by Gina Azzi
“Isn’t for two days. Tonight, you can mourn your relationship. Tomorrow, you can sleep off your hangover. And on Monday, you can begin a new life after you get the job offer you deserve.”
I snort, half a cry, half a laugh, and let Jack lead me to his car, to our favorite bar, to the tequila shots waiting for me.
“My heart hurts,” I say simply, polishing off my third shot.
Jack’s voice is soothing. “I know, Harlow. But you’re going to be okay.”
I close my eyes against the whirl of the bar. It’s a hole in the wall pub that Jack and I have been frequenting for years. At first, it was because they didn’t really ID so we could drink underage. But over time, it became our place. A spot no one would recognize us in, a little corner of peace where we could speak the truth without eavesdropping ears. Here, we aren’t the son and stepdaughter of a famous producer. Here, Jack isn’t an up-and-coming Hollywood actor and I’m not the host of “that TV show.” We’re just a brother and sister slamming back tequila and lamenting my current heartbreak.
“You know, Connor fed me tequila shots after Bryce…” I trail off, tears welling in my eyes again.
“Harlow.” Jack squeezes my arm until I meet his gaze. “You are the strongest, most independent woman I know. I mean that even more so because I know your mother.”
I snort.
“I’m serious,” Jack continues. “I like Connor. He’s real and cool and—”
“You’re not supposed to like the boys who hurt me, Jack.”
“I think he loves you, Harlow. I don’t think he meant to hurt you. Not like this.”
“Now you’re going to be rational?” I hiccup, anger causing my cheeks to burn. “When I told you I wanted to marry Bryce, you said—”
“Bryce is a fuckwit.” Jack scoffs. “Connor fucked up. I’m not making excuses for him, but I still think he loves you and cares about you.”
“He has a funny way of showing it,” I huff, gesturing to the bartender for another shot.
“He does,” my brother agrees. “But you don’t need him or any other man to create the life you want, Harlow. This job interview is going to change your life. It’s the chance to build the career you’ve always talked about. Even as a kid, when you pretended to represent your stuffed animals—”
I laugh, some of my tears drying.
Jack grins. “I always knew you were meant to shine bright in L.A. This is your shot. Don’t let a break-up ruin what you’ve earned.”
I nod, staring at my brother.
“You get tonight to drink your face off. That’s it. Tomorrow, you sleep it off. You shower and wash away the hurt. You let all this shit go, because your future is waiting for you.”
I wince, his words sounding so much like Connor’s after Bryce’s infidelity scandal broke. An unsettling sense of déjà vu washes over me, and I grip the underside of the bar.
“I know this is selfish, but I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.” The truth underlining his words eases some of my hurt.
“I missed you too,” I confess. “I didn’t even make any new friends in Chicago.”
“To be fair, you weren’t there that long.”
“I know, but I just fell back into my comfort zone. Eli, Zoe, Evan, Connor…that’s it.”
“At least you gave it a shot.”
“I might be going back.”
“No way. I know you’re going to get this job. Especially after seeing how passionate you were about the Soul Sanctuary launch.”
At the reminder of Connor’s project, my smile dims.
“None of that.” Jack raps his knuckles against the bar. “How did it go today?”
I blow out a deep breath and clear Connor from my mind. Focusing on the logistics of the event, on Callie’s speech, on the energy in Cyanide this afternoon, I smile at Jack. “Really great!” Then, my entire day pours out of me. When I’m done talking, Jack smiles.
“See? You’re passionate about this, Harlow. That’s what’s going to show in your interview. The fact that this work fills you with excitement, it feeds your soul.”
I pause as Connor’s voice fills my head again.
Find something with a bigger purpose, something that sets your soul on fire.
“I hope so,” I murmur.
“Trust me,” Jack says. “I haven’t been wrong yet. And I’m not wrong about Connor either.”
The following morning, when I wake with cotton mouth and a throbbing headache, my brother’s words play in my head.
I haven’t been wrong yet. And I’m not wrong about Connor either.
I swipe my phone off the bedside table. My heart sinks when I realize there aren’t any messages from Connor – just a slew of notifications of photos I’ve been tagged in from the premiere and one from Jack last night at the bar.
“This time you’re wrong, Jack,” I tell no one as I slip from bed and throw myself into a hot shower.
After a long shower and a hot cup of coffee, I feel human enough to venture out to the backyard where my brother and some of his friends are goofing off in the pool.
“You’re awake!” Jack slow claps for me as I make my way to a sun lounger and collapse into it.
“Barely,” I say but I’m grinning.
“You look beautiful, Harlow!” Jack’s best friend Bryan, says.
My brother shoots him a look, and Bryan and I laugh.
Bryan has been hitting on me for years. At some point, it turned into this big joke just to piss Jack off. But today, his words give my dead confidence a little boost that I’m grateful for.
“What are you guys doing?” I ask, closing my eyes as the sun beats down, warming my skin.
“Just hanging.”
I cluck.
“I’ll take you to lunch at Shark if you give me a smile!” Bryan calls out.
“Leave her alone,” Jack grumbles.
