Page 145 of Chicago Sin

And I don’t even know what the hell I’m going to do or say to win her back. I still don’t have a solution to my life-threatening shitshow. All I know is that I’m sure as hell going to fight for her.

For us.

I fucked things up big time, but that doesn’t mean it’s irreparable.

At least, I really fucking hope not.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Hannah

The store is empty as usual when my phone rings at the shop. I pick it up where I’m putting together arrangements in the back.

When I see who’s calling, I’m slightly alarmed. “Daddy?” He never calls me. It's always Mom who reaches out. I know my dad loves me, but he's definitely the strong, silent type.

Like Armando.

Dammit, why does everything remind me of Armando?

“Hey baby. Listen, I know you have something personal going that you aren't ready to tell me?—”

“Daddy, please. I'm at work. I don’t want to talk about it now.” I blink quickly to clear my already smarting eyes and jockey an alstroemeria around in the bouquet until it sits right.

“I know, I know—that’s okay,” he says in a rush. “I heard enough when you came over to put together that you’re pregnant and broke things off with that boyfriend of yours.”

I stop arranging and hold my breath. Suck it in like I was punched in the gut, and it stays in, suspended. quivering.

“Well, I probably shouldn’t have said anything to him…”

I gasp. Why hadn’t I considered the fact that my dad and Armando still work together? “What’d you say?” I lay the rose in my fingers down on the counter, unable to continue.

“Hannah, you’re not in any danger from that man, are you?” he asks sharply.

“From Armando?” I demand with exaggerated skepticism. “No. He’s in danger from some gang, but no. He would never hurt me.”

“Okay. But he doesn’t know? I mean, he does now… I’m sorry, baby. It was pissing me off watching him show up hungover every day and not giving two fucks about the job when I knew you were crying your eyes out over this.”

I swallow. “He was hung over?” That doesn’t sound like him. It’s stupid to think it might be because of me, but my foolish heart wants to.

“I’m pretty sure he’s on his way over there now. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“Okay, thanks,” I whisper and close my eyes as I slowly lower the phone, my heart flopping wildly in my chest. Hope and anxiety overlap, weave together, turn me inside out. Rational thought flees. I try to recount the reasons I didn't tell him. The reasons it was important to stay broken up, but they disappear.

I hear the bells I wrapped around the door handle to let me know when someone enters, jingle, and I step out to the front, my pulse racing. The moment I see his haggard face, I hiccup-sob and cover my mouth.

“Hannah.” His voice is gruff as he crosses the floor of the shop in a few swift steps and comes around behind the counter. He’s going to wrap me up in his arms. I sense his intent as strongly as I sense his angst, his strength, his determination.

“Don’t,” I plead, holding out a hand to stop him. Because once I’m in his arms again, I will never have the strength to push him away. I’ll never have the will to end things. It will feel too right. I already know that. “I’m trying to get over you,” I choke out.

“Please,” he rasps. “I need to fucking hold you.” His voice sounds like broken concrete and steel—wrecked but so damn strong.

And of course, there’s no resisting him. I need him. I fall into his arms, and he pulls me against his muscled chest.

“I’m sorry, baby. I fucked everything up. Right from the start,” he confesses to my hair, his lips moving the curls, his breath warm against my scalp. He doesn’t ease the steel lockhold he has on my body, which is good because my legs stop working. “I didn’t know going into this I was going to fall in love.”

I stop breathing.

“I didn’t know you’d become the fucking heart beating in my chest. All I knew was that you’d witnessed me kill a man and that made you a risk, but there was no way I could hurt you or even pretend I might hurt you. And all I could think to do was to take you home.” His fingers slide under my hair, and he runs his thumb lightly over my nape. “Fuck, maybe I did know, even then. Because after that kiss, I never wanted to let you go. I wanted to tie you to my bedpost and keep you for-fucking-ever.”