Leo's Chance
Mia Sheridan
Dedication
This book is dedicated to Darcy Rose for, among many things, teaching me that I’m braver than I ever knew.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
CHAPTER 1
I lay in my hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling, swimming in my own grief. How had it come to this? How had life brought me to this place – not just this room in this building, but the unbearable state of my own heart and mind? I want to escape myself, I want to crawl out of my own head and become a shadow curled up in the corner, just a ball of emptiness. I had destroyed every person who had ever tried to love me, and the pain in that realization is so devastating that it feels crushing, constricting, too big to handle.
I hear a light knock on my hospital room door and before I can answer, it's pushed open slowly and Dr. Fox's head peaks around the door, white hair wild. "Morning, Jake," he says, smiling.
He walks in, letting the door swing closed behind him.
Dr. Fox is the hospital psychologist and he's been stopping by for two weeks now, but I don't have a word to say to him. I'm not interested in what he's selling. Period.
When I don't say anything, he looks at me for a minute and then says gently, "Still don't want to talk to me about the traumatic month you've had? You might be surprised that talking helps."
I exhale, still remaining silent. This is the last fucking thing I need, some shrink trying to tell me to cry it out and it'll all be okay. He looks like Einstein, which might be good considering I'd need a genius to even attempt to work through all my issues. I'm a fucking mess and I know it. Still, I'll pass. Thanks, but no thanks.
"So, what?" I finally say. "You're going to Goodwill Hunting me or something? It's not my fault, right?" I laugh humorlessly and look away. What a joke.
He's silent for a couple beats and then he says, "Well, I don't know, Jake. I read about your accident and it sounds like that was most definitely your fault. And I'd like to talk to you about that if you're willing. Your dad passing away… obviously, no. But either way, I'm not here to blow sunshine up your ass. If you want someone to pat you on the back and tell you you're not responsible for your own bad decisions, I'm not your guy. If you'd like to talk to someone who has helped people a lot worse off than some poor little rich boy who didn't get his way and threw a fit by smashing up his new Porsche, maybe I can be a listening ear."
He turns to leave and I'm seeing red at his words. I can barely move my broken body, both arms are in casts and my leg is suspended in the air, encased in a cast as well and my face is bandaged and swollen. But I manage to jerk my body enough to make him swing his head back around as he's turning and I clip out, "You presumptuous bastard. You think you know me based on a few things you have written down on a fucking piece of paper? You think people can be summed up in a line or two on a clipboard? I'm not some 'poor little rich boy!' I didn't grow up with more than a pot to piss in. I had just found out my little brother was dead – a kid I practically raised. You don't know shit about my situation."
He's silent again for a minute. "I do now," he says quietly. "Thank you for telling me. What was your brother's name?"
I hesitate for a minute, furrowing my brow and then turning my head to look out the window at the blue California sky. Holy shit, that sneaky bastard tricked me. Huh. I feel my lips twitch against my will. A seed of respect takes root.
I take my time answering, continuing to stare out the window silently for a minute or two after he’s asked his question. He waits me out. "Seth."
"I'd love to hear about Seth if you'll tell me about him," he says.
I sigh. I haven't talked about Seth in so long. Ah, what the hell? The only way that sweet kid is going to live on in this world is through me. I've fallen down on the job. I owe him so much. Still, I hesitate, but finally find the words. "I hadn't seen him in ten years. I'm adopted. He was my real brother. Or half brother. But my real brother in every way that counts. It's a long story."
"I have a Ph.D. in long stories." He smiles and I chuckle despite myself.
"I bet."
"How would you feel about me coming back tomorrow morning for an hour or so?"
I pause, considering. "I don't know, I'm kinda busy. I've got a pity party scheduled for eight o'clock followed by wallowing at nine."
He laughs quietly. "Ten it is then. I'll see you tomorrow, Jake."
He starts walking toward the door and as he's reaching for the handle, I call out, "Hey, Doc?"
"Yeah?" he says, turning to look at me.
"My name is Leo. My real name, I mean. It's not Jake. It's Leo."
He pauses for a minute but doesn't ask me to explain. "Okay. How about we talk about that tomorrow and you tell me what you’d like to go by. I'll see you at ten."
And with that he opens the door and walks out.
CHAPTER 2
I watch Evie as she sits on the park bench, eating an apple, a novel open in her hands. She's so beautiful that it hurts a little bit to watch her and not approach. I think she's probably engrossed enough in her book that I can move a little closer and so I do, taking a seat on a bench close by, and pretending to talk into my cell phone. I'm desperate to see the details of her, to soak her in. But I have to keep my distance for now; at least until I figure out what I'm going to do, what I’m going to say. My heart starts beating faster. I can't mess this up. I've come so far and now the only girl I've ever loved is right in front of me. And she might hate my fucking guts.
