Chapter 16
Riley
Spencer eliminates the space between us as his hands slide over my jawline, thumbs caressing my cheeks.
“You can either tell me what the hell has you so wound up, or you can kiss me.”
What the actual fecking hell?
But the heat that bursts to life in my core, the lightning sliding through my veins, contradicts my initial reaction.
His head dips further, lips almost brushing mine.
“Your choice, Riley.”
My heart hammers in my chest.
What I want and what I need have never been such polar opposites.
I want the cowboy in front of me.
I want to kiss him.
Steal the hat from his head and slide it onto mine while I grind on his lap, watching those blue eyes of his darken with every move I make.
Then my thoughts drag back to the man before me being flung around atop of a raging animal that outweighs him ten to one.
The danger and the risk he willingly takes. Even knowing he is Ivy’s only parent, he still does this.
How could he even consider it, now that he’s a father?
I knew what he did on his weekends but seeing it firsthand is a stark awakening. My stomach rolled, breath hitching with every move the bull took that tossed him from end to end.
All I can do is reel over the possibility of him getting hurt—or worse. The possibility of Ivy being left alone in this world. I lived that harsh reality as a girl. If there is a chance that it could happen to Ivy, I can’t be part of this . . .
Someone has to be grounded. I need to stay grounded for Ivy. For my own sake and peace of mind.
I can’t attend another one of these events, and I’m going to have that conversation with the man standing so, so close.
The look on his face when he climbed that railing. The way he looked for us—no, not us . . . for his daughter. My throat swells with emotion.
I need to keep this professional.
I need this job.
And I need to complete my MBA and go home to my family.
To Chlo.
“Neither,” I breathe. “Take your hands off me.”
Something like confusion and hurt flickers through his eyes.
My gut churns. I may as well have kicked a basket of puppies.
“Riley . . .” His hands drop away and his entire being deflates as his head tilts and his eyes tighten with worry.
It’s as if he knows there’s something more going on here.
This isn’t a normal reaction to seeing your boss, the father of the little girl you’ve come to adore, spun around on hell-bent rage for eight seconds.
With a stuttered gasp, I slip sideways out of Spencer’s space and make for the small bathroom before he can stop me. I shut the door and slide down it.
Feck. Fecking hell, Riley.
You goddamn eejit.
My eyes prickle with tears as I struggle to haul in a useful breath.
Pressing the back of my hand to my mouth, I close my eyes.
This is all too much. It’s bringing back baggage I thought I’d stowed a long, long time ago. Now, it feels like reliving it is inevitable through Ivy. When, not if, Spencer is hurt or more.
You’re overreacting.
Snap out of it, Riley.
Why can’t I handle this?
Heavy steps move slowly toward the door. Something thuds overhead. I imagine Spencer’s forehead meeting the wood, like he does when he’s overwhelmed at home.
“O’Malley, talk to me.”
“Go back to your event, Lockwood.”
His breaths are muffled by the door, but even still, I can hear they’re heavy. I expect him to peel out, to leave me in my own feelings. Lockwoods don’t do emotions, after all.
Stacey has managed the bare minimum, so it’s my guess Spencer is—
The door opens, shoving me forward.
“Let me in, Riley, or I’ll climb through the damn bathroom window.”
I glance up to the tiny window over the sink.
“Good luck with that,” I mutter.
He chuckles.
The man hears damn everything.
“Riles, please. You listened to my shit. Let me hold yours for a while.”
I huff a laugh. “You want to hold my shite, Spencer?”
I can almost see the grin that would be splitting his face right now.
“Yeah, I do, Riles.”
“Alright, but I take no responsibility for your filthy hands when we’re done.”
The door opens. I rise and move away from it.
Hugging my arms around my body, I take a step back as he fills the doorway. I raise my gaze to his blue eyes. Genuine concern has them darker as he studies my face.
Feck.
He holds out a hand.
I stare at his enormous mitt. Sliding my hand into his, it closes over mine and I’m dragged from the bathroom. He sinks onto the edge of the bed and pats the spot beside him.
“Come on, give it to me.” His shoulder bumps mine, his hand still wrapped around my own.
For someone who doesn’t seem to know how to love, he’s doing alright.
“How long have you got?” I swipe at the random tear that decided this moment was the best one to succumb to gravity.
“All night, if that’s how long it takes.”
“What about your after-party and Brady?”
Brady who I haven’t met yet, since I arrived late and only made the start of the event. I had to stop to feed Ives, and Spencer was carpooling with Brady so, not a great idea.
“Brades can fend the buckle bunnies off by himself. Always has. Besides, the party doesn’t compare to current company.”
I huff a dismissive laugh.
His shoulder bumps mine again. “Out with it, or this old man is going to fall asleep.”
“Hardly old, Spencer. But I wasn’t lying when I said it would take a while.”
He releases my hand and stands.
Has he changed his mind?
Fair enough, that makes sense. We should keep it professional.
He rounds the bed, taking the side closest to Ivy as he sits, removes his boots, and undoes his button-down shirt, letting it fall open to his T-shirt. He’s lying on the bed, hands behind his head as he says, “Come on, up here.”
I don’t move, not for a beat.
Glancing at the sleeping baby, I decide it can’t hurt. I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling.
