by McLean, Jay
Leo
A More Than Series Spin-Off
Jay McLean
Copyright © 2020 by Jay McLean
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Editing: Tricia Harden
Proof: Rebecca Fairest Reviews
Cover Design: Jay McLean
Formatting: Jay McLean
For Papa Istvan
Contents
Prologue
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part II
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Part III
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Part IV
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Epilogue
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About the Author
Prologue
Mia
I don’t want to be here.
It’s the only thing that ran through my head, causing my bloodline to fill with nervous energy.
And dread.
It’s the same feeling I had over ten years ago. Only then, the person sitting next to me with her hands on the steering wheel—utterly clueless to my current state of mind—was assuring me that everything would be okay, that I’d be happy here. An assumption, I’m sure, because she barely knew the twelve-year-old girl beside her, and now? Now we’re virtually strangers. An odd thing to say considering she’s my mother.
She sits ramrod straight as she makes the final turn toward the Preston house, inconspicuously checking herself in the mirror as she does. I used to catch her doing the same the summers I spent with her, wishing for the day Mr. Preston would see her in a different light.
Yeah, that was never going to happen.
I try not to roll my eyes at her, and instead, take a moment to breathe. Just breathe. Wiping the anxiety-caused sweat off my palms onto the worn upholstery of the car seat, I settle my head against the headrest and try to calm my pulse by looking out the window. Trees line the road, the bright sunlight breaking through the thick leaves as we pass. A short wooden fence behind those trees lets you know it’s private property, even though you can’t see any houses from the road. Loose gravel kicks up from the spinning tires below us, and when I roll down the window, just slightly, I can feel the crisp, fresh air fill my nostrils.
The first time I was here, it reminded me of home.
It didn’t take long for that feeling to fade.
The car slows as Mom pulls into the Preston driveway, and my breath halts in my chest, my bottom lip stinging in pain with the force of my teeth clamping down on it.
I try to keep the memories distant.
Try to keep the tears at bay.
Nothing is different.
And yet… everything has changed.
I don’t want to be here.
Not again.
Leo
I have these moments where I black out. Not physically, but mentally. Black out probably isn’t even the right term. It’s more like check out.
At the mention of Mia’s name, I can feel it start to come on.
The different types of therapists Mom dragged me to when I was a kid tried convincing her it was a symptom of ADHD. I was, by far, the least hyperactive of all her children, and sure, I had problems with boring, mundane things keeping my attention, but who didn’t? Besides, I could focus. Hell, I’d be hyper-focused… just on things that weren’t that important. I could stare at a fly on the wall for a whole hour or be consumed by a single, stupid flower growing out of the dirt, out of place. How did it get there? It didn’t belong, and yet, it made all the sense in the world.
The therapists’ appointments waned once Mom got too sick to take me, then stopped entirely once she was gone. Her death and the weeks—no, the months—following had been my longest check out of them all.
Until Laney almost died.
I’m aware there are probably things wrong with me that have gone undiagnosed.
I’m also aware that my siblings are still talking about Mia; I just don’t really know what they’re saying. We’re cramped into my parents’ bedroom, all eleventy-three of us, and I don’t remember how we got here.
“Mia’s Virginia’s daughter,” Logan explains to Red, his girlfriend. “And she fucking loved Leo.”
My jaw ticks.
“Loved?” says Lucy. “She was infatuated.”
I attempt a scoff, but they all take it as nervous, fearful laughter.
Mia never loved me. And if she did, she sure as hell shouldn’t have.
I turn to my only sister. “How long do I need to stay at this thing?”
Lucy laughs. She has no idea about the internal war I’m fighting.
None of them do.
I don’t know how much time passes or what all is said. Not until Lucy murmurs, “We’re the meanest, most judgmental bunch of whorefaces in existence.”
The room grows silent, usually my favorite of all sounds. But not this time. This time, the silence gives my mind time to remember.
