Leo: A More Than Series Spin-Off

by McLean, Jay

  And then it’s suddenly cold, and he’s moving away, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes. He laughs once, but it’s sad, and it’s empty. “Do you think this is easy on me, Mia?” He can barely get the words out.

  I try to stand taller on already weak legs and drop my hands to my sides.

  His voice rises when he says, “It’s fucking killing me to have to see you with another guy! To see the way he touches you! The way he puts his hands all over you! The way he fucking kisses you!” Every word spat is filled with venom, and his face twists with torment. “It’s destroying me, Mia! And I don’t know how the fuck you can’t see that!” His breaths are ragged, harsh against the stillness around us. “You were always mine!” he yells, then takes a moment to compose himself. “In my head”—he points to his temple, his eyes never leaving mine—“and in my heart”—his palm flattens on his chest—“you were always mine.” He inhales a sharp breath. “Since I was thirteen years old. Five fucking years. Every summer I spent with you, and every single day in between, I’ve been in love with you, Mia!” His voice breaks. “It’s always been you!”

  My chest rises and falls with every breath, my pulse beating to the rhythm of every word he’s just said. Every truth he’s just declared. And every lie left unspoken.

  “And now I’m standing here, pouring my fucking heart out to you, and you can’t say shit!”

  “Shut up!” I hiss.

  He laughs, his eyes wide in disbelief. “I can’t fucking take this—” That’s as far as he gets before I cover his mouth with mine. He’s quick to find my waist, to curl those large hands around my frame, while I stand on my toes, trying to reach every single part of him. I touch him everywhere, gliding my hands over his bare shoulders, chest, stomach, and back up again. I pull on his hair to separate our mouths, needing to fill my lungs with their life source. I gasp for air while his lips find my neck, sucking, biting, teasing. His hands move up my sides, and when his thumbs stroke the tips of my breasts through my top, I release a guttural moan that has my head throwing back in pleasure. His lips curve against my skin. “So fucking perfect,” he whispers.

  I find his mouth again, my tongue sliding against his lips, begging for entrance, and when he gifts me with the taste of him, I almost fall apart in his arms. He crouches down so he can lift the bottom of my shirt. He doesn’t remove it. His hands, rough and warm, explore every inch of skin between my hip and my breast, and I subconsciously arch my back, needing his touch, offering myself to him. He pulls away, just an inch. “Where the fuck is your boyfriend now?” he murmurs, his dark, dark eyes searching mine.

  “Stop talking.” I kiss him again, hands splayed against his stomach, and this time—it’s his turn to moan. It comes from deep in his throat, and it’s so fucking sexy, I feel the effects of that sound thrum against my core. And then his hands are on my ass, squeezing hard, and I’m being lifted in the air, my legs folded around him, my arms around his neck, and I don’t stop kissing him. Not for a second. I could die in his kiss. And live happily in my death. “Off,” he orders, tugging on my shirt, right before he drops me down on the mattress. I drop like a rag doll and steady myself. He’s standing in front of me, every perfect inch of him. My eyes are level with the bulge trapped in his jeans, and I reach out, undo the button, then lower his zipper. I start to tug down, but he grasps my wrist, tight, stopping me from going any further. When I look up, his eyes are half-hooded as he stares down at me, his nostrils flaring, his jaw set. He motions to my chest. “Off.”

  I hesitate a moment and look around the room. The only light comes from a lamp next to the couch, and so it’s dark enough that he won’t see the stretch marks marring my hips.

  “Mia,” he deadpans, and he’s losing his patience. He has a hand inside his boxer shorts, stroking his length. “Off.” It’s not an order this time. It’s a plea.

  Slowly, self-consciously, I lift my shirt over my head and expose myself to him. His reaction is instant. His eyes widen, just a tad, and he bites down on his lip. I close my eyes for only one second, trying to regain some strength, and when I open them again, he’s shrugging out of his jeans, his erection tenting his boxers. It’s so fucking close, I could move my mouth one inch forward and taste him through the fabric. “Don’t,” he warns, and he must sense what I’m thinking. He cups the side of my face, holding my head up so my eyes focus on his. “You’re too fucking pure for that,” he murmurs, and then his lips tick up at the corners. “For now.”