It might be the proximity, or the fact that I’m about to tell him things I’ve kept to myself since I was twelve years old, but my heart is hammering, my throat as dry as the winter winds over the Mourne Mountains.
Spencer rolls over, his hand closing over mine again.
I draw in a breath.
I can do this.
I can be brave enough to face the heaviness that’s weighed me down for years. The tragedy that stole my youth and made me a parent figure to my siblings.
“When I can’t find a start at therapy, Shona says to start at the first hard thing you remember and let it unravel itself.”
Fecking hell. This man is more evolved than any man I’ve ever met, despite his upbringing.
It feels weird that he’s staring at the side of my face, so I roll over and face him. His hand leaves mine as he readjusts his arm underneath him to prop his head up. I close my eyes, trying to find a starting point that won’t sink this entire conversation with my too-big emotions.
Something touches my face.
My eyes fly open.
Spencer tucks a stray strand of my hair behind my ear.
My face is engulfed by heat instantly, and I’m so glad the room is only dimly lit.
“When I was twelve, my parents went to a farmers’ meeting for our local county. I don’t remember what it was about, only that my father was passionate about whatever it was. It got him angry every time him and Mom would talk about it.”
Spencer’s brows shift downward.
My heart is ramming my rib cage like it could escape if it only tried hard enough.
“I fed the animals, like I did every evening with my brothers. Put the supper out, like I always did when Mom and Dad worked late or were away.”
A warm hand engulfs mine.
His breathing has picked up pace, his chest rising and falling in deep cycles. I’m guessing he’s figured out what happens next.
“When I woke up the next morning, I went to find Mom to help make breakfast.” My gaze falls to the duvet on the motel bed. “Instead, I found Chloe screaming in their room, her diaper dirty, and their bed empty.”
“Ri—”
“Let me finish. Please.”
His hand squeezes mine.
“Around an hour later, the police were on our doorstep. My aunt arrived later that afternoon.”
My chin wobbles. I try to pace my breathing and fail. “Mom and Dad’s truck left the icy road just before midnight. They plowed through a field and hit a massive tree. They didn’t stand a chance.”
Tears stream down my burning cheeks.
“Fuck, Riles.” Spencer’s eyes are welled with tears, too, his jaw feathering as he shuffles closer and pulls me into his chest.
I sob, soaking his white shirt with my tears.
Every breath burns.
The ragged sounds tumbling from my lips, I’ve never heard before.
I didn’t have time back then to let it out.
I had to take care of Chlo. I had to make sure the farm was worked.
Organize my brothers and manage a household.
School was tough, but I knew, even back then, it was our ticket to something better.
So I sank myself into work, family, and study.
I learned at twelve that hard things have to get done.
It’s easier to bottle up the pain and keep moving. Keep busy.
And it hits me . . . this is the first time I’ve ever let it out.
A wave of despair crashes over me, and I chug out a string of sobs. Spencer holds me tighter, his soft words that I don’t bother to comprehend brushing over my head.
Shaking, I press both palms to his chest. As if that can ground me.
His heart is racing.
With his body wrapped around mine, he’s better at this people stuff than he gives himself credit for. My fingers curl around the opening of his T-shirt before my brain catches up to how intimate we’ve become in the last few minutes.
All because I couldn’t keep my baggage to myself.
Sniffling back the dregs of the last few sobs, I shuffle backward and put distance between us.
His face is as wrecked as mine, and tightness swells in my chest. “I’m s-sorry,” I breathe. The syllables are still wobbly, my command over my words not there yet.
He cups my face with both hands like he did before. This time, there is no heat in his eyes, only an empathetic look of sorrow as his thumbs wipe my cheeks dry.
“Fuck me, Riles. How you coped with all that is beyond comprehension. What the hell was your aunt doing? She came to live with you, right?”
“She did, but she was basically just an adult presence. She wasn’t a parent and absolutely hated farm life. She left the day I turned fifteen, declaring us capable enough to survive without her.”
“Christ, please tell me you don’t have a thing to do with her now.”
“Not really. She moved to England not long after she left us.”
Spencer moves on the bed, and it’s only now I realize how big his frame is on the small double mattress.
He looks ridiculous with his feet hanging over the edge.
“You should get some sleep, you must be smashed after that ride,” I breathe.
His blue eyes track to mine. “Nah, I’m alright. I’ll take the night shift if Ivy wakes up. Need me to tuck you in?” A grin lights up his face but quickly wanes as a yawn takes over. His eyes fall shut.
“Looks like you’re the one who needs tucking in, Lockwood.”
He chuckles, eyes still closed, and he shifts on his side, tucking his hands under his arms.
Who sleeps like that?
“Spencer?”
He hums a “Uh-huh.”
“Thank you.”
“Riles, if anyone deserves the thanks in this dingy little motel room, it ain’t me.”
I study his face as it relaxes. When his breathing settles and I discover he’s on top of the duvet, I peel back my side and wedge myself under the blankets. Rolling over, I turn down the lamp brightness with the tiny yellowed plastic dial and let my eyes drift shut.
I’m too tired to be bothered that Spencer and I are sharing a bed.
To be honest, it’s the first time in a long time that I haven’t felt alone.