Leo: A More Than Series Spin-Off

by McLean, Jay

  I glance at Mia, fearful she’s said something to Dad about me standing her up, but she isn’t looking at me. Her eyes are downcast, void of emotion, something I’ve felt too often.

  Dad moves toward me with a five-dollar bill in his hand. “Can you watch Lachie and the twins?” He motions to my youngest brother, who’s sitting in front of the television, transfixed. “Twins are in the yard,” Dad adds. “Mia and I are heading out for a bit.”

  I try to catch Mia’s attention, but it doesn’t work. “Where?”

  “Nowhere important. We’ll be back in an hour.”

  Mia stands, using my dad as a shield between us.

  “Leo?” Dad places the bill in my hand. “You can do that, right?”

  I nod, regret pressing down on my chest. “Yeah. Sure.”

  I only have to watch Lachie for five minutes before Virginia enters the house. She doesn’t usually work on weekends, but when she notices it’s me in charge, she takes over. “Where’s your dad?” she asks.

  My eyes narrow at her. “Somewhere with your daughter.” It comes out harsher than intended, but after the previous summer—when I spent too many hours secretly watching Mia and realizing how her mother treated her—I can never look at Virginia the same. It doesn’t make sense that she can be so good with us, and yet—with her own daughter… She treats Mia as if she’s a nuisance. A burden.

  Mia’s anything but, and it pisses me off that she can’t see that.

  After grabbing a book from my room, I pretend to read while I sit on the porch, waiting for Dad and Mia to return. It doesn’t take long for the familiar sound of tires spinning on the loose gravel of our driveway to fill my ears. Virginia must hear it, too, because she comes out of the house, hand in hand with Lachlan. I watch with bated breath as Dad’s truck slows to a stop. He and Mia get out at the same time and move to the rear, where Dad pulls out a bike from the bed. It’s pink and purple with a white basket on the handlebars. It’s a pretty sweet bike.

  For a girl.

  I’m about to say as much when, next to me, Virginia sighs. “Why in the world do you need a bike, Mia? Where did you get the money for it?” Then she gasps, marches down the steps dragging my brother behind her. She stops only inches from her daughter, her finger pointed at Mia’s face. “Mia Mackenzie Kovács! You better not have asked Tom to buy you—”

  Mia’s eyes are wide, filled with fear, and I find myself moving toward her. “I didn’t ask him,” Mia utters. “He offered and—”

  “And you said yes?” Virginia snaps.

  Mia’s hands are behind her back now, her shoulders hunched, head down.

  “We’ll take it back right now,” Virginia tells my father, looking up at him. “I’m so sorry, Tom, she—”

  “It was a gift, Virginia,” Dad interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. He picks up Lachlan and holds him to his side. Then he settles a hand on Mia’s shoulder. “It’s yours, sweetheart. Enjoy it.” To Virginia, he says, “Let’s move this conversation to my office.”

  Mia doesn’t move an inch as they make their way inside. I don’t either. As soon as the front door’s closed, I let out a breath. “Holy shit. Your mom can’t let you enjoy anything, can she?”

  Her eyes snap to mine, red and raw from her withheld tears. Then she grabs the handlebars, starts walking away. Over her shoulder, she says, her voice barely audible, “I guess you two have that in common.”

  * * *

  It’s 4:42 a.m. when the lights in the apartment illuminate, and my heart begins to race.

  It’s been four days since we last spoke, since I last saw her, and I found out the day before that she’s leaving earlier than planned. In three days, she’ll be gone, and who knows if she’ll ever come back.

  It’s my last chance to make up for my mistakes, to apologize, and to plead for her forgiveness. It’s been eating away at me; every second of every day I’m filled with guilt and regret. And thoughts of Mia.

  My sister once told me that our mom believed profoundly in fate. That fate was the reason she met my dad and why they were able to live the kind of blessed life that allowed them to have seven beautiful children. When she told me all this, I replied that it was bullshit. If fate gave Mom all of that, then fate also took it away, left her “seven beautiful children” motherless and gave her an incurable fucking disease that killed her slowly, painfully.