  I don’t want to be pure, I don’t say. I want him to grab the back of my head and use me for his pleasure. I want to be dirty, filthy, vile.

  His.

  He climbs on top of me, his weight held up by his forearm. His mouth finds my neck while his hand glides up my side. His kisses leave a trail of wetness down my chest, and he’s so fucking close. His hand covers my breast, gently touching, exploring, and I lift my knees, squeeze my legs together, try to create friction to ease out my release.

  He’s so slow.

  So methodical.

  I close my eyes, waiting, waiting.

  And then his mouth is on my nipple, tasting, teasing, and I jerk in response, my entire body in flames. My legs shake, toes curl, as I reach up, my fingers curling in his hair. “Oh, god,” I whisper, and his mouth moves from one breast to the other. I’m so hot, so turned on, I fear that I could combust. Right here. Right now. But then I feel the backs of his fingers slide down my stomach and tease at the waistband of my underwear. I lift my head, look down at him, but he’s already watching me, his tongue swirling around my pointed flesh. Then he parts his lips, taking my breast in his mouth, and then slowly, slowly, drags his teeth back, biting gently. My core pulses, releasing evidence of my pleasure, and then his hand lowers, past the smattering of hair, and he says, almost undoing me completely, “Spread those perfect fucking legs for me, baby.”

  “Oh, god,” I breathe out, and my knees fall apart, and I’m open. To him. For him.

  He moans against my breast when he feels how wet he’s made me. And then he uses that wetness and presses the tip of his finger to separate my folds, the length of two fingers sliding against my clit. “Leo,” I beg, holding him to me. “I can’t take much more.”

  “You’ll take it all,” he says, so lazy and free.

  I plead with him, “Kiss me!”

  And so he does. He kisses me like a man dying of thirst, and I’m his oasis. I try to reach down, to touch him, skin on skin, to circle my fingers around his cock and return the pleasure he’s giving me. He’s too tall, and I can’t reach, and he says against my mouth, pulling his hips away, “You first, Mia.”

  I’m nothing but shallow breaths and sweat and fire. And he won’t stop teasing, and I can’t stop thrusting because I need more, more, more, and I’m so close to the edge, I beg, “Please, Leo.”

  He smiles against my mouth, right before his fingers slide inside me. I gasp, the sudden pain so extreme it catches my breath and locks up every muscle. I don’t know if it’s a loud cry or a whimper that comes out of me. Tears prick my eyes from the sharpness of the ache between my legs, and before I can stop them, they’re out, and they’re free, and Leo is watching me, his fingers stilled, but deep inside. “Mia,” he breathes out, and there’s no color in his face. Eyes wide, he slowly, carefully, pulls out of me, and I choke on a sob, on my fear and shame. He looks down at his fingers, the tips smeared with my pleasure mixed with innocence. It’s not a lot of blood, but it’s enough for him to know, and he looks up at me, his lips parted. Not a single breath leaves him in the seconds I stare at him. And then he’s up, moving so fast, my pathetic eyes can’t track him. He’s at the kitchen sink, washing my filth off his fingers. “You should’ve fucking told me, Mia!” he yells over his shoulder.

  I pull my knees up to my chest, suddenly too exposed, and murmur, “You never asked.”

  “You’ve been with your boyfriend for a year!” he accuses, standing in front of me again, his hands on his hips. “I just assu
med…”

  I don’t hear anything else he says because my mind catches on the word boyfriend, and it stays there, mocking me, ridiculing me, reminding me of my sins. I pick up my shirt and shrug it back on. My legs wobble when I first stand on them, and my feet are lead. Every step feels like a thud against the floorboards. “We’d all hear that fat heifer coming up the stairs!” It’s Logan’s voice I hear—his description of me climbing the stairs. My tears feel like loose pieces of wood from the dock as I stood beneath it, cracking, splintering, raining down on me.

