Leo: A More Than Series Spin-Off

by McLean, Jay

  I try to pick my next words carefully. Try to find a way to arrange them so I can defend my actions, but the truth is… I can’t. “I found out she was sick, and I got scared and ran away. I blocked her number and everyone associated with her, and I… I broke all contact.” I pause a beat, knowing how bad this makes me sound. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

  Lucy takes a moment to process all this, and when she looks at me, I can see the mountain of questions in her eyes alone. She wants all the answers, and I don’t have many, but I’ll give her what I know. “What are you going to do, Leelee?”

  “I don’t know, Luce.” My voice cracks, and I try to fight back my emotions. My fear. “I don’t fucking know.”

  She’s quiet a minute, then, speaking through the knot in her throat, she asks, “What’s his name?”

  “Benny.” I choke on the word.

  “Benjamin?”

  I shrug. “I guess.”

  “Katie and Benny,” she muses. “They’re cousins, you know?”

  I stare at her, unblinking. And then I break. In the arms of my sister, I fall apart. And I don’t care that I’m twenty-three, that I’m almost twice the size of the woman holding me, keeping me together. It’s as if the weight of the past two days has finally caught up with me, and I process every emotion, one by one. Beyond the hurt and the anger and the chaos, there’s something else. Something more. “It’s going to be okay,” she assures. “I promise.” She strokes my hair as I rest my head on her shoulder, her tears for me. “And I’m right here. Whatever you need, Leelee.”

  Lucy and I sit on the bench for another hour, neither of us saying a word. Eventually, she asks about the academy, about my apartment, and how I’m doing with everything else, and I know it’s her way of placating my insecurities. There are two things Lucy can do that none of my brothers can: read an entire book in one sitting, and read me. She knows I needed to get my mind off Mia and Benny.

  Benny.

  I’ve never known a Benny, a Ben, or a Benjamin, and saying his name in my head is strange. Saying it out loud and knowing he’s a part of me is even stranger.

  After I give Lucy some words resembling answers, she’s quiet again. Minutes pass, and we stare ahead, and then she asks, hesitantly, “Are you sure he’s yours?”

  I take out my phone and show her the picture Mia had sent me.

  I hear the exact moment my sister’s breath hitches, and I already know what’s coming before she even opens her mouth. “Jesus, Leo. Take away the color of his eyes, and he’s you.”

  I shove the phone back in my pocket and don’t bother hiding my despair. “I’m so fucking scared,” I admit.

  “It’s a lot to—”

  “I love him, Lucy,” I cut in. “I already love him so much, and I’m terrified of hurting him.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Mia

  “I can send you the mock-ups, but I don’t know if they’re what you’re after. I’m happy to keep working on it,” I say into the phone. On the other side of my office desk, Dad narrows his eyes, shakes his head at me.

  With my facial expression alone, I tell him to stop it.

  “Okay, I’ll send the link to the shared file now,” I say. “Have a good day. Bye.” I hang up and raise a finger at my dad, telling him to wait while I put together the email. Once I hear the whooshing sound of the email sending, I glance up at him. “I know.”

  “You have to be tougher, Mia Mac.”

  I sigh, my shoulders dropping. “I’m trying,” I mutter, deflated. “It’s not like it’s numbers and analytics.” I shrug. “I feel like I’m putting a part of me out there to be judged.”

  “It’s exactly what you’re doing,” he says, his large frame shifting forward. “And you shouldn’t be worried because your work is good, Mia. It’s better than good.”

  My lips thin to a line as I look behind him. Through the glass walls of my office, I catch Dad’s employees walking by, glancing in, only to realize that the Joseph Kovács is in here, and they look away quickly, their steps rushed as they flee the scene. If only they knew that his favorite pair of pajamas are sky blue with printed clouds, and he cries every time he watches A Walk to Remember…

  “You need to be tough, like your dad,” he says, smirking.

  I eye him sideways. “Or I could be a b-word like my mom.”

  He cringes, sucks in air through his teeth.

  I sigh. “I’m not like either of you, you know. I’m like Papa.”

