34. Leo
34
Leo
T he penthouse is unusually quiet. Sabrina is out. Running some errand with Mia. Chaperoned by her newly hired security detail.
I miss the occasional distant squeal of Mia playing with Thomas in the living room, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of Sabrina’s fingers on her laptop, the witty banter between us.
I miss her smile.
Her smell.
The meeting with my mother… Karen… yesterday. It was… not as bad as I thought it would be. We agreed to monthly supervised visits here at the penthouse. She cried, promised to be better.
I’m still not sure I buy all of it. Years of disappointment don’t just evaporate overnight. But Sabrina thinks people can change. Thinks Mia deserves a grandmother, even a flawed one.
Maybe she’s right.
Well, I’m trying.
For Mia.
Fuck, listen to me .
Here I am doting on about my daughter when I haven’t closed a proper Series A funding round in months.
What the fuck?
The intercom on my desk buzzes. Michelle’s voice. “Mr. Maxwell, Luca Briggs is on his way over. Unscheduled.”
Luca.
Shit. Haven’t seen him since that disastrous meeting with Sabrina at the office, the one where he acted like a condescending prick and I nearly lost my shit. I’ve been dodging his texts about ‘celebratory drinks’ and ‘weekend plans,’ keeping him at arm’s length, communicating mostly by email and the occasional conference call. Been working exclusively from home, using the tabloid leak and Mia’s presence as an excuse.
It’s an excuse that’s starting to wear thin, even to myself.
A few minutes later, Charlie, who’s been stationed downstairs since the paparazzi incident, pings my private line. “Mr. Briggs is in the lobby, Leo. Thomas is bringing him up.”
Right.
Luca doesn’t have direct elevator access to the penthouse anymore.
Fucking revoked it for all my former ‘associates.’ As in fuckbuddies and fair-weather friends. Probably should get Sabrina and Mia officially added to the secure manifest sometime. Though honestly, Sabrina seems to enjoy the escorted rides up with Thomas. They’re always yapping away like they’re old friends by the time the doors open on this floor. Maybe she sees the old guy as the father figure she never had. Whatever. As long as Thomas keeps her happy and doesn’t start offering unsolicited parenting advice like Dom...
Limping, I make my way to the living area. It still hurts to walk, but it’s getting easier by the day. At least I don’t need a cane anymore.
I take a seat on one of the bigger leather couches, and exhale in relief, glad for a break from the pain.
The private elevator dings and Thomas ushers Luca into the living area.
My business partner.
The guy who got me into half the shit I’m now trying to climb out of.
He looks… rough.
His designer suit is still impeccable, his hair is perfectly styled, but there’s a frantic energy about him, and a tightness around the eyes that even his expensive sunglasses can’t quite hide.
He’s high.
And not just a bump to stay sharp.
We’re talking next-level wired.
“Leo!” he exclaims, his voice a little too loud. “There you are! Been MIA for weeks, partner. What gives? Hibernating? Enjoying your… extended paternity leave?” His gaze lingers on the highchair in the corner of the room, the colorful play mat spread across the rug.
“Thank you, Thomas,” I say, dismissing my household manager.
He nods and disappears. He’ll be waiting for Luca next to the elevator.
I address my business partner once more. “I’ve been working from home, Luca, as you well know. Managing the fallout from the tabloid leak, remember?”
Luca paces restlessly across the room. “Problem is, Leo, perception . You, holed up here… playing house… it’s not a good look. Investors are antsy. They need to see Maxwell & Briggs at full throttle, not… this.” He gestures again, encompassing the scattered toys that have drifted in here from the nursery. “This PR manager of yours, I don’t think her campaign is working.”
My own frustration starts to simmer. “Sabrina’s PR strategy is working. We’re containing the damage, rebuilding confidence.”
“Containing the damage?” Luca scoffs. “Leo, we should be making waves, not just riding them out! We’re Maxwell & Briggs! We define the fucking IPO market! And right now? We look… domesticated. Neutered. We haven’t had an IPO since your goddamn accident.” He stops pacing, turning to face me. His eyes glitter with that familiar, dangerous energy. “You know what would really restore investor confidence? Show them the old Leo is back? The one who takes risks, pushes boundaries?”
I know where this is going. “Don’t, Luca.”
“Red Bull Chamonix,” he says, his voice dropping. “It’s six months from now. They’re already scouting the new lines. They called me this morning. Asked about Team Maxwell & Briggs. Asked if we were ready to defend our title.” He takes a step closer, his gaze burning into mine. “Imagine it, Leo. Back in the suit. Back on the edge . The ultimate PR move. Show the world you’re not just recovered. You’re fucking reborn . That’s the narrative we need right now. Not… diaper duty and lullabies.”
The old pull is there. Stronger than I want to admit. Chamonix. The roar of the wind. The absolute focus. The silence. The feeling of being truly, terrifyingly alive .
Part of me, a dark, reckless part I thought I’d buried, yearns for it.
For the escape.
For the oblivion.
