Healing My Heart: A Second Chance Single Dad Romance (Second Chance Chicago Series Book 4)

by Gina Azzi

He sighs, frustration evident in the sound, as he trails me into the kitchen. I make a fresh pot of coffee, the scent of the heavy roast calming some of my nerves. Equal parts annoyed and excited that he’s here, seeking me out, pulls my thoughts in two different directions and makes dealing with Evan difficult.

  “Why are you here?” I ask, starting with the obvious.

  “We should talk about last night.”

  I sigh, taking two mugs down from the cabinet. “How long were you waiting for me?”

  “Not long. Zoe messaged me when you girls left brunch.”

  I snort, shaking my head. “She’s jumped ship. She used to be all about girl code.”

  “I offered to have Maddie sleepover next Saturday night if she’d tell me when you were on your way home.”

  My mouth drops open and I laugh. “You bribed her?”

  He shrugs, but a smile plays around the corners of his mouth.

  I pour two cups of coffee and add cream, no sugar to his. When I pass it to him, my fingers brush against his, and I nearly drop the mug.

  “You remembered,” he says softly, staring at his coffee.

  Of course I remember how he drinks his coffee. For too long, I was aware of every single thing that Evan Holt did, liked or disliked, desired or discarded. I brush off his wonder by adding sugar to my cup.

  I can’t go down this road with Evan again. My poor heart with too many holes remembers exactly what it feels like to be overlooked by the man sitting at my mom’s kitchen table drinking McCafé blend from a chipped mug. Call it muscle memory, but my heart squeezes at the reminder of Evan’s rejection.

  “Evan,” I sigh, taking the seat across from him. “You can’t show up at my mom’s house and seek me out after one night when there was a whole slew of nights you let me back out of your driveway after we —”

  “Please, Charlie, I want to apologize.” He cuts me off, his expression remorseful.

  “Apologize?” My heart sinks at the word. For his rejection three years ago or for last night? Oh my God, does he regret last night?

  “You’re right. Back when we…when we did our thing, I wasn’t as upfront with you as I should have been. I fucked everything up between us. Now that you’re back, I swore to myself I wouldn’t botch it all up and then last night…Jesus, I didn’t mean to take advantage of your vulnerability last night. I got carried away. It was so fun hanging with you, it was like old times, and—”

  “You didn’t take advantage,” I cut him off to clarify. “I wanted what happened to happen. It was great. It’s always been great between us. I just, I don’t want either one of us to read more into it than it was, that’s all.”

  Evan frowns, his eyes narrowing. “More than it was?”

  I shrug, feigning blasé, even though my heart is hammering so loudly, I’m certain he can hear it. “Yeah, you know, like before.” I offer a quick smile and wrap my hands around my mug. It’s scalding, and the heat centers me. “I used to read too much into everything and after last night, I just want the lines to be clear instead of blurry.”

  Evan’s jaw tightens, his mouth snapping closed. He scrubs a hand over his face. “What are you saying, Charlie?”

  “I’m saying last night was great, Evan. Thank you for dinner, for drinks, for an effortless conversation. It was like old times, and yeah, maybe we were both feeling a little nostalgic. But now it’s tomorrow, and we don’t have to pretend that last night meant anything other than a trip down memory lane and some smoking hot sex.” I take a sip of my coffee before I say too much. Like how hard it was for me to leave his house this morning. How old hurts swelled in my throat as I made my way out to the Uber driver without a good-bye kiss from him. How I glossed over all the important parts—all the feelings—when I joked with my girlfriends this morning.

  Evan’s eyes narrow in on my face and he studies me. I blush under his stare, averting my gaze as the intensity in his eyes sparks. “That’s all it was,” he says, but I can’t tell if he’s asking me or telling me.

  I nod.

  Evan rolls his lips together, his shoulders bunching. “Okay.” He raps his knuckles against the tabletop and stands. “I should get going. I need to pick Ollie up from Keith’s.”

  I stand, wringing my hands. I can’t read Evan’s mood and it’s unsettling. Why did he show up here? At my mom’s house? What does he want from me? “I hope he had fun.”

