Page 83 of Voice to Raise
“Or knew of her. I think—” I drew in a breath. “I think he chose us. Rather than her suggesting us. I have no idea how we’d even be on the guy’s radar.”
“Probably has a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. Razor Made has had a couple of videos go viral. And you’re not known as rabble rousers.”
“Except when we chain ourselves to bridges.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. That.” His expression sobered.
“What?” I shifted so I lay on my side, facing him. The snow would likely still be there in the morning. Not with the same weird neon-pink glow to it, but beautiful nonetheless.
“I’m thinking about Pike.”
I blinked. “The fish? You’re thinking about fishnow? I don’t think we have any—although I could check the freezer.” I wracked my brain. I wasn’t a huge fish fan.
He smiled, pressing a thumb to my frown line. “Relax. I didn’t mean the fish. I mean Pike was named for a fish, but he wasn’t a fish.”
“But he was a man.”
“He was.”
Curiosity ate away at me, but I’d learned sometimes Spencer needed time to process things. I could word vomit just about anything. Well, except stuff to do with my parents and that loss. Those thoughts came slower. Were harder to express.
“He died two years ago.” He blinked several times. I could barely see the green of his irises in the darkness of the room. Still, that little bit of the light filtered in from the streetlamp.
“You’ve never mentioned him.”
Spencer closed his eyes for a moment. Then he pressed his fingers against his closed lids. “I try not to think about him. Because it’s too goddamned painful.”
Quietly, I placed my hand on her sternum. He always carried his tension there. I pressed. “You don’t have to.”
He pulled his fingers away from his eyes and his lids fluttered open.
A lone tear escaped. It ran across the bridge of his nose and fell without a sound to the pillow beneath his head. Another one formed and, on impulse, I leaned over to kiss it away.
He wrapped his arm around me.
I did the same, pulling him close.
He wept.
Time had no meaning in moments like this. I was close to the seven-year anniversary of my parents’ death. I’d still been so damn raw at two years. Still walking around in a daze—unable to comprehend I was now truly alone in the world. Only Charles, and the other members of the symphony, had gotten me through those rough years.
And who did Spencer have? Certainly not his parents. Two years ago? He hadn’t been working at TLIO at that point. Or had he?I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve asked more questions. I should’ve been more considerate to him and his needs.Being a selfish prick sometimes came more easily than I would’ve liked. On occasion, I had to remind myself the world didn’t revolve around me.
Spencer helped with that.
Eventually his weeping eased.
He sniffled.
I reached over to my bedside, snagged a tissue, and handed it to him.
He blew his nose. A loud, honking sound.
Despite the strong desire to, I managed not to laugh. Barely.
“Sorry.” He held the tissue in his hand.
I grabbed the only unsoiled edge and flung it over the bed.I’ll deal with it in the morning…or maybe convince him to do it.Regardless, I’d have it picked up before the cleaner arrived. “You don’t need to apologize.”
