Leon's Way (29 page)

Leon’s eyes remain on me while I back out of the parking spot, and my gaze stays locked in the rearview mirror until I dip onto the main road. It’s hard to leave him behind. As I stop at the red light he can see from where he stands, he sends me a single text.

Put away the cell & drive safely.

I smile a wobbly smile.
Do you love me?
I reply, because I am needy and miss him like crazy.

Yes, I love you. Now, turn. Off. The cell.

I love you too…
What I haven’t dared to ask slips from my fingers and onto the phone keys.
When are you coming home?

My focus flicks between the mirror and the traffic light. Leon stands tall. Even at a distance, his stare pierces me with the demand to fucking obey and hit the off-switch. I stifle a snicker because he can’t reach me from where he is.

Soon. OFF.

The few hours’ drive to Deepsilver feels like ten. As I finally pull onto Noble Street, I wonder if the sensation I have is new. Maybe I just didn’t notice my body’s signals while I was with Leon? Sore muscles I understand. Thighs, butt, waist, hips, even shoulders burn from Leon’s fierce attention over the last couple of days. I purse my lips over a grin and squeeze my legs together, savoring the sweet ache after the two of us.

But it’s the other stuff I’m wary of. My fingers around the steering wheel are thicker, my wrists growing puffier with water. I’m suddenly aware of my foot on the gas pedal where flesh strains against skin, wanting to break free.

I park the car on the street; suddenly, I can’t bear the thought of getting out and opening the back gates only to lower myself back into the seat again to drive in. My pulse quickens, just reacting to Leon’s absence, I hope. This better not be physical. It would mean the preeclampsia is claiming me.

I walk toward Smother’s entrance.

Another water pill. Extra blood pressure meds.

I’m slow, hesitant on strangely pillowy soles. For each step, my heart throbs whoo-whoosh, whoo-whoosh in my ears.

Tom, the newish bouncer, guards the door alone. Christian runs the place with cool logic, and since it’s early and there’s usually no crowd on Sundays, Tom manages fine without Jason.

“Hey, Boss Lady,” Tom calls from a distance. “How’s Leon? Choice shaping up?” He sets enormous fists on muscular hips while waiting for my reply.

“Tom—yes, he says hi and keep up the good work,” I improvise. I draw in a deep breath, hoping the surplus of oxygen will lend relief to my struggling heart.

I’m working myself up. Frightening myself. I need comfort, and Leon is far, far away. I can’t bother him unless this turns out to be more than just nerves.

“Katsu here? Or Ingela?”

“Ingela’s at the main bar, but Katsu’s at the hospital with her mom, visiting her dad.”

“What?” I frown. “Her father’s girlfriend, right?”

“No, ma’am. Christian called me in early—I saw Kat myself,” he says as if it’s rare to see her at Smother. “The brewery delivered a day early, and since their guys only load to the first floor—you know, because we don’t have an elevator—Christian needed someone strong to restock the storage room on the terrace. Which is why he gave me a ring.” Tom’s brown eyes glint with poorly disguised pride as he prattles on. “Yeah, so Kat left in her rent-a-car to fetch their mother from the airport.”

“Thanks for coming,” I offer automatically.

“Oh, no problem, Bossy-Lady—” He inhales swiftly. “Um, Boss Lady.”

Leon talks about his mom with such love and respect, so it’s odd to me that he hasn’t informed me of her coming. She must have told him. Although, would he remain in Talco if he knew? Maybe she’s heading to Talco next, I think.

On my way to Ingela, I unlock my cell. In the off chance that he’s unaware, I want to be the one to break
good
news for once. He hasn’t been to San Francisco in years, and I can’t imagine a better time for him to have his mother close. Man, this beats telling him I’m plunging into high-blood-pressure mode. I’m forgetting the discomfort I’m in for a moment. He’ll be so happy!

Hi, hot stuff
, I type out.

Hey, sexy. You all right?

Yep. & BS: I’m so not sexy.

This morning didn’t convince you?

My most private area contracts as I remember, and I smirk to myself.
You’re “special” for finding me hot right now.

Kinky you mean? You hurt my feelings. ;-)

He just winky-faced me. Goodness! I’m lightheaded at Playful Leon. My heart sprints fast, fast… like it’s done for an hour now. At least I’m not about to plunge sanity-first into a breakdown.

Can’t wait to meet your mom
, I continue.

My phone remains still for a moment.
Yes, she’s sweet
, he finally punches out.

She wasn’t here when I arrived. She’s at the hospital w/Kat
, I specify since he doesn’t text again. After a whole minute, I’m feeling stupid.

Surprise visit?
I add and regret that too.

Fifteen minutes later, I’ve heard nothing more from Leon. I’ve speed-dialed him ten times, and every call clipped straight to voicemail. I’m worried. My heart thrashes in my chest, fighting with blood that needs to rush too thick, too fast through my veins.

Leon’s silence. My body. Nothing is right.

The contraction across the air balloon of my belly sucks my breath away. When it lets go, I risk a glance in Ingela’s direction. She’s heading back from the office, where she’s probably been innuendo-bickering with Cameron. Sure enough, he slinks out behind her, lips curled in a low grin.