  “I’m sure he did.” Evan makes his way toward the front door, and I trail him, suddenly off balance in my own home.

  I pull his coat from the closet and pass it to him.

  “You didn’t have to come by,” I tell him, meeting his gaze. “I’m really okay. I’m a big girl now, Evan. What happened in the past, it’s in the past.”

  He clears his throat, his eyes burning. “I can see that.”

  I want to ask him what the hell that means. I want him to say words that soothe the anxiety crawling up my throat, that erase the worry spreading through my limbs. But New York City Charlie is confident and fearless.

  She doesn’t fish for reassurances. She doesn’t need them.

  I square my shoulders and pull open the front door. An icy blast blows through the foyer and I shiver. “See you Monday?”

  His eyes linger on my face as he wraps his scarf around his neck. “Have a good rest of your weekend, Charlie.”

  He steps outside into the snow and bounds down the porch steps toward his car. He never looks back or waves or beeps his horn.

  I hate that I stand in the doorway, freezing my ass off, hoping he gives me some kind of a sign. A signal that my heart keeps yearning for even though my head knows better. I know better.

  9

  Evan

  The lead up to Christmas is usually a time when everyone and their mother slows down. Holiday parties, lunches that turn into happy hour, hell, people even take vacations. But not me.

  Instead, my work hours ramp up as the Esposito Family are charged with a series of crimes. Violence flares in various parts of the city as Giuseppe’s and Frankie’s crews encroach on new territories. A drug shipment is intercepted by the FBI. Giuseppe is hit with additional racketeering charges. As I put out fires, I rely more and more on Charlie to look after Ollie.

  On the outside, the distance that erupts between us seems natural, a byproduct of a busy schedule and an awkward hook-up. My path barely crosses with Charlie’s except when I arrive home after a grueling day, sometimes after Ollie is already in bed, and she slides into her boots and waves good-bye. To anyone who sees us, they think we’re doing a kick-ass job maintaining a friendship after a past break up.

  But on the inside, Charlie’s dismissal of me, of the night we spent together, stings. It shouldn’t, especially not after the shit I put her through in the past, but it does. I wonder if she’s outgrown me. If she’s moved so far past me, past what we once shared, that I don’t even register on her potential radar anymore.

  By the end of the week, I’m drained. Emotionally, mentally, physically exhausted. When Ollie informs me that he’s been invited to another sleepover and Eli texts me to grab a beer with him at Shooters Pub, I’m so damn relieved I could cheer.

  Once Ollie is settled at Keith’s house, I go home, pop the tab on a beer, and peel off the bespoke suit I’ve spent the last twelve hours in. Pulling on a lightweight cream sweater and a pair of dark jeans, I exhale. God, this week sucked. So many weeks have sucked in a row but somehow, maybe because of Charlie’s rebuke, this week seemed like the worst.

  Pulling on my winter coat and a pair of boots, I drive over to Shooters Pub, situated in the neighborhood that Eli and I grew up in. It’s been our spot for so long that when Zoe’s dad, the owner, needed more help, my brother stepped in and became a co-owner just to make sure the legacy of Shooters lived on.

  I park across from the pub, taking in the new design with a critical eye. Almost two years ago, Charlie headed up the remodel of Shooters, mixing contemporary and industrial elements to give Shooters a facelift and a
new brand. One that has worked well with the thirty plus crowd in addition to the regulars it’s always catered to.

  It’s busy, even for a Friday night, and I duck my head against the wind as I cross the street and enter the pub. Immediately, the noise of the space, loud voices talking over each other and bubbling laughter, eases some of the stress I constantly carry around.

  Making my way through the little groups of friends and high-top tables filled with beer bottles, I do a double take as I take in Charlie behind the bar.

  Moving with grace and ease, Charlie works methodically. For years, she ruled this bar and was easily a Shooters Pub favorite. To see her here now, chatting with customers, joking with regulars, mixing cocktails and filling drafts of beers, causes a pang to cut through my chest.