I recall the look on Mia’s face the last time I saw her, the sadness mixed with anger and heartbreak in her eyes, the destruction in her words, all of them aimed at me. I mumble, “I mean, yeah, we are, but still… if y’all
could be my buffer, I’d appreciate it.”
I’m drowning in the memories now, each shove to my chest, each blow to my emotions, each truth I’ve spent years trying to deny, to hide.
Soft fingers curl around my wrist, and I look down to see Lucy’s hand attempting to grasp mine. I let her take it and chance a peek up at her. She’s looking into my eyes, searching between them. She’s trying to find the same thing our mother spent my entire life searching for. There has to be something in me, something she can connect to. Something more.
To them, I’m a vessel.
Empty inside.
I release Lucy’s hand, wanting to tell her just to let me go. Let me get away from this reality and back to the memories of Mia. Because I know, somewhere amidst all the pain and the heartache, there was good.
I was good.
“You okay?” Lucy mouths, her eyebrows drawn in concern.
I nod.
A lie.
I’m not okay.
And I don’t want to be here.
But more, I don’t want her here.
What the fuck is she doing here?
Part One
Chapter One
Mia - Age 12
It all starts with a prank.
A stupid, pathetic prank.
Mayhem, they call it.
The funny thing is, it isn’t even directed at me.
So far, the summer I’ve spent at the Prestons’ is… lonely. It’s the only way I can describe it. And that’s saying a lot considering I’ve grown up as an only child, raised by my grandfather on an old farm in a town with a population of fewer than 200.
The only person I speak to regularly besides my grandpa is Holden, my best friend. We’d always looked forward to summer breaks, spending almost every second of daylight together, trying to discover new things we hadn’t already seen or done. It becomes harder the older we get, and the more time we spent stuck in The Middle of Nowhere, North Carolina, the more we itched to get the hell out of there. Well, he did. Me? I’d be happy there if I could actually see a future for myself. The previous summer, Holden made me a promise that he’d find a way out, and when he did, he’d take me with him. “One day, Mia Mac…” he said as he crouched down in front of me, scraping the dirt mixed with blood off my grazed knee, “we’re going to get the fuck out of this shithole—”
“Holden!” I squirmed uncomfortably, slapping the bead of sweat from the back of my neck. We’d been running. I don’t know why. But Holden yelled out to run, and so we did. We ran through the thick brush, flicking hanging branches out of the way, and I was so afraid of whatever I was running from that I didn’t see the giant tree root sticking out of the ground. I tripped, landed on all fours, and that’s how I got there: me on my butt, both knees and what little pride I had stinging in pain. Holden looked at me, waiting, and I could feel the blush creep to my cheeks. “You shouldn’t curse,” I mumbled, knowing I was giving him exactly what he wanted. I didn’t like it when anyone swore, but him especially. Besides, we were eleven. It felt so wrong for such dirty words to leave the mouths of such innocent souls.
I watched him try to hold back a laugh, right before he leaned in, his mouth coming closer and closer, and for a moment—one split second—I thought to myself, “If he so much as tries to kiss me, I’m going to punch him right in that innocent mouth.” But he wasn’t going in for a kiss. Instead, he whispered, “Fuck. Shit. Ass. Tits.”
I punched him on the arm.
“Crap, Mia! That hurt!” he shouted, rubbing at the spot I’d just hit.
“Don’t antagonize me.”
“Ooh, big word… for a girl!”
My eyes narrowed. “You want another one?”
His features fell, eyes going wide as he shook his head. “Your grandpa been teaching you some moves, huh?”
I shrugged. “Papa wants me to be able to protect myself.”
“From what?” he almost laughed. “The giant cicadas on your front porch? Because that’s really the only thing you need protection from.” His gaze fell to the ground, and, tentatively, he added, “Well, that and your parents.”
I would’ve punched him again if he wasn’t so right.
