Page 27 of Trust Again
I pulled the key from the ignition and rushed around the car to the passenger side, wrapping my arm around Spencer.
“I don’t need your help,” he growled and took the keys from my hand.
I mean he honestly growled at me.
I grabbed him by the shoulder with one hand and tightened my grip on his hip with the other. “I’m taking you in. Period. Over. Done.”
“You’re bossy,” he muttered as I helped him stand.
“And you’re still drunk.” I closed the car door with my foot and my flip-flop almost got stuck.
“I actually never drink,” Spencer said.
“I know, Spence. I know.” We headed up the sidewalk to a wrought-iron gate, with me supporting him all the way.
“And this is exactly why I don’t drink. Because of things like this…” His voice trailed off and he gritted his teeth tightly.
The gate screeched open and we stepped through.
I could barely believe my eyes.
It was the biggest house I’d ever seen. House was perhaps too modest. More like a villa. Terra-cotta-colored tiles covered the steeply angled roof, which had a wide dormer window above the front door. There were two more dormers embedded on either side of the roof. The façade was light-colored stone with window frames that matched. The front yard was impeccably landscaped with trees and shrubs that would surely be covered with blossoms in spring. The lawn was pristine.
Two fancy black cars were parked in the sprawling front drive.
“Holy cannoli,” I blurted out.
Just then a muffled scream came from the house, and I froze. Spencer’s hand clamped down on my shoulder.
Another shriek. It sounded like a girl’s voice.
“Spencer—” I began, but one look from him was enough to silence me.
Taking a deep breath, I rushed to bring him the last few yards to the front door. He took his arm from my shoulder and straightened his back. He took another deep breath. In. Out. Shook out his hands. And suddenly he seemed relaxed. The bitter expression had left his face, along with any signs that he’d needed my help.
His hands were no longer trembling. With an amazingly deft motion he turned his key in the lock and opened the door. I followed him inside.
It took my breath away—again.
We were standing in the middle of a foyer that was bigger than my father’s living room and kitchen put together. A marble floor. A glass table rested directly between two curved staircases with carved, wooden handrails, snaking up to the next level. On the table a huge bouquet of flowers burst out of a vase that glittered in the soft glow of the lamps, reflecting light like a disco ball onto cream-colored walls.
The Cosgroves weren’t just well-off. They were filthy rich.
How could I walk on these floors with my neon-green flip-flops?
A loud crash echoed against the high walls of the foyer, and Spencer’s shoulders tightened again. Shards of something clattered to the ground, and my breath quickened. We ran up the right-hand staircase; Spencer grabbed the railing and took it two steps at a time. He was fast, sprinting past doors along a corridor, and again the high-pitched shriek rang out, this time very close. At the end of the hallway he paused and looked over his shoulder at me.
“Stay here,” he said firmly.
With his commanding tone and serious expression, this was, yet again, not the Spencer I thought I knew.
Before I could even agree to wait in the hall, he’d entered the room and closed the door behind him.
I could hear the murmur of voices. A man’s reproachful tone. Spencer, speaking softly. The soothing voice of a woman who intervened. They were interrupted by the next scream, which quieted to a low howl when Spencer spoke. His voice sounded gentle and steady. Then came a heartbreaking sob. I couldn’t understand her words, but the plaintive sounds the girl uttered sent chills through my body. Whenever Spencer spoke, there was a moment’s silence. Then it started all over again.
Before long the door opened and two older people, who I assumed were Spencer’s parents, stepped into the hallway.
The first thing I noticed was that Spencer was a perfect mix of the two: he had his father’s oval face and his mother’s dark eyes.
