Chapter 39
Thirty-Eight
Creep
Spencer
Everything I touch turns to shit. In my personal life, at least. At work I'm a polished badass who gets shit done; I make the other side of the negotiation quake in their custom loafers.
Outside these offices, I'm a fucking disaster.
I spin my chair, exhale like I can push the shame out with the air.
Anyone I dare let myself care about—either they hurt me, or I ruin them, or they don’t choose me.
Would Mom have lived a long, healthy life if she hadn't been forced to make impossible choices because of me?
I'll never know. If I hadn't left my damn browser history up like an idiot.
If I'd just closed the fucking tabs—would she still be breathing?
That thought slices me open every single time.
I shove up from the desk and pace.
And now it's happening again: a hapless online slip, a cat's paw on a keyboard, and lives are teetering.
If I hadn't let Ryan crash through every line I drew, none of this would be hanging over him.
I couldn't keep my hands off him and now the backlash is storming straight for his heart.
This is why solitude is safer. Jen's the only friend who stays, probably because she can’t be deterred.
A rap on my window spins me around.
Speak of the devil.
Fuck. She's here to give me shit about the whole incident. This will be fun.
The door flings open and Jen breezes in with a bright smile. “Mornin' Spence! Ready to go over the budget allocations from new athlete contracts earmarked for THRIVE?”
I stop still in my Valentino loafers. Alarm bells go off in my head.
There's no way Jen does not have commentary about what happened yesterday.
She knows. I know she knows. If we hadn't seen her comments on the recorded video, the dozens of texts she sent me and Ryan would have tipped us off.
There wasn't a single word to any of the texts, either.
They were all emojis ranging from ninety-nine laughing emojis in one text to a mix of eggplants, peaches and the splashing water one.
And I think she sent every GIF involving whipped cream that exists.
So yeah, there's no way she's here to go over budget allocations.
“Yes. Grab a seat.” I tell her, waving to the seat opposite my desk. I round the corner and sit, wake up my computer. “Okay. I show three new executed contracts this month. Is that accurate?”
Jen raises a brow. I know she's expecting me to call her out, but I'm not taking the bait. We stare at each other a moment and she folds first.
“Yes. That is accurate. The commitment from the agency to THRIVE on those comes to one-hundred forty-seven thousand dollars and some change.”
I nod. “Excellent. That will assist with some holes I've identified in—”
“Speaking of identifying holes...” She digs into the bag she set on the floor by her chair. “Silly me, I completely forgot. I brought you something.”
I grumble, “Oh here we go.”
Jen hums and comes up from digging in her bag, plops a bottle on my desk and spins it around so I can see the label. I drop my gaze to the writing on the bottle: Dr. Bones' Back Pills. I look up at her and narrow my eyes.
“I thought you might need these. Your back has to be killing you hauling all that bulk around.” Then she loses it, doubled-over cackling loudly.
“Jen,” I say, sternly, but she just continues laughing.
“Jen,” I repeat, gritting my teeth now. She's howling.
“Ha ha. Very funny. Can we just go over these numbers, please?”
Jen picks up her bag. “Actually, I have a meeting I need to run off to.”
I narrow my eyes at her. She stands and taps on the desk. “We do need to go over those numbers soon. I just wanted to swing by and give you shit.”
I wave her off. “You've had your fun. Be gone, woman.”
She laughs. “And Spence?”
I cock one brow at her.
“I know Anthony is handling everything. But I'm here for you. Let's grab a drink soon, okay?”
I wave her off again. “Yeah, okay.”
She turns to leave and I say, “Can you send Dita in on your way out, please?”
“Yeah, yeah.” she calls back.
Jen walks out and I shake my head. I'm never going to live this down. A moment later, Dita pops in my office. “You needed me?”
I nod. “Have any calls from a Carl Schlapp come in?”
Dita crinkles her brows and moves her mouth like she's thinking. “Not that I’m aware of. Would you like me to get them on the line for you?”
I shake my head. “No. He’ll probably call me direct. Just checking. He’s an investigator I hired for one of our athletes a few weeks ago. If he happens to call the office, interrupt me. No matter what.”
Dita smiles. “You got it. Door open or closed?” Then she
“Closed. I have a video call for the next hour.”
