The Heart Chaser by Gina Azzi
Luca
What the hell did I do? Does Abbi truly think so little of me that she believes I’d take a call from another woman while standing in her apartment, apologizing to her? Shit, she wasn’t kidding when she said she doesn’t trust me.
But how am I supposed to earn her trust if she won’t hear me out? Why can’t I seem to make headway with her? The things she confided in me about her father and past relationships roll through my mind and dread settles in my stomach. Did my not calling hurt her the same way they did? Is she grouping me in with the other men who came before me? The un-fucking-worthy ones? And why didn’t I make the connection sooner?
A few inches of snow coats the ground as I slowly pull into my parking garage. I make my way up to my condo, the exhaustion I’ve kept at bay all day rising to meet me.
My phone rings again and I swear, my irritation turning to guilt, as my niece Laura’s name flashes across the screen.
I frown. Why is Laura, only nine years old, calling so late?
“Laur?” I answer.
She sniffles through the line and my heart breaks. “Hi, Uncle Luca.”
“What’s going on, ladybug?” I ask, dropping into a chair in my living room.
“Can’t sleep.”
“Another bad dream?”
“Yeah.” Her voice is tiny and I wish I was there to hug her.
“Where’s your mama and brothers?”
“I don’t want to wake them.”
I chuckle, my frustration over messing things up with Abbi again receding as I focus on my niece.
“Can you tell me a story?” she asks.
“Of course,” I say as an old memory of Laura’s parents at the beach, the Jersey shore, comes to mind. I settle deeper into my chair and start, “It was Fourth of July weekend and…”
I wake up the next morning with a stiff neck, a dry mouth, and a cramp in my leg. Fuck. I slept in a goddamn armchair.
I squint at the time. 9:38 a.m.
Justine: Thanks for putting my kid to sleep last night.
I glance out the living room windows and grin as snow blankets the city streets.
Letting out a laugh, I relocate to the window like a little kid on Christmas morning. I’ve always loved winter. There’s something magical about snow, something that pulls me back to my childhood and good, happy memories. Moments with my mom. She used to have a big, red mug that she would make hot chocolate in instead of coffee.
I press my fingertips against the cold windowpane as if I could reach out and grip a piece of my childhood. Nostalgia washes over me and for a second, I wish I lived back in Philadelphia. On a day like today, I’d round up my nieces and nephews and take them sledding. Robbie and Pop would be out plowing for extra money. Jenni would bake chocolate chip cookies and hum to classic rock songs. I can picture it perfectly and I suddenly wish it was possible.
The shrill ring of my phone interrupts that silly daydream. I blow out a sigh and lift my phone to look at the screen.
When I read Chloe’s name, I frown. Why is she calling me?
I pick up. “Hey, Chlo.”
“Panda. Oh, good. You’re home. Wait, are you home?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “Are you okay? All good with Cap?”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s not me…it’s Abbi.”
“Abbi?” Concern rushes through me.
“I wouldn’t call you if Austin was home. But he went to help his parents shovel out this morning and—”
“What happened?”
Chloe sighs. “She’s going to kill me for telling you but—”
“Chloe,” I press her.
“She thinks she needs stitches.”
“Stitches! What the hell happened?”
“Um…she fell. In the shower. And, uh, she hit her face.”
I’m already pulling on my winter coat and grabbing my keys. “I’m on my way over.”
Chloe breathes out a grateful sigh. “Thank you, Panda. You’re the only person close enough to walk. I just, I’m worried about her and she’s new to the city and—”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m on my way,” I say, stepping out into the cold morning.
Abbi’s building is only two down from mine but since we’re situated on the water, the wind is cutting, slashing against my face and kicking up snow, so the walk takes longer than I’d like.
When I’m finally inside the elevator, on my way up to her floor, I take off my coat and shake out the snow. I knock on her door and listen carefully for her footsteps.
A moment later, she opens it the smallest bit, peeking out at me.
“I can’t believe she called you,” she murmurs.
“Open up,” I say instead.
