by McLean, Jay
I call her anyway.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she says, and she has the same kind, gentle tone I’ve always known. When I close my eyes and think of Tammy, I see her in a flowery dress with a straw hat coming out of my house with a plate of sandwiches and a jug of juice. She puts them down on the porch and watches Holden and me doing schoolwork as we lie on our stomachs. She squats down and ruffles Holden’s hair, and then pats mine. Love. It’s all I see when I think about Tammy. And now, I question what she saw when she used to look at us like that.
We could’ve been brother and sister—Holden and me. In a different world, a perfect one. We could’ve been hers—both of us. And I would’ve never felt the pain of growing up without parents.
“You there, Mia?” she asks, and I speak through the knot in my throat.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Uh-oh. You have your sad voice. What’s wrong? Did my son do something to you?”
“No. Holden didn’t do anything. I just, um…” What the hell do I say? The truth, idiot. “I just needed to talk to you. I thought I needed to speak to someone who would just listen, but… I just needed to talk to you. To hear your voice. I miss you, Tammy.”
“Oh, sweetie,” she croons, and I can hear the scratch in her speech. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
I suck in a breath, and then I ask her something I’ve always wanted the answer to. “Do you regret meeting my dad? Falling in love with him? You guys were so young. I mean, if you knew how it would end…” I realize I’m rambling. “I don’t really know what I’m asking. Sorry.”
If I couldn’t hear Tammy’s breathing on the other end, I’d assume she’d hung up on me. But she’s still there, and she’s thinking, trying to find a way to tell me how she feels without falling apart. “Has Holden ever told you why his father and I separated?”
“No,” I say, fiddling with the end of my pajama shirt. It’s red, and it’s plaid, and it’s my favorite thing to sleep in. “Holden doesn’t really talk about that stuff with me.”
I imagine her nodding when she says, “Yeah, that’s the boy in him.” I smile. “The reason we divorced is because I settled, Mia.” She pauses a beat. “I’ve always been in love with your dad, and Holden’s dad knew, but he… he wanted me anyway. Even if I didn’t fall pregnant with Holden, he would’ve stayed knowing that fact.”
Poor Big H, I think, but I also think about my dad. About how badly he broke Tammy, and he has no clue he’d even done it.
“You know,” Tammy says, “we were your age when everything went to shit.”
I smile at her choice of words. Holden definitely gets his cussing from her.
“I always knew he wanted out of that town. He had big dreams and aspirations, and I never quite understood them. I didn’t want the same life as him, and I knew… I knew that he’d leave one day and accepted the fact that he’d leave without me. So… you asked if I regret it?”
“Yeah.”
She exhales, long and forced and filled with a weight of a thousand answers. “I don’t regret it, Mia. Not for a second.” I can hear her smile through her words. “I found love. Even if that love was for a moment, not a lifetime… I found love, and I chose to live in that love for however long time would allow me.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Mia
It’s two hours later when I hear the truck return. I’m still on the porch swing, and so I keep my eyes closed, and I listen for how many car doors close. The girl who was with him the other night is Brianna’s friend, which means she and Leo have that in common, and I don’t know what state of mind Leo’s in or if it even matters or why I’m even thinking about it, but I am. And two hours is a long time to disappear.
One door slams.
I wait.
And wait.
Another door slams.
And then voices.
Two.
“Thanks for doing that, man,” Holden says, and then it’s quiet. “I’m just going to go up and check on her real quick. I’ll walk home.”
Leo replies, “All right. I’ll catch you later.”
The gravel shifts, the barn door closes, and then footsteps on the porch. They stop. Then start again, approaching. “Move,” Holden says, and it’s not rough or demanding. I keep my eyes closed as I lift my head, feel Holden sit down beside me. When he places his hand gently on the side of my head, I lie back down, rest my head on his lap. He strokes my hair and asks, “What are you doing out here?”