Ingela whips out a glass and plops a Diet Pepsi in front of me on the bar. It’s a nice, big glass that fizzes and brims with ice. I wish I could enjoy it. Robin raises a finger from the DJ booth, indicating how he’ll play one of my faves. I’m battery-driven by now—I can smile and give him a thumbs up even if I don’t care which song it’ll be.

A sting burns and spreads kerosene-lit fire below my baby. There’s nothing healthy about this feeling. Like it’s not the natural progress of anything. I catch Ingela’s eye. “What?” she bellows over the music as usual, and I just shake my head. Point to the ceiling and plead with my eyes.

Ingela spins and barks at Cameron. “I’m taking Arria upstairs. Fend for yourself, dick.” Cameron swings blond bangs our way, really looks at me, and frowns.

He’s in my face in seconds. “You okay? We should call Leon,” he adds, checking with Ingela for her agreement. Curious, blue-green eyes flicker over my features. “You’re all freaking puffy!”

I panic. I finally panic. I turn and waddle as fast as I can toward the stairs to Leon’s apartment. Once there, I grab onto the banister and half haul, half walk myself up to the top. Ingela is right behind me. “I’ll call,” she says—quietly for the first time—and I reply, “His phone is off.”

She pushes the door open. “How can it be off when you’re this fucking close to having the baby, Arriane? He’s a bucket of shit!”

I don’t laugh—nothing is funny because something is happening inside me and my little one knows too. He’s not happy. He’s trying to turn, but he can’t.

“I just texted with Leon.” I’m making up excuses. “So he thinks I’m fine, and he’s probably busy working. Call Kat.”

“Yeah, okay.”

I hand her my phone while I drop down on the couch. The baby’s pressing outward, upset by what’s going on with me. I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared.

Kat’s cell goes straight to voicemail. “Do you have the mother’s number?” Ingela asks, shaking the device as if that’ll help.

“No…” I’m breathing hard, working to pass enough oxygen to my tiny one. What the hell do I know? I wish I’d attended a childbirth class.

“
Your
mom’s number’s on here, though. I’m calling.”

“No, she’ll freak out. Wait…” Something pricks before my eyes. It’s dark and colors Ingela’s form with reds and greens and blues.

“That’s it!” she mutters, runs soft fingertips across my cheek, and leaps to the door. What she shouts down the stairs does nothing to calm my panic.

“Arria’s having the baby!”

What. The Fuck. Is Mom doing in Deepsilver? I pack up the hotel, check out, and call Choice’s manager while I rush onto the freeway. “Ralph. Something has come up. Get cracking on the changes with Kayla in charge of the bartender staff, and I’ll email you the updated prognosis for the next quarter.”

“Will do,” he says.

Next, I buzz Kat from the car. She needs to get my mother the fuck away from her abuser. I wish I’d come here on the Ducati. I’m two and a half hours from Deepsilver with no stops, a time I’ll still beat by miles.

My sister is not picking up. Not only that, but it’s going straight to voicemail. I call my mom, and the same thing happens there.

I puff out air, glimpsing my wild eyes in the side mirror. The hospital has reception, right? They do. I fucking know they do!

A heap of missed calls from Arriane. Several text messages. Katsu’s texts from the nights Arriane was here. I didn’t bother checking them, because the news she’d provide wasn’t the kind I’d appreciate while I enjoyed my unbidden visitor. Now, I finally read them.

He’s dying, Leon. I bet he’ll end up at hospice soon.

The next text trickled in the same night.
You should come back. Last chance to get some closure. They’re starting morphine drip.

I know what that means. The pain is excruciating, the doctors have no hope of recovery, and soon all he’ll do is sleep.

My sister gave up after the third text early Saturday morning:
If you have anything left to say to the sperm donor, it’s now or never, brother.

I don’t. That’s not why I’m craving the Bag Room. Not why I’m speeding to get to the hospital. Deep down, I’m aware that he can’t hurt her now, and yet the urge to haul my tiny, defenseless mother out of there before he even looks at her is overwhelming.

I don’t stop to consider. I let the overheated oil of my fury boil as I barge in the front doors to the hospital.

I get redirected by some white-coat. My father has already been moved to hospice. “Yes, sir—it’s in a building on its own. Turn and you’ll look right at it in the far corner below the big oak trees,” he directs me.

I forget to reply. Jog the minutes it takes to get from the main building to the hospice house. I try to calm myself down but end up slamming the two doors open and entering like a storm.

“Can I help you?” asks an undaunted, elder nurse with glasses.

“Yes. I’m here for Marshall George Stonewell.”

“Family?” she prods kindly.

“Yes: son.” And as always, I’m appalled at the thought.

While she leads me down the corridor, my rage grinds on the concept of being a son. Then, a father.
I’ll never make my father’s mistakes
, I’ve been bragging. Yeah, right. Who the fuck do I think I am? Super-fucking Clark Kent?

I slam a fist into the wall, the sound nightmare-loud in this sacred place where people die.

“Sir,” the nurse hums out. “I understand that you’re grieving. Please, just remember there are other patients here too.”