by McLean, Jay
“Like, does he treat you well? Is he kind? Respectful?”
Eyes coated in sadness and covered with heartache, she nods once.
And even though I really, really don’t want to know, I have to ask, “Does he love you?”
Her reply is instant. “Yes.”
“Do you love him?”
Her silence gives me all the answers I need.
She loves him.
And she loved me.
I fiddle with the clasp of my bracelet, unable to look at her. “I just spoke to Lucas. He’s pretty busy right now with work and taking care of Laney, so he can’t get off until next weekend. It should give me enough time to finish off the barn and then—”
“You’re leaving?”
My pent-up exhale is ragged, and against all better judgment, my eyes gravitate to hers again. The remnants of her tears leave a trail down her cheek, and I don’t know why she’s crying. “It’s too fucking hard being here with you, Mia. I just… I can’t take this shit anymore.” Mia and I—we’re teetering on the edge, tiptoeing a tightrope, and there’s only one harness. One of us is going to fall, crash-land, and shatter to pieces. And the other’s going to walk away unharmed.
I’d take the hit.
Again and again.
As long as she walks away happy.
But something has to give.
I get up, done with the conversation, and head for the door.
“Leo, wait.”
I turn to her.
“I told him about you just now… about you staying here.”
“And?”
“And…” She hesitates. “He’s flying in to see me.”
My fists ball. “When?”
“Tomorrow.”
I slam the door between us, my pulse racing, that anger and rage building and building, just like the old me—the one who carried too much hate in my heart. But it’s worse now because I don’t have anywhere to direct that hate.
It’s impossible to hate her.
Because she was wrong.
So fucking wrong.
I can see love.
And I see it every time I look at her.
Chapter Forty-Two
Mia
Leo’s awake, and he’s moving around, and I don’t want to get out of bed. I don’t want to see him, because I don’t know what version of him will greet me.
Last night, when I told Drake that Leo was here and that he’d been here the whole time, he went silent. All I heard at his end was the clicking of keys on a keyboard, and then he told me he’d booked the next flight and to organize the car service to pick him up. So I did. And then as quickly as our conversation spiraled down, it went back to normal. He didn’t speak Leo’s name. Not once.
I expected him to accuse me of cheating, of lying by omission, and to be fair, he had every right to. But he didn’t.
The thing is, if he had questioned those things, I don’t know that I would’ve denied it. Sure, Leo and I hadn’t done anything. Not technically. Not physically. But emotionally… I was torn. And that—that, I couldn’t deny.
Groaning into the pillow, I reach over to the nightstand and check my phone.
Drake: About to take off. GPS says it’s an hour-and-a-half drive from the airport. I’ll be there soon.
I don’t bother replying. He’s already in the air.
The water pipes clank, and the shower switches on, and I close my eyes, smash my face in the pillow. Again and again.
Minutes pass, and the shower ends.
I wait a half-hour, and then, like the super-creep I am, I tiptoe down the stairs to make sure Leo isn’t there. Both the bathroom and his bedroom door are open, and he’s not in either one. He’s not on the landing. I practically run to the bathroom and take the quickest shower known to man. I should’ve brought my clothes, but I was in too much of a rush (hysterics) that I didn’t think of it. Wrapping a towel around myself, I open the door a crack, and when I feel the coast is clear, I step out. I make it one full step when Leo appears in the stairway to the kitchen. He’s in neatly pressed slacks and a button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His tanned forearm is a stark contrast to the bright silver of the laptop he’s holding. I freeze, gripping the towel to my collarbone. He stares, unabashed, absolutely no trace of emotion on his face. And because it’s quiet, too quiet, and neither of us is moving, I say, “You look nice.” I hate myself for saying it, and I wish the world would swallow me whole.
He stares at me, right into my eyes, his brow knitted. He doesn’t speak.
I clear my throat, take one more step toward my room. “Are you going out?”
He blinks. “I’m going to church with Holden.”
My eyes widen. “You are?”
