by Gina Azzi
At my words, Connor’s jaw tightens and his eyes narrow. I freeze at the sudden change in his demeanor. Why is my love not enough? It’s supposed to be enough for him!
“I know you do,” he mutters, his hand curling into a fist. His eyes shift to the floor for a long beat before he meets my gaze again. “You should apply for the job in L.A.”
My heart shatters and a sob rips from my mouth, startling us both. I stagger back half a step, the heel of my palm digging into my sternum as I squint at him. Is he done with me? With us? Is this it? We have one disagreement, one unresolved argument, and he’s ready to call it quits?
He watches me silently, his expression not changing, which is somehow worse.
Don’t you even care? I want to hurl the words at him. Instead, I say, “I had my first interview this morning.”
Surprise rocks through him and his head rears back. I feel a ripple of satisfaction at his reaction. The fact that he had a reaction at all.
He clears his throat. “Wow. I didn’t think it would happen so soon.”
“Me either.”
“They must really want you.”
I shrug, miserable at the thought when only an hour ago, I was elated.
My heart thuds so loudly, I can hear it in my eardrums.
“How’d it go?” Connor leans against the door casually, like we’re old friends having a chat.
His towel slips on his hips, giving a peek at the cut V below his abdomen.
My gaze tracks the line and I lick my lips. When I glance at Connor again, the right side of his mouth is tugged up in a smirk. Of course he caught me looking.
Even a nun couldn’t avoid drooling over this man’s body.
“It went well.”
“Good. I’m glad.” He pushes off the door and approaches me, stopping when we are nearly touching. His hands lift up and rest on my shoulders. “Look at me, Low.” His voice is deep, raspy.
I look up hesitantly, feeling like I’m on the edge of a cliff. Will I fall or will I jump? Will I be alone or will he be at my side?
I swallow. I hate that I can’t read his eyes, can’t decipher his expression.
Our breaths mingle in the space, our eyes locked together as though in a trance. Fear churns in my stomach, traveling upward as I wait for his words.
“You’re going to get the job,” he murmurs.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. Deep down, you know it too. You’re just too scared to hope for it. But you’ve been hoping and hustling for a long time, Low. You deserve this.”
“Thank you.”
He leans forward, his breath fanning across my forehead before he presses a kiss against my skin.
I shiver at his touch, leaning into him.
His fingers dig into my shoulders as he pulls back and offers me a sad smile. “We were never going to work, baby. It was a valiant effort. We tried. But you and me, we’re from two different worlds. Two different realities. Other than wanting each other, I don’t think we even want the same things.”
“Wh-what?” I sputter, confusion slamming into me, injury hard on its heels. “You don’t… you don’t even want to try?”
Pain flares in his eyes, his expression twisting. But it’s nothing compared to the agony searing my soul.
I expected this, didn’t I? I knew it was coming…
So why does it hurt so badly?
I step out of his hold, putting one, two, then three paces between us. My mind tries to process his words.
He’s breaking up with me.
We had one fight, one, and he throws in the towel? Because I want to pursue a job in L.A.?
If he can’t support me in this, we never had a future together.
Yeah, that’s what he’s fucking telling you.
Oh, God.
Hurt flares through me, causing my knees to buckle. I reach out to grip the wall. Connor steps forward, but I swat away his touch. If he touches me right now, I’ll break. I’m tired of breaking. Especially in front of him.
“Harlow, I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” I glare at him. “You don’t even want to try. You don’t even want to try to support me.”
“That’s not true. I want you to be happy. I want you to have the life you worked for.”
Tears fill my eyes. Yeah, real fucking happy over here. “It’s my mistake. I knew better than to trust you again,” I say, wanting him to hurt the same way I am. I want him to know the pain slicing through my ribs, churning in my stomach, causing my heart to feel like it can’t even beat.
He winces, his mouth thins and his eyes burn but he doesn’t say anything.
Nothing.
Shaking my head, I step around him.
“Harlow,” he murmurs my name but doesn’t make a move to stop me.
“Good luck today.”
“Are you coming?”
I glare at him as my hand closes around the doorknob. He looks desperate, helpless. He looks like he needs me. In the past, that look would carry me to him. The plea in his voice would have me pouring out my love. But not now.
I don’t have much more love to give. Even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. Because, obviously, my love is never enough anyway.
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” I whisper. “But not for you, Connor. I’m going for the program I made a commitment to, for the women Soul Sanctuary will help. I’m done doing things for you.”
His eyes shutter closed and I pull the door open.
Stepping out into the sunshine, I fish out my sunglasses and shove them on my face. Not because the sun is blinding, but because I don’t want anyone else to witness my tears, my shame.
28
Connor
“Thank you so much for starting this program,” a woman I’ve never met says. She’s younger than me, even a few years younger than Harlow. Except, there’s a wisdom in her bright eyes, a haunting shadow that shouldn’t be there. The discoloration along her jawline is a dead giveaway that she’s experienced violence, and the knowing look she gives me aches as much as it angers.
