Trust Again_Dawn and Spencer's Story Page 6
Later, after Sawyer had returned to her side of the room, Allie made a call.
“I don’t think we’re going out tonight. I’m pretty sure Dawn would rather stay in.”
“Dawn does not want to stay in. Dawn wants to go out and forget that this day happened,” I called out.
Allie covered her phone with her hand and looked at me quizzically. “You sure?”
I nodded eagerly. No way I wanted to mope around the dorm and keep seeing that damned Maynard House in my mind’s eye. Fresh air was what I needed; or maybe even better, the stale air of a club, with music loud enough to drive out the memories.
Chapter 8
I was beautiful. I was unstoppable. And Nate could suck it. Good for him, that his future was all set. As for me, I had a fantastic here-and-now. Right on the dance floor, with a crowd of people wildly gyrating around me to the beat of the music, their faces lit up by flashing, colorful lights.
Allie and our buddy Scott whirled me around till I was out of breath and sweating. It was exactly what I needed.
My heels were so high, that I was on the same level as my friends for a change. Allie had done my makeup and curled my hair. My turquois dress swept down from the waist; perfect for dancing. The music enveloped me as I swayed with eyes closed, turning round and round until I felt dizzy.
Allie and I had headed straight for Hillhouse, the only club near campus that didn’t check ID’s at the door. Sawyer had other plans—at least that’s what she told us.
Monica and Ethan met up with us later in the evening. I relished the feel of the bass pounding through my bones and vented my anger about Nate by dancing. My mood still wasn’t the best, but at least I was surrounded by my favorite people.
“Oh, God,” I heard Allie groan next to me; opening my eyes, I followed her gaze.
Monica and Ethan were dancing like a couple of baboons in heat, looking for a one-night stand.
“Drink break?” I asked Allie and Scott, and both came along. We headed to our table, where Kaden was sitting with Scott’s boyfriend Micah. I plopped down on the bench across from Scott and Micah and gulped my pop. At the end of the table, Kaden trapped Allie between his legs and she leaned her head on his shoulder, turning toward him for a kiss. Kaden whispered something to Allie that made her cheeks turn crimson, and she gave him a playful swat.
“Hello there, voyeur.” Kaden addressed me, resting his elbows on the table.
I raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Ha. I saw you naked. Big deal.”
Scott seemed all too eager to hear about it. “You did what? How?”
“Details, details,” Micah called out.
“I wanted to work on a paper at Allie’s place, thinking nobody was home. But nope. There he was in all his glory,” I jerked my chin toward Kaden, “prancing around stark naked.”
“Ooh, can I have a key to your apartment, so I can work there, too?” Scott asked Allie.
“Sorry, Scott—we’ve already given our two spare keys to Spence and Dawn,” she answered.
Scott gave an exaggerated pout, which was Micah’s signal to reach out a hand. “C’mere.”
Scott shot us a superior look. “I don’t need your stupid key anyway, as you can see.”
The pair headed for the dance floor and joined the jumble of bodies. Micah exuded a rare, casual elegance. And what a contrasting couple the two made. Scott, with his blond, styled coif and Micah with his short, curly hair and bronzed skin.
Just as I turned to gush about how cute they were, I was assaulted by slurping noises from across the table. I rolled my eyes. Allie and Kaden at it again.
“Looks like I came just in time,” said Spencer’s voice beside me.
I jerked my head around and stared up at him. Why’d he always have to wear those awful shirts? And why, oh why did the sight of him have to take my breath away?
Oh hell. My eyes lingered on his mouth, making it even worse. A burning heat was growing in my belly.
Spencer grinned. As if he knew exactly what was going on inside me.
And what was going on, was not good at all. Spencer was bad for me. There’s no way I’d let myself pursue anything with him. No way I’d let him get close enough to hurt me the way Nate had. No way I’d ever let a guy cause me so much pain again. As far as I was concerned, Spencer Cosgrove could take his little grin and shove it.
I slid from the bench and headed for the dance floor, leaving Spencer at the table.
The music numbed me: It didn’t matter what anyone else was doing. This was better than alcohol.
At some point I opened my eyes again and saw a guy smiling at me.
Who cared? I had no feelings, no pain, no memories, no fear.
We moved closer to each other and let ourselves move in time to the music. It felt great. I allowed myself be distracted and twirled by him, let him touch me, just because. I had power over my feelings and could decide how the night might go. There was no room for pain and fear, only for fun and lightness.
Until I felt someone else behind me. I immediately knew who it was. My skin was tingling, and my heart was skipping beats again. Glancing over my shoulder, I glared at Spencer. But he wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were fixed angrily on my dance partner.
The guy shrugged and turned away from me with a smile. It only took him a few seconds to find another dance partner.
Pissed off, I turned to Spencer. “What was that all about?” I hissed.
“Watching you dance with other guys is not my idea of fun. I want you to distract yourself with me.” He put his arm around my waist as if I were his. As if he had the right to touch me like that.
“Cut it out,” I said, trying to shake his hand off.
