Leon's Way

by Sunniva Dee

  “No. She doesn’t take his shit, apparently. Kept her own apartment even though they’ve dated for years. Whenever he drank and got grumpy, she’d leave him alone.”

  “Wish Mom had thought of that,” I say. “She could’ve gone to Hank’s.”

  “She was probably too young. With Dad being this worldly, older man, he must have blown her off her feet as soon as they began dating.”

  The door opens behind me, and quiet footsteps grow louder. Small hands snake around my middle, and a taut belly presses into my back. I sigh. Relieved, I close my eyes. Turning into Arriane’s embrace, I link her neck with the crook of my arm and pull her against me.

  “Everything okay?” she whispers so only I can hear.

  “Yeah. Kat, gotta go,” I tell both of them.

  “Well… looks like I’ll be staying here tonight. Dad’s stomach is swelling from the liver thing they think he has, and he’s in pain. They’ll get rid of some of the fluid in the morning.”

  “Jesus, Kat. Don’t be such a pushover. Staying the damn night?”

  “I’m just attracting good karma.” There’s a smile in her voice. My guess is she’s thinking of our mother’s speeches.

  Once we hang up, I let go of Arriane. She waits for me to speak—maybe tell her what to do. She watches me, compassion flowing my way. I turn to my desk. Arms straight, I lean on both fists and stare out the window. All I see is the sidewall of the garage that houses the truck and my motorcycle.

  “I can sleep at your house tonight if you want,” Arriane says. Her voice is so low I’m not sure I heard her right. I better have heard her right.

  She’s against me again, full-bodied and blanketing me. I dig this. Arriane crams my mind full of bright stuff instead of hate and darkness.

  “Kat’s staying with the monster tonight,” I tell her.

  “Yeah, I caught that.”

  “You listening in on my phone conversation, baby?” I smile. Swing into her throat so I can bite her.

  “Ah! Careful,” she whispers.

  “You’re a nosy and very sexy girl.”

  “Stop,” she murmurs when I grind against her, reminding her of what we’ll be doing soon. Damn, she can fill a guy’s brain—dick—with ideas. “Kisses only until we’re upstairs,” she stutters out.

  “My bossy lady.” I laugh low in my throat. “You’re the Boss Lady, remember?”

  “Cam’s an idiot.” She snickers through the suckling noises as she pulls on my lip with her mouth.

  “True. Good nickname he came up with for you, though. You want me to fire his dumb ass?” I joke, causing her laughter to trickle out louder.

  “Nope, he’ll be the diaper supplier. Plus, he does a bang-up job at giving you questionable confidence boosters. You stud.”

  She gasps as I grope her. Squeeze her into me. “Can’t wait to get you in my bed and keep you there all night. Damn—it’s been long.”

  “Really? It’s been every day,” she reminds me.

  “Hushed quickies in the office don’t count. Anyone can do that.”

  She raises her gaze slowly and pulls away enough to look me in the eye. “Some people make more out of those than others.”

  I’m six months pregnant. Unbelievable.

  I shuffle into Ingela and my living room in my socks. My feet are swollen around the ankles, apparently not a good thing when you have preeclampsia. Everything is going well so far, though. I’m good about checking my blood pressure, and Leon insisted on finding me an OBGYN in town so I don’t have to travel to Talco if something urgent happens.

  “Popcorn’s done!” Ingela screams from the kitchen, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s the kind you don’t like with no salt since you can’t have any because of your blood pressure!” She rubs the sad fact in—like salt in my salt-hungry wounds. I have no fun, I swear.

  The most trusted and most experienced OBGYN in Deepsilver is an older gentleman, which pisses Leon off. I’m tuned in to my love’s need for control, so whenever possible, I try to make him happy. With this, it’s easy; I don’t have a preference in my gynecologist’s gender. To me it’s almost weirder with a woman poking me down there. I might actually prefer a man, even if he’s old and it’s not for pleasure. I chuckle at my own thoughts.

  Leon didn’t mention his internal struggles before deciding, but the tiny fractures in his façade were easy to read. Despite his distaste for another man’s hands on me, he landed on the best. So far, I’m more than satisfied with Leon’s choice. Dr. Rosenthal is much gentler than any female gynecologist I’ve been with.

