by Gina Azzi
Trent inhales so sharply I’m surprised he doesn’t choke. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious.”
“I can’t.”
“I know.”
“Char! This is ridiculous. I need popcorn.”
“Popcorn?” I lift my eyebrows, dropping the bar rag.
“Kevin! Kevin! Char’s life is imploding,” Trent yells in the background.
Oh brother. I groan aloud but Trent ignores me.
“Char? What’s happening?” Kevin comes on the line. “You’re on speaker.”
“No kidding.” I clear my throat. “Don’t you guys work?”
“Hush,” Trent scolds me. “It’s not every day my BFF is being visited by two exes. Two bold, strong, attractive—”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I cut him off, my mind grappling with his using the same adjectives for both Evan and Frankie. The two men couldn’t be any more different and yet… the adjectives Trent chose fit them both. “You suck.”
Kevin snickers. “Hard.”
I groan again as my friends laugh. After a moment, Trent adds, “We’re ready, Char. Lay it on us.”
So I do. I tell them all about the intense, passionate, mind-blowing sex Evan and I had.
“You really left the next morning?” Kevin asks, skepticism heavy in his tone.
“I did.” I tell him the truth while Trent whoops and claps in the background.
“What else, baby girl?” Trent demands.
I tell them how I picked up shifts at Shooters and Frankie appeared “to see me.”
“No,” Trent breathes as Kevin swears. “And Evan was there?”
“Yes! It was so awkward.” I recall the encounter, cringing from how embarrassing it was. How caught off guard I felt. “Now, I’m actually bartending at Shooters, just trying to fill my day up, so I don’t sit at home and worry about Drew.”
“What’s wrong with Drew?” Kevin asks.
Trent fills him in quickly. “Damn, Char. Your life is crazy right now. I’m so sorry about Drew. I’m sorry you’re dealing with all of this…this…” Kevin trails off.
“Shit,” Trent supplies.
“Shit,” Kevin agrees.
“It is shit,” I decide, dropping my forehead to the ledge of the bar. “I don’t know what to do, guys.”
“About what?” Trent asks.
“Any of it.” Evan, Frankie, jobs, my future…every aspect of my life seems so chaotic at the moment, by the end of the day, I don’t have the energy to try to sort any of it out. I force my head up from the bar and gasp when my eyes connect with Evan’s.
His eyes are shadowed with concern and running over my face thoughtfully. He chews the corner of his mouth as he slides onto a barstool.
“I gotta go.” I end the call with Kevin and Trent and drop my phone on top of one of the ice coolers.
“Everything okay?” Evan asks slowly, trying to gage where my head is at. “Drew?”
“He’s doing much better, recovering well, and is in good spirits.”
“Good. That’s good.” Evan clears his throat, tilting his head as he studies me.
“What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d pop by for lunch.”
“Like old times?”
“You know Shooters makes the best Reubens.”
“True.” I turn away from him to fill up a pint of beer and punch in his order—Reuben sandwich with sweet potato fries. It’s funny, but this, Evan coming by for lunch when I was working at Shooters, was such a regular part of my life that his being here now hits me with a wave of nostalgia.
Placing the beer in front of Evan, he picks up on my mood immediately. “You okay, Charlie?”
“Sure.”
“I’m serious.” His fingers tap against the base of his beer pint. “Me and you right now, no bullshit. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
I hunch forward, crossing my arms and leaning them against the ledge of the bar. “Am I that obvious?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Lately, you are a master at hiding your thoughts. Your feelings. But if you want to talk, I’m here to listen.”
“Is this why you came here for lunch today?”
He shrugs, and the admission warms me from the inside out. Even if nothing ever happens between Evan and me again, it’s nice to know he still cares about me. That he’ll still show up if I really need him to.
“Seeing Frankie…even hearing his name…it always throws me,” I admit quietly, my nail picking at the label of a beer bottle.
“Do you still have feelings for him?” Evan asks. His gaze is intense on mine, and I don’t miss the tremble in his voice.