He steps onto the landing and starts packing some books into a backpack. With his back to me, he asks, “I take it you’re not coming?”
I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “Drake… he’s um…” I don’t like saying Drake’s name around Leo. It feels wrong, like lightning cracking behind a rainbow.
Leo turns, slinging the backpack over his shoulder, and, without looking my direction, he says, “I’ll see you after then.” He’s halfway down the stairs before he mumbles, oozing with sarcasm, “Can’t wait to meet the guy.”
Leo
After last night’s conversation with Mia about faith, I had every intention of going to church, just to see what it was like. But as Holden pulls into a spot in the parking lot, I start to regret everything. There are people milling around the outskirts of the old building, kids playing, adults talking, and there’s just too many of them. And they’re all laughing and smiling, and this is the absolute last place I want to be. “That’s the pastor,” Holden says, pointing to an older man with graying hair. “See the woman next to him?”
“Yeah?”
“Looks like his daughter, right?”
I shrug, saying, “I guess.”
“That’s his wife,” Holden says through a chuckle, and I face him. When his eyes meet mine, he sighs. “You really don’t want to be here, do you?”
“I thought I did, dude, but…”
“That’s cool,” he says, putting the car in reverse. His tires squeal as we peel out of the parking lot, and I almost crack a smile. “So, I’m guessing your mood has something to do with Mia, and therefore, we’re not going to talk about it.”
“You guessed right.”
He doesn’t say another word as he drives, and just when I think he’s bringing me back to hell, we pass Mia’s house and end up at his. I’d only been to his house once before, and it was so he could get his phone. I never got out of the truck.
“Okay,” he says, taking the keys out of the ignition and turning to me. “I’m going to be honest; I’ve never really been in your position before. Like, in love or whatever.” He actually looks pained at the word love. “But whenever I’m in a shitty-ass mood, I give myself four options.”
“Okay…”
“You ready?”
I laugh once. “Hit me.”
“Option one: PlayStation. Shoot some virtual people?”
“Eh.”
He nods. “Option two: shoot some real guns?”
“Getting closer.”
“Option three,” he says and points to his glove box. I drop the lid, pull out the only thing in there, which is a bag full of gummy bears.
I look over at him. “Sugar high?”
He smiles. “Edibles, my friend.”
“It’s like, nine thirty in the morning…”
“I haven’t slept.” He shrugs. “Ready for option four?”
“I don’t think I am,” I mumble, inspecting the weed gummies.
“Option four is all of the above.”
I crack a smile.
“Option four it is.” He looks toward the house. “My old man’s home, so if he asks, those are just some generic-ass gummy bears. Yo, put them in your pocket, okay?”
I shove them in my pocket and
then follow him into the house. Holden’s dad is huge. And it’s obvious where Holden gets his build from. That’s about as much as they have in common, at least that I can see in the two minutes I spend with him. He’s quiet, soft-spoken, and polite. All things Holden is not. He leads me toward his room, and then closes the door after us. It smells like teen boy, sex, and dirty socks. It smells like Logan. Not Logan’s room. Just Logan in general. He must pick up on my reaction because he chuckles, then slides open a window, saying, “Brianna stayed here last night. She was gone when I woke up. Thank God.”
Nodding, I look around the room. There’s a queen bed in one corner and a twin in the other. “That was Mia’s bed,” he tells me. “Don’t bother sniffing the pillows. She hasn’t slept in it in years. “
“Shut up.” And also: how did he know?
We down an edible each, kill some losers on the PlayStation, down another edible, and somehow still have the smarts to decide that maybe touching a real-life gun isn’t the best idea.
“Can I ask you something?” Holden says. He’s lying on the floor, on his back, with his legs up against the wall. I’m in Mia’s old bed hugging her pillow. We are not high. Probably. “Why are you putting yourself through this hell with Mia? Why not just hook up with some random girl and get over it?”
“Uhh, because that’s not how shit works.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve tried.” Minutes of comfortable silence pass, and I say, “How come you only do the hook-up thing?”