  Even though I go twice a week this late in the game, this boyfriend of mine never misses an appointment. He’ll be by my side, holding my hand, eyes trained on Dr. Rosenthal while the doctor conducts my checkups.

  My gynecologist must have seen worse than Leon, because he’s unfazed by my boyfriend’s sky-bright glare. He’s always polite and professional, downplaying my fears when they’re unfounded and answering our questions truthfully. One of these days, Leon might even relax in the examination room.

  Then again, who am I kidding?

  “It’s Three Men and a Baby tonight!” Ingela shrieks as she enters the den. You can press ‘Play,’ Mom.”

  “Don’t call me ‘Mom,’” I say on repeat. She won’t listen. By now, her so-called endearment for me is catching on in the club too. One of our regulars, a linebacker from the college, yelled ‘Mom’ at me the other day. That made me feel sexy. Not. “Plus, I want to see… um… Halloween.”

  This is the first night in a month I’ve taken off. Yesterday, Leon watched me get dizzy at Smother, raced me to the ER for a checkup, which showed no change in my state, and now he has ordered me to relax for the night. I’m returning to work tomorrow, for sure. Really, I’m not sick, and I need the money. Earned money. Not the handed-to-me-for-the-heck-of-it money Leon thinks I should get.

  When he realized I wasn’t staying at his house, he promptly ordered Ingela to “work from home” tonight. What does that mean in the club business? To babysit the owner’s pregnant girlfriend, apparently. Ingela’s more than happy to oblige, especially with the double under-the-table salary he promised her. It’s ridiculous.

  “Nope, Halloween would upset my godchild,” Ingela informs me. She won’t be anyone’s godmother. She just shrugs whenever I mention this fact.

  “Damn, we should do this more often,” she continues while wiggling her butt into the cushions next to me on the couch.

  “Yeah, let’s not,” I say, winking at her.

  Her grin broadens. “Well, minus your ER visit. Here’s your boring popcorn. Stay clear of the red bowl. It’s got sooo much salt for me!”

  Twenty minutes into the eighties movie she’s chosen for us, I realize we’re not here to actually see it. Ingela doesn’t shut up. “So Cameron goes, ‘What about with Rosa? You don’t have to touch her—I’ll just be all over both of you. It’s still a threesome, Inga, if you don’t want to suck her.’”

  I laugh. “Wow, is he ever going to give up?”

  “I don’t know,” she replies, considering my question. “He’s asked me about every girl at Smother now. Maybe I’ll say ‘yes’ if he moves on to gays.”

  For once, I think she actually means gays and not guys. It’s hard to know, though. “As in a guy who’ll be making out with Cam instead of you?”

  “No, silly,” she says, rolling her eyes. “For instance, Christian’s hot, and sexy Manuel in the kitchen, and even Jason. He’s cute, you know. But Leon’s the hottest gay ever. If he weren’t your boyfriend and too busy eating up you at the bar—”

  “Eating me up? He doesn’t…”

  “Gah, you get nothing anymore,” she complains. “I mean, not really eating you. Like staring at you, stupid.”

  Right.

  “He’s devouring me with his eyes during work hours, you’re saying?” I haven’t noticed. Some sort of fluttering starts in my stomach at the thought, though. I like it. Tons.

  “Yeees.
” She drags the word out Ingela-style and pokes my knee with all fingertips on one hand at once. “He’s so hungry for you!”

  Cue advanced stage of butterfly wings in my stomach—and I’m reacting like we’re not dating. Things are just different with Leon.

  Suddenly, Ingela leans in, an understanding smile on her pretty face. “You’re not pushing for him, are you?”

  I frown, thinking hard. What should I be pushing for him? Judging by her expression, it’s something women do for their men, and yet Ingela sort of understands if I’m not. I’ve got nothing.

  “It’s okay. I think many pregnant chicks don’t push for their gays.”

  Damn. I better be pushing when the time comes.

  On the screen, three hot men bop around with cute gestures trying to feed this baby they’ve somehow inherited. I haven’t figured out how, thanks to my friend’s nonstop chattering.

  “Inga, honey—I don’t understand what you’re saying,” I finally admit.