“Not like that.” I shake my head. “It’s just, it’s complicated.”
“Because of your engagement?”
“Because of my dad.” I clear my throat, straightening. “Frankie fucked my entire life up, and I can’t forgive him. It’s hard to get over that much anger, that much hurt, and seeing him…it brings it all back ten-fold.”
“What does he have to do with your dad?” Evan asks curiously.
Andre runs Evan’s food out and drops it in front of him.
“Thanks, man,” Evan says, pulling the wrap off his napkin and cutlery.
“No problem. Hey Charlie, you mind if I grab a smoke?” Andre asks me, his eyes cutting around the empty bar, save for Evan and me.
“Not at all, Andre.” I wave him off, and he shoots me a grateful smile, pulling his phone and a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket as he heads back to the kitchen and the lot behind Shooters.
Evan bites into his sandwich, his eyes never leaving mine. After he swallows his first bite, he lifts an eyebrow. “Your dad?”
“Did you know I was supposed to go to Northwestern? I wanted to study fashion,” I tell him, leaning back against the register and crossing my ankles.
“Really?” Evan’s eyebrow shoots higher. “Why didn’t you?”
I exhale, unsure how much of my past I want to share. But with Evan’s eyes solely fixed on mine, I realize I’m never going to be able to move forward, into the future I want, if I keep internalizing all the shit Frankie put me through.
“I met Frankie at fourteen. Right from the start, I was enamored with him. I thought we were going to get married, have a million babies, and be close to our big, boisterous families. He was it for me.”
Evan’s jaw tightens at my words, and his eyes bore into mine, begging me to continue.
“My junior year of high school, my dad was in a pretty bad car crash. The doctors said he was lucky he survived. But even though he lived, the pain he was in was unbearable. He had crushed vertebrae, a broken femur, dislocated shoulder, concussion… so many things that needed to heal. I was devastated and really struggling with seeing him in so much pain. Drew had just been accepted to the SEALs and deployed for boot camp. Mom had to pick up a second job to help cover what Dad wasn’t earning anymore, and even then we were stretching our last dollar every single month. The stress sort of piled up on everyone, and my grades started slipping. Frankie offered to help out. He had already graduated and was doing his thing with his family business.”
Evan scoffs, and I lift my shoulder in a half shrug. Now, I know how deep Frankie’s ties to organized crime are but back then… I was naive and happy. Too damn happy to look too closely at anything that would shatter the version of reality I wanted to live. The one where Frankie Esposito—charismatic, charming, quick-witted, hotshot—wanted me to be his wife.
“So Frankie started spending more time visiting with Dad. He’d bring magazines about cars and motorcycles or his favorite cheesecake. He’d bring funny stories from people in our neighborhood and bets that were taking place on football games. And then, he started bringing drugs. Painkillers.” I pause and Evan inhales sharply. “It was harmless, he said, just something to take the edge off. Just something to help manage Dad’s pain.” I pinch the bridge of my nose as my eyes burn with unshed tears. “I believed hi
m, Evan. I believed him.”
“Charlie.” Evan reaches out a hand, placing it on top of mine. He twists our fingers together and pulls me closer until my stomach presses into the bar and our faces are lined up. “Baby, you couldn’t have known.”
“I should have known.”
“No. Frankie is a master manipulator. You couldn’t have known. Especially if you were…in love with him.” He bites out the words, as if they pain him to admit.
“Dad stopped being Dad after that. He grew thinner, moodier. He was disinterested in me, my life, any news of Drew. At first it was gradual and easy to shake off his moods to a bad day, but then, it was like one day I woke up and didn’t recognize my father at all. When it came time to apply to college, Dad begged me to apply to the community college. So I would be close enough to help Mom out. He said it would just be for a year or two, and then he’d be better and I could transfer to Northwestern. I agreed. He overdosed the following spring.”
Evan winces, dropping his head and swearing. “I’m so fucking sorry, Charlie. I’m so, so sorry.”
