Page 22 of The Destruction You Desire

A smile pulls at my lips because even now, I trust Luca to never have gone after Libby, not in a million years.

"No. Your dad."

All the air escapes from Leon's lungs as his face morphs into one of utter disbelief and shock.

He's silent for long seconds. He's still looking at me but his eyes have glazed over as if he’s not really seeing anything as he tries to process those three words I’ve just said to him.

"M-my d-dad?" he finally stutters.

"I'm so sorry, Lee."

"My dad slept with your sister and… and got her pregnant?"

No longer hungry, I push the bag of food onto the dash and curl myself into a ball on Leon's passenger seat.

"I'm so sorry."

"Fuck." He scrubs his hand down his face, leaning his head back against the headrest as he stares out of the windshield.

I want to reach out and comfort him in some way, but his body is locked up tight with tension and I'm not sure if he'd accept it right now.

Leon is a totally different person to Luca, and what I know might work with Luc could be an entirely different story with Lee.

His chest heaves as his fingers curl into fists, and I just sit there awkwardly not knowing what to do for the best.

If I were wearing my own clothes, I might have offered to leave by now sensing that what he really needs is to be alone but selfishly, I continue to sit there in the hope he comes back to me.

"H-how old was she, Peyton?"

"Seventeen. She was a few weeks off—"

"Motherfucker," he booms out of nowhere making a startled little scream rip from my lips. Slamming his palms down on the wheel so hard it makes the entire car shake. "Fucking, motherfucking. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

His face turns red with anger as he takes it out on his car, spittle flying from his lips with every word that rips from his throat.

"Leon," I whisper, needing to break him out of the trance he seems to have lost himself in.

Resting his forearms on the wheel he drops his head to them and sucks in a deep, calming breath.

"I'm sorry." When he finally looks at me, the pain in his eyes makes me gasp. Unable to stop myself, I reach out and plant my hand on his exposed forearm in the hope the contact helps even a little bit.

"Hey, it's okay. I get it, trust me."

"Fuck, Peyton. That's what you told him?"

I nod, the lump in my throat from the look on his face too huge to talk around.

"And he called you a liar. All this time he's been walking around thinking you lied about… about that."

Again, all I do is nod.

"Fucking asshole. What happ— He could—" He sucks in a breath and looks away once more. "Fuck, Peyton. I don't even know where to start."

"I-it’s okay. How about I just talk and hopefully it'll answer some of your questions."

He nods, sitting back in his seat and fixing his eyes on something in the distance.

I tell him about Mom making us leave, about getting us away from both Brett and the drama it would ultimately cause when she started showing and people began asking questions.