  Nostalgia rises to greet me like a wave. I drop my elbows to the top of the bar and remember the first time I ever really spoke to Charlie. Years ago now, it was the night my brother first laid eyes on Zoe.

  “You’re here.” Zoe sidles up beside me.

  “Hey.” I toss an arm around her shoulders and glance down at her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Ugh, we’re short-staffed. Two people called out because of some virus that’s going around. Luckily, Charlie offered to jump behind the bar.”

  “She’s a natural.”

  Zoe laughs. “She really transitioned back to bartending seamlessly. I’m not sure if I believe her, but she told me she misses it.”

  “I’m sure part of her does. She spent a lot of time here.”

  “Yeah.” Zoe glances around the pub. The old bar, dark and beaten down, has been replaced with oak. The mirrored shelves behind the bar are now part of this open shelving concept, black against cracked subway tiles. “She did such an amazing job in here. It’s strange, seeing her behind the bar. So many memories and yet, it’s like it was a lifetime ago. So much has changed.”

  I clear my throat as unexpected emotion swells, choking me. Too much has changed and in many ways, not enough. I’m still here, still grinding, still hustling, and for what? I’m still alone. I squeeze Zoe’s shoulder. “Where’s Eli?”

  “He’s around. He saved the back table for you guys. I need to head out. I feel bad for our new nanny since she’s not used to Maddie’s bedtime routine yet. Maddie misses Kaylee.”

  “Yeah, so does Ollie. You need help with anything?”

  “Nope. Are you and Ollie coming over for brunch tomorrow?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. And Maddie’s spending tomorrow night at my house.”

  “Good.” Zoe grins, stepping out of my embrace. “Flag her down.” She points at Charlie as she walks away.

  But I don’t flag down Charlie. I take a few more moments to enjoy watching her. The way pieces of her hair escape her high ponytail and stick to the nape of her neck. The curve of her hips, the dip of her waist. The swell of her ass and the way her jeans cling to every damn curve. Christ, I’ve missed this girl. Now that I’ve had her again, it’s like I’m craving her. Craving what was and will never be again.

  Sighing, I straighten, and Charlie turns toward me. As soon as she sees me, she grins and the sight of her smile, that smile, directed at me makes me smile back.

  “Hey hotshot.” She stops in front of me and places down a bar napkin. “What are you drinking?”

  “Surprise me. It’s good to see you on that side of the bar again.”

  “I know, right? Like old times.” She bites the corner of her mouth, shooting me a flirty wink before grabbing a tumbler and a bottle of Knob Creek whiskey.

  “Trying to liquor me up?” I joke as she sets the glass down in front of me.

  “Absolutely.” She laughs, rolling her eyes before turning toward another customer.

  I watch her work, noting how effortless she is. How she dances down the delicate line of engaging and professional, how her customers all lean toward her when she speaks, guys and girls alike, captivated. She lights Shooters up with an energy that’s been lacking since she left and the fact that I didn’t see it before now hits me in the face.

  I’ve missed Charlie a lot more than I ever allowed myself to realize.

  “Evan,” my brother calls out.

  When I turn, he’s waving to me from the back booth. I pick up my whiskey and bring it over to the table. Collapsing into the booth, I lift my whiskey toward Eli and our close friend Connor. “Hey guys.”

  “What took you so long?” Eli asks.

  “He’s been staring at Charlie’s ass for an hour,” Connor answers.

  I flip him off and they both laugh.

  “It’s good to have her home, isn’t it?” Connor asks, and I can tell by the sincerity in his voice that he’s not being a dick. He’s probably just thinking how great it is having his girl, Harlow, back in Chicago for the holidays, too.

  I nod, leaning back in the booth and raising my glass to my lips.

  The conversation picks back up where Connor and Eli left off — discussing Christmas plans. Eli and Zoe are hosting Christmas Eve this year and since Connor and Harlow are on their own, they are joining along with Ollie, me, and my mom and stepdad Derreck.

  I’m half-listening to whatever Eli is saying about Christmas gifts when something out of place catches my eye. No, not something. Someone.

  A greasy lowlife known as Frankie.

  “What the hell is he doing here?” I breathe out, craning my neck to watch as he approaches the bar.

