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

  Healing My Heart

  Second Chance Chicago Series

  Gina Azzi

  Healing My Heart

  Copyright © 2020 by Gina Azzi

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Evan

  2. Charlie

  3. Evan

  4. Charlie

  5. Evan

  6. Charlie

  7. Evan

  8. Charlie

  9. Evan

  10. Charlie

  11. Evan

  12. Charlie

  13. Evan

  14. Charlie

  15. Evan

  16. Charlie

  17. Evan

  18. Charlie

  19. Evan

  20. Charlie

  21. Evan

  22. Charlie

  23. Evan

  24. Charlie

  25. Evan

  26. Charlie

  27. Evan

  28. Charlie

  Epilogue

  Also by Gina Azzi

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Charlie - Three and a half years earlier

  Holy guacamole. I’m dead.

  I mean, not really dead, but comatose enough that I can’t move. Forget about catching my breath. I’ll just lie here. Lie here and soak up the bliss.

  Evan Holt brings me to the brink of my sanity like it’s his life’s purpose. Like he was born to satisfy every single physical ache, yearning, and desire I’ve ever had.

  On some level, one that I’m unable to access at the current moment, I imagine God has bigger and better plans for him than introducing me, Charlotte “Charlie” Adams, to my sexual awakening. But as I come down from the natural high of a series of endorphin-inducing orgasms, I couldn’t care less what those lofty goals are.

  “Christ, Charlie,” he breathes out beside me, his voice raspy, sending shivers down my spine.

  “That was incredible,” I agree, wiggling my toes to see if they’re still attached to my body. Good news, they are. I can’t stop the grin spreading across my face as I turn toward Evan, slipping my hand onto his chest as the bedsheet slides to my hip. “And necessary.”

  He chuckles, the sound vibrating under my palm. Piercing green eyes, the color of a Shamrock, hold mine. “You have no idea how badly I needed that.”

  At the truth underlining his words, I still. From the moment I entered Evan’s house tonight, he’s been tense, almost restless. We usually work out our frustrations physically, but I’ve been hoping for weeks that our physical connection will develop into an emotional commitment. I don’t know what’s holding him back from taking the next step with me. We share a friend group, have the best time when we go out together, and our chemistry is off the charts. But for every step forward, there are two steps back. Evan offers glimpses of his thoughts and feelings but never a full picture, never enough for me to feel like we’re moving forward. “Everything okay?”

  He shifts, bending his arm behind his head. His other hand finds my hip and rests there, familiar. I inch closer, my body responding to him as naturally as plants to sunlight, seeking and reaching for his touch.

  The space between us seems to freeze, our eyes locked and brimming with too many emotions. His, cautious and uncertain. Mine, pleading and hopeful. His jawline tightens, his Adam’s apple bobs, and I hold my breath. Please, pretty please with a cherry on top, confide in me about something real.

  Nerves ping around my stomach as I try to keep my cool, hoping this is the moment where he lets down some of his guard and invites me in. We’ve been doing this delicate dance for four months.

  Our non-relationship has been all-consuming, passionate, and intense.

  But fragile AF because as much as I tell my head it’s casual, my heart wants more than it’s supposed to. Because when Evan slips inside of me and his eyes meet mine, more than casual passes between us. When he drops by Shooters Pub to order a Reuben sandwich and fries for lunch, my heart flutters like butterfly wings against my ribcage. He gives me glimpses into what could be, and my desperate heart latches onto those glimpses, even though my head knows better. I know better.

  Evan clears his throat. “Yeah, it’s just work. I’ve been assigned a huge case with a lot of repercussions if it doesn’t pan out the way my firm wants it to.”

  “So your client is one of those big-time criminals?” I quirk an eyebrow. Evan’s firm, Sowinski & Sons, comprises Chicago’s top criminal defense lawyers and is often mentioned in the media as representing Chicago’s best-known criminals, who are connected to organized crime syndicates like The Outfit or Bratva.

  Another wave of shivers rolls down my spine but for the wrong reasons. For my own connection to a criminal and his messages that I’ve been ignoring. But I’d rather not think about that. Definitely not while I’m in bed with Evan reveling in bliss. Shifting my weight, I pull the comforter over my body, dismissing the sudden chill that coats my skin like frost.

  Evan doesn’t reply to my prodding. “It’s the first time I’m lead counsel on a case this big, so it’s a lot of pressure.” Raking a hand through his hair, he shakes his head as if to center himself. When his eyes find mine again, the flicker of vulnerability from a moment ago is stamped out, and the barrier that usually exists between us is back in place. “What have you got going on this week? Have you thought anymore about grad school?”

