24. Spence

TWENTY-FOUR

Spence

"No lamps in here?" I asked as I slipped into the passenger seat of Spencer's car.

"Very funny. Where does that aunt and uncle of yours live?"

"Why?" I froze, my seatbelt half pulled over my body. "I thought we were going shopping?"

"Just as soon as we establish that I haven't kidnapped you."

He checked all of his mirrors before pulling out onto the empty road.

"Yeah," I said slowly, trying to ignore the churning in my stomach. "You wouldn't last in jail. Too dirty. Not enough lamps. The décor is way off. Nothing matches."

"Am I being insulted?"

An audiobook began playing over his car speakers. I blinked at the title.

Bossypants , by Tina Fey.

He paused it, switching to a classical music station and turning the volume down low.

"I wouldn't dream of it," I said, a slow smile spreading over my face.

"There's nothing wrong with a little cleanliness and order."

"Absolutely not," I appeased him.

"So, where am I going?"

I gave him directions and fell into silence for the rest of the drive, clutching the hem of my dress nervously. I was wearing one of Nicholai's old hoodies over the top. It almost covered my dress entirely.

"I have money," I found myself saying. "From my parent's estate."

"Didn't ask for money, kid."

"What do you want, then?"

"For a little girl to not be sleeping outside in the rain, swinging her backpack at lecherous drunks."

"Lecherous drunks?"

"Let's just talk to your aunt and uncle and go from there."

He wanted to give me back .

My throat closed up and I found myself unable to reply. I followed him to the front door of my aunt and uncle's house with my chin tucked down and a slow numbness threatening to creep over me.

He knocked on the door and Shel answered, Evie perched on her hip.

"Hello," she started in a questioning tone, before spotting me. "Mika?"

"Spencer Fell," Spencer introduced himself stiffly. "You stuck this girl in a house on her own?"

"Trailer," I corrected, my voice barely audible.

"Who are you?" Shel snapped, immediately defensive, turning her eyes from me to Spencer.

"Spencer Fell," he repeated, pulling his license from his wallet and handing it over. "I live at 24 Coastal Court. I own a restaurant on the strip. I have a son. He's friends with Mika. Did you know her trailer burnt down?"

"Of course we know, it was our trailer," Shel said stiffly, her mouth tightening into a rigid line. "Luckily, it was insured."

"I think you mean luckily Mika wasn't inside it," Spencer corrected, a note of disbelief mixing with sad realisation in his voice.

"We don't know the circumstances around how the fire was set, but they think it was arson." Shel was angry, now. She was glaring at Spencer like he was accusing her of something.

"I've known the girl five minutes and I know she didn't set that fire." The sadness in Spencer's voice swelled.

Shel sighed, regret briefly flashing across her features. "I wasn't implying?—"

"Yes, you were," Spencer interrupted. "You have my address. That's where Mika will be staying. Should we expect you to visit?"

"Oh." Shel blinked in surprise, glancing between me and Spencer again. "You … you said you were the father of one of her friends?"

"That's correct."

"And … you're okay with this?" She was looking at me with so much relief, I wanted to close my eyes and block it all out.

"That's correct," I managed.

"Well," Shel laughed, the sound off. "What a saint you are." She turned the full force of her smile on Spencer. "Truly. How kind."

"That's settled then." Spencer glanced at me, categorising the devastation all over my face. His bright blue eyes narrowed slightly, and he turned back to Shel. "When would be a good time for you to come and visit, and make sure she's settled in properly?"

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Shel waved her hand weakly, her laugh less lustrous, less full. "I think a bit of separation would be good, it should help her adjust?— "

"I see," Spencer interrupted, unwilling to let her finish the sentence. "Then I think we're done here. Come on, Mika."

He turned and strode back to his car and Shel quickly shut the door, leaving me to stare at it, my stomach plummeting.

It didn't matter how many times she rejected me.

It still stung.

I dragged myself back to Spencer's car and slumped into the passenger seat.

Spencer took a deep breath and set his hands on the steering wheel, slowly shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "You deserve so much better than that."

"I'm sure it was hard for them," I allowed.

"I'm sure you were a child," he countered.

I nodded, staring at my lap.

"Fuck them," he grunted out.

"Yeah, fuck them."

He sighed again, and then slowly turned, fixing me with a look. His eyes were a brighter blue than Nicholai's. Less shadowed. Far more sorrowful.

"I'm offering you a two-week trial period," he said. "You're going to stop spending that money you mentioned. Save that for college?—"

"Who says I'm going to college? "

"You live under my roof now, and people who live under my roof go to college."

"Okay, for the next two weeks I'm going to college."

"You're going to work in my restaurant three nights a week."

"Okay. For the next two weeks I'll work in your restaurant three nights a week."