  Immediately, my hands clench into fists and my body tightens, humming with anticipation.

  “Hey, you cool?” Connor asks, following my line of sight.

  I don’t respond, just continue to watch as Frankie steps to the bar and gestures for Charlie’s attention.

  She turns and the moment her eyes connect with his, she freezes, her face paling and a ripple of fear flashing across her features.

  I’m on my feet, striding for the bar. My skin feels too tight, too hot, too constraining as anger builds in my blood. What the hell is this fool doing here? And why did Charlie react that way to seeing him? Does she know Frankie?

  Her fingers tremble as she tightens her hold on a bottle of tequila. I step to the bar just in time to hear her say, “Hi Frankie.”

  “Charlotte,” he breathes out, his body leaning over the bar. An edge rounds out his tone.

  I stagger at the wistfulness in his expression, alarmed at the familiarity that exists between them. He calls her Charlotte.

  “Wh-what are you doing here?” she asks, stepping closer.

  “Heard you were back in town.”

  She rolls her eyes, but I can tell it’s bravado. “I was in town for a long time without ever seeing you.”

  He shrugs.

  “I’ll take another one,” I interject, dropping my empty glass on the bar.

  Charlie jumps, her eyes swinging to mine. Her expression is too many things at once— alarmed, confused, overwhelmed—that I can’t pick up on any of the vibes she’s giving off. Is she scared of Frankie? How the hell does she even know him?

  “Oh, shit, Evan. Man, it’s good to see you.” Frankie reaches out and clasps a hand on my shoulder.

  I try not to bristle under his touch, or worse, knock his hand the fuck off. Instead, I clear my throat. “Yeah. What are you doing here, Frankie? Thought you were supposed to be doing community service tonight?”

  Charlie winces and Frankie laughs. He fucking laughs, as if I told a joke. As if he doesn’t have a court-order to appear for a certain number of community service hours.

  I can’t stand him.

  “Community fucking service? Come on, man. You know my dad takes care of that for me. The better question is: what the fuck are you doing here? You do know my dad’s trial is soon, right? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, working around the clock?”

  Charlie’s eyes ping-pong between Frankie and me, curiosity stamping out all the other emotions on her face. She steps even closer and I swallow, hating her proximity to Frankie.

  “Don�
��t worry about your father. He’s in good hands,” I bite out, keeping my tone calm and measured when I really want to break his nose.

  “All right, all right,” he agrees, bouncing from one foot to the next, turning his attention back to Charlie.

  “What? No kiss hello?” He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear like he’s done it a thousand times.

  What the fuck is happening? My teeth grind together as I try to keep my expression blank even as my mind races.

  I swing my gaze to Charlie, not hiding my concern or my anger.

  10

  Charlie

  “Fuck you, Frankie.” My back snaps straight as I pick up a discarded half-pint of beer and fling in into his face. “What the hell do you want?”

  Around us, other patrons cut me a look before shuffling back a few steps and going back to their conversations. Their chatter fades to background noise as I glare into the soulless, bitter depths of Frankie’s eyes.

  “You fucking kidding me right now?” He growls, leaning forward menacingly, beer dripping from his jaw. Evan bumps him from the side, pushing a bar napkin into his hand. Frankie swipes the napkin across his face, pulling at the fabric of his shirt. “This is Versace, Charlotte.”

  “I asked what the fuck you want?” I repeat, forcing myself to stay on topic, even as my fingers begin to tremble and fear skates down my spine. I drop the pint glass to the bar but keep my other hand gripped around the tequila bottle. Riling up Frankie is playing with fire. He’s irrational, delusional, and skirts the edge of dangerous. His black eyes bore into mine as I force myself to stand straight and not flinch under his scrutiny. He leans forward, dropping his hands to the bar and bracing his body weight against them. He’s trying to intimidate me but I wait him out, lifting an eyebrow to feign boredom.

  “I wanted to see you.”

  Sucking air into my lungs, I slam the tequila bottle onto the bar.

  Evan inhales sharply, his eyes darkening with concern, his expression carefully neutral.