Page 26 of Trust Again
“You also can’t drive for two hours like this. Let me help, Spencer,” I pleaded, wrapping my hand around his to suppress the shaking. “Please, scoot over.”
He looked down at our hands. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. I released his hand immediately and he fumbled with his seatbelt. After three attempts to undo it, he let out another curse and asked for help. Then he clumsily heaved himself over the center console and banged his head, hard, on the passenger door handle.
I’d never heard him curse so much before.
I slipped out of my killer heels, which weren’t exactly cut out for driving, and put them down with my purse on the floor in front of Spencer. Then I fastened his seatbelt and pried the keys from his hand.
“In Portland, you’ll have to give me directions or punch it into the GPS. Can you do that?” I asked while starting the engine.
He grunted, which I interpreted as assent.
“Don’t worry. Everything’ll be all right,” I mumbled, familiarizing myself with the dashboard.
“That’s a lie. Some things can’t be undone.”
He was mumbling, and I barely understood him. He still hadn’t told me what was going on, so who knew if I could even help with that. But what I could do was drive him there safely. So I steered the car through the parking lot to the main road. Straight ahead toward the highway, then to Portland.
Chapter 9
For the first forty-five minutes Spencer slept.
Then he felt like he was going to be sick, so we pulled over to the shoulder. He didn’t need his hair held back, the way Allie had done for me, but I rubbed his back and mumbled reassuring words that I hoped would somehow reach him. I helped him back to the car; this time he even managed to buckle himself in.
After an hour and a half, we needed to stop for gas. I picked up a few things: neon-green flip-flops from a discount bin, a large coffee, a bottle of water, and a sandwich for Spencer. Back in the car, he was in the process of removing his jacket.
“What’re you doing?” I asked gently.
“You put it on,” he said, throwing his black parka in my lap.
Even drunk, the guy had manners. I’d left my jacket at Hillhouse and only had on my thin dress. And now I had a pair of neon green flip-flops, so my bare feet wouldn’t keep slipping off the pedal. It was just above freezing, and I was actually pretty cold.
“Fine. But only if you take these”—I held out my palm with two aspirin—”and drink some coffee.”
His eyes traveled from the tablets in one hand to the water bottle in the other. “Thanks.”
I opened it for him. He kept his eyes on me as he drank, his Adam’s apple bobbing a bit with each gulp. He then held the bottle out to me. I screwed the cap shut, picked up the coffee from the drink holder and replaced it with the water. Spencer took the steaming cup from my hand.
As promised, I slipped on his jacket. For a moment, I let his scent envelope me. And then I got us back on the highway.
He felt much better after drinking half the coffee. But he didn’t want to touch the sandwich and asked me to keep it away from him.
The atmosphere was tense. For one thing, I was driving as fast as possible without putting us in danger or getting a speeding ticket. At the same time I was trying to distract Spencer by telling him about Sawyer’s strange photo shoot and my dad’s failed dating attempts.
He didn’t seem to mind my chatter, but he didn’t respond, either. In fact, he didn’t say a word, which was so unusual for him that it made me kind of nervous.
My cell phone rang a few times. Allie probably wanted to know what was going on. I ignored the calls. At some point, Spencer took his own phone from his pocket and typed something on it. The calls to my phone stopped.
We spent the rest of the trip in silence.
Once in Portland, I recognized the route, although I’d grown up farther west, in Beaverton; it wasn’t long before we arrived in the neighborhood of Eastmoreland.
We drove along a beautiful boulevard, past wide gates and driveways. Nothing like the little ranch house I’d grown up in. Whoever lived here had money.
“You can stop here,” Spencer said abruptly, waving toward the right side of the road. He looked outside, glancing up the driveway.
“Do you need help?” I asked softly.
Spencer unbuckled his seatbelt and shook his head. He opened the door and inhaled deeply. Then he stood—and sank promptly back into his seat, clinging so tightly to its edge that his hands looked chalky.
