“LEE?”
I look to my woman, sitting on the countertop beside the sink. She’s wearing one of my long sleeved t-shirts, her hair in a messy pile on top of her head, and it feels surreal, having her here. She nibbles on her pizza—which arrived a few minutes ago, the both of us starving even at this late hour—and she looks right at home.
Staring at her from where I stand, leaning against the counter on the opposite side of my small kitchen, I decide that I like it unequivocally.
“What, baby?” I ask before shoving a bite of crust into my mouth.
She sets her half eaten pizza down on her plate, lowering the dish until it rests against her bare thighs as she asks, “Earlier, you said that walking away from me was the second hardest thing you’ve ever done. What was the first?”
I don’t answer right away, and she watches as I finish eating my first slice of pizza. To be honest, I don’t want to tell her shit. Not because I don’t want her to know, but because I don’t talk about it. Ever. Not with anyone. As if she can read my mind, she sets her plate aside, and prepares to slide off of the counter. That’s my Jill—always ready to come to me when she thinks I need it.
This time, I hold a hand up before she can hop down, insisting, “Stay.” She hesitates, and I can tell by the look in her eyes that she’s trying to decide whether or not she intends to obey. In order to make up her mind for her, I warn, “I don’t talk about this shit, Jill. If I need a round with my bag when I’m done, I want you there and me here,”
She nods, immediately grabbing hold of her plate and returning it to her lap, as if it’s the only thing that’ll keep her from trying to comfort me.
Fuck.
That’s my Jill.
I run a hand down my face and then grip hold of the edge of the counter behind me with both hands.
“My father’s a fucking junkie,” I admit, my ever present anger already simmering at the truth. “Has been almost all my life. Before I was born, my mother told him—cocaine or us. He chose us. For a while. Couple years after I came about, Antonio was born. We were a family. Hardly remember it now, but life was good.
“When I was ten, the asshole lost his job. I can’t say how hard he tried to make things right—I was fucking ten—but I know he didn’t try hard enough. First time I ever saw him strung out was Antonio’s eighth birthday.” My grip around the counter tightens, and I shake my head, combatting my fury. “He gets mean when he’s fucked up. He struck Tony when he whined about dad being late to his birthday dinner. I’ll never forget that shit.”
Shaking my head, I go on to say, “By the time I was eleven, my mother had kicked him out. For the next couple of years, he was gone. Life wasn’t easy, but we got by. When I was thirteen, he started coming back around—begging mom for help; promising her that he’d make shit right again; spouting off some shit about having a plan. She loved him, was fucking weak for him, and she bought into his bullshit.
“Until I was eighteen, he would come and go. I’d learned early on not to depend on the fucker, but my mother and Tony? They got messed up, buying into his lies only to be let down later. Truth is, he traded addictions like playing cards. He promised mom he’d give up coke, then he’d start gambling. So long as he was winning, so long as we had money, so long as he could buy our love, he was good. Felt like a man or some shit. But his luck would always run out—then he was back into cocaine. He’d get mean and aggressive, and I learned that whenever he came around high as fuck, it had to be me on the receiving end of whatever he doled out.”
I don’t realize I’ve reached up to rub the scar on my eyebrow until Jill whispers, “He gave that to you?”
I drop my hand, looking over at her as I dip my chin in a curt nod. “I was seventeen. He backhanded me. He was wearing a ring.”
“Leo,” she gasps, her hands holding her plate so fiercely, her knuckles are white.
“Left when I was eighteen. Couldn’t be around him anymore. I was angry. It pissed me off that my mom and Tony wouldn’t just get a fucking clue. They tried to tell me that he needed us—all of us—and that I shouldn’t give up on him. But I didn’t believe that. Should have fucking stayed anyway.”
The burden of that truth weighs heavily on my chest, and the pain I try my best to keep buried starts to force its way to the surface. I curl my fingers into fists, trying to keep a firm grip on my wrath. Sucking in a sharp breath, I force myself to continue.
“I don’t know how it happened. I wasn’t around. Somehow, that son of a bitch roped Tony in. Came around one day, and he was juiced up—going on and on about the money he was making pushing blow. At fucking sixteen years old!” My eyes start to burn, and I can’t stand still anymore, my memories resurfacing as if it happened yesterday. I choke out a breath as I begin to pace, and I go on to confess, “I was too late. I should never have left him, and I was too late. I couldn’t save him. I tried.
“Addiction—it had him. It had him like it had our father, except it didn’t kill my father.”
“Lee,” Jill murmurs, catching my wrist.
My head snaps in her direction, seeing that she’s now standing next to me, but I wrench away from her touch as I continue to pace.
“It was me who found him. Out cold. Seventeen years old and fucking gone from an overdose.”
“Lee,” Jill pleads, catching my wrist once more. “Lee, stop.” Before I can stop her, she’s wrapped around me, her chest pressed against mine, her hands splayed across my back, her big, blue eyes staring up at me as they overflow with tears. “Breathe. Just take a second, Leo—breathe. It’s okay.”
“Take your hands off me, Jill,” I grind out, lifting my own hands in the air.
“Don’t make me,” she cries, holding me tighter. “You won’t hurt me. Just let me—”
“Jill…” I growl.
Reluctantly, she lets me go, taking a step away from me as she cries harder. “Lee—”
“It’s not okay, Jill! I abandoned him. I didn’t protect him! You have no fucking clue what it feels like to carry that burden!”
“Leo, it’s not your fault. You were a kid! You were barely older than he was—you can’t blame yourself for his actions. You can’t blame yourself for not knowing any better. It wasn’t your responsibility to know better!”
“Somebody needed to take responsibility,” I bark.