  Shrugging, I try not to show my disappointment over the change in our conversation. “Finishing up exams for my classes and starting to look at materials for the renovation at Shooters. It’s still too early for me to fill out applications. Besides, the Shooters renovation is going to comprise most of my portfolio for when I do apply to design programs.” I turn to stare at the ceiling. “Other than that, just my normal work schedule. I’m closing Shooters three nights this week.”

  The mattress dips as Evan rolls onto his stomach, his face suddenly looming over mine. “You sure you’re not taking on too much?”

  “Hello Pot. Meet Kettle.”

  He smirks, brushing my hair back from my forehead. “Just don’t want you to burn out.”

  I snort, my hands reaching up until my fingertips can trace his smooth jawline. “After this?” I wiggle my hips deeper into the mattress. “Maybe.”

  Evan laughs, the sound warming me back up. He watches me for a beat, his expression relaxed, and a dumb swell of pride washes over me that I can help him unwind.

  Then he slides out of my grasp and stands from the bed. He cleans up in the bathroom as I swing my legs to the side of the mattress and check the time on my phone.

  I know what’s coming and to be honest, I’d rather save myself more disappointment tonight. So, instead of pretending to fall asleep like I consider doing every time Evan and I hook-up, I find my bra and panties, pull on my cut-off shorts and tank top, and s
lide my feet into my sandals. I gather my long hair into a messy bun on top of my head and spot my purse hanging on the doorknob to the bathroom just as the door swings open.

  “Shit,” Evan mumbles, his eyes glued to his iPhone. He shadows the doorway, his abs rippling as he turns. God, he’s sexy. Tall with broad shoulders, rippling abs, and a trim waist, Evan is an anomaly. He should at least have regressed to a dad bod by now, especially single-parenting his seven-year-old son, Ollie.

  Swallowing, I drink in his sexiness for another long moment, trying to quench my thirst. Will I ever get enough of this amazing man who never lets me close enough to figure him out? Do I keep coming back because he stirs the strongest physical desires I’ve ever experienced? Or am I hooked because I know he genuinely cares about me, and it’s been too long since a man in my life gave a damn? Chewing my bottom lip, I wait for him to look up. Deep down, I know we could be great together. I just wish he’d give me a real chance and stop pumping the breaks before we can explore what’s really between us.

  “All good?” I ask, shifting from one foot to the other.

  Evan’s already lost in his work, his mind turning over options for whatever mess his client created. The undoubtedly big-name, high-profile client who I already resent because this means Evan will have less time to hang with me. Between his demanding work hours and being an amazing dad and my crazy schedule, we already have a tough time finding hours to hang out that aren’t in the middle of the night.

  “I’m going to head out,” I say as I reach around him to swipe my purse from the doorknob.

  “What?” He looks up, his mouth twisted in confusion. His hair sticks up at odd angles from all the ways my fingers gripped his head during our steamy exchange twenty minutes ago. Now, the steam has evaporated, and a slight chill hangs in the air.

  “It’s already three.” I glance at the screen of my phone before dropping it into my purse. “I need to get going.”

  “Right.” He nods, his eyes darting to the bedroom wall that borders Ollie’s room. So far, Ollie has never caught us as he’s always sleeping by the time I come over. Still, I know it’s something Evan worries about. “I’ll walk you out.”

  Evan leading me to the front door causes some of my post-sex bliss to evaporate. With each step, irritation sparks low in my stomach, fanning out into frustration by the time I reach the door. Why do I do this to myself? Why do I keep hoping for more when Evan’s been clear that the “more” I’m looking for isn’t going to happen? What is wrong with me?

  I reach for the doorknob, but Evan’s hand darts out and clasps my fingers.

  “Charlie, wait,” he says, standing before me, a pair of sweats riding low on his hips. He grips my fingers and pauses, his eyes searching mine.

  I straighten my spine, widening my eyes at him to continue.

  Dropping my fingers, Evan grabs the back of his neck. He looks uncertain, and warning bells clang in my head. My heart sinks, and I mentally curse myself for getting so caught up in him.

  “Things are about to get crazy busy for me. This case, it’s going to be big. It’s going to dictate a lot of my time.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly.

  “Ollie has a soccer tournament this weekend and a lot of stuff going on at school.”

  I bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling, to hold in the tears that sting the back of my nose and burn my throat. Instead, I wait, silently begging for him to just say the damn words and put us both out of our misery. He’s going to end our non-relationship just like part of me always knew he would.

  For the past six years, every guy I met and the few dates I went on had me wondering if this time I’d get it right. If this date would turn into a real relationship that would end with a walk down the aisle. Since I’m still single, that clearly hasn’t happened, and I hate that I hold onto hope where none exists.

  “I know your schedule is going to get busier with the Shooters revamp. Then, you’ll be applying to grad programs in New York and California.”

  “And here in Chicago. Besides, that’s not for another three years,” I point out, annoyed that he would use my future dream against us having a future now.