Men should never raise their hands to women. Ever.
It was something Pop drilled into me at a young age, especially on the nights when our street rang with angry shouts of jealous wives that were met with the back hands of their drunk husbands.
“It feels good to be part of something important,” I respond, still unsure what to say to these brave, strong women when they confront me so honestly.
“It is important,” the woman says.
“Hey, you met Callie.” Salma, Moe’s cousin, appears at my other side.
I glance between Salma and the woman, Callie, and the pieces snap together.
“Hey, sorry. I didn’t know you were Callie.” I extend a hand. “Connor.”
She nods, taking my hand in hers. “I know who you are. I just didn’t realize you knew…” She shakes her head, embarrassed. Salma slips her arm around her friend’s waist and says something low in her ear.
“I’m glad you came today,” I admit, clearing my throat.
“I’m going to talk.” She juts her chin toward the podium where victims of assault and violence have agreed to share some of their stories.
“Good for you. Do whatever feels right for you and your story.” I offer a smile before excusing myself.
“This is going so well!” Zoe grins, gripping my arm and giving it a shake. “I’m so proud of you for pulling this off, Connor.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you, Zo.” I heave a deep breath, some of my nerves settling now that the event is underway. A lot more people than I anticipated showed up. While that sent me into a panic, Harlow arranged everything so flawlessly that the extra numbers were easily absorbed into the launch.
Large posters with statistics are on display throughout the space. Trainers mill about, engaging with the crowd. Jay is at the front desk, giving out vouchers for free classes and training sessions. The refreshment table is popping, compliments of Shoot
ers Pub.
Eli is, as always, a huge celebrity. Today, he’s relaxed, walking around and talking to people. I think he enjoys this part a lot more than he lets on, but it must feel good knowing your name alone can draw a crowd or attention to an important issue.
“Okay, everyone.” Moe stands up and the crowd quiets down. People huddle closer to the podium, coffee cups and sliders in their hands. “Thank you so much for coming out today. We are so thrilled that you’re here. Connor and I are excited to launch Soul Sanctuary, a non-combat program that will meet two mornings a week at Cyanide MMA. The objective of this program is to provide women who are victims of assault and violence with a safe space to congregate. Here, women will meet other women who have similar experiences. We will work on building confidence, growing stronger, and slaying demons.”
A small round of applause circles through the crowd.
Moe grins. “We’ve got experienced trainers at your disposal. We’ve got a speaker series in the works. We’ve got resources for sure, but more than that, we’ve got the heart for a program like this. We are so proud of all of you for being here and hope that if you are a victim of violence, this program will provide you with an outlet. There’s no need to live in fear. There’s no need to be intimidated, or ashamed, or isolated. You are strong. You are bold. You are a survivor. And you are not alone.”
Another cheer rings out.
“Connor and I decided to start this program after hearing Callie’s story. Callie graciously consented to share her experience today so let’s give her some encouragement.”
Callie takes a shaky breath and steels her spine as encouraging words are flung at her. Moe gives her a hand up as she steps to the podium. She tucks her hair carefully behind her ears, sweeps her gaze over the crowd and begins. “Hello. My name is Callie James. A few months ago, my boyfriend beat me up for changing the password on my cell phone…”
My insides squeeze as Callie recounts her experience. A piece of shit boyfriend who stole money from her account. A password change to protect her finances. A night filled with too much vodka. Ugly words, hurtful, hateful things said in moments of extreme anger.
Broken ribs. A busted lip. Two black eyes. A fractured jaw.
Jesus Christ.
My insides twist so damn tightly, I can’t breathe.
I scan the crowd. Most present have water filling their eyes or look like they’re about to burst out of their skin in anger.
When my gaze collides with Harlow’s, my lungs constrict. Her beautiful face looks heartbroken. Tears cling to her eyelashes and her lips are pressed together, pinned between her teeth, to control her emotion.
Regret, as large and intense as a tidal wave, crashes down on me. Harlow helped make my vision into a reality. I never could have pulled this off without her.
But her vision will never become a reality if she keeps herself chained to me. I’ll only hold her back. She doesn’t see it now but one day, when she’s sunbathing on the deck of her mansion overlooking the sea, her three-carat diamond throwing the sunlight, she will.
“Thank you,” I mouth to her.
A tear spills onto her cheek and she looks away.
“You lying bitch!” A roar from the crowd has me swinging toward the noise.
A man staggers forward. He’s unsteady on his feet and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce he’s three sheets to the wind.
I propel myself forward, ready to rip his fucking face off when Harlow, Eli, and Evan close ranks and remove Daryl from the crowd before I have a chance.
What the hell are they doing?
I spin around to see Moe reassuring a shaky Callie and escorting her away from the microphone.
The crowd seems frozen, their mouths open in shock, their eyes narrowed in disgust.
Zoe takes the microphone and redirects everyone’s attention while Moe assists Callie and Harlow—where the hell is Harlow?
Jogging out of Cyanide, I turn the corner to witness Daryl slinking away, his head bowed, his feet faltering. A white Hyundai Sonata pulls up beside him and he collapses into it before it speeds away.
