11. Leonor

11

LEONOR

I was quick this time.

Wasting one more second away from the boys isn’t on the agenda, not anymore, and if it were possible to do all the daily shit like showering as a unit without it being an issue for anyone, I’d ask if they were cool with it.

Which would be a really stupid question.

The only reason group showers weren't a thing before was because… I tilt my head as I look at myself in the mirror. I don’t actually know why we never took group showers. We did literally everything else together. Hell, one time I peed in a bathtub while Mark took a shower because Norm was taking a shit, and Lucky and Pete were monopolizing the sink. It’s kind of strange we never showered together, now that I’m thinking about it.

And I really shouldn’t be thinking about it.

But I kissed Lucky, and my boys are all total babes, so I guess it’s pretty much to be expected that my mind would jump right back into the gutter where it always was. Right next to the four of theirs.

Regardless of why I’m thinking about it, I might have to talk to them about expediting ADLs or coming up with a remodel because now that they’re back, I don’t want to be away from those guys ever again.

Hence why I hustled through my routine just so I could get downstairs quicker.

I also realized about mid-shampoo that I was fucking starving. Out of the clear blue, my stomach started rumbling, the thing forcing me to pay it some long overdue attention, and that kicked things into overdrive.

Letting out a stupid little giggle, I check my reflection one more time before I’m going to run way too fast down spiral stairs.

I look like an idiot.

Not because my wet hair is a total disaster, or because I didn’t completely dry off and my clothes are now stuck to my body in relatively inappropriate places. No, I look like an idiot because I have the biggest, stupidest smile on my face. And I’m giggling .

It’s amazing what a forced intervention—complete with unloading emotional bullshit and professions of love—can do for a person.

It’s fucking magical.

And it’s exactly why I whip open the bathroom door, ready to sprint my way around my loft but come to a complete halt when I’m met with the wild eyes of an American traditional style panther.

Huh, I’d almost forgotten about that.

God, we were stupid kids.

About two years into the band, the five of us decided to get matching tattoos. Because Norm was finally brave enough to do more than something tiny, and why the hell not.

At first it was ok, we each just got an EAP-style raven tattooed on our body somewhere, paying homage to our band as well the spooky king who inspired us. But as the day went on and many, many drinks were consumed, we agreed that there should be a much more obvious symbol of our love and unity as a band .

Mark gets pretty philosophical right before he hits black-out drunk.

One thing led to another, and we wound up back at our favorite tattoo parlor for close to ten hours while we each got an American traditional style big cat tattooed somewhere on our backs.

I have a tiger, Pete has a lion, Norm got a cheetah and for some unknown reason, Markus got a domestic short hair. A Maine coon, more specifically, his claim being that it was still a big cat. American traditional colors and all.

I watch Lucky from the doorway as he becomes more and more animated on the phone. He’s arguing with someone in Italian, so it’s most likely his mother or brother.

He’s flapping his arms and angrily pointing like the other person is standing in front of him. Lucky’s voice is low and growly, and he is most definitely annoyed.

And I just take a few minutes to enjoy the show.

Despite the fact that I’ve seen Lucky as close to naked as possible without him actually being naked thousands of times, I take in the sight of him like it’s the first time.

Because right now, things are completely different.

I can openly ogle the hell out of him because we’re... well, I don’t know what to call it, but I love him and he knows it, so I have every right to stare.

Lucky is truly beautiful.

The panther tattoo covers the better part of his back, stopping just shy of the adorable dimples above his... has his ass always been so perfect? It has, who am I kidding. I’m a butt gal, and I’ve slapped and pinched all four of their asses enough to know each of them are phenomenal.

Boys with bubble butts are one of my weaknesses, and I was blessed with four of them to grope regularly. With their consent, of course.

The fresh pair of jeans really emphasizes Lucky’s, though. I mean, I could bounce quarters off that thing but the denim might split if I did because it is clinging for dear life to his ass and tree-trunk legs.

Fuck, I’m hot.

It’s like my whole body is lit up like a motherboard responding to the power switch, so I bite my lip and continue with my perusal. Why not, right?

The sleeves of his artwork start in a perfect arch at each off his shoulders, wrapping around his biceps that are the size of my thighs before continuing down his corded forearms to his fabulous hands.

Lucky’s hands that are aggressively pushing through his wild hair while the Italian flies from his lips in frustration.

I hope everything’s ok.

Normally I’d be really worried about what’s going on, but since it’s probably Franc—rough relationship or not, Lucky tries to keep things respectful with his mom—I’m not. I’m also super distracted by Lucky’s butt, so there’s that too.

It’s funny what pulling your head out of your ass can do; put you in touch with a rollercoaster of emotion, gives you a hella appetite. It stirs your long-forgotten sex drive. Who knew?

Lucky senses me behind him and quickly ends the call. “Franc, io devo andare. Si. Audio .”

He tosses his phone on my bed, the bed he completely remade while I showered, and turns a smile my way.