  Lucy had looked at me, wide-eyed. “I believe in fate,” she’d said.

  I told her she was stupid and that she lived in a fantasyland full of fairy tales and princes who came to save the day. She wasn’t a princess, and she wasn’t living in one of her romance novels. I told her that fate was a lie created to make you believe you have no control over what happens in your life.

  I must have had one of my so-called “outbursts” because it seemed to shock everyone. To my entire family, Lucy was a princess, and most of the time, we treated her as such.

  It’s no real surprise that I made my sister cry that day. And I don’t regret it. Fate is bullshit.

  But as I pedal hard now, pushing my legs until they burn, fate is the only thing I can rely on.

  I thought I’d be able to catch up with Mia and follow her, but once we are off the property, I can’t see anything beyond the darkness.

  Fate leads me to the water tower, the only place I can think to go.

  Mia’s bike is here, exactly where the opening in the fence is. I drop my bike next to hers and crawl through the hole. I don’t want to scare her, so I use my flashlight and call out her name as I walk toward it. She’s already on the top ledge when I get to the tower, her legs dangling off the edge. “Mia!” I call out, but she doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even look down at the sound. With a heavy sigh, I shove the flashlight in my pocket and climb the ladder. Once I’m standing on the ledge, moving toward her, she finally speaks. “Did you know?” she asks, voice breaking through the silence around us.

  I sit down next to her, try to hide the fact that I’m out of breath. “Know what?”

  It takes her a moment to answer. “Your dad was the one to invite me here.” She turns to me, and even though there’s barely any light out, I can see the sorrow in her stare, feel the dejection in her words. “When your dad took me shopping for the bike, he mentioned it. He didn’t know that... that she hadn’t told me, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble. It’s such a stupid, careless, impersonal thing to say, and the worst part? I don’t even know what I’m sorry for. For her mom’s actions? For mine? For her coming here believing one thing and then having it all ripped away?

  “I just wish...” she chokes out, wiping a single tear from her cheek.

  I wince at the sight, wishing I could do something more. Be something more. “Wish what?” I ask, shuffling closer to her.

  Mia sighs, a sound so heavy I feel it drown my soul. “I just wish she’d want me.”

  I want you, I don’t say.

  Not out loud.

  But I think it.

  Through every fiber of my being, I feel it.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, and then I take her hand in mine.

  I don’t let go.

  Not that morning.

  Or the morning after.

  Or the one after that.

  We spend every morning together of the few days we have left, never once speaking a word.

  Each day, we grow closer.

  But each sunrise feels different somehow.

  The world isn’t being split in two anymore.

  It’s in shards.

  Shattered.

  Busted.

  Broken.

  Chapter Six

  Mia

  “My Girl” by The Temptations plays softly through the speakers of my grandpa’s truck as we make the final turn toward the Prestons’ house. I’m nervous. More nervous than the years prior. You don’t realize change as it’s happening, but as I sit here, reflecting on the year since I’d last seen Leo, one significant change stands out.
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  Puberty.

  Some kids go through puberty and come out looking like movie stars.

  I was the opposite.

  My skin had broken out, Papa had forced me to get braces, I’d put on even more weight, and the worst? Hair had started growing everywhere. The one time I’d confided in Holden about it, he said that maybe it was as “bad as it is” because I was a late bloomer. I cried. He went quiet, and after a while, he made an excuse to leave. That night, his mother, Tammy, came by the house with a bag of hair removal supplies, acne cream, and feminine hygiene products. At first, I was mortified. My grandpa didn’t quite understand the screaming and crying coming from my attic bedroom. He was concerned for my mental health. But the more Tammy spoke, the more she opened up, the more I did, too. She was so patient with me, so gentle, the way a mother should be.