  “Oh, Mia. Papa was tough. You think he ran that farm all those years all”—his voice heightens in pitch, mocking me—”you can milk the cows now, but only if you want to, and I guess it’s okay to take a break whenever for however long because, like, you know, it’s all about what you want.”

  I shake my head. “Why are you here?”

  He chuckles. “See? That’s the kind of toughness I want to see you use. You’ll be running this place one day…” He hesitates. “If you want to.”

  It’s my turn to mock him. “If you want to,” I repeat. “Who’s the sucker now?”

  He all out laughs at this, getting to his feet. “You want to have lunch together today?”

  I quirk an eyebrow, and he already knows my answer. It’s hard enough for the people I work with to consider me their colleague, let alone friend, and me—having lunch with their boss’s boss’s boss? That would only make things worse.

  “All right,” he says, arms up, palms out in surrender. “No lunch. But make sure you eat, okay? I don’t want you skipping meals again.” He raises a single eyebrow, and maybe I am more like him than I want to admit.

  All humor gone, I answer, “Yes, sir.” Because I don’t want him to worry about me the way he used to.

  Before he gets to the door, my phone rings—my cell, not the office one—and he looks down at it vibrating on the desk. The only people who call me on that are him and Tammy, and Tammy has Benny today. I look down at the phone, my eyes widening, heart skipping a beat when I see Leo’s name appear on the screen. “It’s okay. It’s not them; it’s…” I trail off, not knowing what to say.

  Dad cracks a smile. “Your gentleman courter?”

  A giggle erupts. “Get out!”

  “Ooh, you’re blushing, Mia!” As far as he knows, Leo is just some guy from home who wants to reconnect with me. He hasn’t put two and two together yet, which is weird considering he sees Benny daily, and Benny is all Leo. My dad is clueless.

  The phone stops ringing.

  “Shoot,” I mutter, then glare at him. “Get out!”

  He chuckles. “Want me to lock the door?”

  I chew my lip before nodding, and he cracks a knowing smile as he leaves.

  Standing, I dial Leo’s number and start pacing my office. For some reason, I feel exposed with the stupid glass walls, and so I lower the blinds as the phone rings and rings. “Hello?” Leo answers.

  “Hey!” I almost shout, then mentally kick myself. In an attempt to calm my nerves, I close my eyes, focus on breathing. “You called?”

  “Yeah…” His voice is a lot quieter than mine. “Um… I’m sorry it’s taken me a while to get in touch.” It’s been ten days. Ten whole days, and every single time my phone rang, I jumped, thinking it was him.

  “It’s okay,” I say, settling in my chair again. “Like I said, no expectations.”

  “I hate that you say that,” he murmurs, and I feel my chest tighten. “There should be expectations, Mia. I’m his dad.”

  I release a breath slowly, hoping he doesn’t hear it.

  “I want to meet him, I do. I just…” He trails off.

  “You’re not ready?” I ask, just above a whisper. “I understand.” I don’t know why I’m disappointed. I spent so many years telling myself—convincing myself—that I was doing the right thing by not telling Leo. And it’s not like I know without a doubt which direction would be best for Benny. I guess it’s selfish—to want Leo to be part of his life, because maybe then he’d be a par
t of mine, even if we were nothing more than parents to our son.

  Parents.

  Our son.

  The words are so foreign, even in my thoughts.

  “It’s not even that, Mia…” He exhales into the phone. “I just… I feel like I can’t give him what I want when I still have so many questions, and I need you to answer them for me.” He pauses a beat while my mind spins in circles, and I work my bottom lip until it stings. “I don’t want to go into this blindly. I don’t want to fuck it up. I feel like I only have one chance to make it right, and I just… I need you, Mia. Before you can trust me with him, I feel like I need you to trust me with you.”

  Well. That’s a lot to process, and it’s not at all what I expected him to feel. And the fact that he’s even verbalizing this… “Okay…” I still don’t completely comprehend what he means, but okay is the best response I can give him.