"And you're going to tell me who burnt down your trailer."

"Duke Moreno."

"Is Duke Moreno going to be a problem?"

"Only to himself."

Spencer gave me a gruff, humourless smile. "I'd like to see how he holds up against your backpack."

"Not as much as I would."

"You're going to tell me if he causes any trouble."

"Okay."

"You're going to introduce me to your friends."

"Okay."

"And you're going to clean up after yourself."

"Okay."

"And you're going to finish school."

"Why don't you write me a list?" I suggested.

He considered me before nodding gruffly. "Very well. Do we have a deal?"

A strange, foreign feeling was attempting to bubble up in my stomach, struggling to manifest through the cloud of sorrow from what had happened with Nicholai in the morning and the confrontation with Shel.

But it was there, fighting. It was bright and warm, and I thought it might have been happiness.

"You've got yourself a deal." I held out my hand, and he gripped it, his skin tough and weathered. We shook twice—tight and sharp—and then released, the action absurdly perfunctory.

"Let's go shopping," he said. "You'll need a few outfits for school. Some pyjamas. Toiletries. Spare phone charger."

"I tossed my phone."

"If I buy you another one, will you toss that one too?"

"You don't need to buy me a phone."

"That wasn't my question."

"Spence?"

"It's Spencer," he corrected.

"Is Nicholai going to be okay?"

He tapped the steering wheel, his mouth turning down at the edges. "This was a long time coming, kid. Jen was a very insecure person. Whenever Nic tried to leave her, she went into a tailspin. I don't know what happened, but I know he did the right thing."

"You really love him, huh? "

"He's my son."

"Is it going to be okay with him that I'm staying with you?"

"He's my independent, adult son who no longer lives with me and doesn't control what I do."

What if Spencer was Nicholai's safe space?

What if I was intruding?

I opened my mouth to ask exactly that … but couldn't find the right words. Instead, I asked, "Do you mind if we stop at the lighthouse? I left something there last night."

He nodded and drove to the small parking lot by the headland, close to the lighthouse. I jumped out of the car and walked toward the lighthouse door. My bonsai was gone.

Spencer followed, shoving his hands into his pockets and glancing around.

"Satan!" I called.

"I knew this was a mistake," Spencer grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"It's my cat," I defended, planting my hands on my hips and frowning.

"A real one?" he asked.

"I'm pretty sure."

"How sure?"

"Like fifty per cent."

I walked all the way around the lighthouse and stopped by the door again, wondering what to do next.

"Sometimes he's here, and sometimes he's at the trailer park," I explained.

"Then let's go there." Spencer walked back to his car.

Halfway to Summer Estate, he suddenly straightened in his seat, realisation settling over his face. "I'm not a cat kind of guy."

"Satan isn't much of a cat. He's more like a skunk from hell."

"Wow."

"What if I keep him outside?"

He frowned, mulling it over. "Do cats get cold?"

"I don't know."

"It's your cat."

"Not really. More like I'm his human."

Spencer's lips twitched. It was a small smile, like Nicholai's, but different. It was gruff and stubborn. "How long has he had you?"

"Few months now. We've gotten close. He let me wash his butt."

"I won't be washing his butt."

"His butt is already washed. It's the rest of him that needs washing now."

"I won't be washing him at all. If you're going to bring your cat home, you're going to be responsible for it. And it's going to live outside. Unless cats get cold. You're going to find out if cats get cold."

"Okay, Spence."

"Spencer."

"Right here." I pointed to the entrance to Summer Estate, and he pulled into the lot.

We walked down the narrow pathway to Fred and Shel's lot and found ourselves standing at the edge of the concrete platform, staring at the charred remains of the trailer.

"Well," Spencer said, surveying the wreck. He didn't finish his sentence.

A ragged ball of fur pounced out of the garden and ran over to us, tripping and tumbling over the edge of the concrete platform before rolling to a stop at my feet.

"Princess?" Spencer asked, confused.

"Huh?" I followed his eyes to the cat. "No, that's Satan."

"No," he laughed, his eyes crinkling, "that's Princess."

"What?"

"The old lighthouse keeper's cat. He used to live somewhere around here, actually." Spencer hummed, glancing around the trees. "He died last year. Princess spends a lot of time on the strip. All the shops and restaurants feed her. "

"Her?" I felt an absurd laugh bubbling up in the back of my throat. " Princess? "

Satan mewled.

"Come on, Princess," Spencer clicked his tongue, turning back for the path.

Satan followed him.

" What? " I scrambled after them.

Three hours later, I was sitting on Nicholai's bed, surrounded by shopping bags. I was holding a phone in my hand, my thumb caressing the screen absently. The only phone number in it was Spencer's.

