Page 86 of Wrong For Me

I laugh. “Does that really seem so strange? Aren’t you the one that called me a hippie?”

“Which you flatly denied,” he reminds me.

“I guess it’s not completely inaccurate. I’ve been doing yoga since I was a kid—my mom got really into it when she was pregnant with the twins. She was uncomfortable all the time, and yoga was the only way she could get any relief. Then when I started working at the women’s shelter, I realized having someone on staff who could teach classes might come in handy.”

“You teach yoga at the women’s shelter?”

He’s looking at me strangely, like he’s trying to figure me out. “I do. I think it has a lot of benefit to people in that situation. The stress they’re all dealing with can be really overwhelming. Especially the kids. It’s easy to tell yourself little ones don’t really understand what’s happening, but I think they take in more than we know. They just aren’t great at processing or communicating it.”

Leo is quiet for a very long time, his eyes glued to the floor. His shoulders are tense, and I can tell he’s upset. I just have no idea why.

“Leo?” I finally ask when I can’t stand the tension any longer.

His head snaps up, his eyes coming up to meet mine. “I know exactly what you mean.” He clears his throat. “Because, uh, I used to live in a place like that.”

All the air whooshes out of me. “Oh.”

He grimaces, and I’m sure that’s all he’ll say about it. But then he lets out a long breath. “I told you I wanted to do research with my degree. But I didn’t tell you why.”

His eyes hold mine, questioning. I have the strangest urge to wrap my arms around him, to pull his head down to my shoulder so I can soothe him, take that vulnerable, scared expression from his face.

Instead, I brush my fingers over his hand. “You can talk about it if you feel like it. I’ll listen to anything you want to tell me.”

There’s a beat of silence. “My mom has mental health problems.” His voice sounds strangely emotionless, like he’s shut something off inside himself. “She has my whole life. I didn’t know what it was until I got older. All I knew is that we moved around a lot, because she was always…scared. Always certainsomeonewas after us.”

He finally looks up at me, a ghost of a smile tugging the corners of his lips. “You’re doing it, aren’t you?”

“Doing what?”

“Diagnosing.”

My cheeks warm, because he’s right. Without even thinking, my brain had immediately started going through a list of possible conditions. His smile grows a little. “Don’t feel bad. It’s just the psychologist in you. I’d be surprised if you didn’t do it.”

“Paranoid Personality Disorder?”

He nods once. “Or Schizophrenia. Or possibly PTSD. The doctors have spent a lot of time arguing about it.” He sighs. “Regardless, her mind was not a fun place to be.”

I don’t miss his use of the past-tense, and I can’t help the sharp intake of air. He looks at me and his smile finally seems normal. “She’s doing much better these days.”

Thank God. I had been sure he was going to tell me that she was gone. “She’s getting treatment?”

He nods. “She lives outside Philadelphia, close to her brother and sister. They’ve been a huge help the last few years.”

I study his face. “But they weren’t when you were younger?”

“They didn’t know how bad it was. She was just their flighty little sister who was hard to get in touch with and didn’t come home very often. They had no idea about all the time we spent moving. Running.” His attention goes to the window, the night sky inky black over the mountains. “We actually lived around here, for a few months. She had this theory about the mountains being able to shield her father’s tracking technology.”

“Tracking technology?”

He shrugs. “That was just one of the many things she was afraid of.”

Jesus. “I’m sorry, Leo.”

Something grows fierce in his eyes. “I love my mother.”

His words are a challenge, so I nod. “Of course you do.”

“And she loved me.Lovesme. She never hurt me. I don’t want you thinking she was abusive or…” he winces, shoulders slumping. “It wasn’t a great way to grow up. Never having any roots. Having her fear in my head all the time. It wasn’t always so extreme as the times we ran, but even when we were settled in one place, that panic still seeped through in small ways. Comments about the kids I tried to play with. Distrust in her bosses or the customers wherever she was working. Inevitably, it would all build up again until she had to move, had to run.” He clears his throat. “It’s hard to make money when you’re constantly on the road. Hence the shelters.” His face grows hard again. “At least we could shower then. It was harder when we lived in the car.”