I focus on peeling the blue and green wrapper from one of the round balls. “I have heard they pair wonderfully with champagne. Is it true?” I remove the last of the paper and stare at the confection. The entire night has been simple. Cold pizza, conversation, and now, one perfect bite of deliciousness. But I would not change a thing. “I do not drink. Not after seeing what it did to Papa.”
Leo stares at me, his expression going blank in the space of a heartbeat. And then he takes a ragged breath and lurches to his feet, dropping his still-wrapped candy back into the bowl. All color drains from his ruddy cheeks, and he stumbles over to the patio doors to rest his head on the glass.
“Leo? Is something wrong?” Coming up behind him, I touch his shoulder, and he jerks. “Talk to me.”
“I have to tell you something,” he says, his voice gruffer than usual. “But…I’m afraid you’re going to hate me once I do.”
“Hate you? Why would I—?”
“I’m an alcoholic. In recovery. Eleven months sober.”
I take a step back, my hand falling away. “You used to be—”
He whirls around and meets my gaze, but it costs him, weariness evident in every muscle, every movement. “A drunk, Domina. To a point. You get too close to the bottom of the bottle in my former line of work, you die. Or you get your friends killed.” After a hard swallow, he hangs his head. “I never blacked out. Never lost control. But that’s no excuse. I still drank to quiet my demons, and it almost cost me everything.”
Leoissober. I know what drunk looks like. Even when someone—like my papa—is very good at hiding it, there are signs. But how many times did Papa say all the right things? Promise to quit? Even give up his beer for all of a day? Or two?
Whatever this is between us—friendship…or something more—can I really startanythingwith a man who carries this burden? Even if he has made it eleven months, would I ever truly be able to trust him?
“I am sorry, Leo,” I say quietly. “I should go.”
“Wait. Let me explain. Please.” The desperate edge to his voice should not affect me so. Or stop me from leaving. But I don’t move, and he balls his hands into fists at his sides. “One of the only men I trust in this world—the guy who pulled my dying ass out of that hell hole in Venezuela—had some trouble last year. Before that, I was getting pretty damn low. Twenty-two years in the field, alone, dealing with the worst of humanity…”
“You said ‘before.’ What about after?” I ask.
“He and his girl had to get out of the country quick. When they called, I was at home, staring at my last bottle of rum, trying to decide if I should drink it or dump it. I poured it out the minute I hung up the phone. Haven’t had a drink since.”
Tears threaten, and I blink them back. He says all the right things, and his eyes hold a lifetime of pain. But also truth. And an unwavering belief in his own words.
“What did you do with the wine?” I ask.
“The wine?” His brows furrow, and he shakes his head. “What wine?”
“From your real estate agent.”
Leo relaxes slightly. “I left it down by the mailboxes with a ‘gratis’ sign on it.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, holding my gaze. “Most days, I don’t miss drinking. Ithoughtit made my fucked-up memories easier to deal with. But all it did was make me hate myself even more.”
I can see the truth in his one good eye. The burden he carries with him. I wish I could tell him I understand. That I could accept this part of him and not constantly wonder if—when—he’ll slip. Or how far he’ll fall.
“I have to go,” I manage. “I cannot stay…here. Not…”
“Domina, please.” He doesn’t move. Doesn’t take a step toward me or reach for my hand. But the desperation etched on his face stops me from fleeing back to the uncertainty of my lonely apartment.
“What do you expect me to say?” The first tear trails down my cheek, and I swipe at it, angry he put me in this position, angry I didn’t have anormalchildhood, angry I had to hide from my friends, my teachers, from everyone. But most of all, angry I have to walk away from him.
“I don’t know.” He staggers back until he hits the wall, then half slides, half falls to the floor and stares up at me. “I can’t promise you I’ll never have another drink. Anyone does that, they’re a fool. But for the first time in eleven months, I’m not sober because it’s the right thing to do. I’m sober because I don’t want anything in my life that’s not one hundred percentreal.”
“Is that what this is? Something real? There can be nothingrealwith a man I cannot trust!” The truth breaks me. Shatters my heart into a million tiny pieces. It shouldn’t hurt this much. We only met yesterday. We are barely friends, but already I had started to want more.
“I have a code,” Leo says quietly. “From the job. Just because I’mretireddoesn’t mean all that training goes out the window. Twenty-two years, and the only lies I told were because of the mission.” His shoulders slump. “Or to myself. When I thought a glass of rum—or two or three—would quiet the nightmares. But I know the truth now. Nothing does.”
The way he looks at me…I want to stay. But if I do, he could break my heart, and that is a chance I cannot take. I grab my briefcase and slip into the hall, leaving Leo still sitting on the floor, staring after me.
* * *
Leo
The door clicks shut with a finality that makes me regret everything. My entire life. My career. My decision—and declaration—that I didn’t want anything that wasn’treal.