“No can do.” He stroked my back, and despite my anger, I melted under his touch. His mouth grazed my ear. “I just can’t stop when it comes to you, Dawn.”
Suddenly, it was as if the pulsating music and the crowd had completely evaporated. I felt nothing but Spencer, heard nothing but his words; everything in me screamed his name. But it wouldn’t work. It just wouldn’t.
“I mean it, Spencer. Let me go,” I said through clenched teeth.
Distraught, he looked at me and raised his hands.
“Look, you can’t just show up and get all jealous because we kissed once. We’re not an item. You don’t have a claim on me, and you never will. Just leave me alone!”
Dead silence.
Literally. The whole club hushed for a moment at my shrill voice. Several people—including our friends—had turned to stare in our direction.
Spencer looked at me with his dark eyes, his lips slightly parted, his eyebrows raised. Then he clenched his teeth tightly and looked down at his feet.
Before I knew what was happening, he was striding off toward the bar.
Spencer got drunk. I watched from a distance as he tossed back one shot after another. He didn’t even stop when Kaden went over and tried to intervene.
This is not what I wanted.
He was my friend. True, he shouldn’t have acted all possessive toward me, but I also shouldn’t have gone off on him like that, out of fear of my own emotions. Obviously, everything was messed up now: us, our friendship, and apparently also Spencer’s aversion to alcohol.
I’d never seen him drunk before. It was awful. Whenever he finished one drink he waved his glass in the air.
“This is not what I wanted,” I repeated out loud for the third time.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have been so hard on him,” Monica said, as Ethan played with a lock of her colorfully streaked hair.
“He’s 21, baby. Drinking is what you do when you have a bad night.”
“You’re right.” She sighed and turned to me. “Sorry, Dawn.”
I smiled reassuringly. She was right.
“It’s not your fault,” Allie said.
Kaden came back to our table. “Don’t worry, Dawn. He just needs a little distance now.”
Distance. I tried to grasp his words. I failed. Spencer was now talking to a girl. He smiled and sipped his drink, then raised a hand and ordered something for her. She beamed at him and played with her hair. She looked like she was about to sit on his lap when he stood up and dug his cell phone out of his pocket. He put it to his ear and covered his other ear with his hand. He stepped to the side without looking at her again. His shoulders dropped, and for a moment I was afraid he might throw up right then and there. But then he shoved the phone back into his jeans, slammed a few bills on the bar, and disappeared in the crowd, heading toward the exit.
I shot a worried glance at Kaden, but he was totally wrapped up in Allie again.
Dammit.
I grabbed my bag, gave a half-assed excuse, and pushed my way to the door. Outside, the chill of the night air hit me and it was still pouring down rain. I shielded my eyes with one hand and looked around the parking lot.
Spencer’s rust-red Volvo stood out from other cars even on the darkest night.
“Shit,” I hissed.
He was out of his mind.
I took off running toward him, which was quite a feat in high heels in the rain.
I could hear him cursing as I approached. The driver’s-side door was wide open, and Spencer was sitting in the seat, his cheeks burning red, as he tried to get the key in the ignition.
“What the hell are you doing?” I shouted. “Are you crazy?”
He continued poking his key into thin air.
“Spencer, you shouldn’t be driving.”
Rain streaked my make-up, and flattened my hair onto my head. Spencer ignored me.
“I’m worried about you,” I said, ducking my head into the car as I reached carefully for the key.
Spencer’s left hand shot out, and he grabbed my wrist. “You know I care about you, but right now I’m not in the mood for your company, Dawn.” He pushed my hand away. “I mean it.”
It felt like a slap in the face.
Again, Spencer tried to put the key in the ignition. Again he failed. “Fuck.”
“Let me drive.”
“Get out of here, Dawn.”
“Please!” I begged.
“For fuck’s sake!” He slammed the palm of his hands on the steering wheel, once, twice and then with a clenched fist, and I didn’t have the guts to say anything.
Now he was clenching the wheel in both hands and had dropped his forehead against it.
“I’m getting Kaden,” I said softly.
Again his hand came out of nowhere. This time he grabbed the hem of my dress.
“No.” His hand quivered on my thigh, he was so agitated. He lifted his head, leaned it back against the headrest, then looked at me sidelong with his dark eyes. Beads of sweat had bloomed on his forehead.
This wasn’t the Spencer I knew, the one who never lost his cool, who would never drink too much and then try to drive. Something was off, that part was obvious. But it wasn’t just the thing between us that set him off. I was sure of that.
“What happened?”
“I have to go home,” he said, his voice raw.
“Let me drive you. I can walk from there.”
He shook his head softly. “No. Portland. I have to go to Portland.” He mumbled something that sounded a bit like “emergency,” and my alarm bells started to go off.
“Scoot over. I’m driving you there.”
The corners of his mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “I can’t be with you right now, Dawn.”
“You also can’t drive for two hours like this. Let me help, Spencer,” I pleaded, wrapping my hand around his to suppress the shaking. “Please, scoot over.”