“Yes,” she states adamantly. “Not you. Your parents let you down. They let you both down. It’s not your fault.”
Burying my fingers in my hair, I try and tamp down my outrage, sucking in deep breaths through my nose, my gaze locked with Jill’s. The determined look in her eyes almost makes me believe her.
“He’s still gone. I couldn’t keep him safe. I couldn’t keep him alive.”
She nods, taking a hesitant step toward me.
“I know.”
She takes another step, and I clench my jaw, dropping my hands to my sides as I lift my focus to the ceiling.
“You’re allowed to be angry, Lee. You should be.”
Tentatively, she rests one hand, then another, against my chest. Her trembling touch grounds me—and I’m reminded that she is fragile; that she is delicate; that she is mine to protect.
“But trust me when I tell you, you have nothing to feel guilty about. You left an abusive home, and nobody could blame you for that. But you didn’t abandon him. You went back for him, Leo.”
“It was too late,” I mumble through clenched teeth.
“Not your fault.”
My eyes fall closed when she presses a soft kiss against the center of my chest.
“Not your fault, Lee,” she whispers before kissing me a second time.
Her tender kisses ease the ache in my chest, and I blindly reach up and bury my fingers in her hair. Gripping the silky strands in my fists, I tug her head back gently, dropping my own until my lips are pressed against hers. She leans into me, her kisses still soft and sweet.
“There’s more,” she mutters against my lips. When she starts to pull her face away from mine, I don’t stop her. Looking up at me, her hands feeling their way up and down my sides, she goes on to say, “What happened in the hotel, Lee? What happened after Tony…?”
“I left,” I state, pulling my fingers from her hair.
I reach down and grab hold of her waist, lifting her up and setting her back on the counter. She doesn’t protest when I put some space between us, returning to my spot across from her.
“I packed my shit, swiped some of that fucker’s cash, and bought a one-way ticket here. Ended up in Jersey. I met this guy. He owned a small gym. I was there just about every day. It was the only place I could find any sort of release. Took my anger and my hate out on a punching bag. I was in his place so often that he offered me a job. I got settled. Kept a low profile. Did everything I could to make it hard to be found. But that’s the thing about my father,” I grunt with a sneer. “He’s made it this long because he’s resourceful.
“I was twenty-one when he found me. By then, I was working in security. I felt like I was finally starting to make something of myself, finally in control of my anger enough that I could move on—and I wasn’t going to let that motherfucker mess anything up for me. So I got rid of everything that had my name on it. Created a business and funneled everything through my business name. He still hasn’t figured that shit out—but when I started working for Ashley, it became harder for me to hide.
“At first I was only a hired hand. My father got whoever the fuck to track me down to my employer. Got my boss to cough up my number by claiming some sort of bogus family emergency. Guess for him it wasn’t so bogus. Got himself into some trouble and he needed me to bail him out. I refused. Changed my number. Then Ashley hit it big, and I got on his payroll. My information isn’t exactly out there, but every member of Ashley’s regime can be found one way or another. Find the right guy for the job, pay the right price—or owe enough fucking money…”
My voice trails off as I study Jill’s face. Her eyes are wide in curiosity, her lips are parted for breath, and I can tell she’s hanging on my every goddamn word. I wish I didn’t have to bring her into this. I want nothing more than to keep all of this shit away from her, but a part of me knows the truth. Deep down I know, keeping my walls up—keeping her in the dark—it’s not the same as protecting her.
“Took them a few years, but they found me again last summer, right after I met you.”
Her eyebrows shoot up in enlightenment as she murmurs, “The first time I called you, I—”
“Yeah.”
“So, what, they’ve been bugging you for months?”
“It’s different now,” I tell her, shaking my head once to negate her assumption. “I have the upper hand. I’m not some little shit—I’m a fucking grown ass man. In their eyes, I’ve got money—I’ve got status—I’ve got everything that bastard ever wanted but was too lazy and high to ever achieve himself.
“The way I have it figured out, he’s dug himself into a hole. Like he always does. He drops my name or some shit, and he thinks it’ll buy him some time. He promises I’ve got the goods to cover up whatever mess he’s created, and people believe that lie because he’s got photo proof that I work for one of the most famous names there is. They’re playing it safe. He’s put my mother on me twice, now—as if that makes any difference.”
She scrunches her brow, worry clouding her eyes as she asks, “They can find you, then? Whoever your parents might be in trouble with?”
Immediately, I push away from the counter behind me, moving to stand between her legs. I take hold of the side of her neck, propping my thumb beneath her chin as I declare, “Nobody can touch me, baby. They have my phone number, that’s all. Seattle was dumb luck. All they needed was a tour schedule and time. On a regular day, when I’m home, it’s not that easy. Everything is attached to my LLC, LTV Security Services. You’re safe.”
She offers me a nod, reaching out to absentmindedly trace her fingertips down my stomach. When she makes it to my hips, she slides her hands around my sides and murmurs, “Does your middle name start with a T?”
“No, baby. LTV doesn’t stand for Leo. Antonio—we used to call him Little Tony.”
Leaning toward me, she tucks her face between my neck and my shoulder, kissing me once before she clings to me with all her limbs. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me all of that. I’m really sorry to hear about your brother, Lee.”
I squeeze the side of her neck gently, wrapping my other arm around her back, surprised that after all that I just told her, I’m calm enough to hold her. Even more shocking is the fact that I’m content with the knowledge that I’m not keeping any secrets from her anymore. All that I am, everything that has made me who I am, she now knows; and instead of hearing the truth and judging me for it, she offers me the same grace and compassion that she always has.
It feels good.
Fuck, does it feel good.