Chapter 44 Spencer
FORTY-FOUR
SPENCER
I’m sitting at the breakfast table, the same one I sit at everyday I’m home in Boston, but everything feels different now.
The penthouse is too quiet.
The remnants of last night’s takeout are still on the counter. My computer bag is by the door, untouched since I dropped it there after the hospital.
I haven’t even showered yet.
Sunlight cuts across the floor in pale stripes, but it doesn’t warm anything. I sit staring through the window like the skyline might answer all the questions I can’t.
Gina calls, and I put her on speaker, laying the phone next to my untouched toast and eggs.
“So, Daddy-O.” Gina’s voice is chipper and smug in the way only she can pull off. “The little one is safe at home? Healthy and happy?”
“She is,” I say, keeping it simple. Still staring out the window. Watching nothing.
She waits, then, “And… what’s next?”
“Next?” I echo, trying to sound disinterested. Casual. Like this isn’t the question clawing at my insides.
“Yes, next, Spencer.” She doesn’t let up. “Let’s see. Where are we? Oh, yes. You love her. You have a child together. You love the child. You want to be with the child and the mother. So, yes, what the hell is next?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it?” she mocks. “Because from where I’m sitting, it actually seems exactly that simple.”
I stay silent.
“Spencer,” she says, her voice softening, “what are you so afraid of?”
I let that question hang in the air like smoke. But I know the answer. I’m afraid Rhea doesn’t want me. Doesn’t want to be with me.
“I gave her an out,” I admit at last. “I asked her to come to the Cape. I painted the whole picture—family, time together, a fresh start.”
There’s a beat. Then,
“You gave her an out?” Gina repeats, incredulous. “Did you actually just say those words? An out? Out of what?”
“Out of… everything that’s hard. Single parenting. Paying the mortgage. Working all day, being a mom all night.”
“Ho-ly shit,” she says, not even trying to hide her irritation.“Sometimes I think you’re the smartest man I know. And sometimes, I can’t believe what a blind fool you are.”
My jaw tightens. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I know she’s not the penthouse type. I know the California place is way too far from her family. But the Cape? The small town, the sea air, that house—you’ve seen that house.”
“The house is great, Spencer. The sea air is great, too. But that’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point, Gina?” I ask, sharper than I intend.
“The point is that you don’t get to plan out her life like it’s some kind of surprise getaway to France,” she says. “You’re planning for her life—her daughter’s life—without her.”
“I’m not trying to plan her life,” I snap. “I’m trying to give her options. A way we could be together.”
“Then here’s a swell idea that might not have occurred to you,” she fires back. “What if you ask her what she wants? Treat her like a partner in the planning—not a passenger in your grand romantic rescue.”
I exhale hard, leaning forward, pressing my palms into my eyes. The silence stretches.
“Quit trying to save her,” she adds, softer now. “Start trying to see her.”
Then, for extra measure, she quietly adds, “Dumbass.”
And as much as I want to be mad at Gina—her tone, her timing, or the thousand things she always says too bluntly—I can’t.
Because I know there’s truth tucked inside every one of her words.