Spencer cupped his chin to have his eyes. “I’m not letting you go. Can you cling to that?”
“Yes, of course…” Lost in those dark eyes.
Spencer fished a small card out of his pocket, sliding it in his palm. “This is the place where I’ll dwell. And heal.” His lips had curled up, mocking. “You can come, but I’m not sure I’ll see you, ok? You know my number, but they don’t allow phones at the start, so…” Scared a bit.
“You have someone to take you there?” Worried, to the brink of sanity, that small anger too, that he could not take care of him.
“An old fart. Courtesy of Sinclair’s Angels.” Rolling his eyes with a grin. “I won’t fuck him for sure. I guess they wanted to be safe.” Stroking his hair back, relieved, that he had smiled. “Not fucking anyone anytime soon… I have you now.”
Duncan parted his lips, his chest heaving, but Spencer pressed his fingers on them, stern. “No. Save those words for the healed me.” Planting a kiss on them. “Soon…” He stood, unable to tame those feelings toiling in his chest. “I have to go, otherwise I’ll stay and a junkie will nurse you back to health.”
Duncan scoffed, holding back his tears. “Yeah, ok, just go.” Kissing his hand. “See you soon.”
“Anyone to help you and make sure you heal?”
Duncan smiled. “Sinclair has a whole rehab programme lined up, don’t worry.” Giving a squeeze to that trembling hand, watching Spencer bite his lip. “You’ll do great.”
Those dark eyes went to him. “I’m a devil…”
He grinned. “Don’t I know it… Devils are strong, though. Tough as shit.”
They laughed, but Duncan’s ended in a grimace. Ash white, he had to lean his head back, weak, in pain.
Spencer took the morphine pump and clicked it a few times.
Duncan’s eyes went wide. “What… don’t…”
“Too late, Righteous. Just rest.”
Duncan’s eyelids fluttered, his tongue heavy. “Devil.” That small smile as his eyes closed, that soft breathing, a last sight of those dark eyes, that black mane of a hair.
“Yes…” Stroking his hand down that pale cheek, he steeled himself and walked out, not looking back.
That determined stride, his heels like daggers on that pale corridor.
Spencer then asked to be driven home to gather his clothes, the ones he liked the most, drinking too, pouring large glasses ofwhiskey.Last glasses…the thought almost sending him into a mild panic, he threw the window open, sipping that fiery drink, soaking in that fiery sun, the breeze catching that mismatched hair, the horror of that knife still lingering, killing that man, flooding him like a dark wave… looking down… maybe a tiny thought as the whiskey slid down his throat that he could just step outside of all this…Useless…the wind whispering…useless to him too… ruin his life… you will…. You will ruin him… you did too….Eyes a bit wide, but they caught on a reflection, that painting in the window’s glass, his grey eyes, filled with that light, that tattoo… Semper Fi… remembering what he had told him, those horrors…and he’s still here… waiting, for me…downing that drink, he flung the glass out, hearing it smash on the roof below. Turning, determined, packing.
Down to the car. He caught their butler on the way out.
“Have that painting on my wall sent to the rehab centre.”
“Yes, sir.”
Spencer sat in the car then. “To the hair salon.” Catching that old man’s eyes in the mirror, his nod.
“Yes, sir.”
The divider went up then.
Spencer sighed, the landscape rushing as he clutched his phone, that soothing burn of the alcohol, a balm on his soul.Fuck.One last trip too. Almost a thought there to ask that old guy to drive him far. But then, his eyes, his voice…You can do it…
Walking in the salon, he sat down, his hard eyes in the mirror. Taking that tall glass of champagne out of his hairdresser’s hand.
“Wow! This is what you wrote me about? Fucking hell, Spence!” Fluffing his hair. Meeting those dark eyes in the mirror.
Spencer’s lips just curled up. “I have an idea.”
“Ok…”
