Chapter 27
ALFIE
The BMW’s engine growls as I take the corner too fast. Some indie rock song I don’t recognize plays on the radio - probably something Tara programmed in. I punch the power button harder than necessary, letting the silence fill the car.
Three hours of community service with Jonny the freshman, who spent the entire time asking me about “cool parties” and what I thought the chances were that he’d “bang a MILF” this year.
Three hours of trying not to look at Maria and Tara working on the other side of campus, laughing about something I couldn’t hear.
I slam my door when I get home, only to find Ethan and Freddie sprawled across our couch, deep in some video game battle.
“Dude, you’re blocking the TV,” Ethan complains, craning his neck.
I move, but apparently not fast enough because Freddie’s character gets knocked out. “Thanks a lot, Spencer. I was about to—” He stops, actually looking at me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” Ethan pauses the game. “You look like someone pissed in your coffee.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sure.” Freddie sets down his controller. “That’s why you’re doing your murder walk.”
“My what?”
“You know, that thing where you stomp around looking like you’re plotting someone’s death. Usually reserved for when Drake visits or someone touches your lab equipment.”
I run a hand through my hair. “I got stuck with this freshman for community service. Kid doesn’t know a sedimentary rock from his ass and keeps trying to teach me about volcanoes. I had to be paired with a fucking rock nerd.”
Freddie and Ethan exchange a look I can’t quite read.
“You’re a rock nerd,” Ethan mutters.
I narrow my eyes at him. He’s pushing it. I am not in the mood.
“Right.” Freddie stands, grabbing his gym keys. “We’re working out.”
“Gym’s closed on Sundays.”
“Manager, remember?” He dangles the keys. “Perks of the job.”
“I don’t—”
“Not a request, bro.” Ethan’s already pulling on his shoes. “You need to hit something that isn’t your steering wheel.”
Twenty minutes later, Freddie’s got Kanye blasting through the empty gym’s speakers, the bass vibrating through the floor. The place feels different without the usual crowd - darker, more private. Like our own fight club but with better equipment.
“Here.” Freddie tosses me some boxing wraps for my hands. “Time to work out whatever’s actually bothering you.”
I start wrapping my hands, muscle memory taking over. “I told you—”
“Yeah, yeah. Freshman kid, rocks, whatever.” Ethan holds the punching bag steady. “Nothing to do with Tara switching partners?”
My first hit lands harder than intended. Ethan raises his eyebrows but doesn’t comment.
“Or maybe,” Freddie says carefully, “it has something to do with why she switched in the first place?”
Another hit. Then another. The rhythm of it helps, gives me something to focus on besides the tight feeling in my chest.
“You know”—Ethan grunts as the bag swings—“for someone so smart, you can be really fucking stupid sometimes.”
“Not helping,” Freddie warns, but I’m already stepping back, breathing hard.
“You want to know what’s bothering me?” The words come out sharp.
“Fine. She switched partners without saying anything. Just... decided she’d rather work with anyone else.
And now I’m stuck with this kid who won’t shut up about his crystal collection while she’s over there laughing with Maria like everything’s fine.
Like we didn’t—” I catch myself, but it’s too late.
“Like you didn’t what?” Freddie asks quietly.
I strip off the wraps, suddenly needing to move. “Nothing. Forget it.”
“Nope.” Ethan steps in front of me. “You’ve been walking around like a zombie for weeks. Something happened with Tara, and you’re both too stubborn to fix it.”
“Can’t fix something that was never real in the first place,” I mutter, but the words taste like lies.
Freddie turns up the music, probably so no one can hear us if they walk by. “Want to try that again? This time without the bullshit?”
I grab a medicine ball, needing something to do with my hands. “It doesn’t matter. She’s better off without—”
“If you say ‘better off without me’ I will literally throw this weight at your head,” Ethan interrupts. “You’re not actually this dense.”
“You don’t understand—”
“Then explain it to us,” Freddie says, “because from where we’re standing, you’ve got feelings for a girl who clearly has feelings for you, but instead of dealing with it like an adult, you’re taking it out on gym equipment and some poor freshman who probably just wanted to impress you.”
The medicine ball hits the ground with a thud that even the music can’t drown out.
“She deserves better,” I say finally. “Better than someone who’ll just mess up her life like my family messes up everything they touch.”
“For fuck’s sake!” Ethan throws his hands up. “Have you tried asking her what she deserves? Or are you just making that decision for her?”
Something dark and ugly rises in my chest because they don’t understand.
Can’t understand what it’s like being a Spencer, how everything we touch turns to ash.
But Ethan might actually be right about one thing.
I haven’t given her the chance to make the decision.
I thought by stepping away I was, but maybe…
“I need to run.” I’m already moving toward the door.
“Alfie—” Freddie starts.
“Thanks for the gym access.” My voice comes out cold, controlled.
“You can’t keep running from this,” Ethan calls after me.
But I’m already gone, feet hitting pavement before the door fully closes. The late afternoon sun beats down as I set a punishing pace. No route in mind, just away. Away from their concern, away from the truth in Ethan’s words.
Three miles in, sweat soaking my shirt, and I still can’t outrun the image of her face. The hurt in her eyes when I said we should stop pretending. Like I’ve ever been pretending. Like I wasn’t falling for her so hard it terrified me.
Four miles. My lungs burn but it’s better than the ache in my chest.
Five miles.
I stop abruptly, hands on my knees, breathing hard.