  “I was thinking... maybe we can meet for dinner or something? If you have someone to watch him…”

  “Um…” Dinner. Me and him. Alone. I can do that. Right?

  “Or is that not a good idea?”

  “No,” I’m quick to say. “But… I’m in New York.’

  “Oh.” The single sound seems to go on forever. “You live in New York?”

  I’m sure he knew this. “Yeah. I mean, I go back. And forth. But. Here. Mainly. A week a month at Papa’s. So, yeah. New York.” Are you there, God? It’s me, the girl who cannot form a sentence to save my life. What is wrong with me?!

  “Well, shit.” He’s quiet a breath. “See what I mean? I didn’t even know that. I knew you flew in from New York before Katie’s party, but then I saw you at your grandpa’s, so I assumed... I don’t know what I assumed. There’s so much I don’t know…”

  I’m not sure how to respond, so I tell him, anxiety crawling through my chest, “I can fly down—”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “No. I will.” It’s the least I can do. I’m already tapping at my keyboard, looking at flights. “When are you free?”

  “During the week, I’m in Charlotte.”

  “Well, I usually fly into Charlotte, so that works.”

  He clears his throat, and I imagine him standing, leaning against something, looking down at the ground, his legs crossed at the ankles. “So… when’s the earliest you can get here?”

  “I mean, technically, I could get there tonight.”

  “That works.”

  “Really?”

  “I’ll text you my address.”

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Leo

  I am… screwed.

  I woke up this morning, and the first thing on my mind was Benny. The second was Mia. It was the same way it’s been ever since I found out. While in the shower, I somehow convinced myself that today would be the day I’d call, and I’d tell her how I felt. Kind of. Yes, I wanted Mia to trust me with something so important to her, especially since my go-to reaction to extreme life-changing news is to run like a little bitch. But, I was also fighting my own internal demons. Guilt was one of them—that shitty motherfucker. And the other was the question of my self-worth. Because the truth is—I’m not ready. I’m literally in my third week of the police academy, and sure, I have a job lined up for me once I graduate—if I graduate—but that asshole sweater-vest was right. Law enforcement pays shit. And I know it’s not about the money because Mia’s dad is loaded, but he’s not Benny’s father.

  I am.

  There’s also that little problem of me still living in my childhood home. Because that screams parenthood. Not.

  I’m twenty-three years old, and I thought I was on track, and now I’m at a crossroads, and I don’t know what the fuck to do.

  And all of this doesn’t even include the questions of what happens after.

  I have so many questions, and they’ve all been trapped in my head for eleven days with just me, myself, and I to come up with answers. Only I don’t have them. Mia does. And so I asked her to meet me. And now she’s on her way, and

  I.

  Am.

  Screwed.

  I ponder exactly how screwed I am as I close the fridge door, realizing I have absolutely nothing to actually serve her for the dinner she flew in to attend. I eat grilled chicken and steamed vegetables every night, and it’s not exactly… exactly what? Romantic? That’s not what I’m going for, I think. What do you serve someone when you don’t care if they like what they eat because you just want them to talk, tell you every detail of the past five years, and how they envisage the next five years?

  I’m overthinking it. I know I am. But before I can over-overthink it, my phone buzzes with a text. It’s Mia. And she’s right outside.

  Clutching an overnight bag in both hands, Mia stands in the foyer of the apartment complex in a dark gray sweater, a pair of black jeans with rips on the thighs, and black heels. Air gets trapped in my chest when she first turns to me, those light brown eyes a contrast to what she’s wearing. Her hair is down today, waves upon waves, and there are a lot of things I wasn’t prepared for tonight. Seeing her in person is definitely one of them.

  She smiles, and it’s like a valve in my throat, releasing the air slowly. “Hi,” she says, raising a hand.

  “Hey.” I’m in gray sweatpants and a navy-blue shirt I’ve had for eleventy-three years, and I feel inadequate as I walk toward her, taking her bag from her. “I’m up on the fifth floor,” I tell her, at the same time she says, “You don’t have to carry…”

  I’m already leading us to the elevator, my back to her, and I’m nervous. Fuck, I’m so nervous. I haven’t felt like this since I texted her to tell her that I wanted her to be mine in my fifteen-year-old way.