She does and I slip inside, closing the door behind me. Then I turn around and take her in, wincing at the wadded-up paper towels she has pressed against her left eyebrow.
“How’d you fall?” I ask, touching her wrist and leading her to the couch. I push her into the seat and hover over her, gentle not to hurt her.
“Fell in the shower,” she admits sheepishly, the deep V of her robe opening as she hunches forward.
“Lean back, Abs. Let me take a look,” I say, guiding her back into the cushions.
When she acquiesces, I place my hand on top of hers and slowly shift the paper towels away. I wince at the gash cutting through her eyebrow. Immediately, dark red blood pools up. I look closely, biting my lip. “It’s pretty deep.”
“Do you think I need stitches?”
I touch around the injury gently. “I don’t think so…”
“Okay.”
“I brought glue.” I place the wadded-up paper towel back in place.
“Glue?” Horror threads through her tone and I try not to smile.
“It’s skin glue. For injuries,” I explain.
“Oh.”
“If you want to head to the ER, I’ll take you. But I don’t think it’s deep enough for stitches and you’ll be waiting hours.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s pretty much blizzarding out. We can try the glue.”
“‘Kay.” I swing a leg over her lap, essentially straddling her.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice deeper than it was a moment ago.
I fight my smile. “Working.” I pull a packet of an antiseptic wipe and the glue from my back pocket. I glance down at her, noting the pretty blush on her cheeks. God, she’s beautiful. To think I once kissed those luscious lips. To think I once traced her curves and felt her moving beneath me.
“Luca.”
“Right. Hold still, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers, her eyes wide.
I settle more firmly over her, clean her wound, and set to work, careful to create as straight a fusion as possible. Abbi doesn’t move beneath me. With the exception of one sharp inhale of breath, one wouldn’t think she was even conscious.
When I’m done, I pull back to study my work. “You may have a small scar.”
“That’s the least of my problems.”
I slip off her and settle next to her on the couch, taking the bloody paper towel from her hand and closing it in my fist. “What are your problems, Abbi Walsh?”
She smirks and shakes her head. “Thank you for coming, Luca. You, well, you didn’t have to.” She takes in my sweater and jeans pointedly.
“What’s that look for?” I wonder aloud.
Her eyes scan my body slowly before she rolls them. “Clearly, you were busy and Chloe interrupted you when she called.”
I frown. What the hell is she talking about? I glance down at my sweater and then I start laughing. “Wait, you think I was—” My own laughter cuts off my words.
Abbi frowns at me, narrowing her eyes. With her messed-up eyebrow, she looks tough, almost menacing, and the visual makes me laugh harder.
“I went home last night and passed out,” I say. When she doesn’t look convinced, I add, “My niece called me because she couldn’t sleep. I sat down to tell her a story and…woke up this morning to a winter wonderland and a crick in my neck.”
At that, some of the skepticism in her eyes fades and she almost smiles. “You want a coffee?”
I nod. “I’d love one.”
“Okay.” She stands up but sways on her feet.
“Whoa,” I say, my hand darting out to grab her wrist. I ease her back down. “You fell pretty hard, huh?”
She rolls her lips and blows out a sigh. “I tripped over the ledge getting out of the shower and smacked my face against the vanity. I’m fine. I just, stood up too fast.”
I watch her closely, noting the flush that works its way up from her chest, fanning out over her cheeks.
“Slow this time,” I caution, placing my hands under her elbows and helping her stand.
“I’m really okay,” she says but it’s more of a whisper, as if she’s trying to convince herself.
“Of course you are.”
Her eyes meet mine and hold, some of the wariness fading away. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’m here for you, Abbi.”
Her nostrils flare but she doesn’t respond. Instead, she walks to the kitchen and I follow, trying not to imagine how easily her robe could slip from her shoulders.
Is she wearing lace panties underneath? Or bare?
My cock hardens from the thought, either of them, and I suddenly wish I kissed her last night. If Nikki hadn’t called, would I have made a move? Would she have reciprocated?
Will she give me another shot to see if we can be more than a series of hypothetical questions?
I hope so.