I open my eyes and point at him. “I’m taking you up on that, Bry!”
Bryan’s face lights up, his boyish good looks brightening. “See?” He nudges my brother. “Told you I’d wear her down eventually.”
Jack snorts. “I’m coming too.”
“I’m going to change,” I announce, standing.
Tomorrow, I’m going to rock my interview.
Today, I’m going to forget about Connor and enjoy hanging with Jack and Bryan, two guys who have always had my back and can always make me laugh.
30
Connor
“She got the job,” Eli tells me as I bite into a burger at his kitchen island.
He catches me off guard and I jerk back, swinging my gaze to his.
He smiles.
I take a few extra seconds to chew and swallow my bite as I process this information. Of course she got the job. She deserved the job. She earned the position.
“I’m happy to hear it,” I say, taking a swig from my water glass.
“Oh come off it, Connor. You’re just going to let her go? Just like…this.” He gestures at me.
“She seems to be doing okay to me.”
Eli’s eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You haven’t seen her social media?” Evan laughs, walking back into the kitchen and slipping his phone into his back pocket. “Ollie’s spending the night at his friend’s.” He explains the phone call that pulled him from the kitchen moments after our burgers arrived.
“I don’t check social media,” Eli explains. He lifts an eyebrow in my direction. “And I didn’t even think you were on any social media platforms.”
I shrug. The truth is, I’m not. I don’t have any personal accounts. But Cyanide MMA is on every social media platform and, idiot that I am, I gave in and checked Harlow’s handles.
“Our Low is celebrating,” Evan elaborates, cutting me a look. “As she should, since she landed her dream job.”
“Right.” I take another bite of my burger.
Eli chuckles. “You’re jealous.”
I glare at him.
“Of course he is,” Evan says, bumping his shoulder against mine. “Who wouldn’t be?”
“What the hell are you talking about? I’m not jealous. I’m…fine.”
Evan and Eli laugh and I flip them off, causing their laughter to grow louder.
“Man, I gotta tell you something,” Evan says after a beat, his expression turning serious.
“What?” I ask, wiping my mouth with a napkin. I brace myself for some irritating comment at my expense.
“Low came over for dinner a few weeks back.”
“She did?”
A sheepish look crosses Evan’s face. “The day she popped by, I was in a shit mood. Things were falling apart on this case and I missed Ollie’s school pick-up, having to rely on one of his friend’s moms.” He sighs, waving a hand as if that’s not important. “Anyway, Low asked me about Charlie —”
Eli groans.
“And I said something off the cuff, something about making sure this life is enough for her.”
Eli groans again, and I narrow my eyes at Evan.
“I’m sorry, Connor. I didn’t even think about the words I said because truthfully, I was talking about me and Charlie. But I guess you guys too. I said that your life is here, in Chicago, like mine. And that she needed to figure out if this was going to be her life too because it wasn’t for Charlie and, Jesus, man I’m sorry.”
I shake my head, letting the anger whoosh out of me as quickly as it built up. “Nah, it’s not your fault. You were just being honest.”
“Or bitter,” Eli supplies.
Evan sighs. “She was all in, Connor. I could tell by the look on her face. She wasn’t thinking about anything except you and that you were enough for her.”
“Maybe at the moment.” I shake my head again. “But it was never going to last.”
“You guys are the worst,” Zoe announces, breezing into the room. The softest swell of her stomach is visible beneath her shirt and the way she keeps covering her bump with her hand brings attention to it.
“You feeling okay, Violet?” Eli asks, rushing to her side. The nickname stuck even after Zoe dyed her purple streaks brown.
“I’m fine.” She glares at Evan and me. “But you two are on my shit list. You have two beautiful, talented, amazing women trying to give themselves to you and all you do is muck it up at every turn.” She sighs, swinging her gaze to me. “Connor, Evan’s right. Harlow was all in.”
“She ran,” I deflect. “Just like last time.”
“Because you pushed her away. Just like last time.” Zoe flips her chin at my cell phone. “You think last time you pushed her into Bryce’s arms?” She snorts. “Well, her social media platforms are blowing up. She’s being tagged left and right in photos with guys clamoring for her attention. And that’s on you.” Zoe punctuates her sentence with a finger jabbed in my direction. “And you…” She turns to Evan but I tune her out.
I pick up my phone and activate it. I check Harlow’s Instagram first. In her stories is photo after photo that friends have tagged her in.
Her taking shots. Her hanging off the frame of some guy named Bryan who has an arm wrapped around her waist. Her laughing as she dances on top of a bar.
My stomach twists, an emptiness I’ve never known scraping at my ribs.
This is what you wanted. For her to move on. For her to have the life she deserves. The mansion. The built-in pool. The flashy diamonds.
My throat tightens and my muscles clench, locking down in frustration.
Isn’t this what you fucking asked for?
I glance around the kitchen, my wild gaze connecting with Eli’s. He’s staring at me curiously, his mind turning over questions I already know I don’t want to answer.
I knock my knuckles against the top of the kitchen island and stand from my seat. “I’m heading out.”
Eli nods, like he was expecting this.