“I don’t know,” I breathe out. “I came out here to get the keys, and then Leo was already going to get you, and I thought about my bed and how far away it was, and it just didn’t make sense to go all that way.”
He chuckles, a rumble of a sound from deep in his chest.
“I just spoke to your mom.”
“You did?” he asks, tone kicking up a notch. Holden would never admit it, but he’s a bona fide mama’s boy. “What did you talk about?”
“Just… stuff,” I murmur. “Girl stuff.”
“Well, I’m glad you have her to talk to because I’m way out of my depth here, Mia Mac.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but I can hear the relief in his voice that he no longer has to carry the burden of my problems. “You know… sometimes I wonder what it’s going to be like, growing up and growing old, having a wife and family of my own, and not having you around as much to piss me off.”
I bust out a giggle. Only Holden could change my mood as quickly and effortlessly as he does. “I’ll always be around,” I assure.
His hand in my hair stills. “Will you, though?” There’s a sadness in his voice that has me shifting to my back so I can look up at him. “Sometimes, I worry, is all,” he murmurs, looking ahead.
“What do you worry about?”
His eyes lower, lock on mine. “Nothing. Everything,” he says, shaking his head, his hands moving again. “You.”
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I say through an exhale. “I’ll be fine.”
Gaze searching mine, he chews the corner of his lip, and then he looks away, his chest rising with his heavy inhale. “Are you happy, Mia?” he asks. “I mean, take away all this Leo stuff that’s going on. Are you actually happy? Because I don’t think you are. And I don’t think you’ll ever be because… because I feel like there’s a part of you that believes that you don’t deserve it.” He pauses a beat, his mind working. “And as selfish as it is to admit, to say out loud, it’s killing me. You’re not my best friend because we were forced together as kids. You’re my best friend because I wanted you to be. Do you think it was easy on my dad knowing that his son was spending all that time with his wife’s ex-boyfriend’s daughter? Do you know how many arguments they got into over it? Do you think I cared? No. I demanded you be my best friend. I fought for you, Mia. And it’s fucking killing me because you—you’re not even fighting for yourself.”
* * *
I once read somewhere that a different version of you exists in the mind of every person you meet, have a relationship with, or even make eye contact with. The person you see as yourself only exists to you, and everyone else has a unique mental image of you based on what they see.
My entire life I saw myself as a fighter simply because I was here, and I was smiling, and I was a believer of faith.
But I wasn’t fighting for anything.
I wasn’t even living for anything.
I was merely surviving.
I had no visions of my future, and just the thought of college made me anxious. I thought that New York had changed me; that having friends and a boyfriend meant that I was growing up and that I was finally creating an image of myself that I was happy with. But it was all a facade, and everyone saw it but me.
I pull the corner of Papa’s blanket across his bed and straighten the pillows. I’d already cleaned his bathroom, changed the bed sheets, and made sure everything was ready for his arrival tomorrow.
Tomorrow’s going to be a big day. Papa’s coming home, and
I’m finally going to fight for what I want: Leo.
One hand on the doorknob, I give Papa’s room a quick once-over, and when I’m satisfied, I switch off the light, layering the room in darkness, and click the door shut. Then I prepare myself for another sleepless night. I quickly brush my teeth and then go up to my room, open the door. A gasp catches in my chest when I see Leo sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees. I didn’t even know he was in the house, let alone my room.
“Sorry,” he says, looking up at me, those blue eyes the same way I’ve seen them since that night in the barn: pained. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay,” I reply, and it comes out a whisper. “What um… what are you doing here?”
He’s in jeans and a blue long-sleeve tee with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his cap backward. He looks like he’s about to go out, not go to sleep. I feel like today’s been the longest day in history. I don’t know how he has the energy to keep going. “I need a favor,” he says.
The room is only illuminated by the lamp, and he’s nothing but shapes and shadows when I close the bedroom door, saying, “Anything.” And then I lean against it, my hands behind my back, because the way he’s looking at me makes me nervous and I don’t want to get close.