  “My Girl” is replaced with “You Can’t Hurry Love” by The Supremes, and Papa turns the steering wheel, starts up the Prestons’ long driveway. As a Hungarian immigrant, one of the first things he loved about the country is what he calls “American music.” While Holden listens to modern music, mainly rap, I’ve grown up on the oldies my grandpa listens to, and I’ve come to love them as much as he does.

  Papa clears his throat before saying, “You be good for the man, okay, baba?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you be good to yourself.” He glances at me quickly, his lips thinned to a line. He may not know what was said between Tammy and me up in my bedroom that night, but he knows I’m changing.

  Physically.

  Emotionally.

  Just as the house comes into view, a car approaches us. Lucas, the oldest Preston boy, is behind the wheel. Laney’s sitting beside him, and in the bed is his best friend and another guy and girl I don’t recognize. Lucas raises a hand in a wave, and Papa returns it, though he has no idea who he’s waving to. Boys on bikes follow after the car: Logan, the twins, and then Leo. He’s at the back of the group, and when he sees us, he slows. I turn to watch him, my hands gripping the headrest as we pass. He stops completely, both feet on the ground, the bike between his legs, his entire body turned toward me. My heart races as I watch him watching me, and then someone calls his name, and as if in a fog, he shakes his head, clears his thoughts, and continues on his way.

  Like me, he’s changed, too. His hair’s longer now, showing off some waves as they fall over the tips of his ears. And he’s taller, more masculine.

  Whatever changes he’d gone through in the past year—they’ve been kind to him. So kind, that when he and Logan return an hour later, they aren’t alone. I watch from the bottom of the apartment stairs as four girls—two on their own bikes and two on the back of either boy—join them. Even from a distance, I can tell how beautiful they are. I hate the way my stomach turns and the way jealousy pumps harshly through my veins. As soon as they hop off the bikes, I get up and turn around. I’m halfway up the stairs when I hear Leo call my name. I freeze, but I don’t turn to him. I don’t want him to see me up close. Not yet. Not when he can so easily compare me to the girls he’d just brought home.

  “How are you?” he asks, and somehow, I find the courage to face him. Up close, it’s kind of ridiculous how handsome he is. He’s not built the same way the boys back home are. Guys like Holden are stocky from all the hard labor they do on their family farms. Leo’s tall, athletic, just the right amount of muscles for an almost fifteen-year-old. “Mia?” Even the way he speaks, the way he stands, has changed. He’s gained confidence over the past year.

  And I’ve only grown more insecure.

  “Good.” It’s all I can say. It’s also a complete lie.

  He nods, looks over his shoulder. I follow his gaze to see Logan holding their front door open for the girls. “We’re about to go to the lake for a swim. You want to come with us?”

  I almost laugh. Almost. It’s the absolute last thing I want to do. “No, I’m good.”

  His eyes narrow, assessing. “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I should probably unpack… maybe find my mom.”

  Leo stands taller, his shoulders square as he looks up at me. “You haven’t seen her yet?”

  I shake my head.

  “But she knew you were coming today. She told us about it.”

  I shrug.

  “Did she know what time you were coming?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  His lips press tight, the muscles in his forearms contracting when he balls his fists. After a sigh, he asks, “Are you sure you don’t want to come? The water’s real nice.”

  Me? In my swimsuit. In front of him. And those girls? I’d rather shoot myself in the head. “I’m sure.”

  His mouth kicks up in one corner as he starts backing away. “So, tomorrow. Four thirty?” He’s smiling now, the kind of smile that releases all the tension in my shoulders. “Don’t keep me waiting, okay?”

  * * *

  It was easy to ignore Leo Preston’s presence when I could lock myself away in another house. But when he’s sitting beside me, 130 feet above the ground with nothing but silence and darkness around us, I feel him everywhere, amplified by the sound of his breathing and his watchful eyes on the side of my head.