  “Mia, hey.” Leo’s mouth is at my ear when he holds me from behind, his arms wrapped tightly around me. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. Again. I’m just…” He forcibly turns me to him and cradles my face, tilting my head back. His thumbs swipe at the tears, one after the other. “I’m just scared,” he says. “Because I don’t know what this means—you being here and us… doing this.”

  I push down the lump in my throat. “I don’t know, either,” I mumble.

  His hold on me loosens. “So what? You’re going to go back to him, crawl into bed beside him and pretend like you and me—”

  “No, Leo. We’re not even sleeping in the same bed.”

  His gaze searches mine, and then he blinks, his eyes widening as if his vision’s suddenly clear. I wonder if he sees the same things I feel: dirty, filthy, vile. He holds me closer. “I’ll fight him for you, if that’s what it takes.

  “You don’t have to do that, Leo.”

  “Why not?”

  I rear back and sigh—the sound of finally resigning to years and years of torment and heartache. “Because you’ve already won.” It kills me to push him away. “I have to go.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Mia

  The sun’s just beginning to rise when I force my eyes open and climb out of Papa’s bed. I send Drake a text telling him that I’m going out to grab something for breakfast, then change quickly and step outside. The morning air is crisp against my nostrils, and it agitates my lungs, heightening my already upset mood. It only takes twenty minutes to walk to Holden’s house. Even though his dad might already be up and working, I don’t knock on the front door. Instead, I walk around the side and practically slam a closed fist on his bedroom window. The curtains part and a half-asleep, shirtless Holden appears. Behind him is Brianna, holding the covers to her chest. I roll my eyes and mouth, “I need to talk to you.”

  He nods, holds up a finger, and I march back to the front of the house. It doesn’t take long for Holden to come out, dressed in gray sweats and an athletic tee. I move us away from the door and into his front yard. “Does your dad know you have a girl in the house?”

  His eyes squint against the bright sunlight. “Is that why you’re here?” he asks, his voice cracking from lack of use.

  I realize I’m crossing my arms, my stance ready for combat. I try to relax, but agitation crawls beneath my flesh, biting at my insides. “Why’d you bring her to the house?”

  “Who?”

  I shake my head, my lips pursing. “You know who, Holden. Don’t play dumb.”

  “Why do you care?” he asks, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Was your boyfriend not paying you enough attention?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “No, fuck you, Mia,” he spits, and it’s the first time he’s ever spoken to me like this.

  I lean forward, my eyes wide. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

  He rears back. “So you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?” He scoffs. “Classic Mia.”

  “Shut up.”

  “No.”

  “Yes!”

  “No!”

  “Yes!”

  He shakes his head at me. “We’re not kids anymore, Mia Mac,” he says, and there’s a sadness in his voice that has me dropping my guard. “The choices we make—they’re irreversible, and they don’t just affect us, they—”

  The front door opens behind him, and Brianna appears. Holden doesn’t take his eyes off me.

  “Is everything okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” Holden calls out. “Go back to bed. I’ll be there… whenever.”

  Brianna looks between us, then closes the door, does as she’s told. “Good, obedient little girl you have there,” I quip.

  Holden blows out a breath. And then his head tilts to one side, his eyes taking me in. “I like you better when you dress like this.”

  “Haggard?” I ask, one eyebrow quirked.

  He laughs once. “Come on.” He takes my elbow, leads me to the backyard and toward the playhouse his dad had built us when we were kids. It used to seem so big, and now? Now, I’ve outgrown it. Like so many things when it comes to Holden and me.

  Holden has to hunch down all the way to get through the door, and I duck, following after him. We sit against one of the walls, me with my legs crossed and his outstretched. “How long do you think it’s been since we’ve been in here?”

  “Years,” he deadpans. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”

  I run my finger along the window sill, where we carved in our names like we used to do everywhere. Holden + Mia.

  “You know, last year, when you left…” Holden says, and I look over at him. “I’d go by the house, just to check in on your grandpa. It was every couple of days in the beginning, and then it became daily, and I got to know him.”