Then he pushes his arms into the short sleeves of his black t-shirt and pulls it down over his head, further still over his ridiculously defined pecs and eight pack, and my super neglected vag does a happy dance because, come on, eight pack .

I may have initially been terrified of the idea of intimacy, and I still kind of am, but my mind has totally made its way into the gutter. Which is exactly where I should have expected to find the answer to how slow I plan to set our pace.

Watching Lucky get dressed made me want to light every stitch of his clothing on fire just so he has to walk around naked. We don’t have to have sex, yet , but I bet he’s pretty while he’s totally naked.

“There’s food downstairs if you’re that hungry,” Lucky says with a smirk, no doubt noticing the way I’m biting the hell out of my lip as I shamelessly check him out. “And I see that this has become a thing, this shit where you stand in the doorway of your bathroom and watch everything like a huge creep.”

That comment finally snaps me out of whatever the fantasy was that started to unfold in my head, and I straighten up, blushing my pasty pale ass off as I do.

I tug my shirt down, peeling it off my damp skin while I watch him grab his phone and set it on the bedside table closest to the door, parallel to his keys and wallet, perpendicular to the edge. My eyes immediately search for his shoes, still on the floor, perfectly lined up straight, then shift my gaze to the hamper to see that he folded his dirty clothes before putting them inside.

That’s pretty much as settled as Lucky gets, his smaller OCD rituals making him feel right at home and totally locked in. It’s why we’ve always worked so well.

I’m a tornado and Lucky likes righting my path of destruction.

“You’re staying again?”

He nods and walks over to me. “But only if you want me to. I don’t want to crowd you.” Lucky lifts his hand to my cheek and traces my freckles before he slides his thumb over my lower lip and gently frees it from between my teeth. “And you know if I stay, there’s a better than likely chance they will, too, but again, no one wants to overwhelm you.”

“I know.” I lean into his touch as he gently grips the side of my neck and I tilt my head to look up at him. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Then I’ll stay.” He leans down and kisses me so sweetly I just melt. Then he straightens up with that million dollar smile, and turns to head downstairs. “And so will they. You coming?”

I wish.

“In a minute.” I lick my bottom lip out of habit and grin when I see how Lucky tracks the movement as I walk over to the nightstand and grab my phone from the drawer. “You made a promise that I can’t break.”

With that, I grab my cigarettes and head to the balcony to have an incredibly unpleasant conversation with the only woman on the planet who could probably kill someone through a phone.

“Girl, I was not joking when I said you’d be the death of me!” Justine skips the greeting altogether before the first ring even finishes.

“Ah, my sweet Leonor! Bonjour, belle !” Pierre croons in his brassy, upbeat melody.

Great .

I’m on speaker.

Which is rarely a good thing.

“Would you stop that!” Justine snaps. “She cannot go almost forty-eight hours without checking in with at least one of us then be greeted with compliments!”

“But my love, she is with the boys. She has been since she left us yesterday.”

I light a cigarette and roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile on my face as I listen to them bicker.

“I don’t care if she’s with the pope ! I want phone calls. Besides, you don’t know if they’ve been there the whole time. They could have left, she could have spiraled, you don’t?—”

“Ah, but I do know.” Pierre chuckles. “How do I know, you ask? I know because you told me when Lucius answered Leonor’s cell phone. I know because you told me each time you spoke to Markus, Norman or Peter, which totals treize times and counting. I know because you have been walking around reassuring yourself that Lucius has been stranded at her apartment all day, that the boys are shopping for her so they can feed our sweet Leonor. My love, you are being ridiculous.”

Justine huffs, and I can clearly see the scowl she’s giving Pierre in my mind. “Fine, you don’t have to side with me. Go ahead, validate her disappearance. Remember this, Pierre?—”

“Excuse me, yeah hi, I’m still on the phone here,” I chime in, hoping to move things along.

I hear a slight scuffle and some mumbling as Justine takes me off speaker and moves away from Pierre. I sort of feel bad he’s not even close to done dealing with her wrath, but I have my own lecture to get ready for.

“Leonor Allan, do you have any idea what kind of nervous wreck I’ve been? You left the mansion in a whirlwind of emotions, and I haven’t heard from you since.” Her tone is less harsh, but the worry is still evident. “I was terrified that I was going to get a call from Franc, or worse yet, the morgue ...” She stifles a sob, and I wince. I know exactly what she’s remembering, and I hate it. “Then when Mark, of all people, sent me a text saying that they were on their way to your place... frankly, Leo, I about shit.”

I laugh at her choice of words. “Justine, if you knew they were here, why were you so worried?”

“Because! You haven’t even said any of their names in almost three years, then all of the sudden they’re going to your apartment? What was I supposed to think?” Justine pauses for dramatic effect. “The worst! That’s what I was thinking! Thankfully those boys know that you are my cub and I will tear them apart with my claws if they keep me out of the loop. I know you are safe, that you’re perfectly fine now, but I still needed to hear your voice, sweetheart. Our life has not been the same since you came into it all those years ago, and I couldn’t bear it if that suddenly changed.”

