Chapter 11 – Maddie
The Truth is Out
Maddie
I EXPECTED LEO’S family Christmas would take at least a few hours, so when he’s back home after less than thirty minutes, I’m surprised.
I also feel like shit, because I’m pretty sure I’m the reason the festivities were cut short.
When he stalks inside the house, looking ready to throw something, my stomach bottoms out. I’ve seen that look before, and it never ended well for me.
When Leo sees me standing in the kitchen, frozen in place, holding the large skillet I intended to use to make my breakfast, his feet fuse to the floor, big body stopping on a dime. His whole demeanor changes in a flash, the anger on his face smoothing out as his shoulders noticeably relax.
At the shift, I manage a deep breath. “They know what happened, don’t they?”
Leo tucks his chin in a small nod. “It seems like your parents called them.”
Of course they did. They can’t stand letting me live my own life.
Even during my marriage, they meddled. For a lot of it, they almost seemed to think I was the problem.
That my behavior was what made Drake act the way he did.
They picked apart everything I said or did, looking for reasons I was instigating him.
That’s why I’m not shocked at how deep they’re digging into my choices now.
That’s also why I texted my mother to let her know I wouldn’t be over.
And that I have the flu. I’m already not feeling Christmasy, and I can’t imagine spending time with my parents will help that any.
Especially not now that I know they’ve obviously been informed of what happened between Leo and Drake.
“I am so sorry.” I lean against the counter, hating that I’ve gotten Leo tangled up in my mess. “I should go back to my apartment. You don’t need to be involved in this mess.”
“No fucking way.” Leo starts shaking his head as he walks toward me. “Drake knows where you live, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to put yourself in danger because my parents are assholes.”
Ugh. Now I feel even worse. “Your parents aren’t assholes, Leo.”
Leo stops right next to me, reaching up to smooth back a little of the dark hair that’s fallen from the messy bun I tied it into so it wouldn’t get in my way while I made my favorite comfort breakfast. “Actually, it’s looking more and more like they are.
” He gives me a lopsided smile. “So I guess we’re both in the same boat.
” His brown brows pinch together as he looks over the PJs I’m still wearing. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not going.” Lifting the pan I’m still holding, I slide it onto the biggest burner. “And in case anyone asks, I have a terrible case of the flu.”
Leo watches as I flip open the carton of eggs sitting on the counter. “If anyone asks, I’m not telling them shit about you. You’re none of their business.”
A smile works its way onto my mouth as I open the bag of corn tortillas Leo and I picked up when we went to the grocery store yesterday.
I’ve never felt like my life was private.
Someone was always in my business—usually my parents, and then Drake—giving opinions and advice I didn’t want.
Only they didn’t see it as advice or opinions.
My parents—and Drake—gave directions. Orders.
Made demands. And they didn’t stop there.
As evidenced this morning, my parents also love to tell anyone they know what’s going on in my life.
Finally having someone who wants to keep my secrets makes me feel like I’m not alone. Maybe for the first time ever.
Leo tips his head toward where I’m using his cutting board and mediocre knife to cut the tortillas into little squares. “What are you making?”
“Migas.”
Hoping not to go overboard buying a bunch of food and ingredients for Leo to have to deal with when I’m able to go back to my apartment, I stuck with the basics.
Tortillas, cheese, onions, jalapenos, tomatoes.
A handful of spices. Little things I could use to give Leo’s cooking just a tiny bit more personality.
He didn’t seem upset when I suggested a little more flavor in his food, and I’m kind of excited to see what he thinks of the way I cook.
I peek his way as I finish chopping the tortillas. “Did you eat with your parents?”
“Didn’t make it that far.” He turns his back to the counter, leaning against it as I put a swirl of oil in the pan and set it to heat. “Shit pretty much hit the fan the second I pulled up.”
I open my mouth, but all I get out is, “I—”
“I hope you’re not about to tell me you’re sorry, because you’re the last person in this scenario who should be apologizing.” Leo sighs. “Unfortunately, I don’t see any of them offering up apologies in the foreseeable future.”
I snort as I add the chopped tortillas to the hot oil. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard my parents apologize for anything in my life.”
Leo slowly nods. “Same here.” Straightening from where he’s leaned against the counter, Leo turns his attention to what I’m doing. “What can I do to help?”
