Chapter 61: Chapter LXI

“Can we talk?” Spencer asks as I pass by him.

Chad, Lauren, and Poppy exchange a glance and tell me they will wait outside, and I’m thankful for it. I don’t want them to listen to this. They would bombard me with questions on our way home, and I’m not in the mood for it. I’m sure that not staying at Spencer’s house tonight is indicative enough that something is not right. Also, Lauren is the only one who still doesn’t know what happened, so it’s not like the damage control would be that exhausting. But if I could choose, I’d rather stay in silence the entire way.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Spencer,” I tell him coldly. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing to you. Not tonight. Everything was a success, so it’s better to wait until I sleep it off,” I explain with sincerity.

He opens and closes his mouth as if he wants to argue but decides against it. I feel bad for him. I really do. But I can’t order my feelings to change and bend to my will whenever I want. That’s not how it works, unfortunately.

“Okay, sure. Can I call you tomorrow?” he asks softly, his pleading eyes almost becoming the death of me. If Spencer wanted, he could make me forget about everything that happened in a second. That’s how putty I am in his hands, under his puppy eyes. I hate the way my body reacts to his ocean blue eyes, almost as if it has a mind of its own. If Spencer insisted, I’d just give up on everything entirely. That’s how his charms work on me.

But he’s too respectful for that. He knows I need space, and he agrees to grant it as soon as I ask for it.

I don’t know if I hate or love him for it now.

So, instead, I just nod at him in response.

But I don’t answer him when he calls me the next morning. Nor during the afternoon. Or the evening. In fact, the entire weekend passes without me getting even close to my phone. I decided to leave it in my drawer so I don’t get tempted to answer him. It’s not that I’m running away or anything, I just need some time to myself, to put my thoughts in order and understand why the whole Kendal debacle got me so keyed up.

It’s a me problem. I go over it several times during the weekend, and no matter how hard I try, there is no explanation for why I got so upset with his omission other than–I’m insecure. Too afraid to give myself entirely to him and our relationship. His past haunts me, even though it shouldn’t.

Spencer is with me. He decided to stay with me. He moved back to goddamn Missoula because of me. It’s ridiculous that I’m allowing this stupid discovery to get in between us, but somehow, I can’t fight it.

I’m directly responsible for it, though. I was the one who didn’t want to know about his past in the first place when he offered to tell me about it. I said it wouldn’t do us any good, and I believed it. I just wasn’t expecting his past to show up in the form of long legs, tanned skin, and a fucking model’s body–Kendal. That did not help my insecurities at all.

Trying to stay shut away so my family doesn’t feel the need to check on me every five seconds doesn’t help me either. It’s obvious they know something is wrong since I didn’t leave my room for most of the weekend, and when I did, I chose to stay somewhere silent and isolated. I would go to the porch to write my book, or down by the horse stables so I could have their company instead as I tried to get somewhere with my novel. It’s the only positive thing I can take out of this—creativity for my story. I channeled all my anger and frustration into my writing, and it turned out to be somewhat exciting and productive.

Seeing the words flying out of my fingers onto my keyboard put me in a better mood.

But whenever my mom, my dad, or even my siblings tried to pry into my life, asking about Spencer, I would go back to my bitter mood, telling them that everything was fine and that I was just working on my book. It was nothing to worry about. They didn’t buy it, of course, but they respected me, which I was grateful for.

On Sunday evening, Poppy texts me, asking me about the River City Roots Festival happening next Saturday. We’ve made it our thing ever since we were young, going every year together to watch the concerts, drink beer, eat lots of festival food, and buy pottery and ceramics from local artists that we never really find use for. I love festivals, so I’m always excited for this time of the year. However, that’s not the case this year.

With everything that happened with Spencer, I can’t find it in me to want to go out and do all these activities. I just want to be alone and mope around all day. I’m making this a big deal, but I guess I’m mostly disappointed in myself for not handling this like a grown-up. Why can’t I just answer Spencer’s calls and deal with this like a normal adult would? It’s infuriating and frustrating.

Knowing Poppy will kill me if I tell her I’m not going, I reply to her saying that I can’t wait, although she will probably see through my lie. As soon as I press the send button, another message appears on my screen, this time from Spencer. Even though I’m not answering his phone calls, I’m reading all of his messages. He sent a couple over the weekend, wanting to meet me so we could talk, but I ignored all of them. This time, though, I can’t do the same. My heart starts beating rapidly in my chest as soon as I read his text.

‘I’m downstairs. We need to talk, and I won’t leave until you come outside.’