The Right One - Felice Stevens Page 0,43
yelled over her shoulder, “Go away and don’t come back. Take your pretty boy with you.”
“Leo, she doesn’t mean it,” Natalia whispered to him as they exited the room. She bumped his mother’s chair onto the wooden deck. “You know it’s the illness. She’s scared.”
His mother kept ranting about the injustices of her life, her voice fading as Natalia settled her by the table, under the shade of the large umbrella. Leo closed the door.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Morgan had taken the bags filled with broken dishes from Natalia, tied the top, and now followed Leo outside, where he placed them on the curb. After the dimness of the house, the bright sunlight was blinding, but its warmth felt good on Leo’s cold skin.
Morgan touched his shoulder. “The car is coming.”
They didn’t speak on the ride home or when they entered the apartment building. Leo was certain Morgan would have a thousand questions, and he had the answers to none of them.
Keys in hand, he stopped at the elevator. “Thanks for coming with me, but I’m sorry you had to see that.” And he walked away.
Footsteps pounded after him, and he increased his pace, but of course Morgan caught up with him before he could make it safely inside his apartment and punch something.
“Are you serious? You think I’m going to let you be alone after what just happened? Now get inside, and let’s talk.”
Leo said nothing, ground his teeth, and banged the door open on its hinges.
“You think I’m all upset and gonna sit and cry ’cause my mommy doesn’t love me? News flash—it’s nothing new. All my life I’ve heard what a nothing I am from her and her husband. I guess you got a glimpse of it today. Now you can agree with them.”
“Is that what you think?” Morgan challenged him.
He threw his keys down and braced his hands on the counter, too afraid that if he tried to say anything more, he’d crack into a thousand pieces and never get put back together.
* * *
THIRTEEN
* * *
From the rock-hard bunching of muscles across Leo’s back, Morgan knew he was a live bullet, ready to explode. And he also knew he’d have only one chance to say what he wanted to Leo, so he’d better do it right.
After what he’d seen today, he finally understood why Leo was all coiled up and vibrating with tension. As a kindergarten teacher, Morgan had dealt with enough emotionally scarred children to recognize the signs. Leo was the adult manifestation of years-old verbal abuse, and it sickened him. He’d gotten a peek behind the curtain—no, the iron wall—around Leo, and it all began to make sense to him.
Morgan sat on the couch at a distance from Leo, who remained as stiff as a soldier guarding the Queen. Morgan clasped and unclasped his hands. If he couldn’t put the horrible scene from that one morning out of his mind, how could Leo function after years of being terrorized? And Leo went to visit her every weekend? A wellspring of untapped anger burst from Morgan, knowing now what Leo had gone through, alone. No wonder he locked himself away from people.
“Leo. I’m not going to lecture you that you should’ve been nicer to your mother. Not after what I saw today.”
His dark head dropped, and Morgan watched Leo slowly turn to face him. “What do you think you saw?”
If they came out of this still speaking, it would be through Morgan’s efforts, because Leo had thrown up a blockade as high as the fucking Great Wall of China and was used to handling things alone, if at all. Leo would have no trouble walking away from Morgan, but Morgan wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t. Not anymore.
“I saw a son trying to help his mother, despite how cruel she was to him.” Morgan’s gaze locked to Leo’s. “Words hurt, sometimes as much as a physical punch.”
“Or both.” Leo flexed his hands, the pace of his breathing increasing as the seconds ticked by.
Morgan shivered, beads of sweat sliding down his back. He’d worked through all this with his therapist and had hoped never to relive his past, but here he was again. “Yes. Or both.”
That granitelike expression darkened, a muscle twitched in Leo’s jaw, but he walked away to the opposite side of the room and began to wrap his hands. Morgan had never been to a boxing match or even seen anyone fight but knew the fighters prepared their hands before they