“I found a bus route home that leaves tomorrow morning. But I need to get to the depot. It’s, like, twenty miles. I asked Holden, but he’s doing some important delivery with his dad so he can’t do it. I have to be there before eight, and your grandpa’s not coming until lunchtime, so you should be back by then.” He’s speaking as if this is the last conversation we’ll ever have, and I hate it.
Tears form in my eyes, and I blink them back. He wants to leave. Tomorrow. Because waiting a couple of extra days would be too hard.
“Do you think you could give me a ride?”
I push off the door. “No.”
“No?”
I stop in front of him. “No.”
His eyes search mine, and I pray he finds the answers there. His gaze drops as he fishes his phone from his pocket. “I’ll book a ride then.”
“No!” I move forward until I’m standing between his legs, my hands on his shoulders as he looks up at me. I know I’m about to lose him, and I know I should say something, do something, that I should fight for him, but I don’t know what to do. I’ve never fought for anything in my life. And so I cry, because it’s the only way my body and my mind know how to process emotional turmoil. “I don’t want you to leave,” I whisper.
“Mia…” His shoulders drop, and then his arms are around my waist, and he’s pulling me to him, his forehead resting on my stomach. “I can’t stay here like this. It’s too fucking hard.”
“Stay,” I plead, my hand going to the back of his head, holding him there. I look up at the ceiling, searching for words, searching for courage. “Spend the summer with me, and more if you still want me, and then we can—” I break off when he pulls back, his head tilted to look up at me.
“What are you saying, Mia?”
“Stay,” is all I can think to say. And I’m reminded of being fourteen, sitting on that water tower when he asked the very same of me. Stay. With him. For him. I force myself to stop the memories there. To not think about what happened next.
He’s still watching me, unsure, and so I lean down. “Stay,” I whisper against his lips. My mouth parts on his, my tongue begging for access. He doesn’t move. Not an inch. Seconds pass. I refuse to give up. To let him go. Not like this. I press my knee to the mattress, and then the other, until I’m straddling his lap, my chest to his, my arms around him as I settle my face to the crook of his neck. He stutters a breath, his hands shifting from my waist to my back, holding me there, pulling me closer. I rear back, my eyes clear, and my mind clearer. “I’m not letting you go, Leo. Not anymore, and never again.” He blinks. “The other night, you said that I was yours, in your mind and in your heart, so I’m here, asking you, begging you… make me yours.”
His eyes flash, and he runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “For how long?”
“For however long you choose me.” I don’t wait for a response. I kiss him again, and this time, he kisses me back. We’re nothing but lips and tongues and teeth and hands and breaths all meshed together, as if we can’t get enough, as if we need this to survive. Suddenly, we’re pulling apart, staring at each other. And when we come together again, everything slows, everything clicks, like we both just realized that we have something now that we’ve never had before. We have time.
He swirls his tongue against mine in that Lazy Leo way, and I let my moan drown in his kiss, in the way one hand grips my ass while the other travels up my spine, until his fingers comb through my hair, and then he tugs. I moan again, my head pulled back with his force. Our lips part, but he keeps his on my heated flesh, moving down my neck, my collarbone. I push down, grind, circle my hips, needing more of him. All of him. “Slow down, baby,” he murmurs, but I can’t. I keep going, my mind lost to my body as I feel the pleasure build at my core.
He smacks my ass and tugs my head back again. “Oh, fuck,” I whimper, my movements slowing. I bite my lip while his face hovers over mine, breaths harsh against my cheeks.
He looks down at me, his eyes heated. “I said slow the fuck down. You’re going to make me come.”
“Isn’t that the point?” I breathe out.
He shakes his head. “Not with you.” And then he smirks, and I want to lick that smirk off his face. I want to lick every single inch of him. And I want him to order me to do so.