A frown tugs at my lips at the recollection as I sit on the dock of the Prestons’ private lake, my bare feet swaying in the water. I grip the cellphone—the one my grandpa gave me to keep in touch with him over the break. There are only two numbers stored in the phone, his and Holden’s mom, and most of the call logs are outgoing calls to the latter. It feels safer to vent to my friend than it does my grandpa, not because he won’t care, but because he has high hopes for my time here. I don’t want to tell him the truth—that I’m not making friends or that I’ve barely spoken two words to anyone besides Mr. Preston. Or Tom, as he wants me to call him. He goes out of his way to make me feel welcome and as comfortable as I can be. I don’t speak to my mother much, a cursory good morning and goodnight, and then she’s working and I… I’m forgotten.
Again.
I don’t really understand why she made such a big deal of having me stay with her. She is the family’s nanny and lives in a one-bedroom apartment above the detached garage. I sleep on the couch. There’s no room for me in that space…
Or in her heart.
I’ll give her this, though; she’s a great nanny. It’s clear she loves those kids. She just doesn’t love her own.
I unlock the phone and look at the last text Holden sent me from his mother’s cell:
Tammy: Three more days, Mia Mac. You can do this. Mama says as soon as you get back, she’s going to take us for ice cream. Triple choc fudge with a side of strawberries. We’re sorry you’re having a bullshit time. We miss you. And she says she loves you. I don’t. That would be weird. Call me whenever, Stink Ass.
He sent the text yesterday, and through tears, I replied with the only thing I could think to say.
Mia: Don’t curse.
My fingertips leave a trail of sweat as I tap on the phone to pull up my grandpa’s number. The sun is scorching now, close to 3 p.m., turning my ordinarily pale skin red, especially on my thighs where the bottom of my shorts cut into my flesh. My head—covered in thick, almost black locks—seems to take the brunt of it, and I suddenly regret being out here for as long as I’ve been. A headache’s looming. I can already feel it pulsing at the back of my skull. With a heavy sigh, I hit the call button. But a second later, voices sound from the tree line of the Preston property, and then footsteps, followed by laughter. The Preston boys are coming. Panic kicks from the inside, causing my pulse to thrum to an irregular beat. I quickly hang up the phone and shove it in my pocket as I stand, slipping on my flip-flops, hoping to disappear before they know I’m here. It’s futile. I can see them now, running toward the dock. Toward me. There are four of them; the older three and one of their friends. They haven’t seen me. Not yet. They’re too busy calling out to the boy in front, Leo, while the others chase him, calling him words that would burn my tongue if I ever repeated them. My feet plant to the aged wood beneath my soles, and I don’t know where to run, where to look.
In three seconds, they’ll get to me.
Three.
Two.
“Get him!” Logan shouts, and Leo curses in return.
One.
Leo must sense what’s coming because he has the forethought to empty his pockets and dump the contents onto the dock. I blink hard, and when I open my eyes, Leo’s horizontal, the other boys taking control of each of his limbs. And then he’s in the air, arms flailing while the other boys stand at the end of the dock, laughing and pointing. He hits the water with a loud splash, and I look down at my feet, at the loose change that landed there only seconds ago. I start to gather them, so it’ll be easier for Leo when he gets out. His wallet’s on the edge of the dock. Another inch and it would’ve been in the water. It had splayed open when it landed, and the sunlight reflects off the plastic where one typically holds their ID. Squinting, I kick it back to safety, and that’s
when I notice it: in where the sun had reflected, guarded by a thin layer of see-through protection… was a picture of me.
Me.
My breath halts, and everything inside me ignites, bursts into an inferno.
I look up through my lashes, just enough to see Leo with his hands on the dock, starting to climb out of the water.
And then I run.
I run harder and faster than I’ve ever run in my entire life.
I run all the way back to the garage apartment in 110-degree heat.
I shut the door behind me.
Lock it.
Feel every muscle in my body tighten from exertion.