by McLean, Jay
Leo.
It’s a name, a boy, a memory I try not to think about because just like the notion of “home,” I don’t quite know where to place him in my mind.
And in my heart.
As soon as I stepped foot in the house, I was hit with nostalgia. Nothing had changed in there, and when I closed my eyes, I could smell Papa’s cooking on the stove, hear the soft melodies of Otis Redding and Marvin Gaye. Suddenly, I was disappointed in myself for not coming back sooner. It had been almost a year, the longest I’d ever gone without seeing Papa, and I missed him. And really, I had no excuse for not coming back… you know, besides the fear that being here would remind me of a certain blue-eyed boy who made insane declarations on a porch swing that had forever been mine, forever been safe… until I had a momentary slip in judgment and decided to give said boy my first kiss on that very same seat.
Okay, I’m being dramatic.
I chose to kiss him.
No regrets.
Still, I couldn’t be around him, and so I left.
Standing in the entryway of my kind-of-home, it occurred to me how still the house was. How quiet. It was a rarity. When Papa was home, there was always music playing, and if not music, then the TV. There was nothing. I left my bags by the front door and went to his room. His bed was made, but he wasn’t there. I checked his bathroom for any sounds, and when I assumed it was safe, I opened the door. He wasn’t there, either. I thought about calling him, but that would ruin the surprise. I’d made sure he didn’t know I was coming. In fact, I’d made up reasons I couldn’t come just so I could see the look of surprise and (hopefully) joy when he saw me.
Finally, after searching the entire house and the perimeter for a whole twenty minutes, calling out his name, I noticed the side door of the barn ajar.
And that’s where I stand now, looking at the back of a shirtless boy—or man, I should say. His back is sculpted with nothing but muscles. His waist is narrow, shoulders broad. He has a broom in his hand, and he’s sweeping the floor. Most of the furniture’s been pushed to the side, some in pieces, and as I move closer, I notice the white wireless earbuds in each ear.
No wonder he didn’t hear me.
He’s wearing a cap backward, so I can’t see his hair clearly, but it’s obvious who it is, and I don’t know why he’s here, but I’m so happy he is. I’d been hoping to surprise him, too. It’s been too long, and our phone calls have become less and less over the past year. The floorboards squeak beneath my feet as I stop behind him, lift a hand, and tap on his shoulder. “Holden!”
He turns quickly.
It’s his eyes I notice first, and then everything else, all at once.
Leo’s name catches in my throat as if saying it out loud will make him disappear. I’m sure he says something, or at least his lips move, but I don’t hear anything over the thumping of my heart. Ducking his head, he takes out an earbud, those eyes of his taking me in from head to toe, and I feel it again: bare, exposed, unprotected.
But it’s different now. It’s electric.
And then his lips kick up. One corner first, and then the other, and then I’m in his arms, and he’s lifting me off the floor, and I’m letting him. And I shouldn’t let him because it’s the reason I left so abruptly in the first place. After that kiss, I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to crawl into bed with him, under the covers, and let him hold me and touch me and never stop kissing me, and it would’ve been so, so perfect. Until it wasn’t.
He keeps his face nuzzled in the crook of my neck as he lowers me back to the floor, back to reality. “Jesus, Mia. What are you doing here?”
I laugh, like a bubble bursting from deep in my chest. “What are you doing here?” His hands settle on my waist, while mine settle on his biceps. They’re somehow both firm and soft. I should let go. I don’t.
“You first.”
“I live here,” I tell him, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Leo clucks his tongue, his nose scrunching. “Nope, pretty sure you live in New York, and your grandpa said you weren’t coming this summer, so...”
For a second, I let myself believe that Leo came here for me. Obviously, I was wrong. That would’ve been impossible considering no one knew I was coming. I drop my hands to my sides and try not to look at the perfection that is a shirtless Leo Preston. Jesus, take the wheel.
I take a step back—a teeny, tiny one—asking, “So, why are you here?”