I’ve watched Leo cook a couple times now, so I shouldn’t be surprised at his offer, but it’s still so foreign to me to have a man ready and willing to participate in the task I was raised to believe was my responsibility alone.
Drake barely set foot in the kitchen when we were married, and my dad certainly never cooked.
But I like the idea of having someone to cook with. Some of my best memories are from Abuela and me in the kitchen together. Talking about life while she taught me all her favorite recipes. Including the one I’m about to teach Leo.
It’s not really a recipe in the traditional sense. There’s no specific amounts or ingredients. It can be tweaked based on what’s in your refrigerator, and your spice preference.
Hopefully, Leo likes it spicy, because I enjoy a little heat.
Speaking of heat…
Why is a man chopping vegetables so attractive?
I nearly burn our tortillas when I get distracted by the corded muscle of his forearm flexing with each movement.
His hands are so big the knife looks comically small in them, but his skill set is pretty impressive.
He’s clearly cut his way through plenty of veggies.
It’s the seasoning part he seems to skip.
Once the tortillas are browned, I scoop them out onto a paper towel-lined plate and instruct Leo to add the onions and peppers. He doesn’t question me. Doesn’t seem annoyed that I’m telling him what to do. Just does exactly as I say.
“Did your abuela teach you how to make this?” Leo asks as he stirs around the peppers and onions.
I huff out a little laugh. “My abuela taught me everything I know in the kitchen.” Going to the selection of spices now lined down the counter, I pull out garlic powder, onion powder, paprika, and chili powder. “My mom makes the kind of food my dad likes.”
And my dad is a delicate little flower when it comes to any sort of spiciness. He’s also not adventurous and doesn’t like trying new things. His version of authentic Mexican food is a grilled cheese burrito from Taco Bell.
Which is… shitty of him. The way he turns his nose up at the food my mother was raised on, expecting her to cater to his limited and boring pallet, really shows the kind of man he is.
And I’m not sure how to come to terms with that.
“I’m assuming your dad is like my dad and just wants meat and potatoes.” Leo leans in to inspect the onions and pepper before turning to me. “Tomatoes now?”
I have a hard time responding immediately, because I realize Leo’s not just helping me. He’s also trying to learn. He’s genuinely interested in what I can show him.
After a couple heartbeats, I manage a nod. “Tomatoes now.”
He scrapes them into the pan, mixing all the vegetables together. “This already smells good.”
I pop the cap off the garlic powder. “And we haven’t even added the best part.”
I go to work sprinkling on the selection of spices while I answer his earlier question. “My dad is simple and stubborn in what he likes to eat, so the only place I had this kind of food was at my abuela’s house. She was the one who made sure I knew who I was and where I came from.”
Once I finish with the spices, I put them back in place, turning to find Leo giving me a wicked grin. “I bet your abuela hates your dad.”
“You are correct.” I pick up the plate of crispy tortillas and add them to the vegetables as Leo continues to stir. “Though, to be fair, she’s starting to not be such a big fan of my mother either.”
Leo steps aside, giving me a little room as I reach for the eggs.
“She sounds brilliant.” Leo winces. “I’m sorry.
I’m not trying to be a dick. I’m just still pissed that they feel so comfortable telling everyone what’s going on in your life.
” His eyes move to my face as I crack four eggs over the top of the contents of the skillet.
“That’s why I think maybe we should look into hiring a new attorney. ”
Once the eggs are in, I put the lid on the skillet and turn off the heat, leaving them to steam since I like my migas with intact eggs instead of the scrambled version.
Turning to Leo, I force myself to remind him, “I can’t afford a new attorney. I wish I—”
“You don’t have to afford a new attorney, Maddie.” His voice is soft when he says, “I want to pay for it.”
“I can’t let you do that.” He’s already doing so much for me, and we’re not even…
Actually, I don’t know what we are. So much has been happening, and so quickly, that we haven’t really discussed it.
Thanks to all the crap going on in my life, we aren’t following the standard dating timeline.
I’m living in his house and we’re sleeping in the same bed, but I’ve never even seen his dick.
Which is unfortunate.
And the more time I spend with Leo, the more I think about getting to know him better.
Much better. Intimately better.