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SPENCER
Spencer turned his Range Rover onto Harley’s street. A box of her favorite cookies from the bakery near campus sat on the passenger seat, and a six-pack of her favorite pop. Yes, it was lame, but he knew that she would love it.
Things had been strained between them since he’d decked Isaac, and he needed to set the record straight. He didn’t want to shake his ass and tell her he was being a tough guy to defend her honor when he hit Isaac—even if that was the truth. He also didn’t want to disclose the things Isaac had said about her. He would never understand how Harley could embarrass anyone. Her sense of style belonged on a Paris runway, not to mention, Harley was led to believe that the work function Mr. Lame was referring to was actually a couple’s weekend away. Spencer was positive that Harley would be happier never knowing what a true jerk her ex was.
Isaac had no right to come into a place of business—his place of business—and talk like that about his girlfriend. And Spencer had really tried to not let it get to him. But Harley didn’t deserve to be spoken about like that.
Spencer had seen the blouse that Mr. Lame was referring to, and it was not only very expensive, but looked very nice on Harley. Everything looked nice on her. Isaac just hadn’t liked the idea of not being able to keep her covered up and under his thumb at all times.
It wasn’t his place to blab any of those things to her. He wasn’t trying to look like a hero; he was just doing what was right. And he didn’t need any praise for that.
But it seemed as though keeping that from her had caused more issues than just telling her would have. So here he was, with cookies and pop for the woman that he loved and couldn’t wait to move in with.
“What in the hell?” He slammed on the brakes a few houses down from Harley’s apartment. Luckily, there was no one behind him as he sat in the middle of the street, staring at what appeared to be Isaac’s car.
He was sure he was seeing things, or maybe some other pretentious stick-in-the-mud had the same car in this neighborhood. There was no reason Isaac would be at Harley’s apartment.
But when Isaac stepped out of her apartment, Spencer could no longer deny what was going on. It might not have made sense, but it was happening. Even after everything Isaac had said about her.
Slamming on the brakes, Spencer jumped out of the SUV and raced onto the sidewalk. Now Isaac was harassing Harley at home. This needed to stop. “What in the hell are you doing here, Isaac?”
“Oh...” An evil grin filled Isaac’s face as he met Spencer, toe-to-toe on the sidewalk. “Spencer, you have no idea what you walked into.”
“I have a pretty good idea. You’re harassing my girlfriend.” Spencer’s heart thudded against his chest as anger filled his veins. “I suggest you go home, Isaac.”
Isaac laughed. “Thanks for the advice, but I’m actually just running home to change. You missed all the fireworks, sorry to say.”
“Why would she let you into her apartment? Haven’t you done enough damage for one day?” Spencer replied.
“Well, because I told Harley that she was better off with me, because you’re obviously going nowhere in that dead-end little company, and not surprisingly, she agreed. That’s why I wanted to meet with her for lunch today. But that’s okay, an afternoon quickie works just as well. Now, maybe you’d better run along home and wait for her breakup message.” Isaac sneered. He slid into his car and left without another word.
Spencer stood frozen, flabbergasted. Confusion ran through him, as though he wasn’t sure of what he’d just heard. As the words sank in, anger and hurt replaced the confusion. He thought he might throw up. The implied ‘quickie’ hit him right in the gut, and he was unsure what was causing him the most discomfort, hurt or anger.
Slamming himself back into his car, he hit the gas and sped home. He arrived home in record time, breaking all the speed limits and not caring.
Spencer never would’ve imagined that Harley would go back to Isaac. She was the first woman that he had ever truly loved. Harley had his heart.
He slid his key into the lock and walked into his empty apartment. A lump sat in his throat. What just happened?
Zane’s boxes were stacked everywhere, neatly, of course.
Making a beeline for the kitchen, Spencer grabbed a six pack of beer and took it to the living room.
How could she go back to him? Mr. Lame.
He clenched his fist, and then winced, because his knuckles were bruised, and his hand still hurt as a glaring reminder of what had gone so wrong.
Maybe it was because Harley agreed that he couldn’t provide as much for her as Isaac. His paycheck was comfortable, but admittedly not in the same realm as Isaac’s. But she’d known that before they got together. And his decking Isaac? He wasn’t in the habit of using his fists versus his words, but then, nobody had ever implied the things about Harley that Isaac had. Spencer wasn’t a caveman, but he would never stand back and let any other man insult her. Surely she knew him better than that.
He frantically searched his brain for a reason when and why things had gone so wrong. Besides the fact that he’d punched her ex-boyfriend in the mouth.
Little did she know how justified he was in doing that.
If Harley knew the things Isaac had said about her, there was no way she’d be running back into his cold arms. Anyway, could you run into someone’s arms who barely hugged in public because it was too much PDA? That was a question he hoped to never learn the answer to.
Flopping down onto the couch, he popped open his first beer. All those chugging contests he had taken part in during his college years paid off, as he finished his beer in seconds, not wasting a single drop.
Onto can two.
He knew that the more he drank, the less anger he would feel—and that was the goal. How could she do this to him?
Soon, can three was gone and sitting beside the other empty cans.
Staring blankly at the television, Spencer opened his fourth consecutive beer. His phone buzzed with a call, and Harley’s photo lit up the screen.