I nod, accepting his condolences. Even after all these years, they still hurt to hear. “Turns out my college fund, the one Mom and Dad started for me when I was a kid and contributed to a little bit over the years, was gone. It wasn’t a ton of money, but it was enough to make Northwestern a reality if I hustled on the side, maybe took out a loan or two. Dad had spent it all on fucking drugs. And Frankie accepted the money. He pulled my father and my future right out from under my feet while I smiled up at him like he hung the fucking moon.” The words burn my tongue like acid as I spit them into the space between Evan and me.
Evan’s expression twists, his eyes furious. He stands from his barstool and pulls me half over the bar and into his arms. “Fuck Frankie Esposito, Charlie,” he murmurs into my hair.
Tears prick my eyes and spill over, staining my cheeks and bleeding into the fabric of Evan’s shirt. But at his words, I laugh.
And I hug him back.
13
Evan
“What do you mean you dropped him?” My brother’s eyes narrow as he peers at me over the rim of his Scotch.
“I handed him off to Jace,” I explain, taking a swig of my drink.
“Jace?” Connor quirks an eyebrow. “The guy you’ve been in not-so-friendly competition with to make partner at your firm.”
“That’s the one.” I smack my lips, leaning back into the soft cushions of Eli’s couch.
My brother and friend stare at me like I just announced I’m taking up ballet.
“Hold up.” Eli leans forward, dropping an elbow to his knee so he can peer at me. “You’re telling us that you passed on representing a member of one of Chicago’s most notorious organized crime families, the family that you almost always represent, the family that has built your reputation, and passed the client to Jace? Dude, this is going to hurt your chances of the partner promotion you’ve been working toward for like a decade.”
“Yes,” I respond simply. “I know.”
“No fucking way, man. What’s going on?” Eli shakes his head.
“For real.” Connor punctuates Eli’s point by jabbing a finger in my direction.
I sigh, scrubbing my hand over the lower portion of my face. “When you say it like that, I know, it sounds crazy. Impulsive even.”
“It does,” Connor agrees.
“But it’s not. Man, Frankie Esposito has been a drain on my energy since the first day I met him. I see him and I’m annoyed. But now, learning all the shit between him and Charlie—”
My brother groans and Connor winces.
“What?” I ask, irritated at their not-so-subtle interruptions.
“Charlie? You’re going to sabotage your career for Charlie, a girl you won’t even commit to?” Eli throws it all out there.
I cringe, remembering how I gave Charlie the brush off so many years ago. Sure, part of it was because I knew I’d hold her back, knew my life would stunt the growth of hers. If she didn’t pursue graduate programs the way she dreamed about, she would just end up resenting Ollie and me the same way Sophie did. Sophie became a fucking drug addict. But the other part was that I was working insane hours and nothing, save for Ollie, would distract me from making partner at my firm. Back then, I craved financial stability the way most non-jaded hearts crave a significant other.
Now, I could laugh at the thought. Who the fuck cares about a fancy title and some more money in the bank when you have no one to share it with? When every single night, you go home to a dark house, listen to the even breathing of a boy who deserves more time than you’re investing in him because you’re too damn scared of what? Having your pride hurt? Your ego?
“It’s not like that anymore,” I admit quietly.
“You and Charlie?” Connor draws the obvious conclusion, his mouth tipping up into a smile.
“No.” I shut it down. There is no me and Charlie. But…could there be? “It’s just, it’s different now. Any guy she’s ever had in her life, any guy she cares about, ends up letting her down. Including me,” I add, correctly reading the judgement in Eli and Connor’s eyes. “I know that I hurt her. God, I fucking hate myself for it. But I’m not doing it again. And agreeing to represent that scum will hurt her, so I’m not doing it.”
“And you can just do that?” Connor asks. “Pass off a potential client to another lawyer?”
I shrug. “It was easy to sell it to Jace. One, he wants the client. Two, there’s a potential, forthcoming conflict of interest.” I don’t add that Frankie is most likely going to be indicted in a RICO trial alongside his father. At that point, representing both of them would be a conflict of interest.
