Page 79 of On Dry Land

“Love baffles me, if I’m being honest. I don’t think I experience it the same way others do, and it makes me question myself and⁠—”

“Me,” Spencer fills in.

“Others,” I correct. “Everyone. But yes, you. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“But you were expecting me to leave,” he points out, brow furrowed as he looks down into his mug. “I didn’t want to.”

“No,” I agree, “I’m the one who wanted you to. And then I wanted you to come back.”

He thinks for a moment, sitting quietly with that information before he murmurs a soft, careful question. “But why did you want me to go?”

I close my eyes, trying to ignore the sound of Spencer breathing and the weight of him on the mattress beside me. I didn’t want him to go. Not even a little bit. And that is exactly why I needed him to.

“I didn’t, really,” I reply, voice low and calm despite the slightly elevated beating of my heart. I hate being exposed like this. Soft parts are meant to stay hidden. “But I knew it would be better in the long run if you did.”

Everything that was wrong with my marriage is really only known only to me and the lawyers. Nobody saw the way I tried, but they all saw how I’d failed. And even they weren’t privy to it all—the emotional roller coaster of living with a man who might be in a towering rage one moment and tears the next, the subtle ways he forced me to conform to the shape he desired. I have always been sure of myself—comfortable in my mind and body—and am still astounded to this day by how easily Dylan was able to destroy that. I could try to explain this to Spencer. He’d sympathize, probably. He’s a far more empathetic individual than I am, and much better at understanding emotions. But if I tell this story now, if I uncover all the rot that stays hidden inside me, it would only serve as an excuse for causing Spencer pain. He shouldn’t ever have to suffer for what happened between Dylan and me.

The silence stretches further this time. I let it, feeling a mild sort of discomfort grow into something bigger. I’m unsure which part of me is stronger—the relief or the distress that he’s here, that he didn’t go far and consented to return. For the first time in my life, self-preservation is losing my private, internal battle. I take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any excuses. I’m just sorry,” I tell him. “You didn’t deserve to be punished for the things that are wrong with me, and had you not been, this wouldn’t have happened. Apologies are useless, but I am sorry.”

“It’s not your fault I was robbed. And I offered to go, remember?”

“Spencer, don’t,” I warn. Putting a hand on my face, I rub at the tension above my eyes. “Lord, what the hell was I thinking, letting you go. In no way were you safe, and that’s on me.”

“It didn’t feel like I had much of a choice,” he admits softly. I shake my head, repulsed by myself. He didn’t have much of a choice, because I didn’t leave him room for one. I wish the words I’m sorry carried any meaning at all.

“What are you afraid of?” Spencer asks eventually. I sigh. History coming around for a repeat. Years of wasted time and money. Myself.

“That you’ll see me. That I’ll let you in, and you won’t like what you find. That one day, you’ll realize you’d have been better off walking away and staying gone. You,” I summarize. He is every worry and fear and question.

“Kind of wild, the things our brains can convince us of,” he whispers, quoting back something he said to me weeks ago. Turning my head, I glance over and find him already watching me.

He smiles sadly, leaning back against the pillows and stretching his legs out, toes pointed. I look at his face and away, hoping to see the morning light brightening those eyes but getting a clearer view of the bruising on his face instead.

“I meant it when I said there is a home for you here, if you want it. This is your house,” I tell him, lifting a hand to gesture toward the room. Demon makes a leap for my arm, paws scratching down the side of the comforter as her claws fail to make purchase. “I want you to stay. I want us to continue on as we are. I want you to have the freedom and comfort to make that choice for yourself.”

“Rudy offered to help me get a recertification if I wanted to continue working as a vet tech. He said I could keep working for him,” Spencer tells me. Or tells his coffee mug, rather, as that is where his gaze is fixed.

I’m not surprised. Rudy is one of the few people I’ve met who seems to love animals and people, and is happy to provide aid to both. He also stays to himself, mostly, which is my personal favorite of his character traits. It makes sense he’d want to keep Spencer around. Hard workers who don’t mind the dirty aspects of the job are hard to come by, and the entry-level job pool around here is mainly comprised of teenagers who do nothing but complain.

“He also offered a couple options of places I could stay,” Spencer adds softly. My fingers clench around the warm mug.

“Kind of him. And yet, you already have a place to stay.” He chuckles and leans his shoulder against me like he used to. Tentatively, I lean back. Equally as hesitantly, I add, “Without me. I’ll find something else for the time being.”

Because I’m looking at his face, I catch his grimace. And then, almost reluctantly, his nod.

“I liked this. Living here together,” he clarifies, eyes tracking around the room before settling on me. “But maybe we need a little more time across the pool from one another first.”

I don’t think Spencer, who seems able to mold himself to fit any situation he finds himself in, needs more time to adjust. It’s me that’s the problem here, just the same as it usually is. Reaching a hand out to gently use my fingers and angle Spencer’s face toward the light, I look at the bruises and make a silent promise to do better. I won’t let myself be this person any longer, if there is any chance of Spencer being the one taking on damage.

“Looks worse than it is,” he reminds me. A reminder I ignore, because black eyes and a split chin is always bad.

“I worry that you’ll regret giving up your life to stay here,” I admit, staring at his eyes, reacquainting myself with the color.

“It’s not about giving up things; it’s about sharing them.” Spencer’s body presses a little more firmly into my arm, trusting me to hold his weight. “Maybe you can take a few adventures with me around here, and maybe I could come out with you on the Maiden every now and again. And maybe…maybe once I save up enough money, we could go to Europe and backpack.”

“I’m not sleeping on the ground, Spencer.”