Page 41 of Off the Grid
She scrubbed at her arms and her legs, drying every inch of her cold skin. Finally, when there was nothing more to do, she wrapped the towel around her torso, cinching it with a knot, and turned around.
“What now…” Her voice vanished into nothing.
Leo faced away from her, shirtless, head hidden beneath a towel as he scrubbed the water from his hair. Those broad shoulders were on prime display, muscles flexing and coiling as he moved his arms back and forth. Her gaze traveled down the deep cut of his spine, following the trail all the way to the edge of his boxer-briefs, and back up. She’d been told she had iron in her blood, but now, McKenzie wondered if there was maybe too much as a magnetic pull lured her hand closer. She couldn’t resist. Taking a step forward, she pressed her fingers against his bronze skin, marveling at the rich hue. Leo stilled, but McKenzie didn’t. She traced the deep black swirls of ink that had caught her attention, watching as the image writhed beneath her touch.
“You have a tattoo.”
It was a set of wings that stretched from one side of his back to the other, feathers curling around his shoulders and covering the top half of his biceps. She’d never noticed it beneath the edge of his T-shirt, but now she couldn’t look away. With his arms still stretched above his head, the wings were spread wide, as though he were flying.
Leo didn’t respond.
McKenzie slowly drew her hand back, worried maybe she’d crossed a line she hadn’t realized he’d drawn. “I have one too.”
“You?” The surprise in his tone was obvious.
McKenzie grinned.
Leo turned, still holding the towel in his hand, and watched her with interest.
“It’s not that big, so you probably didn’t notice it before.”
She tried not to let her eyes linger too long on the cut edges of his abs as she stepped closer, pushed her bracelets farther up her arm, and held out her wrist. Leo reached forward and lightly traced the black loops before looking up to search her eyes for the meaning he didn’t understand. McKenzie swallowed, finding her voice.
“It’s, um, two M’s intertwined to look like a Celtic knot. My dad’s full name is Charles MacDonald Harper the Fourth, and he picked out the name McKenzie Kathleen to sort of match. I think he always knew one child was all he’d ever get out of my mom. Anyway, we used to joke and say he was the Big Mac and I was the Little Mac. It was this whole thing. Sometimes when he didn’t have too much work, he’d surprise me at school and take me to McDonald’s for lunch as like a daddy-daughter date. Or, well, he did, before everything…”
Leo held her gaze, not letting go as something almost sad passed over his face. “You really love him, huh?”
“Of course, he’s my dad,” she answered automatically, pulling away a little and glancing to the floor, the urge to retreat overwhelming. Then, for some reason, words tumbled from her mouth before she had the right mind to stop them, spilling out in a rush, as though desperate for life. “He—he’s not like the press and the news and the media made him out to be, during the trial and the case and everything after. He’s not a criminal, at least, not to me. You see, my mom never wanted kids. I think she did it more out of obligation than anything else, because it was expected. She was never warm or motherly the way you’d expect, which is okay. Women, especially moms, don’t have to all be the same. And I’m a lot like her, actually,ice queenand all.”
She released an airy laugh, rolling her eyes at his former description. But it was apt, in a lot of ways. It was one of the reasons she and her mom had such a difficult time getting along—they were too similar, too used to freezing people out and keeping things in, too guarded.
Leo took a breath as though to interject, maybe to apologize, but she stopped him.
“My dad’s the affectionate one, and I love that about him. When I was little, he was the one to give me a hug and a kiss when I cried. He was the one who’d toss me in the air and play with me outside and ask me about my day. He came to all my soccer games, hooting and hollering from the sidelines. Sometimes, he did the same thing at my ballet recitals too, much to my mortification. But it always made me laugh. My mom too. I’ve never seen her laugh the way he used to make her laugh. Her whole face would change, and soften, and light up, like she was an entirely different person. When he went away, we both lost that feeling, and we sort of fell apart. I love her, I always will, but the two of us don’t work so well without him around. He was the life of our family, the rope that tied us all together and made us whole. So, I got the tattoo because it made me feel better to think he wasn’t so far away. I mean, I know he’s not dead or anything. I talk to him all the time, but it’s different, you know, to not have him close by? I have this dream that when he gets out, everything in my life will go back to normal, even though I know that’s not possible. But there are some things, maybe, that will…”
She thought back to the last time she and her mother had gone to see him. Her father greeted them with a big hug, as though they were out celebrating, not in a visitation room under the watchful eye of a prison guard. The sight of his smile brought one to their lips, and just like that, all the tension slipped away. They spoke about everything, about nothing, just trying to make each second count. Then it was over, far too quick. When they left, her mother tried to hide the way she wiped a tear from her cheek. In the car, they pretended they were fine, even though they both felt broken inside, as though ignoring the pain could somehow make it go away. Her mother retreated into her thoughts and McKenzie slipped into hers. They were next to each other, yet somehow, a million miles apart. But in that short hour when the three of them had been together, she’d caught a glimpse of what could be when her father was free. Her family would heal, because he’d find a way to fix them.
McKenzie rubbed her thumb over the tattoo, an old habit, and finally looked back up, meeting Leo’s eyes. They were brooding, hooded by the black hair spilling over his forehead. She couldn’t read the emotions swirling like molten amber within them.
“I got my tattoo when I got back from the war,” he told her, gaze still dark as midnight. “The wings, they have a lot of different meanings. They were designed to look equal parts eagle and angel. The eagle is for the United States, obviously, but also for Mexico, where my roots are, and for the marines, where I figured out who I was. The angel wings are for friends I’ve lost along the way, who I like to think are looking out for me. And for my mom, for my brother. She used to call meangelito míowhen I was a kid, her little angel.”
He broke off.
McKenzie couldn’t fight the sense that he’d stopped himself, that he’d pulled back, too afraid to reveal the next confession that might’ve slipped out. Leo looked up, blinking the demons away. His eyes returned to their bright hazel, laced with honey.
“Come on,” he murmured as he gestured toward the rest of the house. “Let’s go find some warm clothes and a bite to eat. If we’re going to break in, we might as well do a thorough job of it.”
McKenzie watched him walk away, unable to stop from wondering what words he’d left unsaid. What could possibly be buried so deep he hesitated to tell her? She studied his tattoo again, the unfurling feathers about to take flight.
Guardian angel, she thought, following as he disappeared around a bend, deeper into the shadows of the house.You should add that one to your list.
- 15 -
Leo
He’d almost told her about his father, about why his mom thought of him as her angel, her saving grace.Angelito mío.Leo shook his head and marched down the dark hallway.What was I thinking?
There was only one explanation. The dehydration was getting to him. That, plus the lack of food, the sight of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, the feel of her fingers gliding across his back, the soft vulnerability in her voice as she’d finally let him in. Leo was dizzy, and confused, and most definitely not thinking straight.