Eli and Connor stare at me for a full beat. In fact, so much silence passes that it begins to grow uncomfortable, and I shift in my seat, draining the rest of my tumbler.
Then, Connor begins to slow clap, and a grin breaks out on Eli’s face.
“What is wrong with you guys?” I ask.
Connor’s clap grows faster as Eli lifts his glass to me and toasts, “To my brother Evan, who finally woke the fuck up.”
“Hello?” I call out when I walk into my house the following day. Tugging off my winter coat and unlacing my boots, I listen for Ollie and Charlie but don’t hear anything. “Guys? You here?”
Walking farther into the house, noise from the basement causes me to frown. I pull open the door and notice the light is on. “Hello!”
“Dad! Don’t come down,” Ollie hollers, the sound of his feet rushing to the stairs. When he spots me on the landing, he holds up a hand. “Just wait.”
Moments later he and Charlie appear, whispering frantically. Charlie’s face is flushed, a wide smile hugging her mouth, as if her and Ollie were nearly caught, their giant secret learned.
“Hey! You’re home early,” she remarks as she and Ollie slip past me, flipping off the light.
I turn, closing the door behind me and follow them into the living room. “What are you guys up to?”
Ollie shoots Charlie a panicked look, but she winks at him. “That’s top secret,” she says.
“Top secret?” I fold my arms over my chest and rock back on my heels. “The thing for your interviews?” I ask, knowing it’s definitely not that, but wanting to keep up the pretense.
Charlie nods, biting the corner of her mouth to keep from laughing.
Ollie looks at me with a mixture of worry and delight on his face, and I wonder if I should keep pushing them just to watch him squirm. It’s been a while since he seemed so excited about something, so much like the little boy he was instead of the pre-teen he’s growing into.
“And you’re not going to tell me, Ollie?” I ask, pressing my palm over my heart.
My son’s mouth drops open, and he looks torn, his eyes shifting from me to Charlie and back again.
“Oh!” Charlie swats me. “You’ll learn soon enough. Don’t go ruining fun surprises.”
At this, I chuckle and nod my ag
reement. “All right then, I’ll let you two keep your secret.”
Ollie beams.
“For now,” I add as he laughs.
Ollie darts around Charlie and me and heads into the kitchen. A second later, I hear the cabinet for the snacks bang open.
“How was your day?” Charlie asks me, slipping her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.
“Pretty good.” I mean it, too. Now that I’m not dealing with Frankie’s bullshit, my day went a hell of a lot smoother.
“Good. Well, I can head out if—”
“Stay. Have dinner with us.” I suddenly want nothing more than to order a pizza, make some popcorn, and play a board game—maybe Monopoly?—with Charlie and Ollie.
“You sure?” She wrinkles her nose.
“Absolutely. Hey Ollie,” I call out, and his head pops around the doorframe. “Pizza for dinner?”
He whoops, punching the air as I chuckle again, pulling out my phone and dialing Romero’s.
“You cheated.” Charlie points at me as she’s forced to give up the big bucks for landing on Park Place.
“Dad always cheats at Monopoly,” Ollie explains seriously.
“I do not!” My mouth drops open, but I still swipe the colorful money Charlie begrudgingly hands out. “I am a person who upholds the law.”
“By representing the bad guys,” Ollie mutters under his breath.
Charlie cracks up but I frown. Is that what Ollie thinks I do? Represent the bad guys? Averting my gaze, I turn it over in my mind, and although he’s not wrong, not by a long shot, I still hate that that’s how my son views my work.
That’s what I spend most of my waking hours doing.
Representing the bad guys.
“Your turn.” Charlie nudges Ollie as he picks up the dice.
Another hour passes before I successfully win the game. As I clean up the pieces and organize the fake money, Ollie reads Charlie a chapter of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Listening to his voice mixed with her sweet laughter causes a warmth I’m not used to to travel through me.
My home feels fuller. More alive. The energy is invigorating, the laughter genuine. Tonight, with all of its simplicity of takeout pizza and half-burnt popcorn and games from my childhood, was the best night I’ve had in a long time.