“He asked me to—well, I called—”
“You called?”
He finally lets go of my waist and takes his own step away. With a shrug, he says, “I check in on him occasionally.”
Warmth fills my chest. “You do?”
He nods. “He said that you weren’t coming this summer,” he repeats.
“I wanted to surprise him.”
A hiss sounds from between his teeth, and he’s doing that adorable nose-scrunching thing again.
And then it hits me. “He’s not here, is he?”
Leo shakes his head, almost apologetic.
My heart sinks, and I pout. I can’t help it. “Where is he?”
“Some RV road-trip thing with his friend Philip…” He trails off, his words heightening in pitch toward the end as if I should’ve known this information. I didn’t.
I try to hide my disappointment. “For how long?”
Leo squats to pick up the broom that he dropped when his hands became busy lifting me. “A couple of weeks,” he says, still crouched down. His eyes are level with my bare legs, and they focus there for a beat before making a slow trail up my length and back to my face. “He said you were too busy with your boyfriend to visit.”
I thrust my head back in frustration. “I just said that to throw him off.”
“The too-busy part or the boyfriend part?” Leo asks, standing to full height. I realize now why I assumed he was Holden. Leo’s grown at least a couple of inches, and his body… it’s no wonder I believe in God because his body is definitely a divine gift to women.
Aaaand I’m staring.
And blushing.
Crap.
“The too-busy part,” I manage to say.
“So the boyfriend part is real?” he asks, one eyebrow cocked.
I nod. “Yes, the boyfriend part is real.” And as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I take three full steps back, because dang it, Mia! You have a boyfriend, and you shouldn’t be looking at other boys the way you’re looking at Leo effing Preston.
“Huh,” Leo deadpans, pushing the broom back and forth. “So little Mia Mackenzie Kovács is all grown up.”
My eyes narrow to slits, and I don’t know what part of his statement I want to be pissed off about first. “It’s pronounced Ko-vatch,” I tell him. Yeah, because that’s relevant.
“That’s what I said.” He shrugs.
I shake my head. “No, you said Ko-vax, like pro-vax. It’s pronounced Ko-vatch.”
The boy smirks and covers the distance between us in the time it takes me to blink. Towering over me, his eyes study mine before dropping to my mouth. “Say it again.”
“Ko… vatch,” I breathe out, my voice as small as I feel.
“One more time,” he orders, his mouth an inch from mine.
I lick my lips, repeat myself.
When he pulls back, his smile is cocky. “I just really like the way your mouth moves when you say it.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Mia
Crap.
Crud.
And, wait for it…
Fuck.
This situation is absolutely worthy of a curse because fuck. I was not at all prepared for this.
My phone rings in the pocket of my shorts, and I already know who it is without having to look. When I pulled into the house, I’d been on the phone with him, and I’d told him I’d call him back in a minute. That was, what? Thirty? Forty minutes ago? Who knows how long I’ve been standing in the barn with Leo while he’s explained everything th
at led to him being here? According to him, he’d call my grandpa every few weeks just to check in. It was the second day of summer break when one of those phone calls occurred. Leo had mentioned to him that he was doing some assignments for some extra credits and was spending most of his time in the library because his house didn’t afford him the quiet he needed. Then, Grandpa told him that he was going on this random road trip, which was, at the very least, an odd thing for my grandpa to do, and that he’d be grateful if Leo would come and house-sit while he was gone. He got here a few days ago, and Grandpa mentioned, off-handedly, that he’d appreciate if Leo could clear out the barn while he was here, which is where we are now.
Me, standing in front of Leo Preston, while he gives me those eyes, and that smirk, and my phone is still ringing. Balls.
“Are you going to answer that?” Leo asks. He still has the broom in his hand, swiping back and forth. He hasn’t moved spots. Just keeps cleaning the already clean floors.
I hesitate, because Leo’s standing there, waiting, that one eyebrow quirked, and Drake—my boyfriend—knows enough about me to know that Leo Preston standing in front of me is probably not a good thing... for all parties involved. Leo’s staring at my general waist area where Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together” plays from my phone—Drake’s ringtone.