Zoe stares at me for a long moment. “She’s flying back into Chicago next week to pack up her stuff and ship her furniture.”
Nodding, I head for the door.
Once I’m in the safety of my truck, I grip the steering wheel so hard, it seems to bend under the pressure.
What the hell did I do?
It’s for the best, isn’t it?
We were never going to work.
The thoughts run through my mind on a loop, but they’re accompanied by all the images of Harlow’s social media showing her partying, drinking, laughing. She’s already rebounding, and I’m mourning her like she’s some void in my life. Like a ghost. Like Pop.
I drive aimlessly for what feels like hours before I find myself parked in front of Pop’s house.
I stare at my childhood home, a slew of memories crashing over me like a wave. Finally, I pull myself from my truck and enter Pop’s home. As soon as I cross the threshold, I breathe in deeply, holding the unique scent of his house, of my childhood, in my lungs. One day, I won’t be able to breathe it in anymore because it will cease to exist, kind of like the man who once lived here.
I walk through the house, running my hand over the photo frames collecting dust on the mantle, over the recliner where Pop religiously watched rugby, over his favorite mug.
It’s been several months since I’ve been here. I moved him into the living facility over five months ago, but this never stopped being his home. I know I need to pack it up and probably sell it. Right now, though, I don’t have the heart to move any of his belongings.
I’m walking out of the kitchen when something catches my eye.
Turning slowly, I peer at the white envelope in the center of the kitchen table, weighted in place by the saltshaker.
I step closer, noticing the yellow post-it note attached to the envelope.
Connor — your pop asked me to drop this here. He said you’d find it when the time was right, when you needed to hear his words the most. Be well, son. - Kick
I plop down on one of the kitchen chairs and pull the envelope toward me. Removing Kick’s note, I press the adhesive to the top of the table and turn Pop’s letter over and over in my hands.
I’m not sure how much time passes while I debate whether or not to open the envelope. Is this the right time? Do I need to hear Pop right now?
Yes.
I tug open the flap, gently remove the folded paper, and smooth it out. At the sight of his handwriting, tears fill my eyes.
My dear boy,
Writing this to you is the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Even harder than playing that rugby match with a fractured ankle.
I snort, rubbing my eyes.
This letter is most likely the last thing I’ll ever write. My memories are fading, my mind is slipping, and some days my damn fingers don’t work. I know I don’t have a lot of time. It’s a goddamn shame, Connor, because watching you grow into the man you are has been the greatest joy of my life. I wish I could be here to witness the rest. To see you walk down the aisle, hold your first baby in my arms, teach him or her to love rugby the way you love MMA.
I smile again, even as tears stream down my face.
I’m sorry I’m going to miss it. I’m sorry I’m not going to be here when you need me the most. I’m sorry I’m letting you down, son.
I thought the day your mother left was the hardest of my life. I was wrong. Watching you lose your dream career was harder.
That night, I told you to find something else. Discover something bigger, something that set your soul on fire.
I know you will find that next thing, Connor. You have so much passion running through your blood, you just need to channel it into something else.
But the secret I never admitted to you is that raising you, YOU, is what set MY soul on fire. You filled my life with purpose, you filled my heart with love, and you gave me the greatest gift any person can ever have — a life well-lived, brimming with experiences, and rich with laughter.
The night you lost the fight, I saw you pull out that magazine. The one with Harlow Reid on the cover.
The one where she’s smiling a secret smile. I saw the expression on your face when you looked at her and I knew, I know, that she sets your soul ablaze.
If you love her, son, you better fight for her.
Because the only fights that really matter are the ones for love.
Don’t let her go. Don’t give up on yourself. Fight for the life you want. And I promise you, I will fight to the end to be your Pop.
I love you, Connor. I hope you love as fiercely as I did.
Pop
A sob rips from deep inside and shatters the quiet. I drop my head to Pop’s kitchen table and cry, careful not to let tears fall on his words that are now more precious to me than anything else in the world.
Righting myself, I fold the paper up when a postscript catches my eye.
P.S. When you’re ready to make Harlow yours, your nana’s engagement ring is in my sock drawer. It was once a ring of a true love story with a fairytale wedding. It was crafted with love and forged in devotion. If you want it, it’s yours…Harlow’s.
Blowing out a shaky breath, I stand from the chair and walk to Pop’s room. I open his sock drawer and find the small square box. I pry the lid open and inhale sharply at the sight of the ring I haven’t seen in years but that Pop kept safe all this time.
A sapphire stone set amid diamonds shimmers inside. I pluck it from the box and sink to the bed. Holding the ring, my future, in my hand, Harlow’s face fills my mind.
Her sunshine feeds my soul.
31
Harlow
“You sure you can’t stay longer?” Zoe asks me outside the airport.
I grin at her as I pull her in for another hug. “I wish I could, but my new job starts Monday. I want to be unpacked and know that my furniture is on the way before I lose myself in work.”
Zoe chuckles, “Not like last time? Waiting around for a couch.”
“Exactly. It was so good to see you, Zo. I promise, I will visit so much more often.”
Zoe steps back and places a hand on her belly. “You better.”
“And Eli—”
