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After setting him down on the pool deck, he collapses. His belly is swollen, probably having taken a few glugs of water, but I think I got to him in time.I hope.I’m on my knees growing impatient, waiting for him to breathe. But his eyes are closed and he’s too still.
For fuck’s sake, do not let tonight be the night Charlie’s beloved pet dies. She’ll never forgive me.
“Spike,” I growl. “Get up.” I poke his swollen belly hard with two fingers, trying to see if I can push the water out. “Please.I swear I will never insult you again. I will find a ten-acre strawberry patch and make you the king. Just please for the love of God?—”
Mweep.
Music to my fucking ears. “You dumb little daredevil—” I stop, remembering my promise as Spike begins to sneeze uncontrollably. Or maybe he’s coughing. I don’t know but he’s alive.
Setting my disdain aside, I pick him up and hold him against my bare chest. He’s shivering, trying to shake off the excess water. Using my finger, I squeegee around his eyes and nose to help clean him up. His little heart is going berserk, probably knowing how close he came to death. Certain he’s okay, I try to set him back down, but he clings to me, desperate to stay in my embrace.
“Ah!” I hiss as his sharp nails scratch up my chest. “Fine, fine. You get two minutes, a thorough blow-drying, then you’re going back in your cage. We’re not ever going to tell Charlie what happened here tonight.”
I lie down on the concrete, letting Spike nestle onto my chest. It’s not long before his panicked breathing slows and his pulse calms. It’s like he’s steadying himself against my heartbeat. Curling himself up, his breathing falls into a steady rhythm and I can’t find it in me to disturb him.
I relax against the concrete as the pool lights switch to night mode. With everything low-lit, I can almost see the stars. I stay focused on the tiny dots of bright lights against the sky as my nemesis rests his disgusting wet nose uncomfortably close to my nipple.
“I got you, buddy,” I mutter, stroking his back. “But be warned, if you shit on me, you’re going swimming again.”
30
Spencer
If this were a movie, I would’ve stormed out the night Nathan verbally kicked me out. I would’ve found the strength to pack my suitcase, grabbed Charlie, and disappeared from his life dramatically, hoping he’d ache for eternity from the misery of losing me.
But this isn’t a movie. The flu is real. And my boss most certainly isn’t miserable. I was powerless to do anything except sleep and heal as Nathan tended to me silently. Monday was bad, especially because of our fight. Tuesday was even worse. My fever nearly sent me to the emergency room. As angry as I was, I had to let Nathan be my knight in shining armor, getting Charlie sorted for school, and balancing around-the-clock care for me.
By Friday morning, finally my fever is gone and I’m able to see colors and somewhat taste coffee again.
Nathan and I hadn’t talked about our big blowout. He hasn’t mentioned me leaving again, and based on the way he so sweetly cared for me, I get the impression he’s changed his mind. But at this point, Charlie and I need to leave for my sanity more than his. I didn’t think it was possible to really fall for someonebefore getting physical. But here I am, feeling like a loser with an unrequited crush I can’t shake.
I need space. I need a new home, and most importantly, I need a new boss.
Moving a little slower than usual, I walk into work after dropping Charlie off at school. My slacks feel saggy around the waist. The flu was a crash diet for me. I could barely tolerate water. Too wrecked to argue, Nathan was able to force-feed me a little broth. But after four days of a strictly liquid diet, my clothes are relaxing comfortably on my body again. It won’t last. The minute I smell food, the weight will come right back on. It always does. This is the endless cycle of chasing something that’s not meant for me. But I don’t know how to quit.
How do you quit being so aware of all the things you aren’t and don’t have?
I call the elevator with a push of the button. After selecting the top executive floor, I wait for the doors to close, but immediately push the open button when I hear a distant, “Hold the elevator, please.”
The doors don’t obey, so I stick my foot in between, forcing them to reopen. “I’ve got you,” I say to the man in a clean, beige suit jogging toward me. His blond hair is parted neatly and has so much gel it doesn’t move despite his quick pace.
“Thank you.” He hustles into the elevator.
“Sure. Which floor?”
He looks like a sales guy. He’s probably on the eighth floor. “Same as you.” He nods toward the already lit-up button. “Meeting my boss.” He turns his head, and his smile instantly fades when he sees me.
My spine tenses as we both recognize each other at the same time. I furiously press the “door open” button, but they’re determined to stay shut, and we ascend. I’m trapped here with the last man on the planet I want to see.
Casey Conrad.
Heart racing, fingers trembling, I look ahead, refusing to make eye contact. Like a muscle memory, my gut twists with shame, fear, and an overwhelming urge to flee.
“Spencer Riley,” he murmurs quietly. “I had no idea you work here.”
I try to say something. Anything. But this man knocks the wind from my lungs. My throat feels choked, my thoughts sputtering, I’m just trying to keep my head above water. Of all the times I fantasized about the day I’d see Casey again, it was never like this. I was rail thin, a total knockout, machine gun in my hands, relishing in the fear in his eyes.
I hate him so much, I can taste bile in the back of my throat.