When it finally stops playing, Leo looks up at me, those piercing blue eyes judging me. “It’s complicated,” I tell him before he has a chance to ask.
Complicated is an understatement, and when Leo’s face doesn’t change, I cross my arms and narrow my eyes. Leo smiles to one side, drops his gaze, and focuses on sweeping again. “Does Holden know your back, or did you plan on surprising him, too?”
My arms are still crossed when I tell him, “No and yes. In that order. Unless you plan on ruining that, too.”
“How did I ruin things?” Leo glances up, just his eyes, and that judgment is back again. His tone is even, calm, when he deadpans, “You’ve changed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap.
He offers a lazy shrug and puts the broom against the nearest wall. “You’re, like, feisty.”
Eyes wide, mouth hanging open, I glare at him. I am not feisty. I’m just… protecting myself. I have to around him, otherwise… otherwise, I’ll lose myself in him again, and that’s the last thing I want. Or need.
He shrugs on a shirt, completely unaware of the thoughts circling my mind. When he turns to me, he says, those judgmental eyes now dark with an emotion I’m all too familiar with, “You better close that mouth, Mia Ko-vatch, before I pull out something to fill it.”
My jaw snaps shut, heat burning every inch of my flesh. And then I punch his shoulder. Hard. The boy laughs, the sound bouncing off the walls. “I was just testing you,” he says, taking my hand, as if I’m a child needing help to cross the road, and leading me to the door.
“Testing what?”
“How much you’ve changed.” He doesn’t let go of me as he walks me to my grandpa’s truck, opens the passenger door for me. He motions for me to get inside, but I stand my ground and tug out of his hold.
“And?” I ask because I’m curious. It’s been a year since we’ve had any contact. Things have changed. “How much?”
Leo shakes his head, his eyes holding more power than he knows what to do with. “Not a lot,” he says, lifting me by my waist onto the seat. “You’re still my Mia.”
A single moment, a minute, a lifetime. That’s how long it takes for my mind to catch up to what my ears have just devoured.
I don’t take a breath. Not a single one. He’s still watching me, his eyes shifting in minuscule movements. It’s as if he’s memorizing every inch of my face. Like a cattle prod burning into flesh, he’s taking in every dip, every bump, every hue of every feature, and searing it into his brain.
Too late, I respond, my voice just above a whisper, “I’m not your anything.”
Unlike me, his response is instant. “We’ll see.” And then he shuts my door, and I watch with bated breath as he makes his way around the car and gets behind the wheel as if all of this is completely normal.
Swallowing my nerves, my mind’s still playing catch-up as I tug on my seatbelt, asking, “Where are we going?”
“Holden and I had plans to meet up for lunch at the diner. You can surprise him there.”
Eyes wide in shock, I stare at his profile. “So many questions,” I mutter, and Leo chuckles.
“Lucky we have all summer.” He starts the truck and puts it in gear, but he doesn’t make a move to leave. When he turns to me, I don’t see the Leo I walked in on today, the one full of sexual innuendo. And I don’t even see the version of him I gave my first kiss to. This Leo is fifteen years old, and he’s just about to tell me his greatest fear in life. “You’re going to stay this time, right?”
I look away, because the vulnerability in his eyes may just blind me. “Maybe,” I breathe out.
“Maybe,” he repeats. “That’s good.”
My eyes, my heart, my everything gravitates to him again. “It is?”
“Well, a maybe’s not a no.” He cracks a smile. “Because you know what they say about no. No is—”
“A complete sentence,” I finish for him, and then we’re moving.
I ignore the constant strumming of my pulse against my flesh, and the way my lungs expand when I breathe in his scent. I ignore the way the backs of his knuckles skim my bare knee every time he changes gears and the way my body breaks out in tiny little bumps. And I ignore that those bumps seem to float across my skin, searching, trying to create a safe space for the butterflies in my stomach to land.
