Page 29 of Trust Again

“So you were with my son when he was getting drunk tonight?” Mr. Cosgrove blurted out.

Before I could reply, his wife interrupted.

“Oh, Raymond, really now,” she protested.

“He should be ashamed of himself, Natalie.”

“Don’t say that.”

Mr. Cosgrove stood up so abruptly that his chair scraped the floor with a screech.

“He wastes his time, has no ambition, comes home drunk—he can’t be trusted. And you’re blind to it!”

“Are you done?”

Tick. Tock.

Spencer stood in the doorway, one hand supporting his head. He glanced at his father indifferently. This was clearly not the first time he’d heard an outburst like this.

Without another word his father huffed out the room; soon after, a door slammed shut.

Spencer’s attitude changed immediately. He suddenly looked exhausted.

“Olivia’s sleeping,” he said.

“Oh, good,” said his mother. “Do you want to stay the night?”

Spencer glanced my way. Then he shook his head and gripped the doorframe. “No. But thanks, Mom.”

Mrs. Cosgrove stood, walked over to her son and embraced him, holding him tightly. He buried his face in her shoulder. The moment was so intimate that I looked down, not wanting to intrude.

Mrs. Cosgrove murmured soothing words into Spencer’s hair. Then she added, “Drive carefully.”

I raised my eyes. Spencer’s mom looked at me warmly and gave a cautious smile.

“Thanks for the hot chocolate,” I said.

One we were back outside, the door closed behind us, Spencer and I returned to the car in silence. The slapping of my flip-flops on the walkway was the only sound that broke the stillness of the night.

Spencer pressed his keys into my hand, and I got in. But he stayed outside; he walked over to some trees, leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. Though he was half-hidden in shadow, I could see him shaking.

It broke my heart to see him this way.

He broke my heart.

I turned off the motor and braved a glance at Spencer. His cheeks weren’t red any more. A good sign. He was breathing calmly and evenly, but even asleep he looked worried. As if some large weight rested on his shoulders.

“You’re staring at me,” he said, his eyes still closed.

So he wasn’t even sleeping. The idiot had been pretending to be asleep for the past two hours, just so he could avoid talking to me.

“’Cause you look so sweet when you’re pretending to sleep,” I answered.

He opened his eyes and returned my gaze.

“We’re home.” I nodded toward his house. “Should I help get you in?”

He rubbed his eyes. “I’m good. You can take the car, and I’ll pick it up at the dorm tomorrow.”