she wanted, but she wanted him. She needed him. And I want this. Them. I need them.
Mia’s eyes are downcast as she plays with the hem of my shirt. Her single heartbreaking sniff—one she uses to fight back her emotions—has me cupping her jaw, forcing her to look up at me. I suck in a breath and hold it, waiting for her to speak. “You missed out on four years of Benny’s life because I kept things from you, believing it was for the best, but it wasn’t.”
I nod. It’s all I can do.
“So I’m not going to do that anymore, Leo.”
My throat closes in, blocking my lungs from their life source.
“I spoke to your dad today…” Then she proceeds to tell me everything—every word Dad said, every accusation she felt, every bit of heartbreaking anguish that tore through her.
I stand, and I listen, and I hold her through her cries.
I don’t say a word. But I do make a promise—one brought on from the mind a four-year-old. I promise to do something I failed to do too many times before when it came to Mia. I’m going to show her that I love her. And it really will be that simple.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Leo
After Mia finished telling me about her conversation with my dad, I told her I’d take care of it—that there was nothing she needed to worry about. And she didn’t. This was on me. And then I smiled, and I kissed away her tears, and I carried on with the rest of the night trying to make her laugh, make her forget.
But, deep in my chest, in my gut… there was a rage simmering, something I haven’t felt since Logan’s past was revealed. But it’s in there, like a bomb waiting to detonate. I felt it the moment she started to speak. I won’t let it happen. It’s not who I am anymore. It’s not the man Benny and Mia know and love, and so for them, I put on a mask.
We spend the rest of their time here as one, as a family. The anger faded slowly, replaced with moments of joy and laughter, and everything I didn’t know I’d been missing.
I don’t bother waiting until the following weekend. After dropping Mia and Benny off at the airport the next day, I send a text to the family group chat and tell them I’ll be home in two hours and for everyone to be there. Unless my dad couldn’t keep his mouth shut, they have no idea what’s coming.
As soon as I get in my truck, I blast “Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles, on repeat, full volume—a reminder of why I’m about to do what I’m doing.
Mia and I have never had a lot of things in common. We still don’t. We’ve never needed it. The one thing we do have is one of the most important to our story: our favorite place in the world is exactly a hundred and thirty feet in the air.
I was fourteen, and she was thirteen. It was the second summer she spent with us. The first summer I actually got the courage to talk to her. One morning, right after the sun came up, “Here Comes the Sun” played through the speakers of her phone. I’d heard the song before, but I’d never really paid attention to the lyrics. Mia knew the song by heart, and she sang… She sang each word quietly, her head bopping up and down. She was in her usual clothes: denim cut-offs and an oversized tee. Her flip-flops were kicked off, and she sat across the ledge, not over it like we usually did. Her knees were raised, and she leaned back on her outstretched arms, her face pointed up to the sky, eyes closed. I couldn’t stop looking at her. As the song played on, her singing got louder and more off-tune. Her singing voice was atrocious if I’m being honest, but I didn’t stop her.
I just sat, and I watched, and I couldn’t help but smile as I did. And I thought to myself, “Man, you must really love someone to put up with singing this bad.” And that’s when it hit me. That was the moment she turned from a crush to all-out love.
When I got home, I looked up the lyrics to the song. There aren’t many words, but it’s basically how winters are long without the sun, how it feels like years whenever it’s not around, and the