  “My grandpa?” I ask incredulously.

  “No, you dumbass. Leo!”

  “Oh.”

  “He didn’t talk a lot at first. I’d be doing all the talking, but I realized that he didn’t really have a lot to say. He listened. A lot. And when he did talk, he opened up, and when he opened up, you had no choice but to hear him.”

  A heaviness forms in my chest, and I go back to tracing the letters of our names.

  “He told me everything, Mia. About all the summers you spent together, about waking up and sneaking off on your bikes to go to the water tower. The music you’d play, the conversations you’d have…”

  I fill my lungs with their life source.

  “But he also told me about…”

  Tears fill my eyes instantly, and I wish, pray… God, please no.

  “He told me about that last night you were there… on their lake, about how—”

  “Stop,” I whisper.

  “He cried, Mia… when he was telling me. And guys like us, we don’t fucking cry. Especially to each other. It devastated him, and I—”

  I turn to him, not hiding my emotions. “Then how do you think I feel?” I whisper-yell. “That was the most humiliating, most mortifying experience of my life!”

  “Is that why you won’t give him a chance, because—”

  “No,” I huff out. “That’s not why!”

  Holden stares at me, his eyes shifting from side to side, trying to read me, trying to do the impossible. I’ve built so many walls, layers upon layers of bricks so high no one can get to me. No one can see me.

  “Then why do you—” he shouts, then groans in frustration, the heel of his palm rubbing at his temple. “It’s not fair to him, you inviting your boyfriend—”

  “I didn’t invite him.”

  “—and rubbing it in his face like that!”

  “Whose side are you on?” I demand.

  Holden drops his head between his shoulders. “I didn’t know there were sides, Mia. But Leo cares about you. I’m pretty sure he’s insanely in love with you, and I care about you, too, and I want what’s best for you.”

  “And you think Leo’s it?” I almost sneer.

  He looks up at me now. “Yeah, Mia. I do.”

  Silence passes between us, and I can see it now, a lifetime of friendship thrown away over something he’ll never understand. “You don’t know anything,” I whisper, my throat too tight to speak any louder. He stays quiet while a million thoughts fly through my mind, and I search and search for a way out of this conversation, out of this emotional hell. And the only thing I can come up with is: “I love him, too, you kno
w... it’s not one-sided.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  A sob erupts from my chest, and Holden moves closer, his arm going around my shoulders. Perfect, sympathetic Holden and his broken little toy. I wipe away the tears with the back of my hand, staring down at my lap, because looking at him—knowing that someone else is there to hear my deepest, darkest thoughts, my secrets, my turmoil—it’s too much. “Every time Leo kisses me, or he touches me, or even looks at me…” I pause, try to gather my thoughts. “I think about how easy it would be to give in to him. To us. And I close my eyes, and for a second, I picture my life with him—this perfect life that would last forever. Marriage. Kids. All of it.” I take a breath, and then another. “But it only lasts a second. Because the next thing I see is me as the pathetic, insecure, fourteen-year-old girl, shivering in the cold water of that lake hearing all the horrible things his brothers are saying about me, realizing how they feel—”

  “Mia…” he sighs out, and he holds the back of my head to his chest, taking in my pain and my heartbreak like he’s always done.

  “And I can forgive him for that. I have forgiven him.” I rear back and look up at him. “But I can never step foot on that property again. I can never look his brothers in the eyes and not feel how they made me feel back then. I get sick, Holden. Physically sick.”

  Holden’s eyes are clouded, red and raw from having to hear his best friend’s downfall.

  “I know that I’ll never feel with anyone else what I feel for him. For the rest of my life. And if I ever find someone, I know, deep down, that I’ll be settling. But... Leo and I—we can’t be together, because being together means him having to choose between his family and me, and I could never, ever, make him choose.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Leo

  Awkward.

  It’s the only word that comes to mind as Drake stands in front of me. I try not to make eye contact and fill my second glass of water while he makes small talk as if this is all completely fucking normal.