Page 65 of Buckin' Around

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.