  “I wasn’t sure if you were going to come back,” he finally says. I keep my gaze forward, trying not to give too much away.

  “I didn’t really have a choice,” I reply. I was in two minds about returning. Holden was staying with his grandparents for the first two weeks of summer, and so there wasn’t a lot stopping me. But it was my grandpa—when he said, having no clue what my reality was, “Your mama would like you there, I’m sure.”

  So for him, I’m here.

  Because the truth would devastate him.

  Leo’s silent a beat before asking, “So, you don’t want to be here?”

  I heave out a sigh.

  “Or is it me?” he questions. “You don’t want to be here with me?”

  I press my lips together.

  A scoff erupts from deep in his throat. “This is my spot, Mia, so if you want to be alone, you should probably—”

  I start to get up, but he pushes a hand down on my leg, stopping me. “What the hell?” he snaps. “Why are you pissed at me?”

  It’s been almost a year since we sat in this exact spot. A year since he wasn’t there to say goodbye the last time I left. A year since I’d written him a note to thank him for being there for me. I’d included my number. But he wasn’t there to accept it, and so I gave it to his dad and asked him to pass it on. I’d waited, day in, day out, for a phone call. A text. Anything to show that the time we shared meant something. He never made contact. And now he’s here, and he wants to act as though nothing has changed, that time hasn’t passed, that his lack of action hasn’t hurt me.

  It was in my bedroom, with shaving cream on my legs, while Tammy showed me how to use a razor, that I felt comfortable enough to share my feelings with her. She looked at me, a sadness in her eyes that I felt to my core. Tammy let out a breath, her mind lost in her own memories. “He’s just a boy,” she said quietly, blinking back tears. “And you’re just a girl, Mia Mac. One day, you’ll look back, and you’ll realize that what your feeling now is heartache, and that heartache isn’t worth shit.” I wondered—not for the first time in my life—if she was thinking about my father.

  I finally find the courage to tell Leo, “I like it better when we don’t talk.”

  His hand stills on my leg. I should push it away. I don’t. He says, “So do I.”

  “Good.”

  He smirks. Ugh. “Then why give me your number?”

  Crap. He had me there. And I’m surprised he even brought it up. I don’t have a retort, so instead, I carefully lift his hand off my leg and drop it on his lap.

  His smile widens. “You should’ve come to the lake. It was fun.”

  “With you and your girlfriends?” I murmur. “Hard pass.”

  His chuckle lights a fire inside me. “Ex-girlfriend. And only one
of them.”

  “Oh, yeah? Maybe she got sick of waiting for you to call.”

  “Actually, I broke up with her.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” he says, throwing in a shrug. Then he leans back, rests on his outstretched arms, and looks up at the sky. “I guess I wanted to keep my options open for the summer.”

  Chapter Seven

  Leo

  Every morning at 4:30, we meet between the house and the apartment and go to our spot. Some days we talk; other times she listens to music, and I read on my phone.

  “I hear it’s someone’s birthday tomorrow,” she sings, using nail polish to cover the crude words people have scratched into the railing of the tower. She has me holding up my phone as a source of light as if I’m her servant. I’m not even mad about it.

  “Oh yeah?” I joke. “Whose?”

  She stops painting and slaps my arm. “Yours, dummy.”

  I feign hurt, rubbing the spot she just attacked. “Bitch.”

  Gasping, her eyes widen, lock on mine. “What did you just—”

  “Bitch,” I repeat. And then I bust out a laugh as I point to the word bitch scratched into the paint.

  She fights to keep her smile hidden, but I catch it. “I thought you were calling me a… that word.”

  I laugh harder. “You can say the word, Mia. You’re not going to burst into flames if you do.”

  With a growl, she takes the hand holding my phone and refocuses the light on her task. “So, what do you want for your birthday?”

  I can’t even remember the last year I celebrated it. “Nothing.”

  Mia sighs. “You must want something.”

  I really don’t... besides the time I spend with her, and she’s already giving me that.