Dita turns and leaves, closing the door behind her.
I look at the time on my computer. One minute to spare. I pull up my calendar and click the link to my call and wait. After a few seconds, Dr. Walker pops up on camera.
“Good morning, Spencer.”
“Morning, Doc.” I'm glad my weekly session falls on Mondays—I need it after this weekend.
“How are things?”
I let out a cross between a sigh and a chuckle.
Dr. Walker gives me a look that says, “Spill.” And spill I do, surprising even myself with the amount of information I unload at his feet.
I tell him about everything that's been happening with Ryan, from the very beginning, up to the events of this past weekend and how I feel that I can't give Ryan what he needs. That I’m withholding something as simple as kissing—a casual act of intimacy I know most people find easy.
Walker chuckles. “That's a lot of information.”
I blow out a breath. “I'm sorry.”
He smiles. “I don't think I've ever seen you like this, Spencer.”
I run a hand down my face. “I know. I'm a bit of a mess.”
He shakes his head slightly. “Mm, not what I meant.”
I give him a puzzled look.
“I meant happy.”
I jolt a little. Walker chortles and says, “Don't get me wrong, there's a lot going on here. Yes, some of it is very difficult. Overall, though, there's an element of joy bubbling just under the surface and it's trying to break through.”
“I don't think joy and my name have ever been used in the same sentence, Doc.” I grumble.
He lets out a heartier laugh. “Bullshit.”
I tsk at the screen. “The language, Doc. My virgin ears.”
Walker smiles brightly, his eyes crinkling in the corner. “See. You just brought me joy. Are you writing in the self-reflection journal I gave you?”
I give him a crooked grin. “Mmmaybe?”
“I'll take that as a no,” he says. Then he continues, “Your first entry is going to be, 'I make people feel joy.' Can you write that in there for me?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Yeah, I guess. It will ruin my reputation if it ever got out, though.”
“You’ll survive. Let's dig deeper now.”
I nod.
“How do you feel your past experience is shaping your current relationships? Better yet, the possibility of deeper relationships.”
I swallow. I'm grateful for Dr. Walker and the years of helping me navigate everything that's fucked up in my head, but admittedly, like with everyone else, I've always held a bit back in our sessions.
Haven't fully exposed myself. But I can no longer pretend that Ryan hasn't nuzzled his way under my skin and for the first time since Travis, I want to try. I need to try. I’ve never wanted to try this much before. I have to try for him.
“I'm scared.” I finally tell him.
Walker nods. “Of?”
I scratch my chin. “Of getting closer to Ryan.”
“Why?”
I shake my head. “I'm afraid I'll hurt him.”
He hums. “Interesting.”
“Interesting?” I fire back. “What does that mean? I hate when you do that,” but my tone is light and teasing.
Walker chuckles again. “It's interesting because typically someone with your past would primarily be concerned that they would be the one getting hurt.”
“Of course I'm worried that I'll get hurt.”
“Yes, but that wasn't your first response. If I had asked you the same question about any other potential mate over the past few years, your first instinct would have been to protect yourself, not them, correct?”
I bury my hands in my face and groan. “I don't like you anymore.”
Dr. Walker laughs and I drop my hands from my face.
“And ew, don't say mate. No one says that anymore.”
Dr. Walker barks a laugh. “Noted. Now talk to me about the kissing.”
I groan again. “Do I have to?”
“No. But I think you should. There's a reason you shared that piece of information with me.”
I sigh. “It's weird, right?”
Dr. Walker shrugs. “Not necessarily.”
I lean forward. “I'm not ignorant, Doc. I know it's not the norm. I know most people kiss during casual sexual experiences and it doesn’t mean anything more than sex.
I know something is messed up in my brain, especially after Travis, that I can't just kiss anybody.
Casual sex… awesome. But I can't seem to give that part of me.
In fact, I haven't kissed anyone since Travis.”
“And why do you think that is?”
I shrug. “I don't know, that's why I'm asking you. I know I put it on a pedestal or some shit, but I'm worried I'm broken. I should be able to kiss Ryan after all this time, right? I mean, I've come close. Several times. He's annoyingly tempting. But something keeps pulling me back.”
