Page 79 of Trust Again

It was late that night when Olivia’s door opened again. Spencer’s legs came into view. I looked up at him, unsure of how he was doing now. Of whether he needed me… or not.

“You’re still here,” he said softly. His eyes were somber. He looked hopelessly tired. Where there usually was at least a hint of a smile, there was… nothing.

“I waited for you,” I whispered, not wanting to wake Olivia.

Spencer’s expression was unreadable. Without another word he continued down the hall. I scrambled to my feet, following him. He descended the stairs to the living room to say goodbye to his parents. The atmosphere between him and his father was chilly and there was tension in the air, which his mother tried to smooth over. How much like Spencer she was in this way! Among our friends, he was always the one who tried to make things better whenever there was a problem.

Mrs. Cosgrove gave me a hug as we got ready to leave.

After we exited the house, Spencer stopped for a moment at the curb, crossing his arms behind his head. His eyes were closed and he breathed deeply. I saw his chest rise and sink.

No way was I letting him drive home. I stood in front of the driver’s side door with my arms crossed until he handed me the keys. He didn’t even have the strength to be annoyed with me. And just like the last time, he closed his eyes for the whole trip. Either he was sleeping or pretending to, but I didn’t care. The main thing was that he found some peace.

It was nearly 3 a. m. when I pulled up to Spencer’s house and parked. He was already unbuckling his seatbelt.

“You can take the car home,” he said. “I’ll pick it up tomorrow. Or the day after.”

Taking the key from the ignition, I shook my head. “I’m not leaving you alone now.”

Spencer’s mouth opened. He hesitated. “I’d rather you went home.”

“And I’d rather you stop sending me away all the time.” I leaned over the center console and this time left him no way to avoid me. Placing a hand on his cheek, I forced him to look at me. He seemed nearly overcome with the emotions that he usually kept hidden.

“You’re always giving, Spence. I’m not going anywhere until you’re feeling better,” I said softly but firmly.

“I want to be alone now. What’s so hard to understand about that?” he replied coolly.

“Why?”

He frowned. “Because I don’t deserve your comfort, Dawn.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, in disbelief.

“You don’t understand.”

“No. You’re right. I really don’t.” I opened my door, walked around the car and headed toward his house without looking to see if he was following. Unlocking the door, I entered the hallway. But before I could even take off my jacket, Spencer had grabbed me by the shoulders and whirled me around.

“Go, Dawn,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. He grabbed my hands and prevented me from unzipping my jacket.

“Forget it. I’m staying,” I growled.

“I don’t need your fucking help,” he yelled.

I flinched. Spencer instantly took his hands off me. He retreated backward until he hit the dresser in the hallway and it wobbled dangerously. He covered his eyes with his hands and his shoulders began to shake.

I didn’t care if he tried to keep me away. A few steps later I was reaching for his hands. Holding them tightly, I pulled them from his face so he would look at me. My eyes said it all: Not just compassion and worry, but everything.

“Please, let me in,” I whispered.

He buckled. I saw something break in his gaze and then in his posture. Spencer Cosgrove, who was always there when you needed him, whose zest for life was contagious and who always gave more of himself than he got, crumbled into in my arms.

Chapter 27

With my back against the headboard of his bed, I held him tight. He lay with his upper body resting on me, one arm around my waist and his head somewhere between my belly and the crook of my arm. I stroked his shoulders and back.

“I was a real asshole,” Spencer began. “It started around age 15. I was sick of being the model son. I started hanging around with the wrong crowd and smoking weed.”

“At 15?”

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