“Trying to fix this.”
“Right,” he says slowly, like I’ve just licked his windows.
“What are you cooking?”
He shrugs. “No clue. I’ll see what they’ve got.”
“Ugh.” I drop my hands from my hair. “I’m going to shower. There’s nothing I can do with this knotty mess.”
“Aren’t you afraid that my parents will know what we’ve been doing?”
“Shut up. I’ll be quick.”
Spencer laughs all the way down the stairs. I race into his en-suite and break the record for fastest shower ever.
Once out, I towel dry so fast, I almost sand a layer of skin off before I dress and blow dry my hair.
I finally look normal.
Spencer puts a dish into the oven and turns to me when I go downstairs. “Dinner will be about five minutes.”
The way he’s looking at me makes me forget that I’m hungry.
“Tell me we’ll find a way to say goodbye after a month.” The words slip right out of my mouth without permission.
Smiling sadly, he pins me to the spot with his gaze and walks over. “Indie…”
Yeah, there are no words. Nothing can make this easier. Long-distance is hard. Missing someone you love is kind of like wondering around without a soul. Everything seems pointless.
But, I have a lot to do. Mum will need my help now more than ever. We have to get her better, and with Spencer in LA, I’ll be able to devote a lot more time to her. Who knows how long she will be in rehab for. The initial time is twenty days, but with her grief thrown in, it could take longer. Elliott said she can stay if they don’t mutually agree that she’s reached a certain point on her road to sobriety. Of course, he’s willing to let her stay; we’re paying a lot of money. They can have it all if I get a mum.
Spence places a lingering kiss on my forehead.
“Everything will be okay.”
My mouth parts. I close my eyes and sink into his embrace. I’ve needed to hear those words so badly. He’s not even talking about Dad’s death or Mum’s rebab, but I still needed Spencer to tell me everything will be all right.
“Thank you,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyelids.
We stand in the middle of his kitchen, clutching each other like he’s leaving today as we wait for dinner.
Thirty-Five
Spencer
I feel the pain she carries radiating from her.
Mila is more perceptive than I thought. She’s right about Indie. Something really is very wrong.
“Are you okay?” I ask. Please talk to me.
She nods.
“Everything okay at uni? At home?”
Whatever the issue is at home, she doesn’t respond to the question like I thought she might. There’s no tensing of her body, no pulling away from me. It’s like she’s asleep, standing up in my arms. Who is she trying to convince here?
“Yeah, why?” she asks.
“You seem… sad.”
She pulls back. Her dark eyes peek at me through long lashes. “I’m not sad. It’s hard being away from you.”
“I’m right here.”
“For now.”
“You can ask me to stay,” I tell her. “You can ask anything from me now, Indie. I’m yours.”
The corner of her mouth lifts. “Not happening, Hollywood. I can deal with missing you, I just have to let myself be sad sometimes.”
“I don’t want you to be sad ever.”
“Well, that’s impossible. Sadness isn’t bad, Spence. It means you care.”
The timer on the oven beeps. I don’t move.
She nudges me. “I’m fine. Let’s not think about when you leave anymore, okay? Can we just enjoy being together?”
I study her face, as if the problem is written there and I just need to look hard enough.
“Has that always been the issue?” I ask.
“What?”
“The reason you sometimes seem distracted.” She says nothing. “There are a thousand things happening in your head, and you only tell me about three of those. Let me in, Indie.”
“I’m a woman. I think a lot about literally everything—mainly uni and trying not to fail. I think about the best way to start my career, where I want it to go, and what I need to do to get there. I think about buying my first house, getting a dog, and taking long walks in the evenings. Mostly, I think about you, how scared I am that it won’t work… and how much I love you.”
I suck in a breath. “I thought I was going to have to say it first. Damn, Indie, I love you so much it consumes me.”
Her smile steals my breath for a second time. I press my lips to hers, kissing her long and deep, neither one of us caring that the oven is still shouting about the soon-to-be-ruined dinner.
She runs her hands up my arms, and I hold her close. Moaning, she slides her tongue against mine, and my dick strains against my jeans.
I back her against the wall and hook her leg over my waist, pressing against her.
“Spence,” she says against my lips. “Dinner.”
It’s like she wants me to do something about the dish in the oven, but her hands are clawing at me like she’s also trying to get me inside her.
I break the kiss and touch my forehead to hers. “Jesus, Indie.”
Her smile almost knocks me off my feet. “Oops, got a little carried away. I’m hungry.”
“So am I.”
“Keep it in your pants, Hollywood. I’m talking about food.”
“I’m going to get you some dinner, and then I’m taking you to a hotel.”
“So that your parents can’t hear me screaming your name?”
I groan. “Don’t, or we won’t get as far as dinner. Sit down. I’ll bring it over.”
Her fingers loosen, and I step back.
Indie watches me open the oven, getting a face full of hot air as I take our dinner out.
She laughs and cranes her neck. “What did you make?”
“Spaghetti carbonara.”
Silence.
I look up. “What? Shit, Indie, what’s wrong?”
Her face is ashen. She shuffles back. I put the dish on the counter, and within the two seconds it takes to do that,