“What the hell was that?” I bite out, my glare accusing as it swings from Harlow to Eli to Evan.
“That was us keeping your name clear,” Evan explains, walking toward me. He tosses me a grin as he passes. “You’re welcome.”
Eli chuckles, slapping my shoulder as he follows his brother.
Harlow stops several feet in front of me. She looks gorgeous in a blue dress and nude heels. Her hair is pulled back in a low bun, several curled tendrils framing her perfect face. But she’s sad, and I hate myself for making her feel anything but happy.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Sure.”
I grip the back of my neck, squeezing hard. “I’m serious, Low.”
“So am I. I am physically fine.” She sweeps her hand down to indicate her body.
I close my eyes, surmising what she’s not saying… that emotionally, she’s broken. “I told you I’d fuck this up.”
“That’s not a good enough excuse, Scott. In fact, I’m tired of your excuses.”
My eyes snap open at the venom in her tone. She’s glaring at me. I stare back, absorbing her hate and her hurt, knowing I deserve it. The least I can do is take it.
“Thank for you today, Harlow. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
She nods once and moves to sidestep me.
“Low.” I reach out, my hand closing around her upper arm. I don’t even know what the hell I want to say, but I know I don’t want her to walk away from me. Not like this.
She shakes off my touch. “Congratulations on today, Connor. I truly believe Soul Sanctuary is going to help a lot of people. I also think this launch is going to save Cyanide.” She offers me a half-smile. “I hope it sets your soul on fire.”
She walks back toward Cyanide. I watch her walk away, yearning for all the things I’ll never deserve.
I don’t see Harlow again for the rest of the event, but I feel the weight of her emotional anguish. No matter my intentions, I hurt her and that’s something I swore I wouldn’t do.
“Thank you again for doing this.” Salma grins at me as Moe heaves the final trash bag from clean-up on his shoulder.
“Thank you, guys. I’m really excited about this.” I step up to take the trash bag from Moe, but he moves it out of my reach.
“I got this,” he says. “You better close up quick if you’re going to fix things with your girl.”
“What are you talking about?” I scan the gym again for Harlow.
Did she leave? Did something happen?
Moe’s eyebrows pull together. “She didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?” I ask, starting to lose my patience. Where is Low?
“She got a call about two hours ago. Something about an interview in L.A., the day after tomorrow. She’s probably at the airport by now.”
“What?” My eyes connect with Eli’s over Moe’s shoulder.
Eli shrugs, his expression hard as I glare back.
Moe smacks me on the back as he and Salma move toward the exit. “Buy a ticket, man,” he advises, shouting out a farewell to Eli and Zoe.
The second Moe and Salma leave, I turn to my best friend. “She’s running?” I holler.
Eli shrugs again, his expression infuriatingly calm.
“What the hell, Eli? You weren’t going to tell me?”
“I was,” he says, “as soon as you asked.”
Blowing out a deep breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “She made the next round of interviews.”
“Yes.”
“She’s at the airport now?”
“Yes.”
“She’s going to get the job.”
“I fucking hope so,” my best friend mutters.
I nod, a quick snap of my neck. “I got the rest of this.” I gesture to the few things still needing to be tidied.
Eli gives me
a hard look. “Doesn’t have to be this way, Connor.”
Ignoring him, I fold up one of the refreshment tables. “Yeah, it does.”
29
Harlow
Zoe: Good luck! You’re going to rock this interview.
Me: Gah! I hope so. I’m so nervous.
Zoe: When’s your flight?
Me: In an hour. I’m already at the gate. How did the rest of today go?
Zoe: Great! Connor was asking for you…
Me: …
Zoe: There’s still unfinished business between you guys.
Me: Always…
Zoe: I hope you work it out.
I sigh, not knowing how to respond to Zoe’s message.
Part of me hopes more than anything that Connor will appear before me like an apparition and we can travel back to where we were two weeks ago.
Some wishful thinking, that is.
Me: I’m tired of always being the one to hold us together. I should have known better… nothing’s really changed. I thought my being in Chicago would make things better, but it turns out our issue wasn’t the long distance between us after all. It’s us.
Zoe: I’m so sorry, babe. Let me know if you want to talk about anything.
Me: XO
The flight back to L.A. is long. By the time I arrive in baggage claim, I’m physically exhausted, emotionally drained, and so heartsick I ache.
“Harlow.” I hear my name right as I pull my suitcase off the baggage belt.
I turn to see my brother Jack standing in front of me with his arms wide open.
I drop into them and he holds me close, his embrace filled with so much reassurance, so much comfort, that I start to cry.
“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” he whispers.
I cry harder.
Around us, people collect their belongings and head for the parking garage or taxi stand. But I remain in the middle of LAX and sob onto my brother’s shoulder for a long time.
When my sobbing turns to sniffles, Jack gathers me under his arm and grabs my suitcase. “Come on, we’re going to get you good and drunk.”
“But my interview,” I sputter.