Holden sighs, so long it’s almost as if he’s sucked in all the air in this house just for the one sound. Both legs slide against the wall, counterclockwise, until his entire body is turned to me. “My mom, mainly.” In my blazed mental state, the first thing I think is incest, and that’s so fucking wrong on so many levels. “Mia told you about my mom and her dad, right?”
“Yeah, she did.”
“She got burned pretty fucking bad, and my mom—she’s, like, The Best. Literally. But she fell in love too young, and all those emotions that come with love shouldn’t be in the hands of teenagers. That’s why they took away life sentences for minors who are murderers. Our brains, at this age, can’t handle that shit. But here I am, and so is Mia, and now we’re our parents’ life sentence. Don’t get me wrong; my mom loves me. She loves me way more than I deserve, but she’s thirty-four years old, and she’s never really lived. Mia and I—we’ve been her entire life since she was seventeen, and so… the last thing I want is to repeat history.” I wonder if he realizes just how much of himself he’s revealing to me. “It’d be nice though,” he continues, “to have a girl love me… like, look at me the way Mia looks at you.”
I scoff. “Like she wants to poison me in my sleep? Mia hates me, bro.”
“She doesn’t hate you. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. Maybe it’s the same thing, you know? She’s scared of love because her parents fucked with her head so bad. Or maybe it’s the age thing too. I mean, name anyone who meets that young and falls in love and stays together. I bet you can’t.”
“My sister and her husband.”
His eyes widen, just slightly. “Yeah?”
“Yep. They were fifteen. They’d gone to school together pretty much their entire lives, but my sister’s that shy, quiet bookworm type, and Cam’s always been the popular jock, so they didn’t really run in the same circles.”
Holden sits up now, yawns, and asks, “So how’d they get together?”
“I have little twin brothers and Cameron coached them in baseball. I guess he saw her there. And then…” I lick the dryness off my lips. “And then my mom died, and I don’t really know how or why, but Cameron just started showing up and kind of helping out. He played with us and kept us occupied while she took care of my baby brother. He was only eight months when Mom died, so… anyway, they’re together and married, and yeah, it’s not been easy, but it’s possible.”
He stares off at nothingness, and I think maybe he checked out, didn’t hear a word I said. But then he mumbles, “Maybe that’s the difference between you and Mia.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, you see how good things can turn out, and she only has proof of the bad.” His phone goes off with a text, and he’s quick to check it. “Shit. It’s Mia. She’s asking when I’m coming by.” He faces me. “Giddy the fuck up, bro. Shit’s about to get real.”
Holden asks, as he pulls out of his house to take the two-minute drive to Mia’s, “You ready for this?” By this, he means Drake.
“No,” I tell him honestly. “Do you even know what he looks like?” In my mind, he looks like the Drake, musician and actor.
Holden nods as he loosens his tie, then removes it completely and throws it in the backseat. It joins a bunch of other clothes, a mix of girls’ and guys’. I’d forgotten we were still in our church clothes. “He looks like Lord Farquaad.”
I stifle my chuckle. “Shut up.”
“Miniature-lookin’ dude, square head, shoulder-length black hair and fucked-up bangs,” he jokes.
I picture a real-life version of the Shrek character and bust out a laugh.
Holden laughs with me and then squares his shoulders, takes in a huge breath. “Nah, to be honest, he kind of looks like you. Like a preppy, Walmart version of you.” He ruffles my hair. “Handsome motherfucker.”
I try to resettle my hair. “You’re an idiot.”
Silence passes, and then he says, “Look, I know we’re friends—you and me—and I hope you don’t take it personally if I’m nice to the guy.”
Turning to him, I shake my head.
“It’s just…” He shrugs. “Mia’s my girl, you know?”
“I get it, man.”
“And this guy means something to her, so…”
“Don’t even worry about it.”
“Yeah?” He glances at me quickly before focusing on the road again. “Because I really like this little bromance thing we have going.” He sits taller, clearing his throat. “Anyway, did you see the rack on the pastor’s wife? Got ‘em last year. What I wouldn’t give…”
“There’s something wrong with you, dude.”