Man, she was beautiful.
Too tipsy to deal with a breakup over the phone, he sent her call straight to voicemail. That was the third call from her that he’d ignored. Why was she even bothering to call him?
He downed the beer.
Glancing at his phone, he saw the many missed calls from Harley displayed on his screen.
How could he be so stupid? As different as they were, what kind of future did they have? Harley was looking for stability and a family—a two car garage, dog and cat, two kids, white picket fence kind of family.
He was more of an order a pizza for dinner, tacos for a night out, and a condo overlooking the city kind of guy. Maybe a cat. He could deal with a cat; they were very self-sufficient. She knew all of this, and she had chosen him anyway. Maybe she had realized her mistake. Or maybe Mr. Lame helped her see the error in her ways?
Not much had changed over the last year, except they were moving in together. It was an apartment versus a two-story house. There was no picket fence, no kids, no garage. It was not what she had talked about so often or dreamt of as a child. Yet.
He hadn’t wanted those things either, before Harley, but as he’d fallen for her, he’d also started falling for her dreams of a family. Or at least, he was halfway there. It would be an apartment for now, and the option of the white picket fence was there for the future. That is, if they even had a future now...
He was really a fool thinking she could love him and be content with their simple life.
His eyes fluttered shut, but he forced them back open, trying to focus on the television.
In his compromised state, all the carboard boxes piled around the room seemed to be closing in on him. A few of his boxes lingered among Zane’s. He had barely begun packing for his big move, and in retrospect that was a good thing, since he might be unpacking them soon.
But staying in this big apartment all by himself? He wasn’t so sure about that. He needed a backup plan. Maybe a studio apartment, something close to work, or maybe...
His eyes fluttered shut, as he continued to debate what the future held for him, until finally he fell asleep.
“SPENCER, GET UP.” ZANE’S voice pierced his brain as his cousin shook him. “Dude, how much did you drink last night?”
Zane’s voice was so loud, Spencer would’ve sworn his cousin was shouting. And the shaking was pointless and annoying and honestly making him nauseous.
Spencer moved his hand to stop the room from spinning, keeping his eyes tightly closed. The fabric underneath his fingers alerted him to the fact that he was still on the couch. Slowly, he opened his eyes but didn’t move. His head felt like it weighed twenty pounds and his neck might snap under the sheer weight of it. The room spun, even though he was still lying down. Squinting at the light, he covered his eyes.
“Z, why are you yelling?” he mumbled.
“I am not yelling,” Zane said, lowering his voice. “I’ve been trying to wake you up for ten minutes. I was starting to get worried, man.”
“As long as you didn’t try mouth to mouth,” Spencer teased, but quickly regretted the smirk he attempted when the nausea got worse. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine.”
Closing his eyes again, Spencer rolled onto his side, grasping on to the couch as his surroundings did somersaults. He’d been drunk before, but never so drunk that the next day the room tumbled, even though his head was still resting on the pillow.
“Yeah, you look real fine,” Zane challenged. “Spencer, I’m making a fresh pot of coffee. You need to get up. Harley is here.”
What was she doing here? “Tell her to go away,” he mumbled into the pillow.
“She can hear you,” Harley said.
Shit.
“Why are you being rude? Get up, Spence,” Zane demanded.
Sighing, Spencer did his best to compose himself and look alive. Not because his cousin had told him to, but because what other choice did he have? Harley was there.
Sitting up, he looked around. Harley was standing in the corner of the room by the front door, her arms folded across her chest.
“Did I miss a party?” She waved her hand at the line of empty beer cans in front of him on the coffee table. “You didn’t answer my texts or my calls. I was worried.”
“No need. I’m here. I’m fine,” he said flatly, in no mood to talk to her, or anyone, right now. “Welfare check complete. You’ve done your good deed for the day; you can go home now.”
“Wait, what?” she asked, her voice full of confusion.
“I’m sure Mr. Lame is waiting for you,” he grumbled.
“What are you talking about?” Harley asked, with a measure of bewilderment in her voice. “Are you still drunk?”
“No,” he answered quickly. But judging by the way his head was still spinning, that was a lie. Even he was surprised that he could carry on a coherent conversation with how tipsy he felt.
“Spencer,”—she took a few strides toward him—“I’m confused. What’s going on?”
“You know exactly what’s going on,” he snapped. Which was a mistake. The pointed words that came out of his mouth made his head pound. He clutched the couch as another wave of nausea came over him and then, luckily, disappeared.
“You’ve caught me at a disadvantage, because I really don’t.” Harley began to move closer to the couch, her face twisted in concern. “Babe, talk to me—”
“I don’t see why you want to talk to me, when I’m sure Mr. Lame is available.”
“Um, what?” She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk to Isaac. You aren’t making any sense.” Her voice was high pitched and slowly becoming frantic.
“Spence, why are you being such a jerk?” Zane asked.
He shot his cousin a glare. This was none of his business.
“Harley, please just go.” His words were harsh, and it was probably the alcohol talking, but he was in no condition for a heart to heart. And honestly, he was still licking his wounds and wasn’t ready for the breakup talk.
The way his heart hurt for the only woman he ever loved, he wasn’t sure he would ever be ready.