  Evan sighs. “I know. I just—I want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

  “What page is that?” I bite out, wishing my hurt isn’t so obvious.

  Evan winces. “Just that, you’re still good with casual. This,” he says, shrugging, his eyes darting up the stairs to his bedroom and all the ungodly things we did there.

  “So, just sex, no strings.” The words drop from my mouth like bullets. Sharp, direct, hitting their target.

  Evan’s eyes flash and his nostrils flare. “It’s not like that and you know it. I love spending time with you, Charlie. I like going for dinner and hanging out with our friends. I like when we watch movies with Ollie. But all of those things together can get confusing. I don’t want you to read more into this than what it is. I like you, Charlie. I care about you. But I’m not at a point in my life where I can pursue something serious. Not the kind of serious that you want anyway. If this is getting to be too much, then we shouldn’t keep seeing each other like this.”

  My stomach clenches, and goosebumps break out across my skin. What kind of ultimatum is this? Walk away and be alone or hang in there and at least have a consistent sex partner followed by a quasi-meaningful conversation? It’s eerily reminiscent of another ultimatum I was served with six years ago. I turned that one down, and a big part of me knows I should cut ties with Evan right now.

  I bite the corner of my lip, hoping to control my emotions enough that my voice doesn’t give away my bruised ego.

  “I got it. Nothing’s changed.” I pull the front door open.

  Behind me, Evan sighs. I step forward and his hand darts out, wrapping around my arm to stop me. Glancing up, I raise an eyebrow. My heart thuds, and my hands grow clammy as a flicker of hope sparks low in my belly.

  Fight for me. Give me something. Kiss me!

  He stares at me hard, his eyes swirling with conviction and apology. Regret and hunger. A hundred things I know he’ll never let me in enough to understand.

  “Drive safe. Message me when you get home.” He squeezes my arm once as I pull it from his grasp and slip into the quiet morning.

  As usual, I’m just an afterthought in Evan’s life. Because easy-going, funny, bubbly Charlie is the afterthought in pretty much everyone’s lives. I try not to let the sting show or my tears fall until I’m safely behind the steering wheel of my car.

  Evan stands by the door, watching as I back out of his driveway and point my car in the direction of my lonely one-bedroom apartment.

  A long time ago, when I first moved in, I thought I was making a fresh start after the fall out. I thought I was moving in a new direction, one where I would make smarter choices, more mindful decisions.

  But every time I leave Evan’s home before the sun rises, with his scent clinging to my skin and his words clanging in my head, I wonder if I’m just fooling myself all over again.

  Maybe it’s time for a real fresh start. Lord knows I only survived my last breakup because my best friend Zoe forced me to. But she’s a smitten kitten for Evan’s brother Eli and while I know she’ll always have my back, she can’t exactly blow Evan off because things between us went sideways.

  No, if I want a chance at having a happy, stable relationship, I’m better off starting over. Away from Chicago. Someplace where I can reinvent myself and not just be Charlie Adams, ex-fiancée, Shooters Pub bartender, wannabe designer.

  I stop at a red light, slamming my palm on the top of the steering wheel. My hand smarts, and a tear drops from my lower eyelashes, sliding down my cheek.

  I’m tired of waiting around for…something more.

  The applications I stored in the bottom drawer of my desk flicker to mind. For years, I’ve been working toward graduate school. Due to a series of curveballs I never saw coming, I’m still finishing my undergraduate degree at twenty-f
our years old. But afterwards, I can apply to design school anywhere in the country.

  From the moment I confided in Evan about my secret dream to attend design school, he’s been nothing but supportive. Moving to New York City or L.A. always seemed like a pipe dream before but with Evan’s encouragement, it became more of a reality. That’s why his throwing it in my face tonight burned.

  I figured if things between us became serious, I would apply to programs in Chicago but his brush-off tonight serves as a reminder that I shouldn’t ever put a man before my goals. Didn’t I already learn this lesson six years ago? My past mistakes, coupled with Evan’s rejection tonight, cause hot tears to spill onto my cheeks and fill my veins with ice.

  I can’t keep muddling through my life, waiting to be swept off my feet and down the aisle. I can’t keep compromising my dreams to fit into someone else’s reality.

  I need more than this. I want more than this.

  The red-light changes to green, and I ease my car toward my apartment.

  I have about a year and a half left of college. In eighteen months, the renovation of Shooters Pub that I’m overseeing will be completed. I’ll have enough work in my portfolio to apply to graduate programs. My top choice is in New York City and while I’ve recently wavered on moving to Manhattan, a renewed sense of commitment solidifies in my chest.

  I can do this.

  It may not be for another year and a half, but now is the time to set it all in motion. In two years from now, I could be sipping Champagne on a rooftop patio in Manhattan, surrounded by new ideas and exciting opportunities.