The Right One - Felice Stevens Page 0,41

or heart attack with how she’s carrying on, throwing and breaking things.”

In the background he could hear the crying, along with the sound of smashing china.

“Okay. I’m coming over, but it’ll take me a while. I have to call a car.”

“Just come, please. I know you’ll be able to help.”

Unlikely, but he had no choice.

“I’ll see you soon.”

He raced to the dresser and pulled on a T-shirt and shorts, then slipped his feet into flip-flops. Morgan stood waiting for him by the door. Leo had forgotten he was there.

“I have to go.” He ran out of the apartment, but Morgan followed him.

“I heard. I called a car service for you. It’ll be here in two minutes.”

Leo stopped short. “You what?” They were at the front door, and he opened it and walked outside.

“I was trying to help you. You’ll have to tell them where to go.”

He should tell Morgan to go to hell for butting in.

“Thanks.”

A black sedan drove up and stopped in front of the building. Leo and Morgan ran to it, and Leo opened the door. He slid inside, and Morgan sat next to him.

“What’re you doing? Why’re you coming with me?”

Morgan set his jaw. “I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation. This isn’t something anyone should handle on their own. You look like you need a friend.”

“You ready? Where you goin’?” the driver asked. His radio crackled.

Too exhausted, hungover, and stressed out to argue with Morgan, Leo gave the address. “2498 National Drive. Mill Basin.”

The car took off, and they rode in silence for a while. Leo could only imagine the strain it put on Morgan not to talk and ask him questions, but it was nice to have someone at his side, even if he was a stranger. A stranger he’d kissed until he lost his mind, then spent the night with.

Not that much of a stranger after all.

“My mother…she isn’t well,” he began, and Morgan gave him his full attention, even though Leo didn’t have a damn clue what he planned to say. “She’s really sick.”

Pale, Morgan reached out a hand as if to offer him support but stopped when Leo stiffened. “I’m so sorry. It must be hard for you.”

A harsh laugh escaped him. “You think?”

He pressed his lips together and didn’t speak until they arrived at his mother’s house. Once out of the car, he stood for a moment on the sidewalk, gathering his wits before entering.

“Is this where you grew up? It’s a gorgeous home.”

“We moved here when I was nine, but it was never a home. Not for me.” Leaving Morgan to scramble after him, Leo shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts, strode up the walkway, and turned the knob. The door opened, and loud, piercing screams greeted his entrance. He stopped briefly to draw in a breath.

“Is that your mother?” Morgan stood at his side.

“Yeah,” Leo said with a thin, brutal smile. “Sure you want to be here? You’re free to leave.”

That stubborn chin tilted, and Morgan met his eyes with a ferocity he’d never imagined him capable of. “I don’t run away and leave my friends when they need me.”

He might regret those words.

“Follow me.” He led the way up the short flight of stairs to the rear of the house. Most homes in Mill Basin were split-level and had the bedrooms downstairs while the kitchen and living areas were on the upper level. His mother spent most of her time in her chair on the large deck, but today Leo found her in her wheelchair in the living room, shards of broken plates scattered around her feet, while Natalia, bless her, attempted to soothe her, to no avail.

“Mrs. O’Toole, please, calm down. Look, Leo is here.”

“Mom, stop it.”

She turned on him, face hard and angry, in direct contrast to the jaunty pink-and-purple dress she wore with a matching headband in her dark hair. Red-rimmed blue eyes blazed at him.

“Look who decided to show up. You finally remembered you had a mother.”

Ignoring her dig, Leo pointed to the chair. “Mom, cut it out. You’re going to hurt yourself or Natalia.”

True to his good nature, Morgan crouched and began to gather the broken pieces of china, joined by Natalia, now freed of watching his mother. Shame and anger battled inside him at the peeling back of the curtain he’d remained hidden behind. It had been his own private war, now revealed in all its pain.

Theresa, of course, had no shame, and continued to flay him. “What the fuck