But then I see Mia’s face in my mind. Those trusting green eyes. Sabrina’s hesitant smile. The fragile peace we’re starting to build here.
“I’m not going, Luca,” I say, my voice flat.
He stares at me, genuinely shocked. The manic energy seems to drain out of him, leaving him looking… lost. Almost... pathetic. “Not… not going? What the fuck are you talking about? This is us! This is what we do ! Where’s the old Leo? The one who lived for this shit? The one who couldn’t wait for the next jump?”
“He died in Chamonix,” I say quietly, the words surprising even myself with their stark truth. “The guy who jumped off that cliff… he didn’t make it back.”
Luca just gapes at me, speechless for once. Then, a humorless laugh escapes him. “You’re not serious. You’re fucking with me, right? This is some kind of… phase? This whole dad-playing-house thing?”
“It’s not a phase, Luca.” My voice is hard now. “It’s my life. Mia is my daughter. Sabrina…” I hesitate, unsure how to define what Sabrina is to me. “Sabrina is her mother. They are my priority now.”
“Priority?” Luca practically spits the word. “Since when do you have priorities beyond the next billion-dollar exit or adrenaline rush? This… woman … this baby … they’re temporary fucking distractions! Novelties! You’ll get bored. You always do. And then what? You’ll come crawling back, begging me to find the next cliff, the next party, the next line of coke to make you feel al ive again!”
Rage surges through me. The casual cruelty of his words, the dismissive contempt for Sabrina and Mia… it snaps something inside me.
“Get out, Luca,” I say, my voice dangerously quiet.
“What?”
“You heard me. Get the fuck out of my apartment.” I stand up and take a painful step towards him. “You don’t talk about them like that. Not ever. Not if you want to continue being my business partner. You don’t understand what they are to me, and frankly, you’re not fucking capable of understanding. SO GET THE FUCK OUT.”
Luca’s face contorts in a mixture of anger and disbelief. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything for a long moment. He finally blinks away tears and says: “So that’s it? You’re choosing… this … her ... over everything we’ve built? Over me?”
“This isn’t a choice between them and you, Luca,” I say, trying to rein in the fury. “This is about me choosing… something different. Something genuine. Something you wouldn’t recognize if it bit you on your coke-dusted nose.” I pause, then add, more quietly, “You need help, man. You’re spiraling. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this... it’s too much. Getting high in the middle of the workday? As your friend and a business partner, I’m telling you... you should seriously consider rehab.”
He laughs again, a harsh, empty sound. “ I need help? I? What the fuck? Look at yourself, Leo! You’re the one who’s fucking lost it! Domesticated! Whipped! You’re fucking pathetic!”
“Maybe I am,” I concede. “But at least I’m not running from myself anymore. I’m trying to build something instead of just… burning it all down. So mething real. More real than flipping companies for shits and giggles, anyway.” I gesture towards the exit. “Seriously, Luca. Go. Before I say something we both regret.”
He stares at me for a long, hard moment. His jaw is tight, and his eyes glitter with unshed tears.
Then, without another word, he turns and stalks towards the exit. Limping, I follow him part of the way, making sure he reaches the private elevator. Thomas is waiting there, his expression impassive.
The doors hiss open, Luca steps inside with Thomas, and then they’re gone.
The silence feels heavier than before.
I also feel a profound sense of loss. Not for the friendship, maybe. That died a long time ago, replaced by codependency and shared addictions.
But loss for the man Luca used to be. The driven, brilliant partner who helped me build an empire. The guy I thought I could trust. The guy that money and drugs destroyed.
I walk over to the window, staring out at the city. The PR campaign, the investor confidence, Maxwell & Briggs… all that bullshit feels secondary right now. Trivial, even.
What matters is Mia. Sabrina. The fragile, unexpected chance at… something real.
My phone pings on the coffee table. I pick it up.
An email notification from Red Bull.
Chamonix Invitational. Early Bird Entry.
I open it. It’s the official invitation for the new competition in six months.
I read it over, and a yearning, deep and primal, stirs inside me. The call of the void. The silence of the fall.
No.
Hell no.
Mia...
Sabrina...
Part of me, the part I thought died forever on that mountainside, wants it. Needs it.
This is a chance to prove… what? That I’m still that guy? That I can still conquer the fear? That I haven’t gone completely soft?
But then I think of Mia’s trusting green eyes. Sabrina’s hesitant smile. The weight of a sleeping baby against my chest.
I close the email, tossing the phone back onto the table.
Wingsuiting isn’t gone. I’d be lying to myself if I said it was. It’s part of who I am.
But… I can’t...
Or maybe....
Maybe I can keep it in my life. There might be a way.
Smaller jumps.
Safer routes.
Yes. Calculated risks, not reckless abandon.
I walk over to the closet in my study, the one where my old gear is stored.
I pull out the sleek, aerodynamic suit, the carbon fiber helmet. Run my hand over the smooth, familiar fabric.
As I do so, I’m fucking torn between the man I was, the man I’m trying to become, and the man Mia needs me to be.
Fuck.