  Since I’d only just left the elevator to get her, we don’t have to wait for the cart, and so we step in, stand on opposite sides, and stare at each other. “This is nice,” she says, looking around. But we’re literally in a seven-by-seven-foot box, and there’s nothing to see. But there’s everything to feel. My pulse beats against my ribs, as if it’s trying to escape, while Mia chews her thumb, looks down at my chest, and then back up to my eyes. And it hits me then; she’s as nervous as I am. At the thought, a chuckle bubbles out of me, and I roll my eyes. “I’ve known you for ten years, Mia, and you still do crazy things to my heart.”

  Her eyes widen, and I realize what I’ve said.

  I don’t take it back.

  Besides, if I want the truth from her tonight, it’s only right that I give her the same.

  I use the keycard to unlock the door of my apartment and hold it open for her to step inside. She looks around, but there’s not much to see: couch, television, a small kitchen and eating area, and two doors. One leads to the bedroom, the other to the bathroom. I set her bag by the front door and say, “I haven’t cooked anything. I’m… not a great cook.”

  She turns to me, her lips kicked up at the corners. “Well, lucky for you, I am,” she says, rolling up her sleeves. Before I can stop her, she’s in my kitchen, opening the fridge.

  I cringe.

  “What do you have?” she calls over her shoulder.

  “Chicken, potatoes, and broccoli.”

  For a moment, she doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Then her shoulders begin to shake, and she’s laughing. It’s silent, but it’s there, and when she closes the fridge and turns to me, she’s wiping the wetness from her eyes.

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “No.” She shakes her head, her laughter gone, but her smile still there. “I just imagine you eating grilled chicken and steamed potatoes and broccoli every night.”

  My eyes narrow, but my lips are twitching to smile.

  “It’s like the diner all over again. Same meals, all day, every day.”

  “I’ll have you know…” I start, moving around the small counter to get to her. “I’ve moved on from burgers and—” It’s all I can get out before she has her arms wrapped around my waist, squeezing tight. I don’t know if it’s a hu
g or a death grip, but I don’t get a chance to do anything in response before she’s pulling away, looking up at me.

  “It’s been five years, and you haven’t changed, Leo Preston.”

  “Is that good, or…”

  She shrugs, taking a step back and leaning against the fridge. “Question,” she says, and this time I smile. Nod. “How are you?”

  “I’m…” My heavy exhale fills the space between us. “I’m a wreck, to be honest.”

  Her head bobs, before tilting to the side. “I’m sorry. I know your life is so full-on right now, and this is the last thing you need.”

  I chew the corner of my lip, completely aware that her eyes track the motion. “Question.”

  She smiles. “Go ahead.”

  Pressing my hip to the counter, I cross my arms, keep my eyes on hers. “Why the fuck do you look so cute right now?”

  Her jaw drops, her eyes so wide I’m afraid they’ll fall out. I didn’t mean to say it. The last thing I’d planned was to attempt to flirt with her. What kind of dickhead would I be if I did that? Me. I’m that dickhead. “You can’t say things like that, Leo.”

  “Why? You got a boyfriend?” Shut the fuck up, dickhead!

  “I do,” she says, and something stupid happens in my chest. In my heart. It hurts. “He’s four years old, and his name is Bennett.”

  “Bennett?” I repeat.

  Mia nods. “Did you think it was Benjamin?”

  “I guess, yeah.”

  Her nose wrinkles. “The name Benjamin means Son of my right hand.”

  I bust out a laugh.

  “Right?” she says. “It sounds so wrong, like...” She does the universal sign for jerking off, then flushes red, her eyes scanning the room.

  I want to reach over and run the backs of my fingers across her cheeks just to feel the heat they emit. I don’t, of course, because that would be ludicrous. “So if Benjamin means that, what does Bennett mean?”

  Her eyes meet mine again, gleaming with an emotion I can’t decipher. “Blessed.”