Dr. Walker smiles. “Can I suggest what that something might be?”
I throw my hands up. “Please. Enlighten me.”
Dr. Walker scoots closer to the screen. “First off, I know I don't need to educate you about the sexual identity spectrum.”
I furrow my brows.
“But I think you're forgetting to apply it to yourself. Sexuality is more than gender attraction, you know this. Different people place different significance on any number of sexual acts. Kissing, for example, can be weighted as far more than just casual intimacy for some.”
“Okayyy” I say.
“You may want to look closer at the traits of being demisexual. Demisexual men can engage in physical or sexual activity casually, but they often reserve deep intimate acts like kissing for someone they are romantically attached to. However, given your past, I suspect dismissive-avoidant attachment issues could be at play here.”
“Well, I do excel in the dismissive-avoidant arts. Five stars. But, fine, I’ll play. What is that?”
Walker chuckles again. “Some individuals with dismissive-avoidant attachment find deep emotional closeness uncomfortable, so they intentionally avoid kissing to keep the interaction purely physical. You might want to consider this is simply due to the impact of your past experiences. The thing likely holding you back, Spencer, is trust.”
I lean back. “Yeah, that all makes sense.”
“That's the easy part, though. Trust issues… it's not a difficult conclusion to arrive at. Learning to give that trust when someone has earned it? That's the hard part.”
“How do I do that?” I sigh.
“There's no magic bullet, Spencer,” Dr. Walker says, “But I recommend starting with identifying all the ways that Ryan trusts you and deciding what you can give back.”
I shake my head and lean back. “Welp, you've bested me, yet again.”
Dr. Walker smiles and winks and I say, “Yeah-yeah. Just remember, I don't pay you to outsmart me—”
“You pay me not tell anyone that I have. I know.”
I finger gun him and Dr. Walker laughs, then asks the three questions he ends each of our calls with. “Have you forgiven your father?”
“Not yet.”
He nods. “Have you forgiven your mother?”
“Nothing to forgive.”
Dr. Walker hums, “Don’t forget, Spencer, forgiveness is for you. To release pain and grief. Rationally, you know her death is not on your hands. But, and this is the important part, until you give her a blanket pardon… you won’t be able to release yourself from the guilt and responsibility.”
I give him the nod of understanding I think he wants from me. Then he asks, “Have you forgiven Travis?”
“Almost,” I say without thinking, surprising even myself with the answer.
Dr. Walker’s eyes sparkle, a little too pleased with himself if you ask me. “Spencer?”
“Hm?”
“Have you forgiven yourself?”
“Working on it.” Seriously? Who am I right now?
Walker smiles with satisfaction. “That’s the most progress I’ve seen in your answers since we started. I look forward to our next session, Spencer.” The corners of his lips hitch up and he adds, “Maybe you'll have a kissing update for me.”
I roll my eyes and he tacks on, “You need to talk to him. He can’t earn your trust if you don’t give him the opportunity.”
Giving him a glare that he knows I don’t mean, I end the call. Before I even get a chance to process a moment of that conversation, my phone buzzes with a notification.
Oh, look! It’s the man of the hour himself. His ears must’ve been ringing.
Dimples: Spennnnnnnnce
Me: Ryan
Dimples: Just checking on you. No one’s giving you shit, are they?
Me: Just Jen, but nothing bad.
Dimples: Good. Will you go to the market with me when you’re done with work? I want to make something special for my sisters when they get in.
Me: Is it a good idea to be in public right now? Maybe you should order groceries.
Dimples: I’m not hiding, Spence.
Me: Fine. I’ll cut out of here early afternoon so you have plenty of time to work on your dinner.
Dimples: Yay! See you later, Perfect.
Turning off my phone, I wonder how I got here. How I traded my carefully curated life for a chaotic carousel of gym dates, accidental hotel trysts, hospital rooms, a live-in booty call who sneaks into my bed every night, retirement village mean girls… and a sex tape scandal.
An overgrown golden-haired puppy with big paws decided I was his human. That's how.
And now I get to meet his sisters. Yay me!
Oh fuck. I’m meeting his family. Goddammit!
First, I have a call to make.