He looked down at our hands. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. I released his hand immediately and he fumbled with his seatbelt. After three attempts to undo it, he let out another curse and asked for help. Then he clumsily heaved himself over the center console and banged his head, hard, on the passenger door handle.
I’d never heard him curse so much before.
I slipped out of my killer heels, which weren’t exactly cut out for driving, and put them down with my purse on the floor in front of Spencer. Then I fastened his seatbelt and pried the keys from his hand.
“In Portland, you’ll have to give me directions or punch it into the GPS. Can you do that?” I asked while starting the engine.
He grunted, which I interpreted as assent.
“Don’t worry. Everything’ll be all right,” I mumbled, familiarizing myself with the dashboard.
“That’s a lie. Some things can’t be undone.”
He was mumbling, and I barely understood him. He still hadn’t told me what was going on, so who knew if I could even help with that. But what I could do was drive him there safely. So I steered the car through the parking lot to the main road. Straight ahead toward the highway, then to Portland.
Chapter 9
For the first forty-five minutes Spencer slept.
Then he felt like he was going to be sick, so we pulled over to the shoulder. He didn’t need his hair held back, the way Allie had done for me, but I rubbed his back and mumbled reassuring words that I hoped would somehow reach him. I helped him back to the car; this time he even managed to buckle himself in.
After an hour and a half, we needed to stop for gas. I picked up a few things: neon-green flip-flops from a discount bin, a large coffee, a bottle of water, and a sandwich for Spencer. Back in the car, he was in the process of removing his jacket.
“What’re you doing?” I asked gently.
“You put it on,” he said, throwing his black parka in my lap.
Even drunk, the guy had manners. I’d left my jacket at Hillhouse and only had on my thin dress. And now I had a pair of neon green flip-flops, so my bare feet wouldn’t keep slipping off the pedal. It was just above freezing, and I was actually pretty cold.
“Fine. But only if you take these”—I held out my palm with two aspirin—”and drink some coffee.”
His eyes traveled from the tablets in one hand to the water bottle in the other. “Thanks.”
I opened it for him. He kept his eyes on me as he drank, his Adam’s apple bobbing a bit with each gulp. He then held the bottle out to me. I screwed the cap shut, picked up the coffee from the drink holder and replaced it with the water. Spencer took the steaming cup from my hand.
As promised, I slipped on his jacket. For a moment, I let his scent envelope me. And then I got us back on the highway.
He felt much better after drinking half the coffee. But he didn’t want to touch the sandwich and asked me to keep it away from him.
The atmosphere was tense. For one thing, I was driving as fast as possible without putting us in danger or getting a speeding ticket. At the same time I was trying to distract Spencer by telling him about Sawyer’s strange photo shoot and my dad’s failed dating attempts.
He didn’t seem to mind my chatter, but he didn’t respond, either. In fact, he didn’t say a word, which was so unusual for him that it made me kind of nervous.
My cell phone rang a few times. Allie probably wanted to know what was going on. I ignored the calls. At some point, Spencer took his own phone from his pocket and typed something on it. The calls to my phone stopped.
We spent the rest of the trip in silence.
Once in Portland, I recognized the route, although I’d grown up farther west, in Beaverton; it wasn’t long before we arrived in the neighbor
hood of Eastmoreland.
We drove along a beautiful boulevard, past wide gates and driveways. Nothing like the little ranch house I’d grown up in. Whoever lived here had money.
“You can stop here,” Spencer said abruptly, waving toward the right side of the road. He looked outside, glancing up the driveway.
“Do you need help?” I asked softly.
Spencer unbuckled his seatbelt and shook his head. He opened the door and inhaled deeply. Then he stood—and sank promptly back into his seat, clinging so tightly to its edge that his hands looked chalky.
I pulled the key from the ignition and rushed around the car to the passenger side, wrapping my arm around Spencer.
“I don’t need your help,” he growled and took the keys from my hand.
I mean he honestly growled at me.
I grabbed him by the shoulder with one hand and tightened my grip on his hip with the other. “I’m taking you in. Period. Over. Done.”
“You’re bossy,” he muttered as I helped him stand.
“And you’re still drunk.” I closed the car door with my foot and my flip-flop almost got stuck.
“I actually never drink,” Spencer said.
“I know, Spence. I know.” We headed up the sidewalk to a wrought-iron gate, with me supporting him all the way.
“And this is exactly why I don’t drink. Because of things like this…” His voice trailed off and he gritted his teeth tightly.
The gate screeched open and we stepped through.
I could barely believe my eyes.
It was the biggest house I’d ever seen. House was perhaps too modest. More like a villa. Terra-cotta-colored tiles covered the steeply angled roof, which had a wide dormer window above the front door. There were two more dormers embedded on either side of the roof. The façade was light-colored stone with window frames that matched. The front yard was impeccably landscaped with trees and shrubs that would surely be covered with blossoms in spring. The lawn was pristine.
Two fancy black cars were parked in the sprawling front drive.
“Holy cannoli,” I blurted out.