When we get to the diner, my phone rings again.
And I ignore that, too.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Leo
I don’t know who I am when I’m with her.
That’s the thought that gets trapped in my head for the entire ride to the diner. It’s on loop, ricocheting off the walls of my mind, and I want it out so badly I almost say it out loud.
Almost.
“Bro, you took long enough. I gotta get go…” Holden’s words die in the air when he finally looks up from his phone and sees Mia standing beside me. His grin is slow at first, and then all-consuming. He starts to get up, but for some reason, he catches himself and sits back down, his lips formed into a line. “How are you?” he asks, focused on his phone again. There’s a hint of contempt in his tone, and I don’t know where the hell it’s coming from.
Next to me, Mia heaves out a breath. “I’m um… good. You?”
She doesn’t make a move to enter the booth, just stands beside me. An inch closer, as if needing my protection.
“Good,” Holden responds, dropping the phone. He glances up at her, and then right back down. “When did you get in?”
“This morning.”
Holden looks at her now, really looks at her. And I question if he sees the same thing I do, that she’s changed. The Mia he’s known is the same one I do. A small-town country girl who lived in denim cut-offs, tank tops, and plaid shirts. Until about an hour ago, I hadn’t seen her with even a hint of makeup. When I saw her today, I had to do a double take. Her hair’s the same, except the natural waves are straightened, and I’ll be the first to admit I don’t know shit about clothes, but the ones she’s wearing look soft, like silk or linen. The shorts are pale blue and shimmer beneath the diner lights, same with the matching oversized blazer. And her top is more a blouse, same shimmery fabric, tucked into her shorts. And then gold. So much gold. Around her neck and wrists and her fingers, her ears. And she’s in heels. Which, yeah, is hot, but it just… I don’t know. She doesn’t look like our Mia. She looks too grown-up, even for a seventeen-year-old.
I say, because someone needs to say something, “Sorry I’m late. I was about to leave, but then she walked in and…”
“All good,” he tells me, but he’s looking at her. “I already ordered for you.” When his eyes meet mine, there’
s a silent request, one I pick up on immediately.
“I have to use the restroom,” I tell whoever is listening and don’t wait for a response before leaving them alone.
I take my time, and when I get back, Mia’s in the booth doing all the talking. Holden’s leaning back, eyes on the ceiling, fists balled on the table. I don’t hear what she’s saying, but I clear my throat loudly and make my presence known. Mia sits back, her arms at her sides, while Holden shakes his head.
Miss Sandra appears with our orders, and Holden smiles up at her. “Sorry, Miss Sandra. Is it okay if I get my order to go?” What is happening?
“Sure, baby,” she tells him. “Your dad got you working extra hard, huh?”
Holden nods and waits for her to leave before telling me, “I’ll catch up with you later, man.” And then he’s up and waiting at the counter for his order.
I turn to Mia. “What’s with you two?”
She laughs once, her painted red lips twisted in annoyance. “Distance is hard.”
I study Mia’s face like I’ve done many times before. I know almost all the different versions of it. I’ve seen the sad, the desperate, the lonely, the free, the funny, and the adoring. But I’ve never, not until now, seen the dishonest.
* * *
Mia’s quiet on the ride home, just like she was at the diner. As soon as we get back to the house, she busies herself with texting on her phone and doesn’t say a word as she practically marches into the house. I know enough about girls to leave her alone, so I make myself scarce and go back to working in the barn. Last summer, after Mia left, John showed me what was inside the barn and the history behind it. When he asked me to clear it out, he mentioned he didn’t have a clue what he wanted in there, but it seemed like a waste of space having it sit the way it was.
I work with earbuds in, music blasting, until the sun goes down and I feel it safe to enter the house again. When I come out, Mia’s sitting on the porch, on the floor in front of the rails, with a mug in her hand, steam floating from the top. She’s still in the same clothes, but the heels are next to her, discarded, like the lying liars they are.