Satan was prowling around the courtyard outside, familiarising himself— herself with our temporary new home. Spencer had left for work after giving me a tour of the rest of the house and instructing me to let him know if I went anywhere and when he should expect me home.

I tapped at the screen again and again before finally navigating to a new email and typing in Nicholai's email address, which I had memorised, unlike his phone number. I sent him my new number and asked him to call me before setting the phone down again so I could stare at it .

I didn't actually expect the call, so I jumped in shock when my phone lit up and started vibrating.

"H-hello?" I quickly pressed it to my ear.

"What happened to your old number?" Nicholai's deep voice rumbled through me, forcing my eyes to fall shut as I sucked in a shallow breath.

"Tossed my phone. Are you okay?"

"Are you okay?" he countered, refusing to answer my question. He sounded off. I wasn't quite sure how to put my finger on it, but there was a wavering note in his voice. An instability. A shivering tenor that threatened to crackle and break.

"I am." For once, it wasn't a lie. I felt … steady. Like the floor wasn't seconds away from dropping away beneath my feet. Spencer reminded me of the stray cat who had wandered into my life. Gruff and rough around the edges, unaffectionate and stubborn and quirky. Maybe that was why I was so comfortable around him, or maybe it was because he didn't want anything from me … except for the hand-written list of extensive rules and stipulations he had delivered to me before he left for work.

When Nicholai didn't respond, I pulled in an unsteady breath. "I'm sorry, Nicholai."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is on you." His voice hardened, preparing to fight me on that point.

"I do, though. I haven't cared about how my actions affect me or anyone else for … so long. But I started all of this."

"You're not responsible for this."

"No, you aren't responsible for this," I grated out. " You can't go around sacrificing yourself for every broken person in the world and expect to somehow be whole at the end of the day."

"I know." I heard the sound of liquid splashing into a glass.

"Tell me you're not drinking by yourself in a dark corner."

"It's actually quite sunny," he mumbled. "I'm by the window."

"Your pamphlet shelf would disapprove."

He scoffed, the sound tinged with amusement. "Do you know how many meals we've failed to have together?"

I chewed on my lip. "Three?"

"Four," he said. "Including breakfast this morning. You and my dad came together like you were fated to find each other, but you and me? Something always gets in the way."

"You don't sound okay."

"I'm not, but you are, and that's more important."

I didn't know what to say to that, and after a few moments of silence, he spoke again .

"My dad took you in, didn't he?"

"For a two-week trial period," I said.

Nicholai laughed, the sound husky and beautiful. "Yeah, you live there now."

"Just for two weeks."

"If you say so."

"Is that okay?"

His breath left him in a soft rush. "Nothing could be more okay."

That wavering, fragile tenor was back in his voice, and it was beginning to scare me.

It sounded like he was trying to say goodbye.

I fell onto the edge of the bed, picking at the cream linen cover. "Where are you going, Nicholai?"

Back to Stanford .

Nicholai's answer rang through my head as my footfalls pounded against the pavement. The second I agreed to Spencer's laundry list of rules, I promised myself I would turn over a new leaf.

I wouldn't run to hurt myself anymore.

I wouldn't lie anymore.

But a few hours later, I was already breaking that promise.

So, I made a new one .

One more run.

One more lie.

Just one more time .

I stopped before the townhouse Spencer had given me the address for. I told him I was only going to drop off a care package, but my hands were fucking empty, and my heart was fucking breaking.

I stormed up to the door, my chest rising and falling in a rapid, panicked rhythm as I pounded against the wood with my fist.

Nicholai didn't answer, but I hadn't really expected him to.

I turned the knob, finding the door unlocked, and let myself inside. The house was dark and full of boxes.

The man really didn't fuck around.

"Come on in, why don't you," he drawled, from the depths of a shadowed room to my left.

I closed the door behind me. "You really should lock that."

"You really shouldn't be here."

The dark living room was separated from the entryway by large sliding doors—currently pushed back. I leaned in the opening, crossing my arms as the space came into focus. My heart was pounding through my chest, my palms were sweating, and the hairs along my arms were standing on end.

I was pushing a major boundary here, and admittedly, that had been my forte since meeting Nicholai, but ever since the incident with Duke, I couldn't seem to switch off my emotions anymore. In fact, it was getting more and more difficult with every passing hour and day.

I was terrified that I was going too far, but I was even more scared of losing Nicholai for good—of forcing him out of his house, his town, his family … just so that I could have somewhere comfortable to stay.

I found him sitting in an armchair by the window, a bottle of wine balanced on his knee.

"Didn't feel like packing it," he said, raising it to his lips, his eyes glittering darkly. "Did you run here?"

"Yes."

"That must have taken you hours."

"Why are you leaving?" I pushed off the wall and began to navigate around the piles of boxes.