I've been following her for a couple days now and I've ascertained that she's not married – thank God. I don't even want to think about how I would have handled that. But I don't know yet if she has a boyfriend or if she's dating anyone. I don’t know if it’ll stop me, but it’d be nice to know what I’m up against.
She works at the Hilton downtown and she doesn't own a car. I hate that she busses it everywhere she goes. It makes me feel better when I'm following in my car because I know she's safe as long as I'm watching. A small voice in the back of my head tells me that she’s been doing okay without me watching out for her for eight years and I cringe inwardly, a spear of guilt stabbing through my chest.
She seems to be doing pretty well for herself despite the fact that she can’t be making very much money. But she lives in a decent part of Clifton, a neighborhood near the University of Cincinnati, and she dresses nicely and is clearly doing a damn good job of taking care of herself. I’m not surprised. She’s still the Evie I remember. I feel a fierce pride take hold. Hell, I had seen girls with far fewer problems than Evie turn into sniveling messes when their manicure appointments were cancelled. I had hung out with far too many of them myself. But who was I to judge? I had been weak, too.
The first time I saw Evie when I got back to Cincinnati, I had been waiting in my car, parked across the street from her apartment. She came walking out, dressed in jeans and a sweater, her long dark hair hanging loose down her back. My m
outh got dry and my breath came out in a harsh exhale as I stared, frozen, watching her move down the street. I didn’t know it was possible to hold your breath for eight years, but apparently, it is. She had been a beautiful girl, but she had grown into a stunning woman. She was still small and slender, but now with feminine curves that she hadn't had the last time I saw her. Emotions came slamming back, making it feel like it was only yesterday that I had kissed her on our roof, and told her to wait for me and that I would wait for her, come for her, love her forever. But I had failed.
As I followed her around, I was reminded of the strength of my girl, and I saw that she was still the caring, giving Evie I had known. She smiled at everyone and she stopped and helped when she could have easily kept walking. People who came into contact with her looked like they were holding themselves back from calling to her as they watched her walk away. I couldn't blame them. My girl… that's just not smart thinking, man. I had already been dangerously invested even before I got a glance of her and now… it was going to completely destroy me if she rejected me right off the bat.
After only a couple days of following Evie, I was pretty damn sure that I was already even more in love with her than I was when I was fifteen years old. Now I just had to figure out what the hell to do. I went over it and over it in my mind and I couldn't nail down an answer. My longing to talk to her, to touch her, was so all-consuming that I could hardly sit still. I went to my office every day and I had to force myself to concentrate on what I was supposed to be doing. The question, what should I do bouncing around in my head until I thought I'd go crazy. After years and years of pining for her so intensely, she was right in front of me, and yet she was still a thousand miles away.
**********
When I was a kid, I used to hate picture day at school. Not because I gave a shit about that kind of thing, but I could tell Evie did and it fucking killed me. Any other day of the year and we could somewhat blend in with our worn clothes and messy hair. But on picture day, all the other kids would show up with new clothes, the girls with bows in their hair, envelopes of money ready to hand to the teacher. No one gave a rat's ass if they had a picture of their foster kid to hang on the wall. No one cared to document what I looked like in fifth grade or sixth grade or at any age – if they had, they would probably have cared that I was living in a stranger’s house, too.
I would watch Evie watching the other girls and see how she would self-consciously bring her own hand up to her un-styled, half brushed hair in an effort to smooth it. She couldn't reach the back very well herself and no one else was gonna do it for her.
Then I would watch those endless dark eyes go dreamy and I would know that my Evie was weaving together a story for herself. Partly, that look broke me and partly, it made my heart swell with pride. I knew it was the reason that she didn't break or turn hard like I already had. I didn't think she dreamed because she was in denial about her own circumstances. She was the smartest, most observant person I had ever met. I thought she dreamed because it was how she took care of herself and how she rose above enough to retain that gentle spirit that made me love her so fiercely. Somehow she held onto the ability to brazenly believe that there was goodness in the world, despite her own devastating situation.
I guess the reason this memory comes back to me today as I follow Evie to work is because despite the fact that she's wearing a hotel housecleaning uniform, she walks proud and carefree as if she's perfectly content with her life and her situation. And she should be. She absolutely should be and I'm damn proud that she's gotten to this point. I just want to know more. I need to know more about who she's become. I need to know everything.
This is why I need to be ready and come to a decision about what I’m going to say, before I confront her. Fear of rejection churns heavily in my gut. I refuse to let her slip away from me before I’ve even had a chance to try to win her back.
Shit, I need a drink. No, not gonna do that. I'm gonna hit the gym and work off some tension and then I'm going to turn in early tonight. I saw in the paper last week that Willow's funeral is tomorrow and I'm planning to go. I'm sure Evie'll be there and so I'll have to maintain my distance, but I wouldn't miss it. I owe Willow my respect. She had a lot of demons but she was never unkind to anyone. Well, except herself. Right up to the very end. I think about how close I came to ending my own life, and I know that the only thing that separates me and Willow is that I get a second chance.