He blows me a kiss. “Love me anyway.”
We pull into the driveway, and he cuts the engine, then turns to me. “In all seriousness, do I need to be ready for a fight or something? Because you could take him… if you wanted to.”
I shake my head. “I’m not going to fight him.”
“Good,” he says, opening the door. “My face is too fucking pretty to be taking blows for your pathetic, love-sick ass.”
Drake… is… wearing a sweater vest.
That’s the first thing I notice.
The second is that he’s sitting on the kitchen island with Mia standing between his legs. They both turn to us as we stop just inside the door, and Drake hops off the counter, approaching us with a blindingly fake smile and a hand out in front of him. “Holden, man, it’s good to finally meet you.”
I step to the side so Holden can shake his hand. “Yeah, bro, you too.”
I cross my arms, stare at Mia—the fake Mia with the fancy clothes and the makeup and roll my eyes. She notices, but she doesn’t react.
“And you’re Leo.” Drake’s in front of me, his hand out, and I look down at it… at hands that have touched Mia in ways I’ve only ever dreamed of.
I suck in air through my nose.
Inside me, something cracks, detonates.
Holden whispers, “Jesus Christ.”
“I can’t.” I look at Mia and shrug. “Sorry.” I’m not. I shove past Drake and make my way upstairs.
“Nice guy,” Drake cracks.
“Fuck off,” I murmur.
“Leo!” Mia yells, and I can hear the click-clack of her lying liar heels following after me. I try to shut my door, but she’s right there, pushing it back open.
I shrug out of my shirt just as she shouts, “What is wrong with you?” Then slams the door behind her.
/>
I spin to her. “Me?” I say, a hell of a lot quieter than her. “What’s wrong with you, Mia? Who the fuck are you right now?”
“Shut up!” she whispers, patting down her perfectly straightened hair.
I give myself a moment to breathe, calm the fuck down, and then take her in from head to toe. She’s pressed against the door, arms stiff at her sides, painted red lips twisted in a snarl. She’s in a low-cut, thin-strapped top tucked into a flowy skirt, and everything is positioned just right. And then it hits me. “You haven’t let him touch you, have you?” I close in on her, so close I can feel her every exhale warm my flesh.
Eyes narrowed, she mumbles, “What are you talking about?”
I reach up, finger the ends of her hair. “Your hair’s perfect. Your clothes too.” I shrug. “I’m just saying, if you were my girl and I hadn’t seen you in weeks, I’d have fucking ravaged you the minute I saw you.”
Her eyes dip to my bare stomach, then right back up. She tries to hide her reaction, her lust, but I see it there, hidden beneath her façade.
“I don’t see why you have to change your clothes,” I tell her. “I think you look hot—”
“You don’t have to like my clothes,” she cuts in, and there’s a tiny little hint of a smirk on her lips. She runs a finger across my collarbone, her eyes never leaving mine. Then she pushes a finger into my chest. “I’m not wearing them for you. You—you…”
I quirk an eyebrow. “I’m a… what?”
Her cheeks flame red, and she whispers, as if it hurts to say, “Little bitch.”
I don’t stifle my laugh in time. “Such a dirty word from such a pure, innocent mouth.”
“Shut up,” she laughs, shoving my shoulder. I grasp her wrist, keep her hand on my bare chest. She’s the one who chooses to lower it, all the way until her palm’s flat against my stomach. My cock stirs when her eyes meet mine, and she doesn’t look away.
Hmm. She wants to play. “I like some of your clothes,” I tell her, and I’m removing my belt, shifting closer until our fronts are practically touching. Then I dip my head, my mouth to her ear. “I like those heels.” Her breath hitches, and I move closer again, my hand going to her waist. “The first night you were here, when you slept in my bed, I was dreaming about them.” My words are low, my mouth so close to her skin I’m sure she can feel the vibration of my voice. “You. In your heels. Nothing else. While I fucked you so hard against this very door that the entire house shook.”