He watched me with every appearance of calm, waiting until I perched myself on the couch opposite his armchair. The window was right behind him, moonlight slanting over half of his beautiful face, etching every line and furrow of agony into relief.

It was clear now that I was closer.

The agony.

"I killed her," he said. "It was within my control, and I killed her. "

"So you're going to run away from it?" I asked, while my inner voice screamed look who's talking .

"Fuck yes I am," he hissed out. "I need to figure out what else to do with my life because I'm clearly not cut out for this shit."

"Well, I knew that from the beginning."

His mouth twitched, but he only gave me half of his usual half-smile. A quarter. "Really," he drawled, taking another swig from his wine bottle. "Right from the start?"

"Unqualified. That's what I thought." I sniffed, tugging the hem of my dress to distract myself. I had ditched his hoodie before I left the house, knowing I would be sweating in it, but I didn't waste any time by changing.

His eyes flicked down to my dress, where my fingers were lightly smoothing out the hem. "You ran here in a goddam sundress?"

"You have a problem with that, Doctor Fell?" I leaned back into the couch, crossing my legs and surveying him the same way he was surveying me.

"Yes," he stated simply. "But it's not going to stop me from leaving. If I stay here, I'll fuck everything up. I'll fuck you up. I'll fuck up your chance for something nice and normal?—"

"Then fuck me up," I interrupted. "Just one more time." Just one more .

Then I would let him go.

Then, I would let it all go.

I knew he was going to say no before he even began to shake his head, so I jumped to my feet and stalked back to the front door.

"Where are you going, Mika?" His husky voice chased after me, tracing all the way up my spine to circle my neck.

"To find out what my little sundresses do to someone," I tossed over my shoulder.

I didn't even get to open the door. As soon as I had the handle in my grip, he was behind me, his hand planted against the wood panelling above my head. I began to turn around, but he caught my hip and stepped forward, pressing me into the door.

"No," he murmured. "Tell me what you want."

"For it to be real and pure just once ," I whispered, melting back against him. "And then you can go, and I'll never ask you for anything again."

He settled both hands on my hips, his head dipping. I heard his deep inhale against my hair. "And if I don't, you're going to find someone who will?"

"Yes," I lied.

Just one more lie .

"If you say so." He dragged his hands up from my hips to my breasts, filling his grip with the soft swells of flesh, a groan falling against my ear before he straightened, his dick pushing against my ass like he was seeking relief. "Just know one thing before you go …"

He released my breasts, wrapping my hair in one of his hands as he pulled my head back, his mouth dropping down to take my lips. He staked an immediate claim, pushing his tongue against mine, a growl vibrating out from deep in his throat. He tasted like wine, desperation, and a slow-burning fury. He gathered the hem of my dress and pushed it into my hands before sticking my hands against the door, his commands wordless.

And then I heard the sound of his zipper and the soft, velvety brush of him against my flesh. He yanked my panties down, maintaining his brutal kiss the entire time.

"When you do find somebody—and you fucking will—" He broke the kiss with a grunt, and I could feel him stroking himself, his other hand still anchored in my hair, forcing me to keep looking at him. His fist brushed my ass with every upstroke, and the head of his cock bumped me with every downstroke, leaving a wet patch against my skin. "I want you to think about me. I want you to think about me every fucking time. When he kisses you, remember that this mouth is mine. When he calls you babe , remember that this unbelievable, fucked up little mind is mine. When he's inside you, remember that you'll only ever belong to me. Right from the start and until the very end."

He released my hair as his mouth lowered to mine again, and I felt his fingers slip between my legs as his tongue pushed back into my mouth, less violent this time but far more dangerous. It was drugging and beautiful and slow, and we both moaned as his fingers thrust into me, his thumb circling my clit.

"Keep them there," he murmured, just as my hands began to slip from the door.

My legs were shaking, my chest was thumping, and my whole body strained until it hurt, but the pain was beautiful. He kissed me until I was falling, my limbs trembling, back arching, my kiss turning clumsy as my breath stuttered and broke off on a shattered moan.

He growled, and I felt the stickiness of him exploding against the backs of my thighs. He was marking me, claiming me, daring me to find out what my little sundresses do to someone with him painted over my skin.

He was fucking insane, and I loved him for it.

"I can't say goodbye," he whispered, that fragile tenor riding his voice again.

"Will you come back?" My voice was tiny. Breathless, awed, and sad.

"Don't wait for me, Mika. "

He reached around me and pulled the door open, and I smoothed out my dress, stepping outside.

I couldn't look back.

I couldn't say goodbye.

One more time hadn't been enough.

There were so many things I wanted to say, but the air had been sucked from the night, leaving us both quietly gasping, quietly hanging onto the edge, quietly fighting for our lives.

I had to let go of this obsession.

I had to let go of Nicholai Fell.