The sun’s setting by the time I make it home. The house is dark - Freddie and Ethan probably still at the gym, probably talking about what an idiot I am. They’re not wrong.
I head straight for the shower, letting the hot water pound against muscles that will definitely hate me tomorrow. But at least physical pain makes sense. At least it’s something I can control.
Unlike the way my heart speeds up every time I catch a glimpse of pink in a crowd, hoping it’s her. Unlike the way my fingers itch to sketch her smile, her eyes, the way she looks when she’s excited about something. Unlike the hollow feeling in my chest that no amount of running seems to fix.
I am so fucked.
“Get your ass in the car!” Ethan’s voice booms inside the house. He’s standing in the doorway wearing cargo shorts and what appears to be a fishing vest with entirely too many pockets. “We’re going fishing.”
I wipe my face with a towel. “No.”
“Wasn’t a question, Spencer.” He tosses something at me—a baseball cap with a fish on it. “Car. Five minutes. Don’t make me carry you.”
“I have lab work—”
“Already called Hammond. Told her you’ve got food poisoning.” His grin is manic. “Now move it before I start telling everyone about the time you cried watching Finding Nemo.”
“I was drunk.” I protest, but he’s already walking away, whistling something that sounds suspiciously like “Under the Sea.”
Freddie’s trying not to laugh. “You should go. Before he starts singing.”
An hour later, I’m sitting in a fold-out chair by some lake I didn’t know existed, holding a fishing rod I have no idea how to use. Ethan hasn’t said much since we arrived, just handed me a beer and pointed at the water.
A pair of birds wheel overhead, diving and chasing each other.
It reminds me of Tara’s laugh—how it would bubble up from nowhere, infectious and bright.
She’d probably know what kind of birds they are.
Would probably launch into some fascinating story about their mating habits or migration patterns. ..
“You’re doing it again,” Ethan says.
“What?”
“That thing where you think about Tara and look like someone kicked your puppy.”
I take a long pull of my beer. “I’m not—”
“Save it.” He adjusts his ridiculous hat. “Want to tell me why you’re avoiding your friends, living at the gym, and making that poor freshman cry?”
“I didn’t make him cry.”
“He definitely teared up when you criticized his mineral identification skills.”
“His technique was sloppy—”
“Alfie.” Ethan’s voice is uncharacteristically serious. “What’s going on?”
Maybe it’s the quiet of the lake, or the fact that Ethan’s not looking at me, just staring out at the water. Maybe I’m just tired of carrying it all. Whatever the reason, I find myself talking.
“CalTech wants me to visit. Meet the faculty, tour the labs.”
“Dude, that’s huge!” He turns to me, then catches my expression. “Why aren’t you excited?”
I watch the birds disappear behind trees. “It’s what I wanted. Everything I’ve worked for.”
“But?”
“But...” I struggle for words. “It feels hollow now. Like getting everything I thought I wanted just to realize it’s not enough.”
“Because it’s missing something. Or someone.”
I don’t answer, but Ethan doesn’t seem to need me to.
“You know what’s funny?” He casts his line again. “I think I might be better at people than you.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m serious.” He sets his rod down, turning to face me.
“You’re running away because you think you’re protecting her.
Because you think you’re just like your family, that you’ll hurt her like they hurt people.
But here’s the thing—you picking her happiness over yours?
That’s exactly what makes you different from them. ”
The words hit harder than I expect. “It’s not that simple.”
“It could be.” He shrugs. “If you’d stop being such a martyr about it.”
“I got her fired.”
“Because you couldn’t stand seeing her hurt. Was it the right way to handle it? No. But your instinct wasn’t to protect the family name or make a problem disappear. It was to protect her.”
I think about my mother’s offer, about how easily she tried to buy Tara off. “I don’t want to be like them.”
“Then don’t be.” Ethan’s voice is gentle. “But pushing everyone away? That’s exactly what a Spencer would do.”
We sit in silence for a while, watching the sun start to set. Finally, Ethan says, “Her birthday party’s Friday. At Moe’s.”
My chest tightens. “Troy—”
“Will get over it. Eventually.” He grins. “Might want to wear a cup though, just in case.”
Despite everything, I laugh. Ethan looks absurdly pleased with himself.
“When did you get so wise?” I ask.
“Please. I’ve always been wise. You all just assume I’m an idiot because I’m actually funny. And probably because I tried to do an all weeker that one time in freshman year.”
“You succeeded.”
I remember it now, Ethan looked crazed after 72 hours without sleep. We still dispute his claim that he lasted the whole week.
“Exactly! Dedication and follow-through. That’s wisdom, baby.”
The birds are back, swooping low over the water. For the first time in weeks, something in my chest loosens.
Tara would love it here. Not just for the obvious beauty, but because she’d find a dozen tiny details to get excited about - the way one bird flies slightly crooked, how the water ripples in patterns that probably remind her of some obscure fossil formation.
I miss that the most, how she notices everything, finds wonder in details everyone else overlooks.
How she’s so unapologetically herself. She’s brilliant in this unconventional way, making connections I’d never see, asking questions that make me look at my research differently.
And somehow, she does it all while dancing around my lab in glittery boots, completely unafraid to take up space in my carefully ordered world.
The worst part is how much I miss making her laugh. How she draws out parts of myself I didn’t know existed - makes me want to be funnier, more open, more real. She sees through every wall I’ve built, every defense I’ve perfected, and instead of running away, she just grins and asks more questions.
Well then, I ask myself, what are you going to do about that?