  “Sort of convenient, huh?” she retorts. “He’s hungry for you because you don’t push out. Sleep with him, Arria. Do you sleep with him at all, poor man?”

  I’m dying. I hunch over my own stomach, laughing, and Ingela joins me. “What?” she asks between her own snickers. “What’s so funny?”

  “Ah, Inga. You…” I’m tearing up, and damn is it good to laugh this hard. My stomach contracts, first because of the laughter, but then it feels like a thin layer of muscles all across the surface of my belly tightens into a shield around the baby. The sensation isn’t new but something I haven’t paid attention to before. It’s stronger tonight. “You’re asking if I’m putting out, aren’t you?” I finally manage, and Ingela bobs her head.

  “Yeah, what I said.”

  I’m not going to set her straight. It wouldn’t work anyway, so why bother?

  “No, I put out nonstop,” I tell her in a rush of honesty. I don’t share Leon’s and my business with people, but it feels good right now.

  She’s not squealing and digging for more details like I might have done in the right mood. Instead she purses her lips and twists them to a side, thinking. “So—why does he look at you that way, then? All the time, Arria. Whenever he’s not working, he stares at you like he’s got a crush and you’re… uh. Unachievable.”

  Wow. I’m not sure what blows my mind most. For some reason, I’ve put Ingela on the level of Cameron. Cute. Funny. Simple-minded and happy-go-lucky. It might be that her fluent and erroneous use of the English language has obscured her deeper traits.

  But then, I do know what’s most shocking. That Leon, my cool, guarded man, doesn’t stop watching me. “No, he’s probably making sure I’m safe because of the preeclampsia,” I say.

  Ingela shakes her head. “Uh-huh, but there’s more, though. Who’d look like they want to eat someone up because they have a disease?”

  As strangely as she puts it, she’s right. I know he’s not happy with the way things are. The situation with his father upsets him, and so does living with his sister instead of with me. But…

  Ingela’s phone blinks on the table, and she groans. “Cameron. Can you pause the film?”

  Really?

  She swipes it up and shows me the message Cam just sent. Leon’s grumpy as hell. Get Boss Lady back here. He needs something big to look at.

  “So rude!” Ingela gasps.

  So not your dick? she types out and hits “send.”

  Time for a show-and-tell, Inga. No! A suck-and-tell. Twelve inches, Cameron instantly replies.

  She’s grinning wide over Cameron’s texts. I’d be puking, but then again, we’re all different.

  “I’m going to bed. You lovebirds enjoy, all right,” I tell her.

  “Wait, no! We need to finish the movie! I’ll tell him to shut the fuck up,” she says in a sweet voice.

  “Careful with the F-word around people,” I say automatically.

  “See?” She shows me the phone, and sure enough: Shut the fuck up is indeed splattered over her screen. I still stand and straighten my shirt.

  “What does ‘eloquent’ mean?” she asks, eyes on the screen.

  “That he likes your answer.”

  She pumps a skinny bicep. “Because I rock.”

  Jason is being particularly dense tonight. I’ve shown him three times how I want the new ropes to work outside the entrance to Smother, but he keeps opening them so the line becomes shorter and less organized. I show him again.

  I move on to Tom, Jason’s gym rat friend, whom I hired as a bouncer over a month ago. The man still hasn’t gotten the part where my exes need to stay clear of the club. I cross my arms and tip my chin up so I can stare down at him despite his hulk-sized stature.

  “Tom. I realize there are a few to remember, but when they ask for me—and in particular when they claim to be my girlfriend—there’s no way in hell it’s not one of them, okay? Even if Jason isn’t nearby and can verify your suspicion, just send them off.”

  Tom crinkles a freckled brow, thinking. “But what if they’re not lying? I wouldn’t want to send the lady off if she really is your girlfriend, boss.” His worry lines smoothen, indicating that he’s satisfied with his reply, and I remind myself that I didn’t hire him for his ability to flex brain muscle.

  One of the new bartenders, Jen, waves from the dance floor. Once she has my attention, she points at two guys shoving at each other while dancing couples give room around them. I nod once. “Jason. Fight inside.”

  “On it, sir.” He plods off, on a mission.