Oh, god.
He keeps one hand in my hair as he rears back, his eyes scanning my face. He runs the back of his fingers over the tip of my breast, causing my eyes to shut in pleasure. “I love it when you wear these pajamas,” he tells me. “They remind me of Christmas.”
My eyes snap open. “What?” I look down at my red plaid pajamas and almost cringe with embarrassment. It’s the absolute least sexy thing I could’ve worn on the night I decide to lose my virginity.
He smiles to one side. “Like wrapping paper.” He undoes the top button. “I was always slow to unwrap my gifts,” he says, his eyes focused on loosening the buttons so methodically, I might just combust in his arms. “I liked the anticipation of peeling back the layers and finding a gift inside. A gift just for me.” He has all the buttons undone, but he doesn’t spread the fabric apart. He simply slides his hand from my stomach, up to my breast, his eyes locked on mine. He doesn’t squeeze; he just cups, so gentle, so safe. I suppress another moan when his thumb flicks across my pointed flesh. I want him to pinch them, to bite them, to devour them. All these images flash in my mind, and I start grinding against him. His fist tightens in my hair. “What did I tell you?”
I bite back a smile. When he’s like this, this… demanding… I want to give myself to him, to comply to every one of his orders. I’m aware there might be something wrong with me—thinking that, wanting that—but I don’t care. He’s the only guy to ever turn me on, and I never, ever thought it would be like this. Gaining courage from his stare, I pull back just enough to lift his T-shirt over his head. His cap comes with it, and I run my hands through his hair. It’s longer than I’ve ever seen it, and I love the way the waves flip around his cap, the way they stay like that even after it’s gone. His mouth finds mine while his hands move along my chest, spreading my top open for him, exposing me to his hungry eyes when he rears back. “Fuck, I love your tits,” he says, and then he’s doing everything I wanted him to. Pinching them. Biting them. Devouring them. I hold on to his head, my back arching in pleasure. I ride his erection through his jeans, but it’s not enough. I need more. I need everything. I undo the button first, and then lower the zipper. “Mia.” It comes out a warning. I don’t comply. I push down his boxer shorts and free him. My eyes widen. It’s the first one I’ve seen, in the flesh, and I’m momentarily stunned. Leo must notice, because he asks, “You okay there?”
I nod, try t
o do that natural thing called breathing. “I’ve never um… seen one before.”
He’s silent for so long, and when I look at him, he’s grinning so wide almost all his teeth show.
“Don’t laugh; you know I’m… inexperienced.”
“I wasn’t sure how inexperienced.” He shrugs, lazy. “But I’m going to be honest. I’m scared that if you touch it, I’ll be done for. And I want to get you off at least twice before I fuck you, so…” He starts to pull his shorts back up, but I grasp his wrist, stop him.
He laughs once, his eyes hazy with lust as he peels each of my fingers off his wrist. “That’s not how this works, Mia.”
“Not how what—” Before I can finish, he’s standing us both up and shrugging out of his jeans. Even hidden beneath his boxers, I can tell how big he is, and I worry—just for a moment—that he could possibly hurt me. I stand, my hands at my sides, as he moves behind me, shifting my hair so he can kiss the back of my neck. A shiver runs up my spine, and he catches it with his tongue as he lowers my shirt over my shoulders, down my arms. My arms move behind me with the movement of the sleeves, my hands almost meeting behind my back. His mouth is on my lower back, and he makes a noise from deep in his throat. I look behind me, see him squatting, my hands caught in the sleeves of the shirt. “What’s wrong?”
He laughs, but it comes out a scoff. “I’m just trying to talk myself out of tying your hands like this and pushing you onto your knees so I can’t do really, really bad things to you.”
At his words, heat pools between my legs and my mouth goes dry. “Do it,” I find myself saying.
“Mia, no.” He bites my butt through my shorts.
“Why not?”
He sighs, the sound of temptation.