CHAPTER 3
I park in the back of the cemetery and walk the long way toward the small group of people I know are gathered for Willow's service. I saw in the paper that a fund had been set up for the burial costs for the girl they described as having no family, and no friends who could afford the expenses. I called the funeral home and covered it all, including a granite headstone. Willow deserved more than an unmarked grave. I hadn't been there for her over the years, but I could do this small thing now.
I hang back a little, leaning against a tree several feet from the rest of the gathering as I wait for it to start.
My mind wanders to Willow as a little girl. Her eyes had held a wariness too deep for her young age. I had wanted to protect her, just like I had wanted to protect Evie, but Willow was always one step ahead of everyone when it came to her self-destruction. I didn’t have the words back then, and I don’t know that she’d have listened even if I did. But I wish I could tell her now that I understand. I know that you don’t want to take your own life because death is appealing – but because life is excruciating. And you wonder what it’s all for – all the struggling and suffering – what is the fucking point? Day in and day out, what is the point of hurting so damn much? She didn’t want to die. She just didn’t want to be in pain anymore. I know. I know. I’ve been there, too.
I think back to one of the times Willow showed up at my foster home, drunk and high on who knows what. I think she was twelve, maybe thirteen. It was right before I left for San Diego. I snuck out and walked her back to her foster home, only ten blocks away. I remember being so frustrated with her that night. It was like, no matter how many times I tried to make her safe, tried to protect her from the kids who didn’t give a shit about her, she always ended back in the same spot anyway. It was exhausting.
As I was walking her home, she had looked up at me, eyes glazed and her voice slurred and said, "Leo, why are you nice to me?" And the expression on her face said that it was honestly a mystery she couldn’t explain.
I had looked at her for a minute and finally answered, "Because I care about you, Willow."
"But, why?" she had asked.
"Because we’re friends, okay?" I had said.
But really, I think the thing that made me feel protective of Willow was different than the thing that made me feel protective of Evie. I think I saw a part of myself in Willow. And that’s how I knew that no matter how many nice things me or Evie or anyone did for her or said to her, she was going to keep believing the things that all those others who came before us had told her. My dad had beat my ass and told me I was a worthless waste of space and Evie loved me. Why was it so easy to believe that I deserved the former and that I didn’t deserve the latter? I didn’t know, but I knew Willow and I had more in common than I cared to think about at the time. I got her, even though I wished like hell I didn’t. Still, I had thought I was stronger than her – until I wasn’t.
I come back to myself as I see Evie walking toward the group from the opposite direction from where I came in. She's wearing a sleeveless, black dress and black heels and she has her hair pulled back. I can see the outline of her shape perfectly in the form-fitting outfit and I wonder what it would feel like to move my hands up her slightly rounded hips until they met at her small waist. I want that so badly it almost physically hurts.
The minister begins speaking and I'm listening to his words, but I can't move my eyes away from Evie. Every few minutes, she wipes tears out of her eyes with a tissue and it costs me not to run to her and comfort her in some wa
y. I press my body into the tree to keep myself from going to her.
Fifteen minutes later, Evie moves to the front of the group to deliver the eulogy and as she takes her place, she looks straight at me, her brow furrowing slightly. Shit, what is she thinking? There's no way she could recognize me from this distance, could she? The more likely reason is that I look out of place in this motley looking crowd. Willow's taste in friends hadn't changed much over the years, I see. Evie stares at me for a beat or two and then her eyes shift back to the people in front of her. It's the first time our eyes have met in eight years and I feel it in the depth of my soul, the moment seeming to stand still and shimmer around me.
Still, my undoing happens several minutes later when Evie starts speaking and tells one of her stories for Willow. Fuck me.
"Once upon a time a very special, beautiful little girl was sent to a faraway land by the angels to live an enchanted life, full of love and happiness. They called her The Glass Princess because her laugh reminded them of the tinkling, glass bells that were hung on heaven's gate and would chime each time a new soul was welcomed. But her name was also appropriate for her because she was very sensitive and loved very deeply, and hers was a heart that could be easily broken.
"During the arrangement of her trip to this faraway land, one of the newer angels made a mistake, and a mix up occurred, sending The Glass Princess to a place that she wasn't supposed to be, a dark, ugly area, ruled mostly by gargoyles and other evil creatures. But, when a soul is placed in human skin, it is a permanent situation that cannot be changed. Although the angels cried in despair for the fate The Glass Princess would have to bear, there was nothing they could do, other than to watch over her and try their best to lead her in the right direction, away from the land of gargoyles and evil creatures.
"Unfortunately, very soon after The Glass Princess arrived in this land, the cruelty of the beasts around her created the first large crack in her very breakable heart. And although many other less-evil creatures tried to love the princess, for she was very beautiful and very easy to love, the princess's heart continued to crack until it crumbled completely, leaving the princess heartbroken forever.