  I pull in a breath, getting ready to explain the self-explanatory in regards to girlfriends. “Tom, did any of the girls you let in last night look like Arriane?”

  “Boss? No…”

  “Here’s the deal. Unless I tell you otherwise, Arria is my only girlfriend. Anyone else is fucking lying. Understood?”

  Tom blinks. “Yes sir.”

  “Good. Now, assist Jason with the jerk-offs inside, and I’ll keep an eye out here in the meantime.”

  Tonight’s sad as hell. Don’t get me wrong—I’m glad Arria obeyed and stayed at her apartment with Ingela after yesterday’s scare with the ER visit, but I’m not digging her absence. There’s no happy hips wiggling and tempting me behind the bar counter, no sweet smile whenever I zoom in and catch her attention, and no stolen squeezes.

  As usual, Kat’s not around. She spends more and more time at the hospital. She’s lived with me for over a month now, and the situation is unbearable. I’m patient, or at least I can fake patience. But Arriane’s pregnancy, these months she promised me, are running out faster than footprints on stormy beaches.

  While my girl remains accessible only for brief moments a day, Kat returns every night with new apologies from my father. Fresh versions of why alcohol was to blame for everything that occurred. Hell, no one knew better than us—I have no idea why he spends energy on reminding us.

  It bugs the shit out of me that he’s getting to Katsu with his suffering and sappy stories. For every visit, she talks about him with more respect. “Leon, he loved our mother so much—still does,” she told me yesterday, eyes brimming with sympathy for the bastard.

  “Nice way of showing it, don’t you think?” I said.

  “Shishi, he’s not drinking anymore. If I can move past everything, then you can at least try. If not for him, for yourself… and for me.”

  I’d slammed my fist on the table. “Damn, Kat. I’m supposed to forgive him for you? How did things become so twisted? I was the one dragging you out of the house, saving you from his fists when he was drunk and furious. Whenever I got you out too late and he’d already hit you, I took you to the ice cream place down the street. Remember? I used to make you feel better in despite of him.”

  Kat lowered her gaze, tears shimmering and falling. “Yeah. I… wish you’d go see him, though. Just once.”

  “I did!”

  Our father is in and out of the hospital, depending on how he’s doing. On his off-periods, Kat h
as even started talking about visiting his house. Scary as shit, but it’s all talk for now.

  “He’s got so much to say to you, and his liver isn’t getting any better. If he doesn’t get a donor soon…”

  The most vexing club night I can remember is finally over, and Kat is still awake when I head upstairs. It’s three a.m. There’s no way I’m stomaching another story about Daddy Dearest.

  My sister’s in the kitchen with a cup of warm milk with cinnamon in front of her. She’s in her own thoughts but looks up at my entry.

  “Hey,” I say, and my voice breaks despite my shield. She’s instantly alarmed.

  “All okay? Where’s Arriane?”

  “Not here, obviously,” I snap. “Is she ever, Kat?” My breath morphs into a growl I smother with my hand. I need to curb this.

  “Leon, what’s going on?”

  “Ah,” I puff anyway. “You’re too fucking busy keeping sweet Daddy happy. You don’t get it?”

  It takes more than my raised voice to rattle Kat these days. She swallows another steamy mouthful of milk. “No, I’ve wondered about you two, Shishi, but I didn’t want to pry. I can only bug you about so many things. What’s going on?”

  “Arria’s not here because you live with me.” Then, I divulge what I believe to be the problem—why my girl hardly even sets foot in my apartment anymore. “She won’t live with both of us, because she thinks you’ll walk in on us having sex.”

  She’s stunned. “Seriously? That was a one-timer! Total offbeat, never, ever again sort of problem. Total fluke.”

  “I know.” I sigh. “Kat, I love you, but I’m over so much in my life right now: the pressure of you telling me everything I don’t want to know about Dad. Your insistence that I come along when all I want is to fucking forget. And then this. I have so little time left with Arriane, and I really needed these months with her.”

  My sister stares at me, mouth ajar as she takes in what I say. “What? Why…?” She’s not sure what to ask. The part about our dad isn’t new, so she must be stunned into silence over Arriane.

  I let myself sink down at the table she just rose from and cover my face with my hands, hunch into them.

  I’m tired, so tired of wanting more.