“ J’taime , Justine. And I am sorry, really. It’s been an incredibly… eventful forty-eight hours.”

“Obviously! Norman said you were eating and laughing. You let them stay at your apartment. Lucky obviously stayed in your bed,” she says as she gasps. “Mark said he saw you kissing him? Girl, we have a lot to talk about. Are you coming to work tomorrow? Never mind, use another sick day, you have about a million saved up. You can come back on Monday, but I want to get breakfast or coffee or something Sunday morning. I want to know what the hell happened.”

There’s a brief pause, and I brace myself because I have no idea where this conversation is going anymore.

“Is he a good kisser?”

I crack the fuck up the second her question is out.

Justine and Pierre have been happily married for almost thirty years, but I know she’s always had an innocent little crush on the boys. Not that I can blame her, they are total babes, it’s just funny because she’s cute.

“Perv.” I laugh and put out my smoke.

Justine giggles down the line. “I’m just curious. Lucky has great lips, I always figured he’d be a good kisser. Not that I’d ever want to know firsthand, Pierre is a fabulous kisser and I don’t want any other lips, but I can ask questions.”

Called it.

“He’s ok.” I kid. I like getting a rise out of her, and now I have the energy and inclination to do so.

“Ok? Ok ? There is no way that boy is just ok . Leonor...”

I sigh, probably a little too dreamily. “He’s amazing, Justine. If I’d have known Lucky kissed like that I would have done it that first day you introduced us.”

“I knew it!” She claps so loud it comes through the phone. “I am so glad you two finally did something about all those pent-up feelings. I was getting tired of waiting for you to grow a pair and make a move. I want grandchildren, Leonor, and I don’t want to be older than dirt when I get them.”

My smile fades a bit as I light another cigarette.

That’s something I doubt will ever happen, but I don’t have the heart to tell her that. I don’t even have it in me to deal with it myself.

There isn’t much Justine doesn’t know about my attack, but that is one of the few things I haven’t told her. My chances of ever being a mother were dropped to about thirty percent after my insides took such a hit.

Justine knows that after I was hacked apart the doctors removed my left kidney, a chunk of my pancreas, spleen and gallbladder, as well as stitched up a bunch of other shit including my lungs. She also knows I have to take enzyme replacement pills when I eat, a healthy dose of several vitamins and supplements my body now struggles to produce, and I’m diabetic because I don’t have much of my pancreas left. I also have to check my sugar way more than anyone should because I don’t eat properly.

What she doesn’t know is they had to remove my left ovary and Fallopian tube as well. My uterus is now tilted and was nicked, and there was some damage to the other side of things, but they didn’t feel like they needed to do a complete hysterectomy, which I’m simultaneously glad for and pissed about.

They didn’t want to do it if they didn’t have to, didn’t want to force the choice to never have children on me, but part of me wishes they had. I’d rather know for sure kids aren’t an option than hope and pray my ass off one day that I can carry a baby.

Which surprisingly is something I’ve always wanted. Going through the foster care system, knowing little more than the last name of my birth mother for so long, it all left me with this need to do better, to be better than what I had. I swore I would, that when I was given the chance to be a mom I’d make that baby the center of my universe every single day I was breathing. Knowing that might never happen has been a lot tougher than I thought it would.

Upside to all that though? No more periods or need for birth control. My shit doesn’t work right so I don’t have to worry nearly as much.

Justine’s words cut through my thoughts and pull me right back into the safety of her voice. “Will you do me just one favor, sweetheart?”

“Anything.” Because I at least owe her that.

“Please just check in with me. Even if you are holed up in bed with Lucky, or kissing on Peter, or whatever you get up to with them. Just a simple text, a quick call, a little reassurance for your mama tiger.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you, my sweet child.” Her sigh of relief floods my ear, and I can’t help how easily it makes me smile. “I love you, Leonor.”

“ Moi aussi .” I hang up my phone, slide it into my pocket, and stare out into the back garden while finishing my smoke, truly appreciating Justine and Pierre for the first time in a really long time.

If they hadn’t stuck with me through my self-imposed seclusion and reclusive isolation, I wouldn’t even be here.

After too many close calls, Justine makes sure my meds get delivered, and makes sure I go to my appointments by either accompanying me or sending Pierre in her place. She’s the one who helped me get off the painkillers, antipsychotics and daily anxiety meds. Justine still sets up my med box, checks to make sure I take everything I’m supposed to and never run out. She keeps an extra close eye on my sleeping pills and PRNs, and she makes sure I always have the glucose chews and my emergency insulin. And that’s not to mention all the meals she makes and brings over, all the routine things Pierre does around my apartment and for my car.

Justine and Pierre really are fucking saints, and I owe them so much more than I can ever repay, but I’m going to try.

And it starts with eating whatever the hell Mark is cooking right now because it smells amazing.