s supposed to be.

  I hesitate, shuffling from one foot to the other as my mind screams with what I really want.

  To see Connor. To know if we’re okay. To have some answers I can base decisions off of.

  I glance at the time again. If I hurry, I can catch Connor, come back to get ready, and still make it to Cyanide ahead of the launch.

  I dress quickly. As soon as I look somewhat put together, I grab my purse and beeline to the nearest L stop. With each passing minute, my worry and anxiety grow.

  Is Zoe right? Should I wait until after the launch? Is talking to him now going to make things worse? Will he be comforted by my presence the same way I am by his?

  By the time Connor’s townhouse comes into view, I’m a bundle of nerves. I feel unsteady on my feet, a ball of dread in my stomach, as if I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  I skip up his front steps and rap on the door.

  He pulls it open, surprise crossing his expression when he sees me.

  I gulp. Do not be distracted by his muscles. Do not be intimidated by his hotness. Do not—

  “Low? What are you doing here?” he asks, adjusting the towel wrapped around his hips. Drops of water hug his naked chest and ripple in the indents of his stupid twelve-pack.

  I push past him, partly because I’m jittery and partly because I’m distracted, which only unsettles me more.

  “Okay,” he says slowly, closing the door behind me.

  Once I hear the latch catch, I spin around. “Whatever you do, don’t fight Daryl today.” My stomach twists tighter as I mentally berate myself.

  That’s what I started with? His fighting or not fighting Daryl isn’t even why I’m here!

  But it should be.

  I want a career in public relations. I want the job at Frost & Heath PR. The launch of Soul Sanctuary is my first solo venture into the field. If I was professional Harlow right now, I would be focused on knowing where my client’s head is at, not my boyfriend’s.

  Is Connor still my boyfriend?

  He swears, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Moe called you?”

  I regroup, pushing away my distressing thoughts. “He’s worried about you. So am I.”

  Connor sighs, his expression softening. Some of the dread in my stomach dissipates.

  I step forward. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  I stare at Connor, drinking him in like I haven’t seen him in years instead of days. Strong, resilient, and fierce, he looks like a warrior. But his eyes are shadowed and haunted like a man who has lost too much. Like a man who has nothing left to lose.

  That worries me.

  “I’m sorry we’re fighting. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the job in L.A. I’m just sorry that today is a huge day for you and our baggage or whatever you want to call it is hanging over everything.
I can’t do everything I need to for Soul Sanctuary right now when I have no clue where I even stand with you.”

  Connor frowns, shaking his head as he shuffles back. His shoulder blades collide with the door. He glances at me, his look distant and aloof. It pierces something in my chest. “Harlow, it’s okay. You’re not responsible for all of this. For me.”

  “I know.”

  “We can talk things through another time when—”

  “I’m scared,” I admit on a whoosh of air. My confession hangs in the air, a declaration that needs to be addressed before we can move on with anything else.

  His brow dips, a flicker of concern blazing in his cocoa eyes. I’m so relieved to see real emotion there that I lean forward, closer to him. “Why? Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

  His concern for me, for my well-being, causes emotion to clog my throat. “I’m scared for you. For us,” I clarify.

  “Low. Come on. I’m okay. You don’t need to worry about Daryl,” he responds, flashing a lopsided grin. He doesn’t respond to my second fear, making it grow until my chest aches and my fingers tremble.

  “I’m serious.” I grip his arm. “Don’t engage with Daryl today. Don’t lose your cool. You can’t.”

  His eyes harden. The compassion from a second ago has fled the scene and now, a sharpness I was unprepared for stares back at me. “Harlow, I’m a fighter.”

  “Were. You were a fighter.”

  He shakes his arm from my grasp. “No. Cyanide is my gym. Soul Sanctuary is a program that I’m launching. This next chapter is everything I’ve worked for. I’m not going to jeopardize the success of this venture by letting Daryl, or any other woman beater, show up and start shit. There’s too much on the line. The success of this program, the women it could help, not to mention Cyanide’s future, and my own. There are sponsors, investors, prospective fighters,” he ticks them off on his fingers. “I’m not looking to start with Daryl. But if he shows up running his mouth, I’m going to take care of him.”

  I lay it all out, baring my heart and soul. “I’m worried about you, Connor. About us. I love you.”

  My breath stutters in my chest and my body turns cold.